Chapter Twenty-One Colin
Chapter Twenty-One
Colin
“Hold still,” he mutters from behind the easel.
“How much longer? This is so boring,” I groan from the couch.
“You got somewhere better to be, Shakespeare?”
“I’ve been lying here for three hours, Declan. Can’t you just use a photo?” I ask.
“A photo isn’t the same,” he replies. “The light and angles don’t look the same in a photo. I’m almost done. Just be patient.”
His brow furrows as he scribbles fiercely with charcoal on the easel. The corner of my mouth tugs into a smile as I notice Declan’s tongue peek out of his mouth. He always does that when he’s really concentrating.
Then his eyes cast over to me, and I quickly hide my smile.
“What?” he asks, catching me.
“Nothing,” I reply, trying to keep my expression neutral.
With as much as Declan and I have done together physically, we’re not in a place romantically for me to tell him how cute he is when he’s painting.
His shaggy brown hair hangs over his forehead, in desperate need of a cut.
His long eyelashes flutter as he works, blinking heavily as he sketches on the canvas.
The way he concentrates creates wrinkles in his forehead and between his eyes, which are so handsome and endearing.
This week has flown by too fast, so I’m stuck in a constant state of bliss and dread. Since we had sex that first night, we haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other. When I’m not at the theatre, or we’re not on the beach, we are getting each other off in some manner.
I never thought of myself as a sexual person, but with Declan, I feel as if I’m learning so much about what I like. The sex is amazing. But it’s so much more than that. The way he is with me, dominating me, making me feel so good, I can’t imagine sex with anyone else would ever compare.
There’s just a small hint of hesitancy from him, and I can sense it. Not physically. He’s not afraid to touch me. Every morning this week, I’ve awoken to the feel of his lips on me somewhere. He’s affectionate and tender and says things that steal the breath from my lungs.
But I’m not yet Declan’s lover. And I’ll never be his boyfriend.
He loves me as his best friend. And I’m afraid that it could go on like this forever.
The sound of the charcoal on the canvas quiets for a moment, and I look up to where he’s sitting on the chair, admiring me with a smirk on his face.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m thinking about taking a break,” he says before he bites his lips. His eyes aren’t on my face, but they are glued to the spot between my legs. I’m splayed out naked on the couch for him. In fact, after we had sex this morning, I never got dressed. I haven’t worn a stitch of clothing all day.
“Another break?” I ask with a smirk.
“I mean…I don’t have to suck your dick if you have other plans,” he says as he moves to all fours and crawls across the floor toward me.
“Oh, by all means,” I reply. “I have no plans.”
“Good,” he mutters as he reaches the couch. His lips start on the top of my right foot and move slowly upward, along my leg and over my knee. “Can I be honest?” he asks before licking a line along the inside of my thigh.
I shift on the couch as my dick twitches from the sensation.
“Yes, please. Tell me.” I’m practically holding my breath, waiting for him to say exactly what I want to hear.
Anything would work, really. He could say how he never expected to fall for his college roommate.
Or how he had secretly hoped this would happen this week.
Or how he wants to stay in LA and never leave.
All responses would be perfect.
Instead, I’m blindsided.
He climbs between my legs on the sofa and kisses my stomach as he says, “It’s such a relief to have someone to just have sex with without any strings or obligations. I feel so comfortable with you, Shakespeare. We can fuck and get each other off. And no matter what, we will always be friends.”
Immediately, I tense, feeling a chill rush over me from his words.
“Yeah,” I mutter without inflection. “But we’re more than that…” I say.
His mouth teases the area around my cock, and as thrown off as I am by his words, my body still wants him.
“Of course we are,” he mutters before kissing his way up the length of my dick.
“I’m yours,” I say breathlessly as he closes his lips around the head and sucks tenderly.
Then he pops off, teasing me as he says, “You are mine.”
“That, uh…” I stammer, trying to form meaningful sentences and enjoy what’s happening to my body at the same time. “That sounds like strings and obligations to me.”
He chuckles against my shaft. Then he lifts up and smiles at me. “That’s not what I meant, Shelby.”
“Then what did you mean?” I ask, feeling more vulnerable than I want to at the moment.
“I just meant…” He rests his arms on my legs and stares up at me.
The smile has faded, and the laughter is gone.
All that’s left is sober honesty. “Fuck, I don’t know what I meant, Colin.
I suck at relationships, and most people I sleep with want to try and make me promise something to them that I can’t promise. But with you…”
His voice trails as he leans away from me, his back against the couch. I don’t want to just lie here naked with a raging hard-on while we have this conversation, so I snatch the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over my lap as I lean forward.
“What about me?” I ask.
“It’s easy with you.”
It’s easy with me. It’s easy with me because I don’t demand anything. I let him have as much as he wants, and I don’t ask for anything in return. It’s easy with me because I will be whatever he wants me to be. His friend. His fuck toy. Anything.
I see what Declan wants—the ease of a friendship with all the benefits of a lover.
But why argue? Because it’s true. I would be any of those things for him. If he wants me for a day, he can have me for a day. If he wants me for a hundred years, I’m his until I die.
So what’s the point of arguing for more? I’ll just give in anyway.
“It’s easy with you too,” I say.
When he turns to look into my eyes, his gaze stays locked on mine for a moment.
Maybe neither of us are good at this. We don’t know how to navigate relationships well because we were never taught them.
But he’s right about one thing: I am his. And that’s all that matters anyway.
“Now, where was I?” he asks, turning back toward me and snatching the blanket from my lap.
* * *
On Declan’s last night in LA, we take a drive. This week has been such a dream, and I can’t help but feel like it’s never going to be this good again. He’s going to go home to Scotland, and I’m going to focus on my career, and even if we do meet up after this, it won’t be the same.
I take him to a pull-off on the top of some mountain I don’t know the name of, and I park the car so we can admire the lights of the city and the Hollywood sign.
He holds my hand as I drive, and it just makes everything worse.
I think I’ve come to accept that whether or not I’m more than a friend to Declan doesn’t really matter, because he won’t be able to express it anyway. And maybe this is just the role I’m meant to play for him.
He’ll love me more like this than like a boyfriend.
It’s depressing, but it’s true.
After putting the car in park, I rest my head on his shoulder.
He presses his lips to my hair, and we sit in silence for a while.
I don’t bother fighting the tears. He won’t tease me for it.
He knows I’m crying because I hate goodbyes, but I hate this one even more than most because this week was more special than all the rest.
So I just let them fall, wiping them away as they slide down my cheeks.
“I wish I could see how the painting turns out,” I say with a sniffle.
“You will,” he replies. “I’ll post it online for the world to admire you naked as a wee babe, stretched out on that chaise.”
“Oh God,” I reply, laughing through my tears. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Of course,” he says. “You know I don’t like to share my art. Besides, that one is for my private collection.”
“I’d prefer that, thanks.”
He kisses the top of my head again.
Friends don’t do this. They don’t cuddle and kiss and fuck and say things like Declan and I say to each other.
But maybe we’re more like passing stars in the night sky. Never intersecting at the right time. Never landing in the same place.
If I could, I’d tell him right now that I love him. I’d do anything to hear him say it back. But it’s not a risk I’m willing to take, so he’ll say it in my imagination instead.
“You’re not a virgin anymore, Shakespeare,” he says, and I clench my eyes shut because I hate where this is going.
“I don’t care about that.”
“I’m glad I could make your first time so good, and that’s always what this was about. I’m just trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need you to protect me,” I say through a sob.
“I know you don’t. So I don’t want…” He pauses as his voice grows tight, and I swear he’s bottling up the emotions he should let out.
I wish he’d just say that this fucking sucks.
It’s terrible. We clearly love each other, but he won’t stay.
He won’t be what I want. So he’s going to tell me to give my heart to someone else instead, and it hurts worse than anything I’ve ever felt.
“I don’t want you waiting for me, Colin.”
“But I’m yours,” I reply. I’ve given up on not sounding pathetic. I am pathetic. I’m a sobbing, heartbroken mess.
“You’re goddamn right you are, but you should get touched and kissed more than one time a year.”
“I don’t give a fuck about that,” I cry.
He takes my face and holds me by the chin, forcing me to look at him. Then he wipes my cheeks with his thumbs and kisses each one. He doesn’t speak, but at this point, I don’t want him to. Every word out of his mouth hurts, no matter how true I know they are.
I can’t wait for Declan.
I can’t fabricate something out of nothing.
I have to live my life, and put myself out there and experience what other relationships feel like. That was the point of moving into that residence hall in the first place. I wanted to experience real life, but I hid under his wing instead.
Now, I need to move on. Make mistakes. Fuck up. Fall in love. Have my heart broken.
Declan holds me while I cry, letting me bury my face in his neck as I do. His grip is so tight and so comforting because, at the end of the day, he is my friend, and this is what friends do.
That night, after we get home from the drive, Declan takes his time with me.
He strips off my clothes and kisses every square inch of my body before fucking me slowly.
We’re lying on our sides, his arms wrapped around my waist from behind so he can hold me as close as physically possible as he drives himself inside me.
After we’ve both climaxed, he removes the condom and cleans me up before taking me back in his arms and holding me as I start to drift off to sleep.
“I’ll see you next summer, won’t I?” I ask.
“Every summer, Colin. That’s a promise. Every bloody summer.”
It’s enough to ease my worries, because Declan doesn’t break his promises. And with that, I finally let the dreams take me, and I fall asleep.