“To truces,” I said. Warm beer never tasted so good.
I said yes when he suggested a movie, but when he climbed onto the bed and patted the spot beside him, I hesitated.
“Come on, Nix.” He patted the bed again. “We either have a truce or we don’t. How many times back in the day did we lie on a bed and watch movies? We didn’t jump each other’s bones then, and I’m pretty sure we can control ourselves tonight.”
I laughed. “You’re right, but I’m?—”
“My friend again. Now get the hell over here.”
We lay on opposite sides of the wide mattress. In my mind, the bed became a hockey rink. I was on offense, and he was the goalie. He stayed in his crease, behind a line I couldn’t cross.
“You care what we watch?” he asked.
I shook my head, and he stopped scrolling when he found a sports documentary. Safe.
We pretended to pay attention to the show. The glow of the screen brought out the shadows on his throat and the sharp notch of his collarbone. My eyes kept going there, no matter how many times I looked away.
How would he taste if I licked him there?
“Stop staring,” he said, keeping his eyes on the TV.
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
He stretched his legs and moved a little closer. Accident or on purpose? Half a minute later, I did the same to find a better viewing angle. Our legs brushed, and the spark shot straight to my dick.
Neither of us moved, but Pack said, “I was a jerk.”
“Same.”
He looked over. “Call it even?”
“You know I suck at math. Is that how it works?”
We laughed. The tension heightened when he scooted even closer, and I shifted nearer to him. Nothing was happening, I reminded myself.
Bullshit. It’s been happening since freshman year.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the desire, terrified of kissing him and breaking everything we’d barely started putting back together. While I struggled to control myself, his breathing changed. He’d fallen asleep. I watched him for a while, longing to trace the gentle curve of his jaw.
A few more minutes.Then I’ll go.
I woke wrapped around someone, grinding my hard cock against his ass. For a few disoriented seconds, I didn’t question it. I focused on the warmth, his steady breathing, and how comforting it was to have him there. Then everything from the night before came back, and I froze. Pack. Holy fuck, and there I was, humping him.
The lamp was still on, and the TV showed silent static. I moved just enough to see his face: messy hair, soft features, a little stubble. He looked peaceful. Damn, he looked younger like this, more open than I’d seen him in years.
He stirred. “Nix?”
His eyes opened slowly, and he turned over so he faced me. His expression was different. Dangerous.
“We fell asleep,” I said.
“Yeah.” His voice was rough.
I started to pull away, give him space so he wasn’t uncomfortable, but he caught my wrist. My heart stopped.
“Pack?”
