He rolls his eyes as though the answer is obvious. “Because, dude, hugs are important. If you can’t receive a hug, maybe giving one will make you feel better in the same way.”
He’s not even being a horndog, which is disorienting. I’m over here still waiting for him to ask for a hand job, but I think he’s actually trying to find a way to give me the hug I need.
His eyes light up, and he holds up a single finger. “Little spoon!”
He smirks and flips over so that his back is facing my front, but he doesn’t touch me, instead waiting for me to make my move. I hesitate, my hands briefly floating above his body, unsure of where to land.
Okay, so…a hug. I slowly bring my arms forward and wrap them around him, tucking my knees behind his. Our bodies are practically identical, size-wise, making for a comfortable—and comforting—fit. He makes a happy noise and settles in against me. He’s not even pushing his ass against my lap, just letting me take what I need from him.
I rest my open palm against his chest and pull him in a little more closely, then hook my top leg over his and squeeze. The move nestles his ass against me, and I finally feel more stable.
His heart is banging out a rhythm underneath my palm, and he’s taking slow, deep breaths that I try to follow. I think he’s affected by my nearness, but not in the way I was expecting. There’s no joke, or swagger, or ham-handed come-on.
I search for the word as our bodies mold to one another, and it’s completely unexpected. What he’s giving me is vulnerability. That’s not a place I can get to on my own, but I’ve been there again and again on this trip.
My tears have slowed, but I’m not actively stopping them or compartmentalizing the sadness—something that would’ve been as normal as breathing for me. There’s a strange comfort in knowing that nothing of me is hidden from him.
It’s certainly less terrifying than I would have imagined.
In the comfort of holding him, I expect exhaustion to take me down quickly, but…I’m wide-awake.
And so is he. His breathing hasn’t evened out, and his heart continues to thump out a strong beat beneath my palm.
He grabs my arm as I stroke the same palm across his chest and abs. My leg is similarly moving up and down against his, my foot hooking around his ankle as I pull him closer…and he lets me. Relaxing little by little, he melts into me, filling in all the painful cracks and fissures. We expand and contract as we breathe, practically invertebrate in this ocean of a bed.
I bury my nose in his long, sun-kissed hair, inhaling his scent. And with that, a switch. A change so subtle it nearly shouts. The reality of my history has only ever been tempered by therapy, never fully eradicated. And maybe it never will be.
But the overwhelming shame, the silent, deafening thing that choked me for years…dies in his acceptance. The painful need transforms.
He exposes more of his neck, and I swallow, wanting to taste him. My breath is heavy against the delicate skin, and slowly, my lips find contact. I kiss a hot trail from his shoulders to his ears, nipping at his lobe as my palm drifts down, fingertips glancing along the length of his hard cock. There’s a chorus of tiny, involuntary sounds he’s making in the back of his throat, and his breathy panting pitches up.
“Omar,” he says, drawing out the “o” and the “a” as if my name is a plea for mercy.
“S-skin,” I stutter out, still not able to fully articulate the seismic shift between us.
He turns and faces me, his expression serious as his eyes search mine, the unspoken questions clear in the dim light. His chest rises and falls in a fast rhythm, his body golden and beautiful.
I glide my palm up his jaw as though he is the most fragile and exquisite thing I could hold in my hands. I pause for a moment, memorizing the fine details of his face. Lowering slowly, I touch my lips to his, exploring the soft plumpness. His broken groan spurs me on, and I deepen the kiss, relief and sorrow and passion racing through my veins as he kisses me back.
I hook my thumb in his sleep pants, tugging them down past his glorious ass before wiggling out of mine. His hands map my body, wonder and curiosity on his beautiful face. He snakes his arm around me, pulling us into another kiss, and my brain goes offline as his warm skin slides against mine.
None of this makes any sense.
Then again…
It makes more sense than anything I’ve ever done in my life.
I squeeze him tight to me, pushing him down against the mattress as I deepen our kiss.
His muscular body responds to every caress and touch and grab. I settle in between his thighs, our cocks perfectly aligned, and he wraps his arms around my back while his legs go around my thighs, just under my ass.
“This okay?” he asks, pulling back as he searches my eyes. “Not holding you too tight?”
I shake my head and kiss him some more. “As long as I’m on top, I’m fine.”
I smile against his lips, waiting for the quip, the joke, the ribbing. Instead, I get a soft chuckle. “I can work with that.”
13
