I reach up to grab his ass, kneading my fingers into his flesh and holding him close.
Silas goes back to laving his tongue over me, but I can feel his attention start to break as his hips stutter and he fucks my face harder and harder.
I can’t help but slide one of my hands up the curve of his lower back, under his shirt. Something about that spot is absolutely deadly to me. It should be illegal, it’s so sexy. I’m doing it a second time when Silas finally gasps, stiffens and starts to unload into my mouth.
He’s a little off-balance so his cock slips out as he’s still pulsing out hot, salty cum, and the lower half of my face gets painted with it. His hips curl under as his orgasm finally ebbs, but I’m able to lean up enough to lick the seam of his balls and make him shudder.
Without pausing, Silas goes back to what he was doing before and fucking attacks me. He licks and sucks and presses histongue into the slit of my cock until I’m coming as well, picturing the way his throat must be working as he swallows every drop.
It’s clumsy when Silas drops to the side, but he manages to tuck his dick back in his pants and turn himself around until we’re lying together without much difficulty.
I’m still half naked, pinned by my own clothes with all my soft, vulnerable parts on display. I’m pretty sure he likes it like that. And I really, really don’t mind.
So, instead of pulling my hoody down, I just arch into his touch as he smooths one hand up my flank before pulling me close to him and kissing me more thoroughly than I thought was possible.
Neither of us says much. We kiss for a while, and it continues to ease the ache of whatever was dogging at me before. Then we slowly and peacefully move around our space together as we get ready for bed. Once we’re under the covers, I wiggle around until I’m half on top of him with my ear pressed to his chest, letting myself be lulled by the steady rise and fall as well as the consistent lub-dub of his heart continuing to beat.
Once Silas’s breathing is deep and even, I know he won’t move again until morning. His meds may be imperfect, but at least they knock him the fuck out. Before he spent a lot of time looking like he was asleep, but I don’t think he really was. It was more like he was powered down, but all those thoughts and anxieties continued to spark through him, exhausting him at a cellular level.
Personally, the amount of sleep I’ve been getting in a quiet house is also something that isn’t as good as it should be. It’s too damn quiet, if you ask me. The whole thing is unsettling.
How are you supposed to sleep if there’s no ambient noise to cover whatever weird sounds creep out in the night? Because every time I hear so much as a creak in the darkness, my overactive imagination starts painting a picture of an intrudercoming towards us. Or a ghost. Or a gremlin. Or maybe my fucking dad, methed up and looking for money under the mattress.
While part of it is my own unhinged personality, part of it is a finely honed survival instinct, and I don’t think it’s going away any time soon. I can already tell it’s going to be one of those nights. My nerves are all still wound tight from work, ready to spark at a moment’s notice, and while a good fuck definitely helps me relax, the intensity of what we did is contributing to my overall tension.
Without making more noise than I have to, I slip out from under the covers. Silas’s hand was on my hip, and there’s a specific moment where I feel the warmth of his fingertips disappear as I drag myself out of his reach. I regret my choice in that instant, but it’s too late to turn back.
Once I’m on my feet, I pull on the same sweats-and-hoody combo from earlier and slip out of the room, closing the door behind me with a faint click. The heating works in this house thankfully, but it’s still chilly at nighttime, so I also swipe a blanket from the back of the couch that was a housewarming present from my Aunt Jaz.
It has an old-fashioned pattern of horses galloping across the horizon, and it’s so cheesy I should hate it, but I don’t. The fabric is soft and worn, and the little imperfections in her stitching make it feel more human. Like a person is reaching through the material to touch me.
Which is crazy. I still let the concept comfort me as I wrap it around my shoulders and sneak into the kitchen.
There’s a brief moment of panic where I wonder if we’re out of booze. Not tonight. Please not tonight.
It’s not technically too late to go out and buy beer, but I’d have to drive far to find a store that’s open, and I don’t want to risk the chances of Silas waking up to find me gone.
It’s more than that, as well. I don’t really want to be faced with how much time I’ll spend arguing with myself about whether to go or not, weighing the pros and cons, instead of just accepting that we’re out of booze like a normal person. That feels like something big and looming, pressing up against my mind too close for me to find the edges of it to get a grip. I’d much rather keep ignoring it for now.
Besides, it’s not like I do this every night. Just some nights. Just when I can’t sleep, and the deathly echoes of this fucking house are crawling into my brain one by one, keeping me awake.
Just to take the edge off.
Everything’s fine, though, because there are still a few Bud Lites tossed in one of the vegetable drawers, as well as a few inches of very questionable whiskey left in the bottle on top of the fridge. Silas has basically stopped drinking altogether, because he wasn’t really into it before and now it messes with his meds, so except for the rare occasions when my mom is both here and off the wagon, I’m the only one burning through it all.
I grab one can and crack it quietly while standing at the end of the kitchen, as far from the bedroom as I can be. Then I relocate to the sagging maroon couch in the living room, wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders, and pull out my phone.
Silas won’t wake up. I’m being paranoid by even being this quiet. But the thought of interrupting his sleep even once–especially if he’s going to worry about why I’m not asleep–bugs me too much to risk it.
Once I’m settled, my mind immediately begins to float. I stare at my phone, thumbing between different social media accounts and getting caught up on all the creators I’ve started following whose content I’m really enjoying.
I never used to have time for social media. I thought it was shallow, and mostly about moms bitching each other out on Facebook or everyone I went to high school with posting cheesyengagement and baby announcements in between complaining about who got put on house arrest and who owes who child support.
Like a lot of things, it turns out I wasn’t looking closely enough. Or maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see.
After me and Silas got settled, I got curious about LGBTQ+… stuff. I don’t know. If I’m a part of this community, I should know about it, and I don’t want to come across like an asshole that says the wrong thing all the time. I started out by asking Wish questions, even though it’s not like I lived under a rock before and I’d always tried to be an ally.
Of course, it didn’t take long for me to wear out Wish’s patience. It turns out I had more questions than I thought. She told me to stop making her do all the work for me and go find information, so I went. And I discovered that the internet has more than just porn, if you look in the right places. And also that the right porn can be informative sometimes…
