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Intention	By : TaimaMarie Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > The Libertines Views: 958 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own nor own Carl or Pete, this is a work of fiction, and I make no money.

Chapter List
- 1-Intention
- 1
It starts out with intention. It always does. I went over to his house with the intention of checking on him. He’d spent the past couple days locked in his house, sounding short and distracted when I managed to get him on his mobile.

I crept up the creaking stairs, reeking of urine and stale alcohol. When he first moved in I’d joked that it was a crime to spill booze, that it is made to be drunk and not spilt. But then I came to realize that the people here didn’t pour it out on purpose, that it got spilled in drunken stumblings and brawls, that it tumbled from their mouths and hands as they tried to crawl away from the world into the safety of these dark little apartments.

I shifted the sack of groceries onto my other hip. I hadn’t gone out special, just picked out a few odds and ends from my own kitchen. A few packets of tea, a bottle of milk, a package or two of Pete’s favorite biscuits, a loaf of bread, and a jar of Marmite. Hardly enough to keep a man alive, but then, he never was like normal men.

I rapped sharply on his heavy door, warped by constant break ins when he’d forgotten the key. I heard a shuffling in the apartment, heard him push a few things aside and then, suddenly, the door was open. Suddenly, there was Pete.

“Biggles!” he cried happily.

“Bilo!” I cried, just as happily. To my surprise, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into his living room, snatched the bag away from me and began to rifle through it like a child with presents on Christmas day. I chuckled and sat down on his couch, grimacing when I noticed the cushions were missing.
“If you’d go out to the shops yourself…” I trailed off, realizing I didn’t want to give him a lecture.

“But I like it this way! You’re bringing me provisions on my grand adventure.”

“And what adventure would that be?”

“The adventure of a life time! I’ve even built a fort. See?” he pointed to the middle of the room, and I wondered how I’d missed it when I first came in. It was a massive structure, made purely of dusty cushions, dingy bed sheets I knew he’d inherited from his mother, and what I suspected to be a card table.

“A fort?” I repeated.

“Come inside with me. Yes,” he nodded, pouring us cups of tea and spreading a few pieces of bread with Marmite. “Come with me and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Gamely, I crawled inside. I have to admit that there was something instantly calming about being inside it. Something that reminded me vaguely of my childhood, of hiding for hours from things that I can’t even remember being afraid of. I pulled my knees to my chest and took the tea as he passed it to me.

“Isn’t it great?” he was fairly bouncing up and down.

“Of course.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes, munching on the bread and biscuits, sipping our tea. I slid across the space and sat next to him, leaned my head on his shoulder and sighed in relief.

“So what is this grand adventure?” I asked, brushing crumbs from my hands and winding my arms around his waist.

“Why, waiting for you, of course.” I melted just a little bit. “I’ve been waiting for you forever, Biggles. It took you so long to get here.”

I turned over in the cramped, airless little fortress and buried my face in his neck. He tangled his fingers in my air and pressed a kiss to the side of my head.

“Oh, Bilo.” I sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

I knew that this didn’t really make sense. He could have come and got me anytime he wanted. What had kept him here in this world of dirty sheets and pillows? Why had he thought that he had to wait for me? Had I ever really denied him anything if he just reached out and asked for it?

Then again, wasn’t that the thing about Pete? He never really reached out and asked for anything. I always knew what he wanted and rushed to give it to him.
I did not intend to straddle him, did not intend to turn that tender embrace into something deeper, something harsher. Our lips crashed together, drinking one another in as though were dying men at an oasis in the desert. I certainly did not intend to slip down his body, to undo the fly on his jeans and reach in for him.

But somewhere along the line that “not intend” became “burning desire.” I opened my mouth wide, took him in. I was instantly rewarded with his fingers massaging the back of my head, with his sigh of bliss.

“Oh, Biggles. Biggles, where have you been?”

“Maybe,” I lifted my head. “Maybe I was waiting for me too.”
- 1
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Intention