The place between awake and asleep is a vulnerable world. It's easy to be accosted by all manner of dreams, illicit and forbidden. They swoop in and claw you apart, or they sidle up, sweet and seductive, like the curl of smoke from the finest joint, luring you in. But more often they are like absinthe, teasing you with desire and hope, but never quite what you'd believed, and always letting you down.

Between awake and asleep, the memories seep in. The sound of Gale's moan as you push into him, the clench of his hot ass around your cock, and the look in his eyes--broken, terrified. And there it is--the taste of him on your tongue, the trembling of his legs as you hold him open, the scrambling of his hands in your hair, pulling and pushing, giving the eternally mixed message of yes and no.

While you're held hostage by not-awake, unable to defend yourself from the pain, your mind supplies you with an early image. Gale on the sofa of the old apartment, stoned, his jeans open--and you had no idea when he'd done that. He was holding his cock and laughing. "Do you wanna suck it, Randy?"

It'd been the first time and you remember how you slid to your knees, mouth already wet and open, while Gale spread his legs for you to move between. And sometimes you want to remind him of this when he's looking at you like you're a demon, and he's coming in your mouth with an expression of terror on his face. You want to remind him that it had been him with his cock in his hand, him who spread his legs, and him who held your face to his dick after he came, petting your hair and muttering words of affection.

He should have known. He was older than you and he should have known that it was never a simple orgasm. He should have realized that he'd want more, and again and again, and that somewhere along the way he'd feel something for you, and then he'd have to run. He should have seen it all beforehand, and left you alone. Sometimes, when you're caught in this land between asleep and awake you hate him for that more than for anything else.

That's when the clawing memories swoop in and tear you apart. Gale biting his lip and looking ashamed for only a moment before turning tail and rabbiting off to New York with a woman who looked like wilderness. The silent accusation in his eyes when he returned, refusing to speak of her, and you took him on your sofa--biting and clawing--trying to mark him and show him that you're wild, too. Only to find him gone the next morning, just like always, not even a note or a phone call. Absolute and utter silence, until you see him on the set, and then he's laughing and joking like you're nothing but friends, like he doesn't want you to the very core of his being. Like he isn't going to come back for more.

And then there's Simon, whose presence also visits you in this near dreamscape. You remember the first time you met him--the heady thrill of someone who wanted more than just a fuck, more than just a screw. And when you say you aren't Justin, sometimes it's because you really think you might be. When your cock is deep in Gale's ass, and he begging for more, you know that once you've come it's going to end the same way: he'll leave and then he'll come back. You'll feel like a whore, ruled by your lusts. But you'll do it again; you do it every goddamn time.

Simon--it isn't like he doesn't know. He knows. You see it in his eyes when he returns from New York, weary from a round of meetings and missing you. Despite your best efforts, despite the laundry you've done, the vacuuming, and the spray of air freshener to banish the lingering scent of your guilt, he knows and he's going to let it slide. Again. Because he loves you. And you love him--you do. You really do. But he's not the only one you love, and he's definitely not the only one you want.

It makes you sick that you do this. In the place between asleep and awake you're honest with yourself, and you know the next time Simon leaves for New York, the phone will be in your hand and you'll be calling Gale. You hate that you don't even want to stop.

The swirl of marijuana smoke trickles into your almost sleeping brain and the sensation of sex is overwhelming. Here it's like liquid and it flows over you effortlessly. The thick, slow way Gale enters you, the noise of surprise he makes when you clench around him. The way he slams into you at the end, gripping your shoulders or your thighs with rough, careless fingers, leaving bruises that you don't try to hide. The fire in his eyes when he comes, just before he throws his head back and screams, more rage than ecstasy. And the way he pulls out roughly, tossing the condom aside, and reaching for his jeans. He's always quick to leave after he's been inside you, slamming the door, leaving you shaking and alone.

He seems to think that you're to blame when you're the one to fuck him. It's a logic you don't understand, but you feel that it's true. When he's on top, fucking you without gentleness, he hates himself, but you prefer it that way. When you're inside of him, it feels like he hates you, and it makes you want to cry. When he leaves, sometimes you do.

There will be a day, and that day will be soon, when his desire for what pulls him away will finally be more than what he feels for you.

That's the absinthe of it all--the disappointment. Because no matter how good it is, how beautiful, or gentle you make it, he always leaves. There have been times, especially recently, when he's seemed hesitant, fallen asleep after, looked as though he might stay. He cried when you last fucked him and you touched his tears, using them to slick your hand when you jerked him off. You'd thought it meant something, but you woke up alone with rain pouring down and the fire out, only the come on the sofa to prove he'd been there.

Strange how you feel gutted by it all over again. Amazing the number of times you can rise from the dead.

But it can't last, this vulnerable world between awake and asleep; a wild land of vicious carrion birds, sweet marijuana memories, and bitter absinthe disappointment. You will wake up. You will move on. You'll walk into a future without him. Because that is the nature of endings.

An ending that he wants more than you.