Upon The Midnight Clear
folder
S through Z › Sentinel
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,611
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
0
Category:
S through Z › Sentinel
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,611
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Sentinel, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Upon The Midnight Clear
Disclaimer: The Sentinel is property of PetFly. I am not affiliated with them and am making no money from this piece.
UPON THE MIDNIGHT CLEAR
It's always late at night when it happens. Funny how people with normal senses forget. Something about the cloak of night makes them feel concealed, inviolate, safe.
Even people who should know better.
You know you should say something. You know it's not right to let it go on. To call it Criminal Voyeurism would not be out of place by now. It's been a very long time since any of this could be called an accident.
A very long time since your trips to the bathroom weren't carefully orchestrated. Since the timing of your presence outside the glass doors was just a mere coincidence. Since you've been able to stand outside his room in the night, with your hand down your silk shorts, without your hot, thick breath leaving steam marks on the glass.
Since you haven't lain awake, hard and aching, waiting for it to begin.
Now isn't that ironic? Say, if a cop were to arrest his self for indecency, would it prove him more honorable--or less, do you think?
Oh, the things they never taught you in the academy.
It's an hopeless impasse. Partners shall not be partners: the Chief's strictest rule. So you have a choice--by your side in the day, where you need him, or by your side at night, where you can want no one but him anymore.
From the name he calls under his breath each time, you know you aren't the only one making the choice.
So you know you should brick up the little window to his room. You know you should replace the glass French doors. You know you should sound proof the walls. You know you should remind him of all that you can see and hear and smell, even in the deepest dark. Even from the loft. Even when he thinks you are asleep.
You know you should let it go so that they will let him stay.
You know all this so clearly in the daytime, but isn't it funny how you forget? Something about the cloak of night makes you feel concealed. Inviolate. Safe.
Even you who should know better.
So instead you lie on your bed in your down-filled land of cornflower blue and cowslip yellow and you strain your senses to the limit to hear him call your name as he comes.
And you touch yourself.
And you come too.
You know you shouldn't. You know you should put a stop to this unspoken madness. But once again, you don't.
After all, who is it really hurting?
It's always late at night when it happens. Funny how people with normal senses forget. Something about the cloak of night makes them feel concealed, inviolate, safe.
Even people who should know better.
You know you should say something. You know it's not right to let it go on. To call it Criminal Voyeurism would not be out of place by now. It's been a very long time since any of this could be called an accident.
A very long time since your trips to the bathroom weren't carefully orchestrated. Since the timing of your presence outside the glass doors was just a mere coincidence. Since you've been able to stand outside his room in the night, with your hand down your silk shorts, without your hot, thick breath leaving steam marks on the glass.
Since you haven't lain awake, hard and aching, waiting for it to begin.
Now isn't that ironic? Say, if a cop were to arrest his self for indecency, would it prove him more honorable--or less, do you think?
Oh, the things they never taught you in the academy.
It's an hopeless impasse. Partners shall not be partners: the Chief's strictest rule. So you have a choice--by your side in the day, where you need him, or by your side at night, where you can want no one but him anymore.
From the name he calls under his breath each time, you know you aren't the only one making the choice.
So you know you should brick up the little window to his room. You know you should replace the glass French doors. You know you should sound proof the walls. You know you should remind him of all that you can see and hear and smell, even in the deepest dark. Even from the loft. Even when he thinks you are asleep.
You know you should let it go so that they will let him stay.
You know all this so clearly in the daytime, but isn't it funny how you forget? Something about the cloak of night makes you feel concealed. Inviolate. Safe.
Even you who should know better.
So instead you lie on your bed in your down-filled land of cornflower blue and cowslip yellow and you strain your senses to the limit to hear him call your name as he comes.
And you touch yourself.
And you come too.
You know you shouldn't. You know you should put a stop to this unspoken madness. But once again, you don't.
After all, who is it really hurting?