“I want to stay.”
I say it firmly enough that he knows I’m serious. Because I can tell when a person needs somebody warm beside them in bed, even if it’s just for one night.
Every wall that Wes puts up around himself seems so obvious to me now.
For the first time, I’m starting to realize why they’re there in the first place.
Yes, he’s a frustrating motherfucker with the ability to piss me off royally. He’s also a deeply hurt person, though, and it’s something he shoves so deep under the surface that I was blind to it before. There’s an intensely vulnerable man behind those walls. I’m not the kind of guy who can provide any long-term commitment, but Icantell when someone looks utterly, painfully lost.
I watched my cousin feel that way, growing up, and it felt like a spike in my soul.
I still watch my mom spiral into isolation, every time another failed relationship hits.
And I’ve never been able fucking fix any of it, no matter how hard I’ve tried.
Weston gets in bed and faces toward the wall.
I slide in beside him. The bed is full-sized, not a skinny twin, but I’m still close enough to his body that I can feel his warmth.
The pillow smells like him, whatever fancy body wash he uses that makes him smell like God’s gift to masculinity. I stare at the wall for a moment, watching the moonlight and the shadows, wondering if I’ll be able to get any sleep tonight at all.
Wes shifts in bed a little, and I feel the mattress move.
“Do you still want to kiss me?” I ask softly.
He brings a foot back to kick me under the covers. “Go to sleep.”
“I could give you a goodnight kiss, if you need it.”
“You’re so obsessed with me, Sev.”
I can tell he’s half-asleep by the way he murmurs it.
It’s another couple of minutes before I start to hear him breathing a little more deeply and evenly, and I turn and lean over, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his back below his neck.
He hums in his sleep and the sound already makes my cock start to thicken.
How fucking short is my refractory period with him?
I reach down and squeeze my dick for a moment, then let it go and decide to ignore it.
Maybe I am a little obsessed.
I’mup by eight in the morning and I slide out of bed without waking Weston.
It’s about time I left, and I have a massive engineering project I’ve been avoiding all semester that desperately needs my attention.
I pull on clothes, grab my stuff and head downstairs, and the entirety of Onyx House looks like a wreck after the party, withcups on every surface and a couple of people sleeping on couches downstairs.
As I’m about to walk out the front entryway I hear a voice from beside me.
“Yo. Didn’t know you were still here.”
I turn to see Noah.
He’s in the little room by the front that looks like a library. He’s in an armchair, surrounded by bookshelves, and he’s still wearing the blazer, shirt and tie he was in last night.
He has liquor in his hand, even as sunlight pours through the paned windows. Not a cup, but a full bottle.