“Yes!” Elliot threw his arms up. “Sucker!”
Damon tossed his controller and dove toward him, wrapping his arms around Elliot’s waist and taking him down.
“Omph.”
“You kicked me,” Damon complained. He buried his face into Elliot’s stomach to tickle him and used all of his weight to wrestle him to the ground. “You cheated.”
“You were shoving me first!”
Elliot tried to break away, but Damon used his legs to wrap around his and didn’t let him escape.
Elliot panted. His blonde hair curtained one of his eyes. It grew too fast. It’d only been one week, and he already needed another haircut. Damon hated when Elliot’s hair obscured the sight of his blue eyes.
“You’re the cheater,” Elliot said.
“No.” Damon rolled them and pressed his body into Elliot, weighing him down, flattening him. Every inch of Elliot’s body was covered by Damon’s. Elliot went limp under him and stopped struggling.
Damon sat up, his hands on Elliot’s shoulders to pin him, his legs on either side of his waist.
Elliot’s eyes widened. It took Damon an embarrassingly long time to realize why Elliot was panicking.
“Shit,” Damon said and rolled off in a clumsy panic. “Sorry. I—”
“It’s fine,” he said, fixing his shirt and running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“We always do—”
“Right, but that was before…”
Elliot met his eyes when he didn’t finish the sentence. “Before you knew I was gay?”
Damon averted his gaze. “It’s just…well, if I did that with a girl, I’d probably be getting turned on, and…” His gaze traveled from Elliot’s bare feet, over the light dusting of hair on his legs, to the zipper on his pants. Was he hard? Did he make Elliot hard?
Why did that thought make something tug deep in Damon’s stomach?
Elliot snorted. “You’ve got a high opinion of yourself, don’t you?” He grabbed the controller and plopped down on the futon, starting a single-player game.
“What do you mean? I know you think I’m hot. I distinctly remember being told I was three levels hotter than you. Which I still think is bullshit, by the way.”
“I have eyes and can see that you are attractive,” he said. “Doesn’t mean you’re my type.”
Damon didn’t know why he was more than a little offended. He furrowed his brow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you saying I’m not?”
Elliot snorted again and glanced over quickly before settling his gaze on the screen. “What exactly do you want the answer to that question to be?”
Damon dropped his arms to his sides.
Elliot’s gaze stayed glued to the TV while Damon’s bounced all over him. Elliot flicked his head back to get his hair out of his eyes, and Damon’s fingers twitched to grab the hair clip that healways put in his hair when it got this long, but if he did that now…
If Damon wrestled him to the floor and sat on him and ran his hands through his hair to clip it back, would Elliot think Damon was coming on to him?
Fuck. Had Damon been coming on to him this whole time?
No wonder Elliot never told him he was gay.
“We probably shouldn’t be horsing around anyway,” Elliot said. “Just because I healed your concussion doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful about jostling your tiny pea brain around more than necessary.”
