Looking for Love
Disclaimer: Al and Sam do not belong to me, sad but true.
Summary: A lonely observer goes looking for love.
Warnings: None really. This story is rated PG for adult
themes, but no sex.
Author notes: This story is written from Al's point of
Thanks: To PJ for betaing.
Comments: Are always welcome and can be sent to
The room is like I thought it would be, old and run down. Cheap
digs that smell of sweat and sex. Just like so many others I have
been in over the years I think as I turn just in time to see the boy
who has led me here close the door behind us.
I'm glad, relieved.
It is cold out tonight, and from what I can tell, this place is
not big on creature comforts, like heating and such, but it has a bed
and it's a helluva lot better than doing this in the alley.
He, the boy that is turns the light on next and I raise a
hand to shield my eyes against the harsh reality of my surroundings.
It's far too bright considering what we've come here to do and I
really don't need to see the yellowing wallpaper and the fraying
carpet to know that they are there. My eyes recover quickly however,
and when I lower my hand again, all of my suspicions regarding my new
surroundings are confirmed.
I take a quick look around me, trying to appear casual; neither of
us speaks, but I guess there is no need now. We talked quite a bit
before he brought me here. Worked out the details of what I wanted
and how much it would cost me to get it.
He is younger than I first thought I realize as I finish checking
out his small room and I force my gaze back to him. Oh, I am sure he
is legal, but Jesus, what must he be thinking of me, looking
me up and down the way he is? I have to be old enough to be his
I look away, feeling even more restless with his eyes on me. I
don't know why I am letting it bother me. I don't care what he thinks
of me. It's not like I haven't done this a dozen times in the past
few years and I can pretty well guarantee he's seen and heard it all
before. I'm no different to any of the other men he sees in a night,
at least that's what I tell myself.
"Take your coat?" He offers in the same friendly manner he used
earlier and I look up again, understanding that the clock was ticking
and it's time to get started.
"Sure." I tell him, releasing the sash tied around my waist.
He approaches me slowly as I work myself out of my overcoat,
running his hands over his T-shirt covered chest as he moves. Putting
on a show that he's probably performed a hundred times before for
countless other men and I feel the tension that has been tugging at
me for weeks now, increase with each step he takes. I want him and
everything I know he can do for me. It's all for a price mind you,
but I don't care. The old adage that if you can't be with the one you
love, then love the one you're with seems to be the story of my life
Despite the amount of times I have done this I still feel anxious,
wired, and it takes me longer than it should to get my coat off,
especially with the boy watching my every move, but I do as he's
suggested and hand it to him when I have. Once again meeting his
eyes, I am struck by the youthfulness of his face. I don't know what
his name is and he didn't give it. He can't be more than twenty
years old if he's a day. I can't call him kid though, it's too much a
reminder of Sam.
Sure I think about Sam, it's difficult not to. He doesn't
remember what it was like when we were together, but I do. Sometimes
I even let myself imagine him holding me at night, but not here. Not
tonight. Not when I'm with someone else. It wouldn't be right. Sam
will come home one of these days and I'll put all of this behind me.
For now though, I do what I need to, to keep myself going.
Wordlessly the boy takes my coat and folds it over his arm,
smoothing the fabric carefully before he looks back up at me. I know
the routine and I reach for my wallet next, removing the agreed
amount and handing it over as well. He says thanks while he's
counting it and I smile. It's all there but who am I to judge.
As soon as he's satisfied that I haven't tried to rip him off, he
stuffs the money I have given him into the back pocket of his jeans
and then crosses the room to the door, hanging my coat on the back of
it. When he turns around again it's down to business. As it should
be, I tell myself. This is my fantasy not his.
Condoms are produced and I undress, sitting on the edge of the bed
while I watch him do the same. He's lean, a little underweight
perhaps but not skinny. The way Sam used to look when we first met I
think and then I chide myself for doing so.
He turns the light off again before he approaches me and I am very
grateful that he does. It's easier to pretend, to imagine the hands
touching you belong to a lover when it is dark and you can't see
I see people everyday. I see Sam everyday, but no one touches me.
That is what I miss most, someone to love me.
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