Chapter 5 #2
I have to work tomorrow, and I should be focusing on that.
I’m working on a new piece I want to test out.
That’s the thing about playing piano for people who just want to eat their dinner .
. . I don’t feel the added pressure I would if I were playing for a crowd. People eat; I experiment. It’s great.
“Is that okay, Bobo?”
“Huh?”
“This? I fear your pillow wall had some flaws.”
Fuck the pillow wall. “This is fine.” I’m just happy he seems a bit better now, and if cuddling helps keep him happy, well, twist my arm.
He plants a kiss on top of my head before settling in against me as Goku comes on the screen with his equally beefy squad of friends, fighting whatever evil they have to for more episodes than is probably neccessary. I don’t care about any of it.
It’s not that I don’t like anime—it’s okay—but it’s this I crave more. Cam’s quiet peace as he watches enraptured by the heroes on screen fighting evil. He mainly watches the ones with action. Shonen, he calls them. but I’ve gotten him to watch a couple of cute ones, and he loved Yuri On Ice.
The theme song blares from the TV and my eyes do not know how to behave in the dark of this room. His stomach flexes and contracts against my hand and he’s stinking up my pillow with his delicious woodsy scent. He smells stupid. His large hand on my back brushes slow moving circles along my spine.
It’s all too much; it’s way to intimate.
“Tien is hot.”
“Stop checking out badass anime men.”
“Why else am I here?” I’ve never seen this show in order, just bits and pieces whenever he puts it on. It’s his comfort show, and while I’m sure he’d love to dive into something new, the repetition calms him. “Who’s your favorite?”
“In this series? This is Dragon Ball Z, so Piccolo is my favorite. Then in Dragon Ball kid Goku is my favorite. I like Bulma too.” He winks.
“Of course you do.” I look up at him. “Isn’t Piccolo the bad guy?”
“There’s a lot more to it. It’s complicated, but no, he’s not a bad guy.
” I listen to him talk about the show, the different forms and new characters who come and go.
I don’t care about any of it, I just like hearing him talk.
I love it when he nerds out on me. On any other day I’d just lie here and listen to him and all his tangents, but right now my eyes are heavy.
I haven’t slept much the last few days, and his deep voice is lulling my brain to sleep.
Soft light greets me when my eyes blink open in the darkness of the room. I see him now, scrolling on his phone, one arm still around me like he hasn’t moved at all, and maybe he hasn’t. My hand is now splayed on his abdomen. “The pillow wall was a joke to you, wasn’t it?”
A big easy grin grows on his handsome face. “I told you I love to cuddle. I didn’t realize you were this tired, though. We could have gone to bed right away.”
“I didn’t realize how tired I was either. I’m sorry I missed Goku’s abs.”
“They aren’t that great.”
“Pretty sure they’re the only things worth watching.”
Cam smirks, shaking his head and slapping his very prominent six pack.
“These are man made.” I know he’s joking, but I just, I can’t, I .
. . My eyes flick down over every dip and line of his stomach.
I don’t care about muscles, but on Cam, and knowing how hard he works out, they’re impressive.
Cam has always been athletic, but over this past year he’s really bulked up—not overly so, but enough to notice.
His graceful fingers slope down his stomach—fingers attached to hands I want everywhere—and I itch to taste everywhere those fingers land.
My eyes rest on the light dusting of dark hair below his navel that travels beneath his boxers.
He’s always been passionate about health and helping people feel their best.
I can’t look away. I feel frozen.
My brain is still dipped in grogginess. Cam’s black briefs aren’t helping, and neither is the goody trail leading down to the very prominent bulge behind the fabric.
Maybe that’s it. It’s a dream. Just a dream.
My dream fingertips tiptoe across the sensitive skin of his abdomen. His skin pebbles, muscles contract against my touch, and Cam sucks in a soft breath. Damn, he smells amazing. I just want a taste . . . just one.
One shot.
My fingers graze under his belly button, and he snatches my hand away, snapping me out of whatever the hell this is. I nearly yank it away, horrified. What am I doing? My tongue swells. I can’t speak. I try to apologize and pull my hand away.
All he does is watch me, his golden eyes focused. Heat fills his irises. I wait for him to let go, but what he does instead slaps me with shock. With my hand in his, he pulls me forward. Hungry, I can’t breathe.
My chest explodes with feeling.
His full lips press against mine.
My belly somersaults, the hand along my spine searing right through my shirt.
“What—” I blink, pulling back, and the look in his eyes is my undoing.
We’ve kissed a million times before, but this .
. . there’s fire in this I’ve never felt before.
I could pull away . . . instead I press back into him.
Hungrier. He groans into my mouth, kissing me harder.
Dream.
This is a dream. It has to be.
A broken moan slips out, only for me to realize that sound came from him.
Lucid, raw, and very very fucking real.
Holy shit. Not a dream. Not . . .
He cups my jaw and his lips are insanely soft on mine. I don’t know how his other relationships have gone, but how did they ever stop kissing him? He tastes so good. His large hands hold me to him. I’m pressed flush against him and I can feel . . . everything.
I grip his biceps, pulling him closer as his tongue pushes into my mouth. I’m so hard, he has to feel it, but right now I can’t pull away. I don’t have space to feel embarrassed about it, because Cam, my very straight friend, is hard too.
I want more of his taste, his kisses, his hands on me. I don’t know what’s happening. I almost think I’ve made this up in my head. I don’t think I could stop if I tried.
“Bo—” His large hand moves down my body, gripping under my knee to pull my thigh up around him and fitting himself into the cradle of my hips.
He says something hushed in Spanish that I can’t grab onto.
I know as much Spanish as he knows Cantonese, but I don’t want to miss a second of this fever dream.
“What did you say?” I ask against his lips.
“I said you feel so good.” His eyes open, and I hate myself for even asking because those golden eyes begin to clear, his brain coming back online, broken away from the trance he was just in.
It’s like the entire room stills, the air between us charged, and all he does is stare at me, his eyes wild with questions I don’t think I can answer.
I’m not drunk; I sobered up long before I fell asleep.
I’m sure he did too, it’s been hours. “Cam . . .”
He nods, blinking and looking around, and I lose his grip on me. Only a little, enough to let my thigh slip off his hip. “Don’t overthink,” he whispers, but I can see his mind through the panic in his eyes. He’s freaking out.
Silently Cam gets up, grabbing his nightlight and plugging it in, then he shuts the TV off.
He leaves the room, going into my bathroom and shutting the door a little too hard.
With him out of the room I can breathe easier.
I get up to stretch this feeling out of me, then look back at the bed.
“What kind of sorcery are you doing?!” I hiss at it.
My bed is cursed! First I touched his dick, and now I know what his lips taste like.
I’m terrified.
What did we do? Why did he do it? He did it, right? He made the first move . . . or did I dream that? I can’t even remember. “Bo, what’s wrong?” I didn’t hear him come back into the room. “What’s the matter?”
I laugh, sharp and bitter.
“What’s wrong, Cam?” I’m hysterical. What have I done?
Instead of answering me he gets into bed and reaches a hand toward me.
“Get in the bed, Bo.” I give in, slipping in beside him and leaving about a foot of space between us.
My eyes burn, but somehow he gets me to settle against him, gathering my body to his to spoon me.
He pulls the blankets up around us, not saying a word.
His chin rests on my head.
What’s happening?!
Never . . . Cam has never talked about being into guys. He’s only dated women. He would have told me, right? He tells me everything. He hasn’t even mentioned it in curiosity.
My brain’s exhausted.
Cam squeezes me gently and it’s like I can feel the war within him too, but he’s trying not to freak out for me. I know him, though, his hug is not as relaxed. His voice isn’t as calm as he wants to make it sound.
He’s freaking out.
I’m freaking out.
Did we just ruin everything?”