Touch: Awakening

Part Fourteen

A thousand dwarves swinging hammers batter my skull. My skin's clammy and cool, so I snuggle further into the warmth at my back.

Warmth. At my back. A headache large enough for five people and not one. Stifling a gasp, I try to lift my head and fail. "Fuck. Kill me now."

Last night rushes in and replays in Technicolor. We'd gone to bed, all right, with the brilliant idea that if we upped our physical contact, we'd get used to it that much faster. Then Drew had the even more brilliant idea to strip to our underwear. I'd opted to sleep in my usual tank, then we'd climbed into bed, reached for each other, and my brain exploded and the world ceased to exist.

I can't even say it was worth it, because pain. I think my eyeballs might actually fall out from the vicious throbbing in my head.

The worst part is, I have little desire to extract myself from my current situation. At some point during the night, Drew and I ended up facing the same direction, with him curled around me. Spooning, I believe it's called. Another variation of cuddling.

Cold flesh and pounding head aside, this is even more perfect that the couch the night before.

A particularly brutal spike drives itself through the middle of my forehead, and I groan softly. An answering mutter comes from behind me, and I wiggle forward so I'm no longer touching Drew. Finding the energy to roll over to face him proves nearly impossible, but I manage.

There are lines on his face that weren't there the night before, between his brows, around his mouth, and his skin is tinged with grey. His eyes are closed. I brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead. He grimaces and blinks awake. "Shit. I don't think I can move."

"Dwarves with hammers?" I ask.

"Huh?"

"They're swinging at my head. They must be hitting yours on the backswing."

He chuckles, the sound ending on a low moan. "Not the best idea we've ever had." He strokes a hand along my side, resting on my hip, and it doesn't burn quite as badly.

"We should get up," I murmur, wishing I could ignore the band squeezing my brain into mush.

"Mmmhmm." He grips my hip and nudges me closer. "In a minute."

Nerve endings light up, catch fire, burn through my veins and turn my body against me. Under it all, though, beneath the grinding teeth and spasming muscles and agonizing pain, is comfort and completeness and more. A growing hunger, clawing at the walls like a beast, growling to be let out. It's an insane, wild craving for knowledge of what comes next.

We shake as he tucks us together, and I dig my nails into his chest, fighting unconsciousness. Sweat breaks out, slicking skin, and the vise around my head tightens.

I break first, unable to handle any more. I scoot far enough away from him we're no longer touching and drag air into my lungs, squeezing my eyes shut against the waves of needles pricking my skin. "Is it me, or is not getting better?" My eyes slit open as the pain fades slightly.

"It's one night. We need more practice." He rolls onto his side and props himself up on his elbow. A drop of sweat trickles from his temple, and he swipes at it, grimacing. "Though I do think my head will explode if I touch you again any time soon."

I stick my tongue out at him. "Thanks for that." Muscles screaming, head throbbing, I sit up. This is almost worse than the withdrawal. I manage a full breath as I rub my hands over my face. "What are we going to do?" I whisper.

"Keep trying. Keep trying until we either kill ourselves or the pain goes away." He groans and sits up, too, draping his arms around his knees. "I really hope it doesn't kill us."