Maxwell stirs, eye fluttering open. He stretches his arms out and his body in a way that looks like a body shouldn’t move. Turning his head, he looks at me and smiles. For once, it’s wide and shows his teeth. He looks stunning.
“Why don’t you smile like that more?” I ask.
He clears his throat before speaking. “Like what?”
“With your teeth.”
“I don’t like them.”
“Why?”
“The bottom row is all fucked up and one of my front teeth is chipped,” he explains.
“I think you should smile for me more,” I whisper. “I like your smile.”
He smirks, shaking his head and blowing air out of his nose. “I don’t know about that.”
“Don’t hide.”
“Thank you,” he mutters.
“You’re welcome,” I smile down at him.
“No. Thank you for being here. You don’t know how much it means to me that you’re here, next to me.”
Maxwell snuggles back into my chest and I place a kiss on the top of his head. I could lay like this with him for hours and I wish I could, but unfortunately we both have classes we should be attending.
“Up and at ‘em. Have to get ready for class,” I say, tapping my hand on his shoulder. He groans back to me, but begins to shuffle out of bed.
“I have to go back to my dorm. I need clean clothes and a shower.”
“Information or invitation?” Maxwell smirks at me, a glint of humor in his eyes.
“Are you asking to shower with me at seven in the morning?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Maybe it’ll give us a good day,” he encourages.
“Alright, let’s go.”
“Shit, fuck, Clayton,” Maxwell groans. “We’re going to be late.”
“You’re the one who wanted to shower with me,” I say, rubbing my thumbs into his shoulders. “You’re so tense. Loosen up, would ya?”
“Yeah, shower. Not give me a ten minute massage. Come on,” he says, cutting the water off.
“Fine. No fun.”
“Really?Youwant to be late?”
I considered it for a moment. Saying screw class and just staying here, holed up with him, but unfortunately in life there are still responsibilities to be met.
“No,” I mutter, stepping out of the shower. I grab the towel off the back of the door, glad that the both of us have connecting bathrooms and don’t have to use the community ones.
Wrapping the towel around my waist, I grab another clean, folded one from the shelf above the toilet and pass it to Maxwell.
My eyes scan him up and down. The flex of his thigh muscles as he moves, the little trail of hair leading down to his groin. The bulge pressing against the fabric of the towel.
He turns to the sink, grabbing a comb from the counter. I hadn’t noticed it before, but he has a birthmark starting at his back and wrapping around to just the side of his front. It’s darker than the rest of him and large. It almost looks like the shape of a peanut.
