He’s quiet as I gently stroke his hair, my fingers sliding through his dark curls, and when I lean forward to grab the remote so I can turn off the TV a few minutes later, he mumbles something about being comfortable and not wanting to move.
And I totally agree.
We stay like that for a while, only the sounds of rain and an occasional rumble of thunder from somewhere far off breaking the silence. I close my eyes and just... be.
I like this. Actually, no, Ilovethis. I love how perfectly he fits against me—whether we’re hugging, spooning in bed, cuddling on the couch, or like this, with his head in my lap. And I love how much he trusts me, how there’s not even an ounce of tension in him right now.
“Nico?”
“Hmm?” His voice is heavy, the single syllable drawn out, as though he’s right on the brink of sleep.
I stroke his hair again, letting my fingers drift down to brush along the smooth skin of his neck, and he breathes in a little deeper. I don’t really know what I wanted to say. Maybe I just wanted to hear his voice. So I let my fingers wander along his neck to his shoulder and then back. And I ask softly, “Are you still comfortable?”
“Mmm, very.”
My heart soars. “Good.”
It’s probably another fifteen minutes or more before he moves, and then he just rolls over onto his back, his eyes half closed, and tilts his head to rest on my stomach. I love that even more, because then I can see his beautiful face.
He must notice me studying him, or maybe he sees my smile, because he blinks lazily and then asks, “What?” His eyes close again, and he cuddles up into me more as I gently trace my fingertips along his forehead, brushing back his hair.
“I just... I feel so lucky to have this. With you,” I say, my voice quiet and thick with emotion.
Nico blinks his eyes back open and looks up at me, his expression soft and sleepy. As he holds my gaze, I touch his forehead, my heart full and my chest warm. Something flickers in his expression, some deep emotion that’s gone faster than I can interpret it, and he finally looks away again, yawns, and closes his eyes.
“Ready to head to bed?” I ask.
He nods weakly and then pushes up onto one arm, scooting closer to me in the process. I hold my breath as he stops, his lips now only inches from mine. His eyes dart down to my mouth, and then his cheeks redden, which just makes him look even more beautiful. I let out a slow breath and then dip down to brush my lips against his perfectly pink cheek.
“You head on up. I’ll be there in just a couple minutes.”
I kiss his cheek one more time, and we both stand. Then he disappears up the stairs while I spend a few minutes tidying everything up. After the front and back doors are locked and all the lights are out, I head up after him.
The door to my bedroom is halfway open, light spilling out into the otherwise dark hallway, and I pause in the doorway to drink in the sight in front of me. Nico’s leaning over across the bed, pulling the comforter back, the thin cotton of his gray sleep shorts stretched just enough to show off his ass—his tight, perfectly shaped ass that I’ve been admiring much too openly for the last week or so.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” I say, my voice low and gravelly. I step inside the room and close the door behind me as he pauses and glances over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised as if in challenge.
“Doing what?” He smirks and arches his back so his shorts stretch even more over his perfect curves. “I’m just getting the bed ready.”
“So innocently.”
“Yep.” He brings one knee up onto the bed, reaching over to, I dunno, fluff his pillow or something.
My dick throbs, and I do my best to hold back a groan as he pulls his other knee up onto the bed, too, so he’s on all fours, his assright there, taunting me.
It’s not lost on me that we’re supposed to talk tonight. I mean,I’msupposed to start a conversation about California with him. But, damn...
I take another step closer, and hell if he doesn’t pause again, glance back at me, and then wiggle his ass in the air with another of those teasing smirks.
“The bed’s allllllllll ready,” he says, grinning. Then he bites at his lower lip, which makes even more blood rush to my groin. “You coming?”
This time, I do groan, loudly, and I shake my head as I close the rest of the distance to the bed. He rolls over, laughing, that beautiful pink tinge back in his cheeks, and he pats the bed next to him, still grinning at me. With a sigh, I climb in and wriggle under the covers.
I’m barely settled when he scoots over toward me, his hand landing right in the middle of my chest. There’s a rush, a thrill, a pulse of joy as his palm flattens against me, and I suck in a deep breath, watching him stare down at where he’s touching me. He only pauses there for a few seconds, but then there’s a slow transformation as his joy and silliness turn into tension, his eyes narrowing and becoming serious for a moment. He frowns and looks up at me, his jaw clenching.
I want to say something, because he suddenly looks like he needs some sort of reassurance. But no words will come. So I just give him a soft smile and lift my hand to his elbow, letting my fingers drift leisurely down his forearm. He studies me for what seems like a long time, although it’s probably only a few moreseconds, and then he purses his lips. His shoulders relax, and he slowly scoots closer, his hand running gently up my chest to my neck. When his skin touches mine, I close my eyes with a sigh and slip my arm around his waist, pulling him in tight. His cheek presses against my chest, and I feel the warmth of his breath through my shirt. I dip my head with a muffled groan, burying my face into his hair.
He takes a clear, measured breath and then another, each one affecting me just as much as the last. Then he mumbles, “I should probably sleep soon.”
