“How’s this?” I ask, my lips hovering just above his skin along his jawline. In response, he turns slowly onto his side, hooking his leg around my thighs to give me room to keep touching him, and his mouth finds mine. His lips are as warm as his skin and so soft and pliable.
We kiss more and touch more, all with this sensual, slow tenderness. When he finally pulls back from our kiss, his cheeks are flushed, and he’s breathing heavily. He closes his eyes and falls onto his back on the bed again.
“Alex,” he says, and this time, there’s a neediness to his voice. “Please...”
“Mmm.” I caress up to his hip and then his chest and neck and chin until I’m cupping his cheek in my hand, and I turn his face so he’s looking at me. I lower my mouth and kiss him again, softly. “You’re so beautiful,” I whisper against his lips before I start downward one more time, trailing my tongue along his skin as I go.
He whimpers, and his fingers thread into my hair as he gently encourages me lower. “I... I want...”
“Shh, I’ve got you.”
He shudders and lets out another quiet breath, and I repositionmyself between his legs and continue kissing down his stomach. It’s still slow and sensual, even as I wrap my hand around his shaft and take him into my mouth—just the tip at first. I suck gently, tasting him, and then flatten my tongue down along his slit and tease a low moan out of him. And it stays slow and sensual, even as I take him in all the way to the back of my throat.
I slide up and down his length again and again, but it’s not fast or hard or with any urgency at all. And that’s how he wants it now—a slow build to the edge. His breathing changes with each bob of my head, and the next time his cock hits the back of my throat, he makes a small sound, like another whimper. He stops stroking my hair, and his hands find my shoulders just before his cock starts pulsing with his release.
I swallow everything he gives me. Then I let him slip from my mouth, and I push myself up on the bed to lie next to him, gathering him up in my arms. He’s warm and soft and feels weak and tired as I hold him, and yet, he clings to me and frames my face and then kisses my mouth.
“I love you,” I whisper when he pulls back, burying his head down into the crook of my shoulder. He nods into me and closes his eyes, quiet again as we lie there.
Mornings like this, moments like this, they feel comfortable, deep, important. He asked me once if it bothered me that sometimes—that on mornings like this—he’s unable to reciprocate, to make me come how I made him come. And I remember telling him no, it didn’t bother me in the slightest and that I was glad he trusted me enough to let me love him like this.
Outside, the sunlight grows stronger, peeking in around the edges of the curtains on the window, and sounds of a busy Tuesday morning in downtown San Jose begin trickling in. Footsteps from the apartment above us, cars driving along Santa Clara Street, the occasional honk of a horn. But he doesn’t move, and so I don’t,either.
“What time do you have to leave?” he asks after a while longer, though he stays curled up against me, holding onto me.
I kiss the top of his head. “I don’t. No class today, and John said I can have the day off.”
Nico tilts his head back and looks up at me with sleepy eyes, his mop of dark hair falling over his forehead. He’s adorable and gorgeous, and I can’t help it when my heart skips a beat.
“So you’re staying home?” he asks, and when I nod, he says, “Did you already plan to, or are you just staying because of last night? Because I’m okay. I mean”—he pushes away from me a bit and props himself up on one elbow—“the conversation with my mom went better than I thought it would, and I think I’m... I’m really fucking tired but I’m also okay, you know? I might just, I dunno, stay in bed all day and play video games. I don’t think I’ll be great company.”
By the time he stops his ramble, I’m grinning and shaking my head, and I prop myself up, too, and scoot over to kiss him. When we part, I rest my forehead against his.
“We can do whatever you want,” I tell him quietly. “I just want to spend some time with you. I already planned to stay home.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod. “Whatever you want.”
In my mind, today isthe day. I can see it—us getting up and out of bed, heading on the short walk to Sunrise Café to have breakfast, then taking a bus to the Japanese garden. Me getting down on one knee, the words I’ve been practicing, all the promises and I love yous and forevers right on the tip of my tongue. I almost let my eyes dart over to the dresser where the rings are hidden.
But when I straighten up and our eyes meet, there’s an exhaustion in his expression that I know all too well. It’s not a physical exhaustion, but an emotional one. Our lovemaking, too, was proofthat he’s okay, but he’s hanging on by a thread. Yesterday tooka lotout of him.
And as much as Iwantit to be today, I also want him to be feeling good and happy and to have the energy to smile and laugh with me. I want him to want to come out, not for him to say yes just because he knows I want to.
So, maybe today will be the day. But maybe it won’t be. I can’t be sure yet.
Regardless, Idowant to be here with him, even if it means staying home all day. Cuddling. Streaming a movie. Playing video games and generally just being together.
“Let me go grab us breakfast from Sunrise?” I suggest, letting my hand rub up and down his arm.
He smiles weakly and nods. “Yeah, that sounds good, actually.” And then, as though he’s run out of energy altogether, he closes his eyes and plops back down onto the bed with a quiet sigh.
I start to pull away so I can get dressed and get going, but he stops me, his hand lifting to my waist. He tilts his head toward me and opens his eyes halfway, then he shifts his hand and tugs gently on my hip.
“A few more minutes first?” he says.
My stomach swoops, and I immediately nod and settle back down on the bed next to him. “Of course.”
