terrible things - ashton irwin

forty one

The next morning we woke up in the same position, through some miracle, Ashton's arm hadn't fallen asleep during the night. We got coffee and big, pillowy bagels from a nearby bakery. We asked for them toasted and dripping with butter, Ashton's favourite. Then took the subway up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

When a panhandler made his way through the subway car, dressed as if it were winter instead of June, Ashton reached into his pocket and produced a crumpled five.

The panhandler bower as he accepted it. "Money and a beautiful woman. You have everything, sir."

"Well, actually, now you have my money," Ashton pointed out.

The panhandler considered this fact for a moment. "But who needs money when you have her?"

"My thoughts exactly." Ashton said. He put his arm around me like I belonged to him.

When we got to the Met, we wandered among the huge, high-ceilinged rooms, ogling famous works we'd only seen in tiny reproductions: Monet's Rouen Cathedral, Van Gough's Cyresses, Georgia O'Keeffe's Black Iris, and Jackson Pollock's Autumn Rhythm.

And although I was staring at masterpieces, what I kept seeing was Ashton the night before, shirtless, lying next to me. It made it hard to concentrate. Sometimes, when he looked at me in a certain way, I wondered if he was having the same experience. "A pretty girl who naked is / is worth a million statues." The poet e. e. cummings wrote that. (Not that I'd been totally naked. Just...partially.)

Ashton stopped in front of Madame X, a portrait of a beautiful woman by John Singer Sargent, and shook his head in wonder. "We sure don't have art like this in Klamath Falls," he said.

"We don't even have falls in Klamath Falls," I replied.

I'd thought maybe a part of me would miss my hometown. Crappy as it was, it was still mine. But I missed nothing, because everything that truly mattered to me was either already gone or right here next to me in the museum, holding my hand.

When we ended up in front of the Egyptian tomb. Ashton bent down to wipe a scuff from the toe of his boot.

"I'll try not to take this as a sign," he said.

"A sign of what?" I asked sharply.

"Doom," Ashton answered. "Isn't stumbling across a pharaoh's tomb worse then, like, a black cat crossing your path? You know, King Tut's curse and all those stories..."

I slid my hand into the back pocket of his jeans. "No Scallywag, don't be silly. We were randomly walking. we could have just as easily ended up in the café or something."

"Which reminds me-"

"-that you're hungry."

"Exactly." He stood up a little straighter, and I could see the way he shook off his moment of worry. "Do you know what else I want?"

"No," I said, but the word caught in my throat, because I did know, of course. I just wanted to make him show me the answer.

Ashton backed me up against the wall and pressed his lips to mine. My arms circled his waist and I arched myself against him. This is what I was hungry for...

A group of kids in Camp Treetop T-shirts filed into the room, so we ducked into the tomb to make out in secret.

We hardly even cared when a few giggling kids spied us and called some of their friends over.

But we pulled apart and, exchanging some giggles ourselves, quickly made our exit.

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word count - 566

sorry for such a small chapter :/ split one in half tat was 1500+ words :) xx