From the beginning of that kiss, there had been something desperate in the way Tris nipped and sucked at my lips, rolling his hips against mine, then stopping. He’d been trying to hold back, trying to keep offering me the space and time he’s so patiently given over the last week, and the awareness of his restraint, just for my sake, was almost enough on itsown to make me throw aside everything else and give him exactly what he so clearly wanted, even if I hadn’t been sure I was ready. Except, with each gasp and pant and moan that shuddered through the slivers of space between us, any lingering question that I might still need that space from him faded until it was as if it had never been.
And then there was no time to think. No time to panic or let worry or guilt or anything else seep in and poison the moment. There was only Tristan and the feel of his lips and body against mine and the total rightness of the way we’d fit and moved and melted together.
That blur carried me through the lingering kisses we’d shared as we’d lain together in my bed afterward, all the way until now, standing in the shower, washing the last of our sweat and cum from my body. Tristan’s gone next door, back to his apartment. Not to stay, just to rinse off in his own shower and grab some fresh clothes.
It had been nearly impossible not to ask him to stay and shower here, with me. I’d known I needed to be alone though, at least for these few minutes, so I could face whatever aftermath of guilt and anxiety and self-reproach waits to descend on me.
So that’s what I’m doing. Standing here under the hot spray of the shower, bracing myself for all of it to hit me.
Except…it doesn’t. Just a dull background hum of nerves and that ever present touch of sadness that lives in the sore, aching place in my heart that Stephen’s death left behind.
There’s no imagined specter of Stephen staring back out of the recesses of my mind, reproaching me with sad, silent eyes. And when I have to lean forward, catching myself against the shower wall with my outstretched palm, it’s not the heavypress of guilt that’s threatening to make my knees give out.
Instead, it’s relief. Relief so sweet and beautiful that it’s set the bathroom spinning around me; a dizzy, ecstatic lightness that feels like the scent of peach and vanilla mint that I can’t help believing I can still smell on my freshly washed skin.
This is what I’d want for him.For Stephen.Not loneliness or guilt or regret.If he were here in my place, all I’d want would be his happiness.
Over the spray of the shower, I hear the muffled sound of my front door opening, then shutting again. My eyes fly open, and I’m turning off the water, grin stretched wide across my face as I hurry to towel dry before yanking on the pajama bottoms and t-shirt I’d brought into the bathroom with me.
The two of us end up crammed together in my chair, Tristan sprawled across my lap with his legs dangling over one of the arms, watching a movie as he eats the Chinese takeout I’d ordered for him over his objections.
And he just…fits. A part of the scene of my familiar belongings and my familiar space, his presence so new but so completely right that it makes my next breath ache softly in my chest.
I can’t keep my attention from wandering away from the scenes playing out on my laptop or stop myself from stealing glances at the way that, even when he’s motionless, he can’t seem to manage to keep his inky black bangs from spilling down his forehead until he has to shake them back out of his eyes.
Despite my efforts to keep my glances quick so he doesn’tcatch me, I get caught up visually tracing the sharp, perfect cut of his cheekbones down to his slim, equally perfect jaw line, to his smile that’s just wide enough to show the faintest hint of his dimple.
And so of course he catches me.
He laughs when he does, and I don’t even try to pretend I wasn’t staring as he rolls toward me in my lap, winding one arm up around the back of my neck, bringing our faces inches apart.
“You’re beautiful, Tris.”
My voice is a little thick, a little too raw sounding, but the way his eyes light and his smile spreads, deepening his dimple and making my heart thump, hard and heavy, makes me glad of it. Maybe I’m still not nearly brave enough to tell him how he’s carved out a place for himself in my heart that I don’t think can ever be altered, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want him to know it all the same.
As for telling him? The heavy pounding of my heart quickens until I’m sure he can feel it in his own chest that’s pressed against mine, except, I just…can’t. I’m too afraid that actually telling him how much I care for him, how much he means to me, will break the tentative trust I can’t help thinking he’s starting to build in me. That it will overwhelm him and scare him off.
He’s told me in so many little ways that being cared for is new and strange to him, and maybe it’s nothing more than my own fear of loss driving me, but I can’t help thinking that showing him rather than telling him is best. At least for now.
“You’re beautiful too, sunshine,” he whispers, slipping his free hand that’s not around the back of my neck up to softly stroke his fingers through my hair.
His touch feels a little tentative, shy almost, and I realize with a jolt that this might be the first time that he’s touched me that isn’t teasing or in any way sexual. That right now, he’s just…touching me. Because he wants to.
“Stay the night with me?” I hold my breath, already relatively certain that, in this at least, I can be fairly assured of not having pushed too far.
The smile that lights his face is dazzling as, with an eager nod, he leans in to press his lips to mine.
Our kiss starts off soft, just a gentle brushing of lips that matches the way he’s still carding his fingers through my hair. When he shifts though, repositioning so that the weight and round firmness of his ass presses against my already interested dick, in the space of one suddenly ragged breath, the kiss turns hungry; tongues licking into each other’s mouths, tangling.
My hand moves from where I’d been gripping the side of his thigh up to palm the straining length of the erection tenting his joggers as he wriggles and moves against me in my lap, and all I want is to feel his hardness against mine, relive the feel of him thrusting against me until his release spills, hot and so perfect between us again. Only I can’t, stuck in the cramped confines of this damn chair.
“I’m—Oh god that’s good Tris. God, don’t stop— buying us a fucking couch.” The words slip out of me on a groan as Tristan rolls and circles his hips, grinding his ass down over my dick in a movement so hot that he’s going to make me come in my pants if he doesn’t stop, despite the fact that I’ve just told himnotto—
And then he does stop. All of him. He’s frozen in my lap. Even his lips are frozen against mine for a second before he pulls away.
Only then does the implication of what I’ve just said come crashing down on me.
“Jesus, that came out wrong. I didn’t mean—”
