Chapter 39 Cory
“Happy Birthday, Cub.”
It’s Friday morning. I’ve a slight hangover from Sam’s party, and am dehydrated from Jamie draining my nuts after said party, but that’s not why I’m playing hooky from class.
Since it’s my birthday weekend, and we have no game, James has called in sick too, and we’re spending two naked days at his apartment.
Along with several dozen apologies, that’s the fifth time he’s repeated those words.
“Promise you’re not upset that I don’t have a pressie for you?
” he whispers again, lips ghosting over mine.
“Hearing you call it a pressie is pressie enough. Well, that and eating my ass out, sucking my dick and letting me fuck you in the shower. What more could a man ask for?”
“Something pretty and wrapped?”
“Well, your dick is pretty. Slip him in a condom and then he’s wrapped, too.” He gives me a slap on the chest.
“Haha. Very funny.”
“I know. I’m hilarious. I’m also open to that, by the way.”
“Open to what?” His kisses stall.
“To you … in a condom … in me.”
“Oh.” I catch a flash of color on his cheeks before he rolls from his side to belly, burying his face into his pillow. I take the chance, grabbing my phone from the bedside table and snapping a photo before he can stop me.
“What would happen if I wasn’t?” It’s muffled, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s what he said.
“You mean, if you weren’t into topping?”
“Uh-huh,” he almost hums, nodding with his pink face still hidden. So freaking cute. “I’ve done it, and even though I like to be quite dominant at times, topping just never felt natural to me. So yeah. What would you think?”
Matching his position, I roll onto my own stomach and run my hands through his soft brown curls, releasing a fresh burst of fruitiness.
“I would think I never want you to do what you’re not comfortable with.
I would count myself lucky for having a big beast of a boyfriend that loves taking my dick up his ass, and I would be proud to have a man who’s secure enough in his masculinity that he can admit he’s a power bottom queen. ”
Slowly, he twists to face me, honey eyes wide as saucers. “Boyfriend?”
“That’s what you took from that?” I laugh. “Yes, boyfriend. If you want that, too.”
“You want to be my boyfriend?”
“Of course I do. You’re like my favorite person. You’re funny and grumpy. Sweet and caring. You’ve got a dick thick as a tree trunk. A mouth like a hoover and an ass so warm and tight I could come again right now just thinking about pushing into it. Who wouldn’t want to carve their name into that?”
I have no time to react, before James rolls onto his back, sweeping me into his arms as he goes and sitting me on his hard dick, before pulling me down to lie flat atop him.
As he did with his pillow, he buries his face into the crook of my neck and inhales.
Moisture drips onto my neck, is he crying?
I move to pull away and check, but he shakes his head and pins me to him.
“I can’t look at you right now. Just let me say this, okay? ”
My stomach does an anguished, slow roll settling somewhere in my throat.
This is either going to be really, really great, like getting drafted to Montreal great. Or really, really bad. Like getting drafted to Toronto. There is no in between. “Okay.”
Remaining silent and deathly still, I feel him inhale again, his cheeks puff, then his breath ghosts down my back as he exhales. “Cubby. I know because of work and Canada, we were going to keep things casual, but … I think I might love you.”
“I think I might love you, too.” I pretty much yell back, as all air is squeezed from my lungs.
“You do?”
“I do. Actually, I don’t think it. I know … Wait. Can you let me go for a sec? I want to see your face. And breathe.”
“Shit, sorry.” James relaxes his kung-fu grip and I push off his chest. Silver lines stain his flushed cheeks, and his lips are all pink and puffy.
“I know I love you. Honestly, I have for a while, but I was too afraid to say it out loud, in case you freaked out.”
“Me. Freak out. Please, that never happens.”
“You’re right. I must be thinking about my other hypochondriac boyfriend who mutters, not a fish, not a fish, not a fish, under his breath almost every other day.”
James’ brow furrows as he scowls. A few months ago, I’d have shit myself if he looked at me like this. Now it just turns me on.
Actually, it probably would have back then, too.
“I’ve never really been in love before, but is it normal to make fun of your beloved’s potentially fatal medical conditions?”
“Having never been in love before, I couldn’t safely say. Wait. You brought this place with that Brandon dick. Didn’t you love him?” He shakes his head and pulls me back down onto his chest. I go happily, cause, duh.
“At the time I thought I was, but now I know what it really feels like I think I was just comfortable. After I quit hockey, I was kind of depressed and isolated. Brandon helped me though that, and I was grateful. He was my friend. But I wouldn’t have risked so much, and been willing to walk away from everything for him. Not the way I would for you.”
The words, come to Canada with me, burn so severely against my tongue I fear smoke may soon billow from my ears.
James could just as easily have a career there.
We could get a place with a big enough yard for a winter-time rink.
Maybe a dog that didn’t hate me like Miffy, or an equally gender-confused cat like Cleo.
We could make a life for ourselves. One where we didn’t have to hide.
It could be perfect.
It will be perfect.
Hope balloons in my chest, but my move with me to Canada spiel, is paused by jiggling coming from beneath me, and James’s full belly laugh.
“Can you believe that?” he says, sounding miffed.
“What a selfish prick. Expecting me to up and move to Florida weeks after we bought this place, and when I had Dyl, Faith and Dad here. He never got that we were a package deal, even before Dad was gone.”
A package deal.
Relocating James is one thing. I would have zero problems with Faith and Dylan coming with us, and it could even be beneficial.
The Canadian healthcare system shits all over ours.
It could be perfect. But Faith is the youngest professor to be granted tenure at BC, and Dylan has Manny, and Maria and his routine.
The short-lived hope bubble bursts. Looks like James has a habit of attracting selfish pricks.
Happy birthday to me.
While James is showering, I potter around the kitchen, searching for plates to dish up the Chinese takeout we ordered for naked lunch. I’ve tried to keep my mood upbeat since the whole, Brandon wanted me to leave, bombshell but it’s tough.
It’s one p.m., which means we’ve had twelve hours together.
Apparently that’s more than enough to solidify that this is what I want.
I want this to be permanent. I want to wake up with James every morning and go to bed with him at night.
I want to lay in bed ‘til noon, have sex in the shower, order shitty food and head back to bed.
I know that’s not reality, but when our reality is harder to swallow than these dry-ass looking egg rolls, who needs it?
Giving up on the crockery, I grab some forks and spoons and am setting the food up on the table when James hollers, “Cory, where are you?”
“Kitchen,” I yell back. “Food arrived.” I smell his fresh, clean cologne seconds later he appears …
in a tee and sweats. Don’t get me wrong.
He looks fucking amazing. It’s white and wet and really see through, but still.
“What the hell, Plum? Naked weekend ring a bell?” Smirking, he looks down and pats his chest.
“Oh. I forgot. Maybe you should come and take it off me?” I don’t think I have ever abandoned food so fast.
Moody or not, I’m on him in a flash, hands slipping beneath the hem, up over his ribs and tugging the damp cotton over his head. It hits the floor, and so does my chin.
“What did you do?”
“Can’t lie, Cubs. That’s not the reaction I was hoping for.”
It takes what feels like a good few minutes of slack-jawed ogling, and pawing hands, before I can speak.
“You. You—”
“I carved you into my tree.” He points to the haphazard
Cory’s bofriend”
emblazoned across his pecs. “It’s your present. I’m your present.”
“You shaved Cory’s Boyfriend into your chest hair?”
“I did … You hate it, don’t you. Shit, you’re really going to hate this, then.
” Looping his fingers into his waistband, he pulls down his pants, letting them fall and pool at his feet.
“My original plan had been to do the boyfriend thing here, but I stuffed up the B and just made it into a heart.” Front and center in my favorite clump of dark hair ever is a JC.
Blushing again, he clears his throat. “I’ve never considered myself a romantic, and now I know why. I’ve mutilated my body. Have hair covering every inch of the bathroom, and I’m pretty sure I’ve spelled boyfriend wrong.”
“You did. It says, bofrend.”
“So, make that not good at spontaneous, romantic gestures, or shaving words into my chest hair via a mirror.”
“You are good at it.” I almost sob. “The romantic gesture bit especially. I love it. I fucking love it almost as much as I love you.” He beams. Literally fucking beams in a way I’ve never seen and steps closer.
“Happy birthday, baby.”