“Luke.”
“Yeah?”
“I meant I’m going to jerk off to it, honey.”
“Oh.Oh. Right. Yep. Copy that. Tracking.” I gave him an awkward thumbs-up.
His laugh shook against me. “God, I love you.”
“I just, my brain wasn’t in that zone,” I muttered, playing at the nape of his neck. “I thought we were still in the emotional-comfort portion of my services package.”
“We are,” he said, snuggling closer. “But emotional comfort and horniness can coexist and overlap. It’s called layers.”
He didn’t mean anything by it, but the way he said it felt like getting snapped with a rubber band. For him, emotional comfort and sexy-brain could show up to the same party without a scheduling conflict. For me, while they could arrive together,and definitely had with Oliver, they were far more known to RSVP to entirely different events, miles apart. And if I were deep in comfort mode, horniness wouldn’t even have been notified there was a party happening.
“Are you horny right now?” I asked. I hoped that the answer wouldn’t require me to decline intimacy he wanted.
I knew all too well how fast “not tonight” could get twisted into “I don’t want you.” For so many people, wanting closeness and wanting sex were one and the same. I’d been on the receiving end of that guilt trip, where a powered-down libido got treated like rejection. It sucked. Honestly, it was a big part of why I’d stayed single so long. Less heartbreak all around.
I trusted Oliver. If anyone got that desire wasn’t always one-size-fits-all, he did. But we hadn’t hit this specific crossroads together yet, where he was in the mood but I was parked about ten exits back, and the old worry surfaced. The fear he might hear “I’m not up for sex” as “I don’t love you,” and start tallying all the times I didn’t want it then eventually decide I wasn’t enough.
But after the hell of tonight, any wiring to the below-the-waist department had been ripped out of the wall. Power grid fried. I ran on emergency backup only. Three systems active: protect Oliver, soothe Oliver, stay as close as physically possible to Oliver. Sex wasn’t just off the table it was in another building, on another continent, behind a locked door. One I didn’t have a key to tonight. All I wanted was this, a safe, warm, fully clothed cuddle puddle.
Oliver kissed the corner of my mouth. “Relax, handsome. I’m not asking for anything.”
Welp. Guess I’d blasted my internal panic onto the Times Square jumbo screens.
“Sorry, I just—”
He cut me off with another gentle peck on my lips. “You never need to explain or justify yourself to me. I know the mood isn’t always there for you and that’s fine. It doesn’t take anything away from us. I don’t measure our relationship by how often we have sex. I’m here because I want you in whatever shape your heart and body are in. You’re enough for me. Always.”
My chest did a weird squeeze thing, like my heart tried to flex and melt at the same time. “Thanks. I appreciate you saying that.” I hesitated; I didn’t want to make this “a thing.” But honesty mattered here, between us. “I do wanna tell you something, though.”
“Okay?”
“It’s about what you said about horniness and emotional comfort and having layers. I know you didn’t mean it to be hurtful, but the way you said it kinda made it sound like that’s how everyone works. Like there’s one “right” version of sexuality and mine is the glitchy off-brand model, and I’m weird for experiencing comfort and arousal separately sometimes and not having those layers. It stung a bit.”
Oliver lifted his head off my chest, brows pitching together in regret, his whole face falling with that “I messed up and hurt you” disappointment.
“I’m glad you said something instead of swallowing it to protect my feelings.” His fingers brushed a slow stroke over my sternum, like he was soothing the exact spot the bruise lived. “You’re right. What I said came out like a blanket statement. I’m sorry. I never want you to feel like I’m normalizing one way of being. You’re not weird, Luke. You’re damn special, actually. How you’re wired is valid, and it deserves the same respect as anyone else’s wiring. I’ll be more mindful about how I say things in the future.”
Emotion punched me right in the solar plexus in the gentlest, sweetest way. God, I loved him. “Thank you. And for the record,I’m flattered that you’d use that video as uh, material. Truly. My brain’s just in a different gear tonight.”
“I know,” he whispered, snuggling back down into my chest, one of his legs hooking over mine. “Love you.”
I dipped my head and pressed a lingering kiss into his hair. “Love you too.”
“Y’know,” he slurred some minutes later. “I love your chest. Best pillow. You should win an award. Chest of the Year.” His lips bumped my collarbone as he tried to finish the sentence. “Trophy... shaped like... pecs.”
“Well, if I’m accepting the award, you’re presenting it to me. Though given your current level of consciousness, I’m guessing it’s gonna be short and mostly drool.”
“M’ nail it,” he mumbled, already drifting, face squished into my pec like a cat claiming its spot.
His arm tightened around my waist in one last koala-cling, like he wanted to fuse us into a single organism, then loosened as his body went slack. His nose nuzzled into the space between my pec and shoulder. A tiny hum escaped him.
“You still with me?” I whispered after a minute, even though the answer was obvious.
A faint, “With you,” came from him, more exhale than language. He nuzzled me one last time, lips brushing my skin in a sleepy, aimless kiss, and then he fully surrendered to sleep.
