17. Giselle #2
“I’m glad I could share them with you. Some of their shows will be great background noise while you’re grading tests or something.”
Goodness, he really was so thoughtful.
“You’re exactly right.”
For a bit, that was that, and I was able to finish my ice cream and get into the episode, but once that distraction was gone, I realized I was a bit chilly.
I often got cold late at night, but I wasn’t at home to grab one of my many thick sweaters. And I’d put all the blankets around Ben.
“You okay?” Ben asked, pausing the episode. Either I was way more obvious than I thought or he was especially observant. Maybe both?
“I’m fine,” I lied, which was silly considering Ben had just told me he could read changes in my heart rate and scent.
His brow furrowed just a bit. “Do you want me to pretend I don’t know that you’re fibbing?”
Ah, it seemed that I’d called it. I liked the idea that Ben trusted me with so much, so I needed to tell the truth. Besides, why was I hiding being cold? It wasn’t a personal failing.
Sometimes I folded myself up and made myself so small. It wasn’t because the people around me cut me down, but because I was afraid of being needy. I already required so much help and extra care, I didn’t want people to decide I wasn’t worth it.
Ugh.
I knew that many chronically ill or disabled people would know exactly what I meant. No matter how loving and amazing our support systems were or weren’t, sometimes it was hard not to feel like I was such a burden.
I guess that was why that mean voice in my head insisted that I said I was fine. That everything was fine. Ben had far too much on his plate for a burden like me.
But that voice was stupid, so I ignored it.
“I’m actually a bit cold.”
Ben’s eyes went a bit wide in a really adorable way. “Shit! Right, shifters tend to run pretty warm, so since the kids aren’t here, I forgot to turn the heat up once the sun set. Hang on, I’ll turn it up right now.”
“You don’t ha—” I caught myself, then nodded. “Thank you, I would appreciate that.”
“No problem. Wonders of the modern age, I don’t even have to get up to do it.” He shifted slightly and pulled his phone from his pocket, swiping around a bit. “There really is an app for everything.”
An instant later, the HVAC kicked on, and relief washed over me. I knew it would take maybe ten or so minutes before I really felt anything, but the knowledge made me feel better.
“There we go,” Ben said, setting his phone on the coffee table next to my empty bowl and almost empty Ensure. “But in the meantime…” He lifted his arm, opening up the blanket cocoon like an invitation. “We can share, if you want.”
I looked at him. I looked at the blanket. It was such a simple gesture, but it seemed so incredibly monumental.
I had about zero chill, and of course the shifter with enhanced senses instantly noticed it. He dropped his arm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable.”
“No!” I said quickly, volume way too loud, and I had to check myself. “No, I’m not uncomfortable. I was just a little surprised. Are you sure you want to?”
Were we really talking about consenting to sit next to each other under the same blanket? It appeared so. There was nothing wrong with that. It was always good to be sure before invading someone’s personal bubble.
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.”
I believed him. Although I had helped Ben multiple times through panic attacks or panic-adjacent things, that didn’t mean I needed to infantilize him. If he said he was fine with it, then he was.
“Then I wouldn’t mind the extra warmth,” I admitted, and the way Ben smiled oh-so-saccharinely at me made me decide right then and there that I would never lie to him again. Ever.
“All right then,” he said, opening the blanket again. “Come on in.”
So, I did.
I shuffled forward and settled down right against Ben, folding my legs to the side.
I had expected him to drop the blanket on me, but instead I felt the light pressure of his arm on me.
Not quite hovering, but not the limb’s full weight either.
It was like a wordless request, to check if I was all right.
For a moment, I was a teenager again, my stomach full of butterflies at the thought of a little PG skinship between me and my crush. Tentatively, I gave Ben my own wordless request by slowly— incredibly slowly—leaning into his side to rest my head on his shoulder.
Oh my god, is this really happening?
I tried to focus on my breathing and the episode playing on his smart TV, doing my best to keep my heart rate down. It wasn’t just because Ben could hear it, but because I didn’t need to make myself sick over something so lovely.
Because it was lovely.
Ben’s shoulder was all muscle and soft fabric from his T-shirt, making a nice place to rest my temple.
And goodness! The heat radiating from him was beyond pleasant.
It wasn’t overpowering, but it went right down to my bones.
It was like holding a hot chocolate in my hands and resting by a fire without any threat of accidentally catching fire if I fell asleep.
Even the tips of my fingers were warm, which never happened during the colder seasons.
“You okay?” Ben murmured, voice so low that it was barely on the edge of what I could understand. But the rumble of it vibrated through where we were touching, moving through my body like a wave determined to prove how much he affected me.
Which was a lot.
“I’m guessing you’re smelling or hearing something,” I said as calmly as I could, but it sounded a little breathless to my ears.
“Yeah. Your heart rate has picked up quite a bit and, uh...”
“And?” I prompted.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
I got the feeling it wasn’t nothing, but rather some scent thing. Now that I knew he could smell when I was anxious or nervous or whatever, I was sure he could also smell how excited I was. It wasn’t like my panties were soaked, but it also wasn’t like I was at neutral either.
So, since I’d decided to always be truthful with Ben from now on, I figured I might as well jump in with both feet. “I haven’t been this physically close to someone who wasn’t a relative in a long time.”
There was one of those classic pauses that I’d learned was Ben trying to pick out his words.
“Me too.”
“Is it okay?” I murmured. Sometimes, he started out fine and happy with something, like our first date, then his anxiety took over. And boy, did I understand that.
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
“I’m glad.”
“Me too.”
Maybe neither of us knew what we were doing or what we even were to each other, but at the moment, things were good.
And sometimes that was enough.
The episode finished, and we wordlessly started another.
I honestly thought the twitterpation of it all would have faded, but if anything, I was even more acutely aware of his presence than ever.
It was like I was suddenly gifted with enhanced senses, able to hear his heartbeat, my nose completely filled with his scent.
He was wearing cologne, but it wasn’t overpowering. In fact, most of it seemed to be his natural musk, something deeply masculine, but it wasn’t body odor. I really liked bodies in their natural state, but I definitely didn’t have an armpit fetish.
I hadn’t really had much opportunity to explore kink all that much.
With my mother’s death and my own illness kicking in, my sexual awakening had only happened in college, and since then, I’d only had one serious relationship and dated two men casually.
Not exactly a ton of time for romance while I was establishing my teaching career and getting into the flow of things while also trying to gain weight.
Did I think I wanted to be tied up eight ways from Sunday or sit on a cake?
No. But the idea of Ben’s large hand on my throat was appealing, and him being so much bigger than me definitely made me sweat in a really good way.
What would it feel like to have his weight over me?
To have him pressing me into a soft mattress that gave way beneath us?
Welp. Now my panties were soaked.
I stayed locked in that delicious limbo, until the episode ended and we were left with a prompt asking us if we wanted to continue to the next episode.
I was in such a haze from the welcome overstimulation of it all that my thoughts were full of syrup and honey, far too pleasantly viscous to move.
After a few minutes, I realized we were staring at a stagnant screen, and I blinked lazily.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, tilting my head up to glance at Ben’s face.
He was staring at me with an expression that was impossible to read.
It wasn’t deadpan, or devoid of any emotion, but there was so much there that it was impossible to discern one emotion from another.
They chased each other across his features, sometimes colliding in his gaze, his brows, or the corner of his lips.
It was a wild display of sentiment, enough to rouse me from the sweet cocoon of comfort I’d allowed myself to fall into.
“I think I’m an idiot.”
What?
The abruptness of his sentence had me more than a bit confused, and I blinked away the rest of the clinging molasses of relaxation that had fallen over me. “Why do you say that?”
“Because I really want to kiss you right now.”
What?
I must have misheard that. Sure, there was no denying that we had chemistry, but I was keenly aware that something had been holding him back from going any further with it.
I’d thought it was because I was human and sick, and he was a shifter with his own issues, but what if it wasn’t that at all? Had I been wrong about the whole thing?
The biggest question was, did I want him to kiss me?
Who was I kidding? That was an unequivocal yes. With an exclamation point. Even though it had been a few years since I’d made out with anyone, my entire body surged with a very clear and enthusiastic “yes, yes, yes, God, yes” at the idea.