• Jim Morrison (IIII) •

                                    

                                          
Happy 2024, my lovelies! I swear it's not my idea to write so much for Jim Morrison, but I am not complaining! This is a request for the lovely thefeministfrog - I hope you enjoy! I have several more requests to get through (including another Jim!) and will try to get these out as soon as I can. Thank you for the interest and support in my little book - it really does mean the world :) 
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Jim was going to leave you again. He didn't have to say it, but you knew. It was all in his eyes. Those beautiful eyes. They may have been looking at you, but his focus was already out of the door and down the front path. 
You knew why, of course. It was hard not to. Although your part-time lover did not flaunt his activities outside of your bedroom, his partner in crime certainly did. And how could you compete with the star-crossed lovers? 
Not that you minded, you were always quick to remind yourself. Your bed was rarely just your own; you shared it with a myriad of beautiful faces and wandering hands that flickered and changed in the dismal light of your bulb like dreams. But perhaps it would be nice if they didn't rotate quite so regularly. 
Still, the fortuitous Romeo remained with you for that moment, balancing his head on his hand and watching his fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin of your inner forearm. As you stared up at him from where you lay on your back, you were overcome with an unnameable feeling, like drowning in air, like sinking on ground, like your tongue trying to crawl out of your throat. 
But before you could take control of your voice, the soft touch of his fingers disappeared, the silence broken by the sheets rustling and he was turning away from you, tumbling from your grasp. You couldn't hold in the sigh that fell from your lips. 
He was looking at the clock. Looking ahead to when he got to leave you. After a moment, he lay back down, resting one arm on the tan skin of his belly and casting the other just above your head on the pillow. Not just yet. 
You could feel the heaviness of his arm at the very ends of your hair, and you wondered briefly if it tickled. He didn't move it. 
Overwhelmed, you stretched up to grasp the hand that was now slack beside your head. Despite the circumstances of your clandestine trysts, Jim never denied you affection. On the contrary, he rather lavished it upon you. Touch-starved as he was, this did not surprise you, only allowed you to gorge your ego until he popped it with his restrained, quiet exit. 
Your grip was harsh, as unforgiving as his calculated mind, and the iron squeeze called his attention. First to the whitened knuckles of your hand, then to your chest, bare but for the duvet, which rose and fell as softly as a summer breeze, and finally to the side of your face. Your eyes were wide, picking out the cracks and warps of your ceiling. But your mind was busier, picking out the path he would take from your apartment door, down the corridor and back out of your life, into the unknown, into the mystic. 
"What are you thinking about?" It amazed you sometimes that he couldn't read your mind. You'd always thought if anyone would be able to... 
You discarded the interests of your ceiling to look at him, acknowledging his hoarse voice with a flutter of your eyelashes. Considering your answer, you extended your fingers to brush some rebellious, frizzy curls away, splaying your palm against his freshly revealed cheek. Keeping his laser-point stare on your eyes, he turned his head slightly to press a noiseless kiss to the lines of your palm before returning his cheek to your cradle. 
"I love you." Sometimes, if Jim was in the right mood, he'd say it back. Occasionally, he'd mean it. Occasionally, so would you. 
He narrowed his eyes at you – a flash, a flicker of tan skin against tan skin – then jolted forward to kiss you with such force you felt your heart pulse alarmingly against your rib cage.