“Like what, pal?”
He shrugs. “Anything you want, I guess.”
I run my gaze over the smooth slope of his cheekbones to his mouth. “There isn’t much that I want.”
“Oh, no?”
“No.” I drop my cigarette to the rotting wood floorboards and crush it out with my foot. “It’s easier, life is, when you don’t want much.”
His brows pull together with thought.
“And it’s even easier when what you do actually want is easy to get.”
He turns his head, gazing out of a window beside us. “What if what you want is right in front of you, but it’s not so easy?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
He shrugs again. “Because…maybe you shouldn’t want it. But you can’t really help yourself.”
I step closer to him so that I can feel his body heat, see reddish hairs mixed in with the deep brown on the crown of his head.
He’s not very subtle. It’s not one of his finer points. Because that’s the problem with people nowadays — too much emphasis on the vague. And maybe he does it on purpose, dances around the obvious, giving me the opportunity to pretend I don’t get it. But I do, and I decide his lack of subtlety is one of the best things about him.
I act as if I’m giving his hypothetical issue some thought. “Then I’d say that’s quite the predicament you’d have there.”
“It is.”
“You’d need some help with that kind of problem.”
“I would.”
I wait until his eyes shift over to me and he turns fully so he’s facing me. “It’s not so terrible,” I trace my thumb over some stubble on his chin, “to have a problem like that.”
He gazes at me for a long moment. Then he dips his head, turning it, so that my thumb slips in between his lips and into his mouth.
I get him into my bedroom, and I’m not sure yet if I can fuck him here.
I want to, don’t get me wrong, but it’s like I’m trespassing on private property. Because now I want to be inside him. I don’t think about anything else but that, about how he feels and about how I want to make him come so hard that every time he’s with someone after me, he’ll think of only me. I get hot with the desire. Flaming heat. I want him to compare. I want him to ache, to wish, to want. And in that split second of nothingness, in that moment when the mind goes completely blank, I want him to call out for me, remember me, search for me.
Because that’s going to happen. I practically rip his shirt off with envy. There will be someone after me. He’s going to let someone else fuck him, or maybe he’ll do the fucking, because this can’t last. We’re two cars passing in the night, two comets zipping by one another, two stones rolling down the hill.
He doesn’t know that and he doesn’t care as he gets on my bed, under me, taking off my clothes, then his, back and forth, unsure of where to put his focus until we’re both naked. I reach for his dick and rub my thumb, the very one he sucked on just minutes ago, over the wet slit.
He stills my hand. “I don’t want that.” His eyes are like smoldering green embers.
“Let’s wait for that,” I say. “This weekend.”
“Why?”
“Because we’ll be alone.”
“We’re alone now.”
“Not really. My neighbors are home…and there’s…”
He props himself up on an elbow. “There’s what?”
I shake my head. “Your aunt’s house is like right there, pal.”
