“Is there anything special you want me to do when you need attention?”
“Uh.”That sound keeps escaping me.“No.I don’t know.Nobody’s ever asked me.”
“Do you still want some attention?”
My face is hot, and I can’t say it.Saying it would be too much.But I nod.
His smile grows, and he touches my cheek, and he says, “I can do that.”
Sammy’s idea of giving me attention is a shower back at my apartment.Together.We take our time, and he’s touching me constantly, watching me with those dark eyes.It’s not like we haven’t touched before.It’s not like we haven’t been naked before.And it’s not like Sammy hasn’t looked before.But it’s different this time, somehow.It’s different when we stand there, his arms around my neck, skin slick against mine, the spray needling us, and he’s touching his mouth to my shoulder over and over again in little angel kisses.
And the next day, I decide it’s time.
It’s a Friday.I call Robin and let him know I won’t be coming into WISP tonight.Robin doesn’t like that, but since I’m the boss—or what passes for one—he doesn’t have much of a choice.I text Sammy and ask him if he wants to watch a movie tonight, and big surprise, the answer is yes.After work, I clean up the apartment, not that it’s dirty, but it doesn’t hurt to straighten up.And then I do another kind of cleaning up.It’s the same principle—it doesn’t hurt to make sure everything is spic and span.I shower, and I’m in a pair of joggers and a tee when Sam knocks on the door.
He’s in his “staples”—the quality shorts, the expensive-and-great-fitting tee, and he smells like a spring night: cool air, the crabapples in bloom, the heat rising off his skin.I give him a kiss at the door, and we end up on the sofa, and at first, it’s like every other time we’ve gotten together.He asks me about my day, and I tell him the little stuff, about serving a warrant, about watching Norman and Gross pick over the pastries Ruthie Bates brought in, about a meth lab Palomo and I are still trying to wrap up.He tells me about his day too—and a day on patrol is always wild, so I get to hear about the guy with his shorts around his ankles who was doing a one-man “Chicken March” down the middle of the street in Smithfield.And then I grab a blanket for us to share, and I turn down the lights, and we start the movie.
I don’t even know what it is.Something with lasers.Sammy picks it.
At first, I’m leaning against him: contact, but casual.A little too much for regular straight guys, but it’s not like I’m in his lap.But as the movie goes on, I snuggle into his chest.He’s such a gentleman that he pats my shoulder and puts his arm on the back of the sofa like he’s trying to get comfortable without being in my way.So, I take matters into my own hands and move his arm so it’s wrapped around me, and he’s holding me against his chest.
When I look up, his eyes have a question, but he seems okay, and so we stay like that.He’s warm.I like how his chest rises and falls when he breathes.
His breathing stays even when I put my hand on his bare knee, but there’s a hitch when I slide my fingers up under the shorts.He’s wearing trunks again, and I find the elastic band where it wraps around his thigh, and that seems like a good stopping point, so I keep my hand there, playing with his underwear.He starts to get hard.He shifts.He spreads his legs, and then maybe he thinks that’s too much because he tries to close them again.I don’t do anything except keep playing with that elastic band high on his thigh.They’re shooting a lot of lasers in the movie.
After I’ve riled him up for a while, I slip my hand out of his shorts.And then I touch his dick.This is still high-school stuff, over-the-clothes stuff, but he makes a little noise—kind of distressed, because he’s been waiting for it, and it’s not enough.He opens his legs again.But I’m not mashing him or rubbing him or anything.I have my hand there.Enough pressure that he can’t miss it.When he moves, he gets a little stimulation, and if it weren’t so hot, it would be funny how Sammy keeps trying to find the right spot—like if he humps my hand enough times, I’ll get the clue and jerk him off.
There’s an explosion on TV, but Sammy doesn’t even seem to see it.
Finally he says, “What are you doing?”
“Huh?”
He actually licks his lips.“What are you—what’s going on?”
“We’re watching a movie.”
The helplessness and frustration on his face are so cute that I almost give in.But instead, I turn back to the TV like this is the best movie I’ve ever seen.
And finally—finally—I start to move my hand.
He groans.
I shush him and say, “I can’t hear.”
His head flops back.His chest is rising and falling faster.The arm holding me against him tightens like he’s trying to keep from falling apart.Not that I’m going to let that happen.It’d be hot, for sure.But I’ve got other plans for that dick tonight.
And then Sam crosses some invisible line.His head snaps up, and he starts kissing my neck.
“Knock it off,” I say, laughing.“We’re watching a movie.”
“Like hell,” Sammy says between kisses.He’s got his hand up my shirt now, caressing my chest, and he switches from my neck to my ear, and all of a sudden, it’s hard to focus on teasing him because we’ve done this enough times that he knows how to flip all my switches.
He’s so good at it that in a few seconds, he’s got me turned out of my shirt and lying down on the sofa, and he’s on top of me, kissing his way down my body, stopping to lick and pinch my nipples, while more things explode on TV.
When he starts dragging off my joggers, I say, “Not here.”
He leans back.He doesn’t frown, but there’s a little worry line in his forehead, because it’s never matteredwherebefore.
