“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I asked, kissing the inside of his wrist. “Or we can lay down or…”
“I can make my own choices,” he repeated again, and I nodded my agreement. “But I…I think I like sometimes when you make them for me.”
I pulled my lips between my teeth to stop myself from whimpering.
For a minute, neither of us said anything. We only watched the other, eyes tracking over every visible twitch and flinch our faces made. Smith was as easy to read as a book, the things he wanted, the way he hated wanting them. It must have been a struggle to fight out of your brother’s control only to find yourself welcome under someone else’s command. And that…for me, that was a responsibility I didn’t take lightly.
“I like that too,” I finally said. “Is that what you’d like to happen tonight?”
“You tell me,” he murmured. “I remember how to make you stop.”
There was part of me that wanted to take Smith to the couch, tuck him into the crook of my arm, and put a movie on. That wanted to snuggle him until he fell asleep on my lap, and that was all well and good, but I knew him well enough to know that wasn’t what he wanted in that moment. Smith wanted to be liberated from himself sexually. That was the easiest way for him to get out of his own head, and he trusted me to be the one to do that for him. To not just take him where he needed to go but also make sure he got back in the end. And it meant a lot to me that he didn’t hold that part of himself back for fear of my own preferences in the bedroom.
He saw me as clearly as I saw him. Smith recognized my ability to call a scene off when things were going in the wrong direction. He took me at face value, trusting that I would tell him if something wasn’t right. I expected the same from him, and that was part of the balance that made being with him so fucking easy. Smith understood I could feel all the pleasure I needed by giving it to him. Our bodies and brains didn’t need the same things to feel wanted, and he’d never push me too far just as I’d only ever push him far enough.
“Alright.” I stood up, reached behind me and tugged my shirt off. I tossed it on the floor and gestured toward Smith and the bathroom. “Do you know how to prep yourself?”
Smith’s cheeks turned an angry shade of crimson. “Of course I do.”
“Into the bathroom then. I’ll wait.”
He looked at me like he wanted to argue then decided better of it.
The whole time he was in the bathroom, I paced the length of my apartment trying to talk myself out of what I had planned. It was too much, too soon, but the water turned off and then we were back in the bedroom.
Alone.
“Take off the comforter and the top sheet,” I said. “Get on all fours.”
His nostrils flared as he stood, discarding the bedding and crawling back onto the bed like I’d told him to. There was something beautiful about him like that. Smith was always gorgeous, but when he let himself slip into a submissive role? He was perfect, but I found myself debating the boundaries of our relationship, of the things that were important to me with other people and what was important with him.
“Actually.” I sat down on the side of the bed and pulled open the nightstand, drawing out a tube of thick lube and a small brown bottle. “Sit down.”
Smith moved to sit beside me, our thighs touching. I held out the small bottle and he opened his palm to receive it, turning it around and reading the label with a curious and confused kind of frown on his face.
“Did you do these with your friend Lincoln?” I asked.
He shook his head. “What are…”
“Poppers,” I told him, tapping the cap. “It’s?—”
“I’ve heard of them,” he cut me off. “I know what they are, I’ve just never…”
Smith trailed off, and I waited for him to finish, but no other words came out of his mouth.
“Do you want to?”
He rubbed his finger and thumb over the small, ribbed cap, not quite getting brave enough to twist it open.
“Yes?” Smith let out a short and self-deprecating laugh.
“Try it here,” I suggested. “Like this. Just sitting here with me. It doesn’t last long and if you don’t like it, we’ll put the bottle away and I’ll never take it out again.”
“Do you use them?” he asked, twisting the cap open, then closed again before taking it off.
“Very, very rarely.”
“Why do you have them then?” Smith glanced at me from beneath the fan of his lashes, and I found I wanted to kiss him on the mouth.
