Work Text:
He Thinks I Don't Know
by Mr. Denny Crane's Ghostwriter
He thinks I don't know, but I do. He thinks I don't know he watches me while I'm sleeping. Half the time I'm not really asleep, but he thinks I am and so he watches. I feel his eyes on me. I feel the emotion. I hear the soft noises he makes as thoughts run through his head.
He thinks I don't know, but I do. He thinks I don't know that "I care about you" doesn't begin to describe it. That I recognize the look in his eyes whenever our eyes happen to meet. That he loves me. That he thinks something so blatantly obvious can be hidden from me.
He thinks I don't know, but I do. He thinks I don't know that sometimes when we wake up wrapped around each other, it's not by accident, but by his own design. He thinks I don't feel him creeping up to me in the middle of the night. That I don't feel a tentative hand on my arm, on my side, on my back. That I don't know when he's completely wrapped his arms around me. And he thinks I wouldn't like it. But I do.
He thinks I don't know, but I do. He thinks I don't know the feeling he harbors. That I don't share it. He thinks it's impossible for Denny Crane to love another man. He thinks these things because I tell him these things. It has to be that way, for no matter how much I feel, I don't think I could ever have sex with him. But touching him is another story.
He thinks I don't know, but I do. He thinks I don't know the thrill that comes from fingers brushing fingers. That when he touches me, it tingles. That when he surrounds me in bed, I'm content. That whenever our skin makes contact, my heart stops beating. He thinks I don't know that what we have is everything you could have in some sort of "normal" relationship, yet so much more.
He may think I don't know, but as I open my eyes to find him looking at me, I can't fathom that he doesn't see it in my eyes. I smile. I like that he thinks I don't know. And I love that I do.
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