36. We’re Out of Shampoo
We're Out of Shampoo
MAX
Leo's shower is tiny. Barely enough room for one person, let alone two, and definitely not designed for whatever sexy scenarios my brain keeps conjuring up while I soap Leo's back.
Stop it, I tell myself firmly. He almost died today. This is not the time for shower fantasies. But my imagination doesn't listen. It's too busy picturing Leo pressing me against the tile, water streaming down his chest, his hands sliding down my—
"Max."
I blink. "Hm?"
Leo's looking over his shoulder at me, a tired smile on his face. His gaze drops, and his smile widens. "Seems like someone's having a good time back there."
I glance down at my obvious erection and want to melt into the drain. "I… that's not… I was just…"
"Thinking dirty thoughts?" Leo's voice is teasing but exhausted, words slightly slurred from the medication still working through his system.
"…Maybe." He turns around carefully, bracing one hand on the shower wall for balance. Even tired and drugged, he's gorgeous, water droplets clinging to his shoulders, hair plastered to his forehead, and a soft smile.
"Next time," he says, reaching out to brush wet hair from my eyes, "we can make this shower much more fun. But right now, I'm about sixty seconds from falling asleep standing up."
"That's fair." I grab the shampoo and start working it through his hair, trying to ignore my embarrassing erection. "I'm just… glad you're okay."
Leo hums, eyes closing as my fingers massage his scalp. "I'm fine. Just tired. The meds always wipe me out."
"You've done this before?"
"Twice. Once with a bee sting when I was twelve, once with a sauce that had shrimp paste hidden in it." He yawns so wide his jaw cracks. "I'm usually more careful."
Because you were watching people flirt with me instead of checking the label.
The thought sends a flutter through my stomach.
Leo almost died because he was jealous. It's terrible, but in a deeply messed-up way, kind of romantic?
I rinse the shampoo from his hair and turn off the water.
"Come on. Let's get you dry before you drown standing up. "
Getting Leo out of the shower and onto the closed toilet seat takes some maneuvering. He's essentially a giant sleepy noodle, all loose limbs and drooping eyelids, but he lets me move him around without complaint. I grab a towel and start rubbing his hair dry.
"Gentle," Leo mumbles. "I'm delicate."
"You're six-one."
"Delicately tall."
I snort and ease up on the towel torture. "Better?"
"Mm." His eyes are still closed, but he's smiling. "You're good at this."
"At drying hair?"
"At taking care of me." The words sink into me, finding some hollow space I didn't know was there and filling it. I pause, towel in hand, and look down at him, this beautiful, ridiculous man who almost died eating convention snacks and then confessed his love in a hospital bed.
People don't usually let me take care of them. I'm too chaotic, too much, too likely to get distracted halfway through and accidentally set something on fire. But Leo's looking at me like my particular brand of chaos is exactly what he needs. Like, I'm not too much. Like, I'm just right.
My boyfriend, I think, and the word feels wonderful. "Someone has to," I say, aiming for casual and probably missing by a mile. "Now open your mouth. Time to brush teeth."
Leo obeys, letting me squeeze toothpaste onto his brush and hand it over.
We brush side by side at his tiny sink. Well, I brush while standing, and Leo brushes while sitting because I'm pretty sure his legs have stopped working.
By the time we make it to his bed, Leo's moving on autopilot.
He collapses face-first onto the mattress, groans, and then rolls onto his side and makes grabby hands at me.
"C'mere."
"Let me turn off the light."
"C'mere."
I flick off the light and crawl into bed beside him. Immediately, Leo's arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. His nose buries in my hair, and he makes a happy sound.
Big spoon. Leo is a big spoon. How did I not know this?
We've slept in the same bed before, but Leo always kept a friendly distance.
Friendly. Appropriate. Not… this. This is his entire body curved around mine, legs tangled together, one arm heavy across my waist. I can feel his heartbeat against my spine, slow and steady.
"Leo?"
Nothing.
"Leo, I wanted to ask you—"
A soft snore ruffles my hair. I smile into the darkness. He's out. Completely unconscious, wrapped around me like I'm a body pillow. He was holding back, I realize. All those nights we shared a bed, he wanted this, and he didn't let himself have it. I close my eyes and let sleep pull me under.
This is my fault.
Leo's on the ground because I walked away. Because I wanted badge ribbons. Because I left him alone for five minutes and now he's choking and purple and I can't find the pen—
"Which pocket, Leo? WHICH POCKET?"
He can't answer. His hands are clawing at his throat. The sound of him trying to breathe is the worst thing I've ever heard.
I dump everything on the floor. People are staring. Someone's filming. I don't care. I don't care about anything except the orange cap that isn't here, that should be here, that I should have checked for before I left him—
"I'm sorry—" I'm sobbing, hands shaking, useless. "I'm so sorry, Leo. Please don't die. Please. I love you. I should have said it sooner. I love you, please—"
His eyes go glassy.
"LEO!"
I never said it when it mattered.
I jerk awake with a gasp. My heart is hammering, sweat cooling on my skin, lungs working overtime like I've been running.
For a second, I don't know where I am, not my room, wrong ceiling, wrong shadows.
Leo shifts behind me, making a sleepy sound of protest at my movement.
His arm tightens around my waist, pulling me back against his chest.
He's still here. Still breathing. Warm, solid, and alive. I force myself to breathe. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Count the heartbeats I can feel against my spine.
One. Two. Three. Four.
He's fine. The EpiPen worked. Dr. K discharged him. He's fine. The panic fades slowly, draining away and leaving relief behind. Gray morning light is filtering through Leo's blinds, which means we slept through the night.
I settle back against Leo's chest and let myself feel it, the weight of his arm, the warmth of his breath, the impossible miracle of waking up in my boyfriend's arms. Boyfriend. The word still feels new. Shiny. Like a gift I haven't finished unwrapping.
Leo mumbles in his sleep and nuzzles closer, nose pressing against the back of my neck. The arm around my waist shifts, hand splaying across my stomach. And just like that, my brain pivots from traumatic nightmare to ‘oh, hello there’.
I'm suddenly aware of everywhere our bodies are touching. The solid wall of his chest. The way his thighs bracket mine. The unmistakable press of his morning erection against my ass.
That's new. Oh, no, it isn't. You've felt that before.
You just weren't allowed to think anything about it.
But now I am. Now we're boyfriends. Now I can…
Leo stretches behind me, a full-body thing that involves his arms extending above his head and his back arching and his hips pressing forward, and I bite back a whimper.
He rolls onto his back with a satisfied groan.
His hand trails across my waist as he moves, almost lazy, like he's not fully awake yet.
I roll with him, landing on my side with my face approximately three inches from his chest. His bare chest. Which I'm now allowed to kiss whenever I want, because we're boyfriends.
I look up at his face. His eyes are closed, but there's a small smile playing on his lips.
Is he awake? He looks awake. Kind of. Only one way to find out.
I lean in and press a kiss to his chest. A soft one.
Testing. Leo hums but doesn't open his eyes.
The smile gets a little bigger. Encouraged, I kiss him again.
Lower this time. Then again, trailing across his sternum, following the lines of muscle.
I move back up, and my lips brush over his nipple, and Leo's breath snags. Oh, interesting. I do it again. This time, with a little more intent, letting my tongue flick out.
"What are you doing down there?" I look up. Leo's eyes are open now, still sleepy but definitely awake, and he's grinning down at me like I'm the best thing he's ever woken up to.
"Something I haven't done much of yet," I admit, feeling my face heat up, "but really want to."
His eyebrow arches, encouraging me to continue. "I… um." Holy motherboard, why is this so hard to say? "I really liked doing it last time. Your… d-i-c-k. In my mouth, I mean."
Leo's grin widens at my spelling. "Did you just spell…"
"Don't make fun of me! It's a weird word to say!"
"It's really not."
"It is when you're talking to your boyfriend, who you're about to put it in your mouth!"
Leo laughs, bright and delighted, and the sound settles me. "Okay, okay. Far be it from me to make fun of someone who wants to put my d-i-c-k in their m-o-u-t-h."
"You're the worst."
"And yet, here you are." He reaches down and runs his fingers through my hair, his touch gentle. "Offering anyway."
I look down at the obvious tent in his boxers, then back up at him. "You seem pretty interested, too."
"Max." His voice drops, going low and warm in a way that makes my stomach flip. "I've been interested for longer than I knew. After everything we put each other through, the fact that you want to touch me at all feels like some kind of miracle."
Miracle. How many times did I crawl into his bed, clueless and comfortable, while he lay there wanting more and convincing himself he'd never get it?