Sunday Morning Funnies

Obviously, I spaced yesterday, so I thought I'd post my usual bit of embarassing story starts today instead.

There are a number of story ideas that I've struggled to hang a plot on. One of them is this one. I've always wanted to write a story that would illustrate just how god-awful it would really be to be an empath (particualarly in response to the whole Star Trek thing where the empaths are all counselors who tell you stupid things like: right after you've thrown a plate at their head, they say, "I sense hostility.")

There was nothing worse than being an empath at a time like this, Darcy thought, looking into the smiling eyes of his lover. The noise of the coffee house drifted around them. The loud gush of the espresso machine clashed with the sudden bursts of laughter from another table. The sun streamed in from the floor-length windows and touched Alonzo's olive skin in a way that made Darcy's heart ache.

He knew things were over between them. In fact, he'd known for months. But, what ever it was that kept 'Lonzo coming back was the same thing that kept Darcy in tow. Sipping his coffee, he wished like hell he were a telepath so he would at least know why things were falling apart.

In way, he despised Alonzo for bringing them here. The Café always had a sexual overtone to it because so many of the guys came here after the bars closed specifically to cruise. The palatable lust in the air made Darcy uncomfortable. Despite the distance he tried to keep, he couldn't shield himself completely from the waves of emotion crashing around him. Watching the taut muscles of Alonzo's forearm twich as he stirred his coffee, Darcy sighed.

"Why don't you just take me home?" Darcy said over the rim of the porcelin cup, "Let's turn this serious talk into pillow talk, eh?"

Darcy didn't need to see the look in Alonzo's eyes to know his comments had not had their intended effect. "You always get this way whenever I bring you here," he growled.