To the Moon and Back

by N.R. Walker

At bedtime, Toby opted to sleep in his own bed. For the sake of his sanity. For his job. He ignored the flinch of Gideon’s eyes, the way he tried to hide his surprise and hurt. He lay there, staring at his ceiling for what felt like hours, any hopes of sleep long gone, replaced with images of Gideon’s smile, his eyes, his moustache. The warmth and surety of every brush of fingers, the way that made Toby feel. He wanted to know what he felt like against him. He wanted to know what he kissed like. God, what he would do to know how Gideon kissed. Toby was sure Gideon would be a great kisser. He wanted to know what that moustache felt like . . . Stop thinking about it, Toby, and go to sleep. But he had no hope of sleeping at all. And just after one o’clock in the morning, he sat on the edge of his bed in the dark, mad at himself for what he was about to do.