“Shh,” Gerrick purrs. Trin stares at the window, the darkness out there a lighter shade than the black of his room, and listens to the gunner’s breath taper off into snores.
* * * *
A few hours later, when a cottony grey dawn presses against the window, Trin wakes up to the quiet latch of the door closing behind the gunner. He lies there for a moment, still feeling the ghost of Gerrick’s body tight against his. He’s decided he likes waking up with another.
Though it’s still early, he slips from between the sheets and stretches in the cool morning air. Before the sun rises, his room is almost chilly, the wasteland sun tempered by the night. Chilly enough to pimple his arms, at any rate, and he rubs the bumps away. Then he strips the pallet, using the sheets to wipe off the sticky c*m tha
