The Brotherly Shove

17. Breaker

CHAPTER 17

brEAKER

Now

San Francisco, California

The hair on my stomach is stuck to my skin like epoxy.

My sweat has dried, leaving the majority of my body feeling like that gross, overly salty feeling you get after a day at the beach.

The hair on my head…I can't even begin to think about how out of whack it looks. If I had to guess, I probably look something like Robin Williams on the movie poster for Flubber.

I should have insisted that we showered immediately to avoid this feeling, but the moment Lennon came apart beneath me, my mind was a beautiful, empty vessel. Just like he asked of me before I jumped him, I didn't think. Couldn't think. All I could do was feel. It was glorious.

Of course, when Len's eyes drifted close and his little sleepy breaths filled the room like the most beautiful music, I was powerless to wake him. I don't know how long I've been lying here next to him, running my fingers lightly through the thick black curls that paint his muscled chest and round belly. Even in sleep, his arm is holding me tight to his side. If I wanted to move — which I most certainly do not — I wouldn't be able to. Lennon's unconscious self is holding on to me like I'm a life raft and he's adrift at sea.

This isn't technically the first time we've laid like this. Len is a sleep snuggler. There were many times during away games or nights we passed out at each other's places that we've ended up in some sort of cuddling position. Unlike anytime I woke up with one of Lennon's arms or legs — or sometimes all of his appendages — wrapped around me, I don't get that sense of dread and sadness. I don't feel the need to keep my groin area as far away from his as possible, because I don't care if he knows how hard he makes me anymore.

It's the first time I've laid in Lennon's arms and felt some sort of peace.

When I hopped in my car and followed Lennon to this hotel a few miles away from the Adler's mansion, I had no idea what my intentions were. My brain completely melted out of my ears in that pantry when Lennon told me what he had actually meant that night in Houston. That stupid night that I let ruin my life. That goddamned, rotten, cursed, doomed, pestilential night where everything changed for the worst.

The idea of showing up at Lennon's was absolutely treacherous. I was standing on a slippery slope of potential danger with no safety net in sight. Whether I took a step back in fear or propelled myself forward and towards him, the potential collateral damage could have been staggering.

I sat in my car in the underground parking garage for what felt like hours while I debated what to do. In reality, it was probably more like twenty minutes before I decided to follow my gut and find Lennon's room. It wasn't as hard as you'd think. Turns out, my newfound celebrity in the last few weeks has already gained me some clout, because all it took was an autograph and a selfie for the woman at the front desk to give me Lennon's room number.

I make a mental note to not let Lennon stay at this particular hotel again. The staff's willingness to give up information like that is completely unsafe, even if it did work in my favor.

Lennon stirs, and I can't stop the giggle that escapes my mouth when he swipes at his face as if someone had been tickling him with a feather. His eyes open, just a bit, and he quickly snaps them shut and groans. The arm he has wrapped around me squeezes me tighter to his side, and I say a silent thanks to myself for being brave enough to show up here last night.

I might have taken the dangerous approach, but fuck if it hasn't already been worth it.

"No," he grumbles, shaking his head. "No, no, no. No waking up. I'm not ready for this to be over yet." He continues to mutter little 'no's' under his breath, and I reach up to stroke his cheek.

"Not ready for what to be over, honey?" My voice seems to break the sleepy trance he's in, and his eyes pop open.

"Oh my god, you're here. Tell me it was real. Tell me I didn't dream it, B. Please." His voice cracks, and something coils tight in my stomach at how impossibly soft and fragile my gentle giant can be.

"You didn't dream it, Len. I'm here." I continue to stroke his cheek as he looks down at me, his eyes glazed over with disbelief.

"Can I," he utters, barely above a whisper. "Can I kiss you, B?"

I chuckle as I nod.

"Considering we're both still covered in dry cum, I think a little kissing might be appropriate," I say, peeking my tongue out to wet my lips. Lennon shifts a bit so that we're both on our sides and lifts my chin with his thumb and his forefinger. He leans in and brushes his lips against mine, light as a feather before pressing them against me. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin when he nips at my bottom lip, biting softly but with enough pressure that I can feel it in my toes. I lick at his mouth and he opens up for me, his tongue tangling with mine. I push closer to him, our bodies coming together and we both cringe.

"We need a shower," I say as I pull back and gesture to the gross, dried mess covering both of us. The crustiness on my skin felt so gross rubbing against the crustiness on his.

"Together?" he asks, his eyes searching mine expectantly, and I smirk, reaching down to stroke his already hardening cock.

"Of course, together. How else would we be able to jerk each other off?"