....and his head and shoulders were on the bed next to the boy who had captured his heart like cupped hands would capture a butterfly, and had never, ever clutched him too tight and never let him go.
Amy LaneOh gods... oh gods... I had hurt him... so many times, I had hurt him. By trying to hurt myself, I had hurt him. By trying to push him away, I had hurt him. Every time I opened my mouth and belittled myself with my "turns of rough poetry", I had sliced his heart as fine as my wrists. I did not know why he loved me as he did. I might never know. But as I stood there and held him, my back nagging at me and my leg screaming in protest, I realized that the least I could do was welcome his love with an open heart. And part of doing that was loving myself enough to want to live.
Amy LaneOkay," Crick said, rolling his eyes. "I give. Which part of my body is more interesting than my ass?"
Deacon rewarded his obtuseness with a smack to the head. "Your heart, you fuckin' moron...
I'm still not a god," he said apologetically. Crick stood behind him and pulled his shoulders back against that wide, strong chest.
"Better than a god," Crick murmured. "You're the reason to have faith.
This time, he fumbled for Collin's hand in the elevator. He still felt like a thief, there was no denying it, but sometimes thieves stole things because they needed them to live.
Amy LaneHow’re the cats?” he asked, smiling a little. He did miss Angel Marie. Hell, he missed them all.
“Feral,” Benny sniffed. “And horny. Every time one of us walks in, they all start humping our shoes.”
“They’re fixed,” Shane mumbled, but the conversation was oddly reassuring. It sounded normal, and like home.
“Tell that to the big fuzzy brown one….”
“Orlando Bloom?”
“Yeah, whatever. Last time I was there that damned animal violated my knitting.”
Shane lost a battle with a laugh and then whined because it hurt his ribs.
“Violated?”
[...]
“Let’s just say that wool is no longer virgin,” she quipped dryly, and Shane’s chest shook.
Turns out that sometimes, faith and a sense of humor really can be all you need.
Amy Lane...she often had a temper that made a PMS-ing harpy going into nicotine withdrawal look like a chubby fuzzy bunny that burped daisies and shot rainbows out its ass.
Amy Lane„Like‟ is a mild sort of word for what Con and I have,” Collin replied, leaning forward to touch noses with the big doofus. Constantine half-closed his eyes and twitched his whiskers back. “I‟d go with the deeply twisted interpersonal relationship that a hero has for his nemesis, sort of a Batman/Joker thing, if the Joker suddenly started going down on Batman like a porn-star on Viagra.”
Jeff looked at him in alarm. “Jesus, Sparky, stop touching my cat!
I was terrified of my weakness, of my sharp tongue, of
my every flaw. I was terrified that this moment, my chance to
live in happiness for however short a time we may have had,
would be ruined because I was simply not carved out of the
same wood as happiness, and that my grain was too twisted
to ever take its form.
Stichwörter: fear happiness love knife
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