"In two hundred meters you have reached your destination" - P12 - (Oneshot) Title: "In two hundred meters you have reached your destination"
Author: ![[info]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_sD7ErxI1-Uv69y9povIPOAiMg8ibX4SbngVwXsMkbpt7ieB2qt_03_5jruxJUlnCm6C9hrMsrPCNwaXUuJ4M4dEIYFTEj0IMts0xDVFjPC-oZIbQ=s0-d)
unspoiled Rating: P12
Warnings / Genre: Fluff ...?
Summary: The declaration of love belongs to the happy ending. One knows. In Bill's personal love story it was in early, though here and whether its happy ending is really happy, not even he knows himself
Disclaimer: include Messrs. K itself
You go to the middle of the road, But that's OK. There is not conductive strip and the last car before you come to meet about half an hour. The sun was hiding behind the misty autumn weather, it probably will rain soon. but never mind. You have forgotten your mp3 player and listen to radio have a bad program - no matter. According to the navigation unit you are in exactly twenty-three minutes at your target and you go too fast, because it draws up a formal forward. And because the speed blows away the doubts that these stupid doubts that you always have. That could have changed a bit. That is nothing like before. Yet you know perfectly well that nothing changes. The whole world is falling every day forward, but between you, everything remains the same. As God would have you equipped only with a stand-by button.
Nine months were you separated from him. Nine months, two days, seven hours and twenty minutes now. Being separated is the wrong word. You did not see. Heard you have it very well. On the phone, over Skype and via voicemail. You've each other inundated with SMS, sent each other pictures of each matter how trivial experience, mailboxes and zugespamt you all in all, despite the several thousand kilometers longer talk to each other than with all the local people together.
nine months and only nineteen minutes, you switch down a gear in the final turn it up almost pulled too far toward the ditch. Nineteen minutes. You solve your hands off the steering wheel and cling on tight again. The leather is very sticky with your wet fingers. On the radio they play for a change, for once something that can be called music, and you nod to the beat and lick you on the lips.
Fifty-five, fifty-six, seven, eight, neunundfünzig, eighteen minutes. And a tree there in the curve, damn it. You laugh you out of yourself, as you tear around the steering wheel. Like a novice driver who thinks he is the absolute Pro, only to stick to one fine morning, with its 3 Series on a wall. Maybe you should still keep to the speed limit. Tom will kill you if you kill yourself.
you into yourself grinning, grins at sixteen minutes it wider, and take driving seriously now. Eyes on the road, cars on the right track, switching instead of braking. In addition, you should fold it down the sun visor, as deep as the sun was in place. If they between the clouds come and you see nothing - Tom would freak out. Probably even throw a chair at you. Really funny how much you can amuse yourself with the idea, like a furious Tom starts with a chair on your flower-decked coffin. Too bad that you can not make up your mind whether you prefer a wooden or a glass coffin like. Would certainly have more style glass - fifteen minutes, but you are not sure if you all your long funerals mourners filled a deeply troubled hypocrites want to be stared at. On the other hand: dog shit light brown oak does not. If anything, even mahogany. Or rosewood? Can you do carpentry, rosewood coffins at all? And anyway, why not Italian marble. Could however be a bit difficult. And against massive stone Tom had a Lappish chair no chance.
Fourteen minutes. The radio host says to the next track and schmalzt while his colleague on the way full, when you ask yourself every time, if radio people get extra pain and suffering from the transmitter for this affection prostitution, or restricted only radio people have an inherently incestuous fringe group within which quadrupled the potential of the flat joke gene with each generation.
"Oh, thank you, Martin", breathed back colleague freely translated by
"Fuck you, asshole" . What makes you automatically think of Hayden, whether you like it or not. The sweet Hayden with intriguing green eyes, you have insured his love so often that you'd most like him at the end puked at his feet. After her first landed in the bed waiting, he still has herumgedruckst. That he did not know what he should say so, but ...
You interrupted him, and meant, you certainly nothing you would imagine a number. He had been relieved. A week later, he had missed you. Snuggle want. Cuddling. Hug! An adult man with a college degree and good Manager position you had sent messages with smiley faces and expressions of love-have-expected, while serious, would you bring up all excited and squeak. You had long and hard at this affront and complained about Tom Tom had growled and swallowed - he had been busy with a piece of pizza - and had asked what you wanted then. "Fuck." "Hm Yes. Mach-circuit. Or whatever. "And in the end you have followed this advice, too. Not immediately, Hayden was to have been too good, but at some point up the inevitable Löffelchenversuche had to be very annoyed.
ten minutes. Sometimes it makes you worry that you almost by the venerable age forty-two Years still can claim no relationship. Other men of your age group had already been married twice and divorced and are celebrating with her at least ten years younger secretary their midlife crisis. And you? You had Onenightstand and affairs in every shape and color. You are more than once been "the Other" and you have up-flown kitsch in Overloaded fantasies with men whom you have actually not even shake his hand. You were the one who is two down and three tracks, and love confessions is usually "I think we should see about that any more" accepted. From your own site. Only once has someone left you and you have been beside yourself with anger.
nine minutes. Somehow stimulates up this whole non-relationship relationship crate so on much that you almost forget your anticipation for Tom. Tom would have to be somebody else than your brother and all was well. You would you by any stupid random hit in a coffee shop or maybe even in the first class have been sitting next to each other and you were now on the way to your husband, kiss you and pull into the bedroom would be if you had arrived. Maybe you would not even make it up the stairs. Eight minutes. You could have sex with someone you love. Apparently the supposed to be great.
"And let's go your evening with a special song that the Christian was wanted for his Mausi ", grins the moderator and you ask yourself the Mausi ago as a young, but honest housewife, at home is just at the ironing board and with delight almost a hole burns in Tom's office shirt. Sickening. You switched to test, state only when classical radio, then hit the hell and in the end again at Mausi and the special title.
eight minutes. Bemused, you cross-eyed at the screen and you must realize that you're lying now only a few km / h above the permitted speed, making the navigation at your time of arrival has been pushed back. With an irritated snort you switch the radio completely out and hit the accelerator. leaps around
When the display for seven minutes, you relax a bit. Tom waits certainly. He will make the dog very nervous and explain to them in the most beautiful baby accent that is equivalent to the dad. And when it rings in six minutes, Tom will not come down the stairs, the dogs because he is so excited about the crowd, barking and running high jump at the front door. And yet when he finally opens the door, the dogs will run up to the winds and at some point after five minutes, pick your Tom remains of the mat and hug you and pat on the back. You will go into the house and grin at you dumb and speak always start at the same time. But never mind, the dogs will be any kind of entertainment anyway too loud.
four minutes. "How is Hayden?" Tom will ask and you will come to him on the canvas, where he makes coffee, and push your hips against his. Tom is knowing growl and you will go drink coffee and walk with the dogs. You're going to tell all the news that you know by heart, and when you are back, you'll call your mother and tell her that you came home safely.
three minutes. You will cook and eat drink beer from the bottle. Later there will be chips and more beer and one each Dog instead of a sofa cover and you will long to hold until you can hardly speak for weariness. You're going to lean on Tom's shoulder and he will grin. He will whisper to you that you belong strongly to bed and break free after a long sleepy murmur of protest from his cushions your hand position, get up and pull you into his arms.
two minutes. You will want to fall asleep leaning prefer standing and on his chest. She is so warm and soft and somehow, despite the muscles rises and falls in the same cycle as yours. Tom will act as if he would seriously consider to take up the bedroom, and take you to laugh. On the way up you'll only go to Häflte itself. You will be "Thank you, darling," and he will whisper, "But more and yet, Mausi" say.
a minute. He will bring thee to your door and tell you good night like we do with young children. Then you will go to sleep, you in your bed, and he in his.
