Chapter 24 NOAH
NOAH
The credits roll on the movie. The screen flickers pale light across the living room, turning Gabe’s profile into something ethereal, like he belongs to another world.
It feels like we’re suspended in some pocket of time where nothing can reach us.
He’s curled up on the other end of the couch, one leg bent, socked foot resting against my thigh like he didn’t notice he’d done it.
I notice. I’ve noticed every little thing he’s done all week.
The way his fingers linger on me when we kiss, reluctant to let go.
The way his mouth has gotten more demanding over the past few days.
The way his eyes track me when he thinks I’m not paying attention, catching on my hands, my shoulders, my mouth, consuming me piece by piece.
And the way he can’t seem to help himself from brushing against me, small touches that feel anything but accidental.
Every one of those little things seeps deeper under my skin.
It makes me ache, leaves me walking around half-hard just from the ghost of his hand on my arm, the drag of his mouth when he finally lets me taste him again.
He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing to me, or maybe he does, because sometimes I swear there’s a flicker in his eyes before he looks away, like he knows he’s driving me insane and doesn’t know how to stop.
Ever since that night—since he asked me not to touch him too roughly and I swore I wouldn’t—I’ve been careful.
Careful with my words, careful with my hands, careful with him.
I haven’t asked him for anything since. I’ve kissed him like we’ve got all the time in the world. Because we do. Because he’s worth it.
But even with me going slow, it’s Gabe who’s been turning the heat up.
This morning, it was him who deepened the kiss, it was him who started to grind on me.
That should make me relax. And it does, a little.
But it also makes me need him in a way I didn’t think was possible.
It’s killing me. And it’s the sweetest fucking way to go.
The text he sent me has been replaying in my mind all day. He wants to go further, and as much as I do too, I won't be the one to instigate anything more than kissing.
I drag my eyes off the credits and look at him. He’s worrying his lip between his teeth, fiddling with the blanket pooled in his lap, pretending to be absorbed in the rolling names on screen.
“Not a bad ending,” I say, breaking the quiet. “Could’ve been worse.”
He lets out a loud snort, unlike anything I've heard from him. The level of happy it makes me is unhinged. “High praise… for Baywatch of all things. I can’t believe you made me watch that.”
I lean closer, letting my shoulder brush his. “Hey, you picked the movie tonight!”
His shoulder shake with laughter against mine. “You said you never saw it.”
“And I still haven’t,” I add, voice deepening, “I’ve been more interested in what was happening over here than whatever was on the screen.”
That catches his attention, his fingers pause on the blanket, and he stills.
For a long moment, I think that’s it.
Then he shifts. That socked foot presses firmer into my thigh, then slides away as he pushes up to his knees, the blanket falling to the floor. His hands hover for a second, suspended like he’s still deciding, before they land on my shoulders, trembling.
I keep completely still, waiting to see what he’ll do.
He doesn’t look at me until he’s straddling my lap, knees braced against the cushions, breath stalled. Then he lifts his eyes—and fuck. Whatever choice he was making a second ago, he’s made it now.
He’s close enough that I can see every detail, even in the dim light. His pupils are blown wide, that mossy-green ring encircling them, glowing despite the shadows.
“Gabe.” His name comes out rough, too full of everything I’m feeling.
He stays there, eyes wide, like he’s shocked even himself by straddling me. For a moment, neither of us moves, the air between us is strung so tight it could snap. My heart thuds hard against my ribs, every beat a little faster.
Then his hand lifts, hesitant but sure enough, and threads through my hair. The tug is gentle and testing, before his fingers spread, cradling the back of my head. He tilts my head up, angling my face toward his.
I can feel his breath now, hot against my lips. It ghosts over my mouth, as shallow and unsteady as mine, and my body strains with the effort it takes not to close the distance myself. His thumb brushes just under my jaw.
The space shrinks to nothing. One breath.
Another. And then—finally—he leans in and kisses me.
It isn’t cautious, like I expected. It’s electric, sparking through me, the kind of kiss that unravels a groan from deep in my chest. He fists my hair gently, dragging me closer still, pressing his mouth hard against mine. It’s messy and desperate.
I let him set the pace for a minute, let him take from me, because I know how much this moment means. But as his tongue flicks against mine, I lose whatever patience I thought I had. My hands find his waist, thumbs slipping under the hem of his sweater, and I pull him tighter into me. “This okay?”
He gasps, “Yes,” against my mouth, and fuck, it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard.
“Been wanting you to do this all week,” I rasp against his lips.
All week, twelve years, same thing.
His blush is immediate, color blooming on his face. “Me too.” It’s barely a whisper, but it shoots straight through me. Has he been thinking about this as much as I have? The thought makes me moan.
I kiss him again, slower this time, dragging my tongue against his until he shudders. His hips rock, and I feel his hard cock, pressing against me through too many layers.
I grip his hips tighter, making sure he can feel me without being too rough. “Do that again.”
He makes a shaky sound, somewhere between a moan and a laugh, but he obeys, grinding against me more firmly this time. His breath fans against my cheek.
“Fuck, Gabe,” I mutter, letting my head fall back against the couch as he moves over me. “You’re killing me.”
And he doesn’t stop. He kisses me like he’s starving, and every brush of his mouth tastes like a risk he’s finally decided to take.
I want to consume every part of him, like he’s consuming me.
But I make myself slow down. I drag the kiss out until he’s panting against my lips.
My hand runs up his spine, under his sweater, palm spread wide against his warm skin.
He trembles so hard, I feel it all the way through me.
“God, you’re so responsive,” I murmur, kissing down his jaw, moving to his neck.
He swallows audibly, fingers curling in my hair, holding me there. “Y-you make me—” His words break off with a gasp when I suck at the soft skin beneath his ear.
“Make you what?” I press. “Tell me.”
He lets out a helpless sound, hips twitching forward against me again. The friction makes us both gasp. “Make me feel…” His voice trails off, breathless, and he just whimpers instead.
He bites his lip, trying to keep all those beautiful sounds from me. But I need them.
“Hey,” I breathe soothingly, kissing along his throat. “You don’t have to give me words. Just let me hear you, I want all your sounds.”
He shudders but nods, giving me more of his throat. His confidence is there, I can feel it, but it’s tangled with nerves.
When I cup his ass and pull him flush, it’s too much for him.
Panic flashes across his face, and he locks up.
The change is instant. I loosen my grip immediately, sliding my hands back to his hips, kissing him soft and slow, lacing an apology into every stroke of my tongue until he melts against me.
“Sorry,” I murmur against his mouth. “Wanna stop?”
He studies my face, flicking between my eyes and mouth, before he shakes his head. When he exhales a soft “no” and fully relaxes, it feels like a fucking victory I’d bleed for.
“Okay,” I whisper, stroking my thumbs over the soft skin of his hips. “Whatever you want.”
He hums, moving back in to kiss me, and the sound that escapes me is rough and broken.
I can’t hold it back any more than I can stop the way my hands move on his hips, guiding him down, urging him to move against me again.
The friction is so good it makes my breath ragged, my pulse hammering in my throat.
“Fuck, there you go,” I rasp, grinding up into him. “Feel that, Gabe? How hard I am? That’s all for you.”
A deep whine comes from his throat, and he kisses me harder; it’s sloppy now, almost frantic. He moves against me, dragging his cock along mine through thin layers.
The look on his face—shy, overwhelmed, wanting—floods my body with heat. I kiss him back like he’s the air I need. When my hand slides under his sweater again, his sounds get louder, and it’s intoxicating. I graze my thumb over his nipple, and his hips jolt forward.
“You like that?” I murmur.
He nods fast, but I keep my hand still until he says it. “Yes,” he gasps, loud and clear, the sound making my cock throb. I circle his nipple with my thumb again, watching his eyes flutter.
He shoves his hands under my hoodie. His palms are hot, sliding up my torso, mapping my body.
His thumbs brush my V-cut, following the trail of hair that leads lower.
My stomach tightens involuntarily. I can see in his eyes that he knows how much he’s affecting me.
His confidence flares as he grinds down while keeping eye contact.
“Good boy,” I rasp, leaning forward to take his lower lip between my teeth gently. “Knew you had it in you.”
His eyes glaze over, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a noise that sounds almost like a growl, low, frustrated. Then he shoves his hips harder into mine. My cock throbs at the sudden pressure, and I pray I don’t come in my pants, not before I make him come first anyway.
“Jesus, Gabe,” I groan. “You’re fucking hungry tonight, huh?”