Stop it!
I would smack myself if it wouldn’t wake him.
Get the fuck ahold of yourself.
I just need to let him fall asleep, and then I can go jack off to images of sleep blow jobs.
It only takes another minute, but he falls asleep with his hand still on mine, and my chest aches. I need to go back to my room. Back to my bed. But I just want to stay here a few minutes longer and live in the delusion of half-cuddling my best friend.
It would be too easy to fall asleep.
To wake up next to him.
To play pretend for one night.
He shifts and rolls over, flipping a massive arm over me in his sleep. He’s cuddling me, even if he doesn’t realize it’s me. I try to move but I’m pinned in. The weight of his arm and warmth of hisbody fill my heart, but I’m not allowed to have this. It’s wrong on so many levels. He would not be doing this sober, and it feels like I’m taking advantage by staying.
I want to, but I’m hard, and I need to go find a release.
Even with everything in me screaming to stay, I have to get up.
TWO
WOLFE
Iblink my eyes open against the sun filtering in through my window.
I flinch and bring my hands up.
My first reaction is to protect myself, but it only lasts a second before I fully ground myself in the day and where I am. I stretch my arm out, feeling the flannel sheets under my fingers while inhaling the cool air of the city. It’s a technique my therapist taught me.
It smells nothing like Georgia, and every single day I wake up here, I’m happy that I’m not back.
I never want to go back.
My brain always starts out cloudy but I smile remembering I fell asleep with Archangel next to me. As I continue to stretch out, I realize he’s not there.
But when did he leave?
I frown.
Why wouldn’t he just stay?
Did I forget to shower? I sniff myself. I smell great. Ever since I started stealing his Loewe Tomato soap, I’ve smelled like a snack. I was skeptical at first, who wants to smell like a plant, but rich people have secrets or something? This is probably oneof those ways they get generational wealth, smelling like a snack all the time.
If it’s not my scent, then why would Archangel leave?
Rude.
I need a bed Dr. Pepper, to not make this day ass.
I check the ones on my headboard to see if any are still viable. I’m not proud of it, but it takes a lot to get this massive body moving in the morning.
All the cans are empty, so I stumble out of bed and down the stairs like I’m still drunk.
Seaborn says something to me, but I don’t hear him as I yank open the fridge and grab a can. I chug half of it before my brain begins to play nice and I realize Seaborn is still speaking to me.
I turn on him and squint. “Slow down. I can’t speak English before my morning DP.” Seaborn laughs, and I cross my arms. “It’s like you haven’t lived with me for three years.”
