laurabryannan: (OCs)
[personal profile] laurabryannan
Another close encounter, and Dylan is full of questions. 1315 words, mostly worksafe but a little not.

Title: Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 21
Theme: Emo techie meets MD, but not all is as it seems.
Rating: M, slash/yaoi

(Previous chapters)

Knockin' on Heaven's Door, 21
by Laura Bryannan

Raphael had promised a meeting, but it had been two days with no word, no call...nothing. Bummed, Dylan left the hospital one dreary morning oblivious to his surroundings only to be startled by a familiar, sultry voice. “Hey there, handsome. Going my way?”

“John!” Ecstatic, he lept into his lover's arms, demanding a kiss even though they were out in public.

Indulging him all too briefly, John backed away without letting go. “What would you do now if I wasn't here?” he asked.

“I'd go home and crash,” Dylan said.

Nodding, John pulled him toward the street, waving for a cab.

“It's too expensive,” Dylan protested, hanging back. “My place is far away.”

“Hush,” came the reply, as John shoved him into the waiting taxi and sat beside him. He called out Dylan's address like he lived there and Dylan leaned against his shoulder, content to be taken care of. The eyes that looked into his were as wolflit as he'd ever seen, inflaming his face and further inhibiting his already limited ability at intelligent conversation.

“I-I missed you,” he managed. The cabbie's curious eyes in the rear view mirror kept him from kissing John again, making it hard to know what to do with himself.

Smiling, John took his hand in between his own. “I've been indulging many blissful fantasies about this day,” he admitted. “Rafe returned from your meeting with quite a different attitude, you little charmer. I was surprised he let me out so easily.”

“Are you in jail or something?” Dylan asked.

“No, just an enforced vacation,” he was told with a sigh. “I'm not allowed to manifest, so I can't do my work. I'm like a beat cop consigned to a desk job until all this is sorted out. Today I'm ostensibly with Raphael, and he's willing to cover for me while....” John's impish expression finished his sentence, causing Dylan's heart to skip a beat or two.

“How much time do we have?” he asked.

“I'll take off when you go to work tonight,” came the welcome reply.

The prospect of all day with John, maybe all day in bed with John, caused Dylan such feverish commotion, he couldn't decide whether he was excited, terrified or both. But the cab ride to his apartment took way less time than he anticipated, and he hoped John didn't notice how his trembling hands fumbled the key in the door.

Once inside, John led him wordlessly down the hall into his room, pushing him caveman-like onto the bed. Pulling off Dylan's shoes while he toed out of his own, he hovered on all fours over Dylan's prone body, raking it up and down with a fiery glance that should have burnt his skin to a crisp. Growling in appreciation, John settled their hips together and gave him a smoky smile. “I don't know where to begin,” he whispered.

Welcoming the comfortable weight of John's body and the strong thigh nestled between his own, Dylan wrapped his arms around John's shoulders and pulled him into a kiss, hoping the luscious activity would still his pounding heart and quiet his nerves. It worked! By the time he realized John's hand was down his jeans, he was too horny to worry anymore.

Dylan couldn't tell which was sweeter, the tongue dancing in his mouth or the wicked rhythm of John's right hand. His hips responded in an ancient, obscene dance, the orgasm looming almost immediately. He squirmed, trying to warn, but John was aware. Breaking their kiss, he took Dylan into his mouth and brought him off that way, the vibration of his appreciative chuckling sending him blissfully out into the stratosphere.

It wasn't until he rolled over and bumped into someone that Dylan realized he'd crashed. “What about you?” he asked sleepily, “Aren't you horny?”

“I'm fine...for now,” John replied. Dylan heard him turn the page of a book and felt a gentle hand stroke his hair. “You sleep. Get all the rest you need and be strong for me later.”

Dylan took him at his word and let himself drift back into oblivion. It was deliciously comforting to have a warm body to snuggle against in bed. He'd forgotten how much. And, for the first time since their relationship began, he did not wake up alone. John smiled down at him, noticing his movement, and set down his book. “Good afternoon,” he said.

“Ummm,” Dylan replied, throwing his arm around John's waist, still not awake enough to talk.

“Do you want me to make you some coffee or tea?”

Tightening his grip on John's body, Dylan replied, “No. Don't go anywhere.”

Chuckling, John stayed put, waiting patiently until Dylan's brain turned back on. He kept his eyes closed long after he was fully awake, trying to memorize the moment, still finding it hard to believe it was actually happening. Finally, however, his genuine curiosity got the better of him. “Have you met God?” he asked. It seemed a natural question when you had an angel in your bed.

“Nope,” John replied. “As far as I can tell, the creator of this universe is not a being like you and me. I think the Buddhists got it right. They say you cannot know what God is, only what God isn't, for the creator is not of the phenomenal world, and that is all we can experience. God is what existence exists in. God created and observes existence, but is not part of it. Does that make sense?”

“Maybe,” Dylan said, trying to work it out.

“On this planet,” John continued, “the beings in charge are the archangels, and they answer to the Elohim. Above them are the....” John made a sound so foreign to Dylan's ears, his jaw dropped in wonder. “And that's all I know.”

Dylan would have preferred something more definite. “So, you're not sure God exists?”

“I didn't say that,” came the reply. “I don't know how anyone can look around creation and not see that there is intelligence behind it.” Leaning down to offer a sweet kiss, John concluded, “Utter perfection.”

“But bad shit happens all the time,” Dylan protested.

“The chaos is why it's perfect,” John told him. “The Creator put everything into motion and then set it free. It wouldn't be amusing otherwise, I imagine. Why play a game if you already know the outcome?”

For some reason, the idea pissed Dylan off. “So life is just a game?” he asked, indignant.

“All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players,” John replied. “Shakespeare said that, and he was right. What happens here cannot affect the eternal nature of your soul so, yes, you could call life a game. Or so say all the bodhis I know.”

“Bodhis?” Dylan asked grumpily.

“The bodhisattvas,” John told him. “The way-showers like Sid; the ones who voice The Teaching for a culture. I've been privileged to meet a few and they all basically say the same thing.” He grinned, pausing for dramatic effect, then sang, “All you need is love."

Dylan couldn't help smiling. John had a good voice. Still, it didn't add up. “Don't tell me John Lennon was a bodhi-whateveryoucallit.”

“No, of course not,” came the reply. “Not like Confucius or Buddha or Jesus, but The Beatles certainly had a unique role to play in this world's history.” With a quiet growl, John scooched down on the bed and grabbed him up in a bear hug, nestling their hips together seductively. “Enough talking,” he groused. “You're as bad as Rafe.”

Dylan giggled, flattered by the comparison to the dashing archangel. The powerful body in his arms was so perfectly delicious, John so forceful and demanding, he felt giddy with anticipation, ready for anything.

“I've never been inside a man before you let me in,” John admitted, voice husky against his ear, sending shivers cascading. “May I do it again?”

to be continued
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