She is warm against me, pliant and soft, and definitely not sleeping. I imagine the vibrations between us are what it would feel like if humans could actually purr.

"That was definitely not normal," she murmurs.

I smile against her hair. "It could be."

She makes a noise and nestles back closer to me. "I’m tempted."

"You're welcome." It's hard to keep the preening sense of pride out of my voice. I had no fucking clue if what I'd tried was going to work but apparently, it worked like a goddamned charm.

I pull her closer, sliding my arms around her and feeling her breath rise and fall against my chest.

"Thank you for checking on me tonight," she whispers. "And not being mad."

"Worried is a better description." I nuzzle her neck. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"So how did you get deeper into yoga? I know guys that do it but they swear it's just about the fitness. For you, it seems like it's more than that."

She makes a noise that sounds like a laugh. "Well, when I first started yoga, it was really just to try to stop feeling like shit all the time. It helps my shoulder not ache all the time and my back. But we had one instructor who started talking about the sutras and how yoga was more than just exercise and wellness."

I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of her voice vibrating through my chest and through my entire body. "So you started to learn more."

I remember her being hungry to learn and to be challenged when we were in the Army together. She was always volunteering for things, trying new fitness trends.

"I did. It felt…like I was connecting with something when I practiced. I started going deeper and learned about breathing and meditation and right living. There’s actually eight limbs of yoga." Her fingers tighten over mine.

I lift her wrist, tracing the symbol just behind her palm. "Is this part of it? Your practice?"

"This is the om symbol. I debated a long time about adding it to my body. I didn't want to just slap on a pretty symbol and I was afraid of being called out for cultural appropriation."

"Use smaller words."

"There's a strong argument that Western Yoga is stealing Hindu traditions and stripping them of their meaning and then making a shitload of money off of them. Which is true, in a lot of ways. Yoga is tied to India and Hindu tradition and culture. But you get over here and you've got these fitness instructors who ignore all of that and say, ‘oh it's just exercise, it's meaningless.’" She takes a deep breath. "And that's really bullshit. It's fundamentally dishonest." Another deep breath. "So anyway, I'm trying to be respectful in my practice and honor the tradition that it comes from because yoga… This sounds super cheesy but it really saved me."

Her body tenses as she talks. It's as if a physical barrier slides between our bodies, the warmth and vibration gone. I roll then, slipping between her thighs and cupping her face. "I don't care what you've done or who you've prayed to. If it helps you get back to being fully you, that's all that matters. And if anyone judges you for that, they're not worth your time or energy."

She shifts, wrapping her legs around my hips. "Were you always like this and I just missed it?"

"You were too busy gripping the edge of the bunkers we snuck into to notice how awesome I was." She laughs and I nibble on the edges of her lips. "But I like to think I'm a bit improved over the previous edition."

I cup her face. "Have you gotten your sleep problem figured out?"

"Not really. I'm waiting for an appointment at the VA that I'm likely to never get." She scrapes her fingers over my chest. I love watching the ink on her arms move with her. "What about you?"

"I should sleep tonight."

She swallows and presses her lips against the notch at the bottom of my throat. "Will you stay?"

"I'd like to. Will it keep you awake?"

"No. I don't think so." She arches against me where I'm half erect and nestled in the moist heat between her thighs. "This might make it tough to sleep, though."

I slip against her heat, my cock hardening with the intense friction. "Now look what you've done."

"Is that for me?" She lifts her hips and draws me deep inside her. She's tight and warm and impossibly wet, the sensation electric and pure. She clenches herself around me and I damn near drop dead from the pleasure. "Jesus, do that again."

She does, rocking against me as she urges me to move, to slide deeper into her, to time my strokes to build the pleasure between us. She is vibration and energy and sexual heat. She is my everything.

She just doesn't know it yet.

I close my eyes, dragging my teeth over her ear as I push deeper into her, chasing the pleasure with every stroke.

Knowing it's temporary. Knowing I have to come clean with her at some point.

And not caring as the climax bursts behind my eyes, blinding in its intensity.

He is still in bed when I wake up. His arms are tight around me, his body rough and warm and solid and real.

I've slept.

I never appreciated sleep as much as I did when I stopped getting it. And as much as I credit yoga with saving me, it doesn't always help when it comes to sleep. I wish it did.

I don't move for a long moment, content to lie there in Deacon's arms and feel the heat from his body seep into mine, the beat of his heart pulse against my skin.

I'm okay. For now. I've managed to sleep. Even if it's only been for a few hours, it's better than nothing.

I really don't want to get out of this warm cocoon. I close my eyes and just lie still. Savoring the sensation of just being.

I still have to get my meds taken care of.

I guess I could try to tackle that problem again but I'm really not up for the ass pain of dealing with the VA.

I slip from his arms and pad into my tiny kitchen. It's really sad how much I don't cook. My kitchen has vegetarian meals in the freezer, and a container of milk in the fridge that I'm reasonably certain is expired.

I'm such a bachelor.

I glance over at the tiny figurine of Ganesh on my counter, a smile spreading over my lips. I lift him into my hands. He's pure white, the details painted in gold and red and turquoise. His trunk twists to the left, one palm holding his broken tusk as a pencil.

I stroke his smooth head. It really is funny how the universe works. I'm constantly amazed at those who say they don't believe in a higher power. I don't know what's out there but I know that yoga brought me out of the dark.

If you start really thinking about the obstacles in your life, it's pretty powerful what happens when you can let go of them.

I have to find the proper placement for the statue. I know he's not supposed to go in the bedroom unless you can’t avoid it. I settle on the window in the northeast corner of my apartment, where he can watch over everything.

I hear Deacon a moment before I feel his arms around my waist, his lips pressed to one shoulder. "Found him a home?"

I make a noise. "I can't explain it but it feels like something that was missing isn't anymore."

"I'm really glad you like him."

I turn in his arms, pressing my lips to the base of his throat. "Did you sleep?"

"Yeah. A couple of hours at least." He presses his lips to my hair. "Thank you for letting me stay."

"Thank you for letting me borrow your penis."

He laughs out loud, his body shaking into mine. "You're welcome to that any time."

"So listen, I'm getting ready to head to yoga. You can stay here if you want while I'm gone."

He draws me close, his arms wrapping tight around me. "Want some company?"

I lean back to look up at him, skeptical of his offer. "Have you ever done yoga?"

"Once. Enough to know what downward dog was when you were doing it in the basement the other day."

"You were watching me?"

"Maybe. But I had to stop because it was turning me on."

My lips twitch. "Which part?"

"The part where your glorious ass was in the air and all I could think about was standing behind you and…well, you probably get the idea."

Heat flashes between my thighs. God but I'm so needy these days. I rub my hips against his. "That probably wouldn't work unless I had really, really strong shoulders to hold myself up."

He lifts one eyebrow, his lips parted. His breath is suddenly ragged.

"You're thinking about that right now, aren't you?" I whisper.

I can feel his response pressing against my belly. He leans in, nipping at my earlobe instead. "I can't seem to get enough of you."

I tip my head, offering myself to him. "There's another pose we could try, though, that would probably work."

"You have my attention." His voice is guttural, his cock hard against my belly.

I back away from him slowly, toward the doorway to my bedroom, stripping my T-shirt over my head and dropping my panties.

I turn away from him, kneeling on the edge of my bed, watching his reaction over my shoulder.

Watching his hand slide down his belly to grip his cock beneath his boxers. Watching him stroke himself as he watches me.

I could watch his hand play over his cock for hours. The way he grips it hard, squeezing. Stroking.

I lower myself onto my knees, arching my hips and stretching my arms out in front of me, still managing to twist enough to watch him watching me.

My heat is exposed to him, open and inviting.

Still he stands there, stroking himself. Making me wait.

I reach back between my thighs, slipping my fingers through my heat. My body is ignited, an electric fire of pure sensation as I touch myself.

His stroke quickens.

I slip a single finger inside of myself. The pressure is slight, teasing, not filling me the way I want him to. But I continue, hoping he'll take the invitation.

Hoping he'll fill me and take his pleasure with me.

Frustration tightens in my belly. I'm close. I want to come with him inside me.

"Please, Deacon."

And he finally moves. Pressing against me where I'm sensitive and primed for him. Drawing my hips back as he fills me.

And I shatter with him as he slides into me. A perfect union.

Complete.