tommy intends to stay still despite the order to move and, indeed, he does for as long as he is able, his body still propped on its side and hand still clutching the cracked binding of his book, but alfie’s body is imposing; inevitable. he cannot help it, nor does he think much, when he shifts to allow their shape to take, his head lifting from the pillow for a moment before settling back down higher now, the plushness now distorted with muscle, with alfie’s scent of taurine and sweat . ❝ book , ❞ he says, knowing that alfie knows, and he flips the front cover closed over the thumb keeping his place. the title, blood meridian, shows from the cracked cover for a moment before he flips it back to the page he was on, though he will not be able to follow as closely.
❝ it’s set in the west,” he says. this is a simplification, and he feels the same twinge of silliness one is wont to when describing what is difficult to describe. he buries this down quick. ❝ … in america. ❞ he nestles his head against his lumping pillow and turns the page. ❝ there’s a gang of scalp - hunters. you would like it . ❞ though tommy is not entirely sure he does – at least not yet – but he’d grabbed it in protest when all the library books ada suggested sounded like a bunch of old women sitting around, drinking tea, and wishing to be kissing each other instead of their husbands. he couldn’t have that. not without alfie bringing it up whatever chance he got.
the pillow fabric is cool against his skin. tommy quietly adjusts, as tommy - the silly boy - is so driven to do. BOOK . alfie wrinkles his sweat-licked nose, pressing it into the softest hollow at the meeting of tommy’s hairline and neck. this all before he pulls the quilt up over them both, for his own comfort, to his neck. he sticks one large calf out from under the blanket and back over his other leg. one leg in blanket, one out and over - a habit belonging only to a madman willing to embrace what it is that’s good in life. ❛ american fiction. ❜ alfie nods, lifting his bull-like neck and plopping his head down on tommy’s neck fully, eking a glance for himself of the book.
❛ full of fucking nonces and turkeys then. ❜ he knows american fiction, knows what it entails : gay horse men and fowl. the big hairy cows. he pauses. ❛ scalp hunters, eh ? fucking love ‘em, mate. there been much scalpin’ yet, then ? you readin’ this for market research ? ❜ a balled fist lands around tommy’s chest, and alfie presses himself tightly against tommy, suffocatingly close. TELL ME TO MOVE , I DARE YOU .
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