14Dylan
It was almost comforting to know that Callum was afraid of losing what they had, because Dylan was terrified of that happening too. But what was happening between them was even better. They traded chaste kisses back and forth, like a potentially naughty game of pass the parcel, and cuddled each other. Not that the sofa was the ideal place for any of that. It wasn’t long enough for either of them to lay on, so their legs trailed onto the floor and they were both at an awkward angle. Dylan considered suggesting they move to his bed a dozen times or more, but he couldn’t convince himself to make the offer out loud. He didn’t want to put too much pressure on the scared, confused guy in his arms. He just hoped that each time Callum was brave enough to kiss him, a bit of that fear and confusion ebbed away.
At some point the kissing stopped, and they cuddled. Dylan’s eyes drifted shut as contented sleep overtook him.
The next thing he knew, Callum was shifting beneath him. He looked up, bleary eyed.
“Sorry,” Callum whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ve just got a crick in my back.”
Dylan sat up and stretched. He was achy too. “My sofa is not made for napping on,” he said around a yawn.
Callum chuckled. “I guess not.”
He stood and stretched his back from side to side. Dylan watched, wishing that Callum was topless—or better yet, naked—so he could see the way Tattoo Boy’s muscles worked beneath his skin. He pulled his knees to his chest, hugging them. Everything felt fragile, a fleeting moment in time that would end the second Callum walked out the door and realised that curiosity had driven him to kiss another guy, rather than true attraction.
“Oh, stop it.”
Callum turned and stared at him. Oh, fuck. Dylan had said that out loud.
“Stop what?” Callum asked.
“Not you. Me. And it’s nothing, so forget it.”
Callum’s eyebrows tugged down in a stern expression. “I’m not going to forget it.” He knelt down on the floor in front of Dylan. “Tell me?”
“Just my brain going into overdrive.” Dylan made himself smile. “Honestly, it’s nothing.”
Callum’s scowl deepened. “Please, Dylan. Talk to me.”
“My head was telling me that you’ll regret kissing me and this crazily beautiful night will come to a tearful end. My tears, not yours.”
Callum rested his chin on Dylan’s knees. His eyes were large and solemn as he stared up into Dylan’s. “I don’t regret it. Am I still scared? Yes. Am I still confused about stuff? Yes. But I don’t regret it.” His chin pressed into Dylan’s knees when he swallowed. “I’d like to kiss again. Properly.”
“You mean with tongues?”
Callum’s cheeks flushed pink. “I sound like such a child, don’t I?”
“No.” Dylan ran the backs of his fingers down Callum’s cheeks.
“I have French kissed before.”
Dylan chuckled. “Oh, I know.”
Callum looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“Dancing with her. Kissing her.”
“The girl at the club?”
Callum nodded.
“Oh, baby. You don’t need to be sorry about that. I had no claim to you.” Dylan cleared his throat. He still didn’t.
“I…felt jealous when you were dancing with that guy,” Callum admitted.
Dylan stroked his hands through Callum’s hair. “Well in that case, I’m sorry too.”
