Intimacy Ch. 02

He comes in my mouth and I swallow it, pulling back up so only the head is in my mouth. I don't always like the taste of cum, but I would savor anything that comes from him. I can't seem to stop myself, and lap at his cock until he pulls me off, saying he's too sensitive. And then I pull myself back up, our sweaty bodies sliding against each other, and take him in my arms and kiss him, kiss him like I've always wanted to. We kiss, our bodies pressed against each other, for ages. I can't get enough of him. We make out until his tender skin is raw from my scruffy, unshaved cheeks, until my lips are numb, until we both need to come up for air.

And then he covers my face and my neck with kisses. I can't believe how tender he is with me, especially after I've treated him so roughly.

We fall asleep wrapped around each other.

* * * * *

The next morning I wake up and he's in my bed. My heart swells and everything feels right with the world as I watch his back rise and fall and feel the warmth of his body near mine. I feel so confused and overwhelmed at this unexpected occurrence, I don't know if I want to laugh or cry or scream. He is so perfect and so beautiful; I don't know what I've done to deserve such a perfect moment. But slowly, as I start to wake up, a subtle nausea starts to creep in.

How could this possibly turn out well?

Where could we possibly go from here?

I need to get out of the apartment. I throw on my running shorts and my sneakers and go out for a run. I run five miles before I really feel like I've started to work the anxiety out of my system, before I feel like I'm ready to head home.

But as soon as I'm back at the apartment, it's even worse than before. I actually take a minute to plan out a life that would involve never having to go back into that apartment, never having to face him again. As I stand outside our apartment complex, my heart starts beating faster and I kind of want to vomit, so I start running again.

I run the same route, getting lost in the burn in my lungs and my legs, in the sound and the feeling of my feet pounding the gravel. By the time I get back to the apartment complex for the second time, I'm too tired to be anxious. My legs are wobbling and all I can think about is getting upstairs and getting a big glass of water before I sit down.

When I get to the door to our apartment, a wave of nausea rushes over me. I must be too tired to keep the thoughts from crossing my mind- the ones I haven't allowed myself to think before.

That Jeff is the only person I've ever been this close to who hasn't hurt me.

That I've fucked it up.

That even though I don't deserve someone as good and kind as he is, I need him.

That after last night, the odds are I've lost him. Even if we stay friends, we'll never be as close as we were. Or maybe we will be, but now that I've had him, I won't be able to be in the same room with him, maybe even the same state, if I can't have all of him.

That I'm even more in love with him that I thought was possible, and that the pain of not having him is more than I can stand.

I stand paralyzed in front of the door to our apartment, waves of anxiety rushing over me, but my legs are so tired they practically buckle from the effort of standing and I force myself to go in.

I can hear him fiddling around in the kitchen when I come in. He hears the door open and shouts,

"Hey Alex!" at me, as if nothing were different.

"Hey Jeff!" I shout back.

"You go for a run?" He asks, as he walks out of the kitchen and into the front hall. He's wearing these little blue running shorts and a grey tank top and he looks as sexy as he's ever looked. I imagine the way he looked last night, his muscles straining, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat, his face red, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Yeah," I say. "I'm fucking beat. I need some water."

"I'll get you some," he says. "Come into the kitchen, I'm making lentil soup,"

"Yeah, it smells incredible," I say, because it does. I sink into a kitchen chair, and Jeff hands me a glass of water. After I've gulped it down, he pours me another glass and hands me a bowl of soup.

The soup is amazing. I was definitely a pizza and McDonalds kind of guy before I moved in with Jeff, but his hippy food tastes have started to rub off on me. He gets a bowl for himself, and we sit at the kitchen table eating together. I can't figure out what I'm supposed to say to him.

"This is kind of weird, isn't it?" Jeff says, breaking the silence, but not really making anything less awkward.

"Yeah," I say.

"Last night was pretty intense."

"Yeah," I say.

"I've never had sex like that before," he says.

"Me neither," I say, but now I can't look at him anymore and I'm staring bullets through the kitchen floor.

"Jesus, Alex, don't shut me out. I promise I will do everything I can not to hurt you, but don't you dare get fucking distant from me."

I don't know what I'd do if anyone else said something that condescending to me. But it's Jeff, and I know he's only saying it because on some level I need to hear it. I need him to tell it to me.

He knows me so well it makes me want to strangle him, but he's right. I can already feel the brick wall starting to build up, to protect me from how fucking vulnerable I feel to him.

"I don't know if I can do this, Jeff," I say.

"Alex," he says, "I knew what I was getting into when I asked you to fuck me. I wouldn't have slept with you if I didn't think we could deal with it."

He's so fucking in control of everything. And as much as I hate him for it, I trust him, I realize I can trust him with my life, and I want to be like him as much as I want to have him. And what if he's wrong? What if I can't deal with it?

I want to kiss him. That little taste of him last night didn't satisfy me, it left me wanting more, wanting everything.

I tell him, "I feel so fucking possessive of you right now it terrifies me."

He gets out of his chair and sits in my lap. I can feel the burn in my sore legs as his weight rests on them, and I'm suddenly aware of how sweaty and gross I am. He doesn't seem to mind, though, as he wraps his arm around my shoulder, and uses his other hand to brush my sweaty hair back off my face. It's bizarre- I never thought that just touching someone like this could be so erotic.

"I smell disgusting," I say.

He sniffs the air, my neck, my armpit and just shrugs, smiling, as if to say he doesn't mind. I'm practically trembling from having him this close to me. I hate how quickly and spontaneously my erection arrives, how little control I have over my body.

"What if last night was a mistake?" I ask him.

"Then we'll deal with it. You're my best friend, Alex," he says, "I don't want to lose you. I won't let it be a mistake."

I try to pull away from him so he won't feel my hard on. This is so not like me.

"Hey, hey, hey, where you going, big guy?" he asks. He straddles my legs and pulls me into him even harder. He grabs my cock through my shorts, and a tiny moan slips through my lips involuntarily. I wrap my arms around his back for support as he starts to stroke me.

"Jeff, what are we doing?"

"Can you just shut up and enjoy it?"

I look into his eyes and lean in to kiss him, and when our lips meet everything is right with the world again. At first it's soft and tender and he's completely in control, but it only takes a minute before I feel the need to take over. His strong, sinewy leg muscles are pressed against mine, and the feeling of our leg hair rubbing against each other is driving me over the edge. I wrap an arm around his torso and keep the other hand on the back of his neck.

When I hear him whimper, I think my heart might shatter into a million pieces.

When we're just talking, I'm completely out of my league. The whole love thing, fuck, even the whole friendship thing, is not really my strongest area, but sex I can do. I slip my hands into his shorts and grab his bare ass. He groans as my fingers brush between his cheeks, and whimpers again when I start to play with his hole. I know he's probably sore from the night before, and he's getting off from that dull, stinging pain that's mingling in with the pleasure.

Jeff pushes our shorts and underwear down low enough so that our dicks are rubbing against each other. I scramble to pull our shirts off, hungry to be in contact with as much of his bare skin as possible.

We beat each other off while we make out. I'm too exhausted for anything else, but I can't believe how intimate and erotic it is- more than I ever thought a hand job could be. He whimpers and squirms and moans and it makes me frantic- the way he sounds, the way he looks, the way he smells.

Afterwards he practically has to carry me to the bathroom and we get in under the hot water and it soothes my sore muscles. We slip into sweatpants and curl up on the couch together. He roles a joint and we get stoned and just lie there on the couch.

"I don't think I can deal with this just being a casual thing with you," I say. I know I shouldn't have said it the moment it slips through my lips. It's true, but it's not something I want him to know, and it's not something you're supposed to say after you sleep with someone for the first time.

"I know," he says. He's silent for a while before he continues. "You know, once we started to get close, I knew you'd pull away from me if I slept with you. And then when I realized you were in love with me, I knew I'd break your heart."

What a weird, shitty thing to say, I think. It sounds rehearsed and arrogant and angsty, but as much as I want to laugh at him, the sound doesn't seem to come. In fact, I can't say anything for the longest time- every time I try to, it gets stuck in my throat. I want to argue with him, to protect my dignity, but the thing is- he's totally right.

"But, I don't know," he continues, "these last few weeks... you've been different. After the whole thing with Craig, and then when you said that thing about fucking me, I started to think that the only way to make things right was to let you do it. But then once I started thinking about it... I don't know. I sort of got into the idea, and then it kind of took on a life of its own. And I guess, after the past few weeks I've realized that I don't have to hurt you. We can do this however it works for us. We don't have to follow any body else's rules about it."

I'm glad he kept that part about not being in love with me to himself. I mean, it's not like I don't know, but it would have hurt to hear him say it out loud. Ironically, perhaps, this is part of why I'm in love with him. Because he understands people- because he understands me- better than anyone else I know.