I twist around in Alex’s arms, ignoring as he grumbles another something about how he really hates Mondays, and I reach over him to the nightstand to shut off the alarm on my phone. Itisactually too early, and I should probably tell him I deliberately set my Monday morning alarm to fifteen minutes earlier than I needed to get up just so we could waste a little time cuddling before I had to go to work.
Though, on second thought, maybe I should keep that to myself.
I hit the snooze button on my phone and then hesitate. I’m sort of sprawled out half on top of him now, one hand in the middle of his chest and one of my legs somehow wedged between his. As I pause, trying to decide whether and where to move, his hand, which had been up covering his eyes to block out the sunlight, shifts to my shoulder and squeezes gently before rubbing lightly down to my elbow.
Shuddering, I drop my head to his chest. “Alex, ah, fuck...” I mumble against him, my breath warming hisshirt.
“Hmm?”
He repeats the motion, his hand drifting up to my shoulder and then back down to my elbow, and I groan again as I lower myself on top of him. There’s something much more intimate about this position, and with a wave of anxiety, I realize maybethiswill be the point where he saysokay, enough. He hasn’t shied away from anything this whole weekend—and we’ve spent a lot of time snuggled up together in bed. But now, I’m lyingon topof him, my knee between his legs and my fingers flexing into his waist.
Fuck, his chest is solid.
I’m distracted for a moment as I turn to press my cheek into the hard planes of his pecs. I hear his breath hitch when my hand drifts up his side a few inches, and I can’t help it. I close my eyes and curl up right there—right there with my head on his chest.
It’s so fucking comfortable.
“I hit snooze,” I say, and he groans quietly and seems to inhale deeply as he buries his face in my hair.
“Mmm, good. It’s too early. And this is good. Staying right here.”
“Yeah.”
His hand slips around to my back, rubbing slow circles over the top of my shirt. After a moment, he shifts a tiny bit, and his other hand finds its place on my back, too, low in the curve of my waist just above my ass.
“Nico?”
“Hmm?”
“This is what you want?” he asks softly, both of his arms tightening around me.
I nod into his chest, but I can’t stop myself as I start to tremble.
He’swhat I want.
This intimacy is what I want.
These feelings of safety and protection, care and tenderness, gentle trust. Love. Those are what I want.
Fuck.
I’m suddenly terrified to move, to say the wrong words. And so I just breathe a quiet “yes” against him.
He hesitates, and then he runs his hand gently up and down my back and asks, “Is this...allyou want?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, but I still can’t move. I don’t know what he’s really asking, though it would be easy to assume, wouldn’t it? But I’m not in a position to assume because if I fuck this up—
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“It... it doesn’t matter what I want,” I counter, my voice faltering. His hand still rubs up and down my back in the softest of strokes, and I feel him shake his head, his cheek pressing into my hair.
“It matters to me,” he whispers, low and warm and soothing. I want to cry, especially when he adds, “Youmatter to me.”
“Alex...” I can’t finish the sentence. Hell, I can’t even start it. Because that just sounded like something of a confession to me... like Alex was confessing to having feelings for me. And I have no idea how to respond.
Why the fuck can’t he just come out and say it? If that’s what he’s trying to tell me.“Bro, I’m gay, and I like you.”Simple.
Totally simple.
