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Doesn't Get Much Better

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It was always muggy at night, despite the lack of water in the cracked, dry desert. Muggy in the sense that your skin feels more than just a little bit rubbery and your hair a bit limper than it should be. Maybe in another life, another world, it would be joined by the sharp chirping of Cicadas. But at this point, bouts of acid rain and toxic grounds have halted any possibilities of that. So all that accompanies the heat is the settling of the building, the ticking of machinery and clocks.

It was nights like these that Dr Death Defying spent looking to the ceiling from his spot on the bed, eyelids heavy as he drifted from sleep to the final threads of consciousness. A calloused finger rubbing the sheets, gritted slightly with sand that always managed to barely find itself on his mattress. He couldn’t get to sleep though, not yet. Well, technically yes, he could just go to sleep. This was more a matter of choice. Because while it was long past midnight, the space next to him in bed was empty.

Luckily enough, it’s not too long after this that the familiar sound of wheels on solid ground can be heard, smooth and graceful. Eyes still slid shut, Dr D just listens to the sound of rummaging and rustling, before the rolling is replaced with soft footfall. Listening to the gentle noises drawing closer, he found himself letting out a soft sigh as a weight filled up the formerly bare spot in the bed. Turning to the side a bit more, he can smell who it is, even if he didn’t know who it was before hand. Would hopefully know for a while.

Show Pony smelled like dried sweat, other people’s fragrances, alcohol, and something so uniquely him. Just a bit sweet, earthy even. Like the dust that settles across the land, sunny and warm. Their lips grazed each other softly, and Dr D brings his hands up to Show Pony’s chest, rubbing the sides gently, feeling the firm black material stretched across is skin.

“Binder off, baby.” Is all that manages to pass his tired lips, hand patting his side. There’s a second of whining from Show Pony, but it’s soon cut off by rustling on his end. The last time he kept it on after a night of partying about and zipping across the empty highways, he woke up out of breath and absolutely aching. After that, the two men realized that sleeping with a binder on was something that couldn’t fly.

Allowing his eyes to slip open, he looked at the silhouette of the younger man, backlit by the stray light that barely leaked into the bedroom. It should be silly, seeing him stretched upwards, the binder catching between his shoulders and head as he squirmed about, hair wild and sticking about. But it wasn’t, not to Dr D. It was just Show Pony, and it didn’t get much better than that.

Once it’s off and dumped on the floor, Show Pony lays back down, nose to nose with Dr D, smile curling on his lips. Red eyeshadow smeared across the bridge of his nose and the left overs of glitter glinting in his hair, his eyes shut. Feeling sleep weigh on his mind once again, Dr D rests his hand on a toned thigh, pulling him close. Thoughts on installing a zipper for the binder and picking glitter out of the blankets cross his mind, before it fades out.

And then, they both sleep.