Jordan #2
Or… Do I know what I want?
I straighten my back.
This is stupid.
I’m annoyed now, and this is fucking stupid.
I pull my door open and march to the guest room.
I knock. The sound of my knuckles against wood is too loud in the darkness.
The door is pulled open almost immediately.
I square my shoulders and lift my chin.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
He steps aside, and I follow him into the room. I close the door behind me and turn to face him.
“I’m interested,” I say. “Unless it wasn’t clear.”
Just as he says, “I’m sorry. That should never have happened.”
We stare at each other.
Take two, I guess?
“I thought you might have been interested, too,” I say, just as he says, “I should never have taken advantage like this.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as he says. “What does that mean?”
This would be ridiculous, but I’m honestly getting annoyed again.
I take a deep breath.
“I—” he starts to say.
“No. I talk. You listen.”
He seems like he’s about to argue, but at the look I send him, he pretends to zip his lips and plants his ass on the edge of the bed.
Right.
I know what I want to say, but it’s difficult to figure out where to start and how to make it sound at least somewhat coherent.
“You were fucking with my head,” I say.
“I know,” he says immediately, leaning forward as if he’s about to get up and come to me. “I know. That’s what I’ve been saying. That’s why I’m sorry.”
“That listening thing is going really well.”
He presses his lips together and sits back down.
“You were fucking with my head,” I repeat. “You—you—made it sound like you weren’t interested in me.”
His eyes are wide as he looks at me without blinking.
My breath hitches, and my fingers curl into fists.
“And I’m not saying you have to be, because if you’re not, that’s fucking fine.
I can handle it. I was handling it. But then you kissed me back.
And I know I started it. I kissed you first. But you kissed me back.
And then you pushed me away, and just…” I spread my arms. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
He swallows and waits for a bit, eyes inquiring, waiting to see if it’s safe to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
My fingernails dig into the soft part of my palm. I don’t have much cool left.
“I don’t need you to be sorry,” I grit out.
He looks down and swallows hard. “What do you need, then?” he asks in a low voice.
“I need…” I start with way more confidence than I actually have, so when it comes time to demand what I want, I lose most of that bravado. I grit my teeth before I square my shoulders, raise my chin, and force myself to face him head-on. “I need you to tell me if you want me.”
The wait is endless. Time stretches and stretches, along with the anxious coil of wire in my stomach that gets tighter with each passing second.
“I can’t,” he says.
I grit my teeth so hard it hurts.
“You won’t hurt my fucking feelings,” I snap. “Just tell me you’re not interested, and then I can stop wondering.”
He presses his lips together, hesitates, and then he moves. So fast my brain hasn’t caught up before he’s in front of me. And then his mouth covers mine. It devours. It claims. Until I can barely breathe.
He pulls away too soon. His palm is still pressed against the side of my neck, so hot it burns my skin. Fingertips sink into the back of my neck.
“We can’t.” His fingers tighten. The words are pushed out with effort.
“Why not?” I ask with audible desperation. His proximity is the kind of temptation that stops all rational thoughts. I’m ready to beg.
“I don’t think you understand what you’re asking for.”
“I know what I want,” I say through gritted teeth.
“No. You said you’re a relationship guy.” He follows that up with a helpless shrug.
“So?” I ask.
He pushes himself off me. Pries himself free of his hold of me.
“So… So…” He drags both his hands through his hair before he starts to pace, then stops immediately to whirl toward me. “So. I don’t know what I am, but so far that hasn’t been it.” He’s starting to look more than a little freaked out. “We’re friends.” He delivers the words more like a plea.
I draw in a big breath as he sits back down on the edge of the bed, and then I go and sit down next to him.
We’re both silent for a long time.
“You’re into me,” I finally say. “You want me.”
He laughs. That, too, is seasoned with desperation.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he says. “I’ve never—not with somebody who matters like you do.”
His shoulder is pressed against mine. It gives me strength, even if the owner of said shoulder is full of doubt right now.
“But you want to?” I surprise even myself with my calm tone.
“I want to,” he says, voice a rasp. “I…” For a moment it looks like he wants to say more, but in the end he just shakes his head and says, “Want to.”
My shoulders slump, and something relaxes inside me. I’m not alone with this. Even if I’m not quite sure what this even is or could possibly be. I’ve won the battle.
“Okay,” I say on a relieved breath. “Okay.” And I smile. It’s complicated, but I still feel happy.
What now?
Do I make a move?
What do I do?
He’s vibrating with tension next to me, and for some reason I want to laugh.
I think he’s nervous. And I’m nervous. But the fact that he’s nervous makes me feel better.
I turn my body, angling it so that I’m facing him.
He mirrors my position.
I lick my lips, and his eyes follow my tongue.
“Hey,” I say hoarsely, and he closes his eyes for a moment, then laughs.
“Hey yourself,” he replies.
I lean forward, and he meets me halfway. Our foreheads touch. Our noses touch. His breath is warm on my skin. I shiver with anticipation.
I wait.
With bated breath.
Leaning into him.
“I don’t want to lose you if this doesn’t work out,” he says quietly. He says it like it’s a reluctant confession. Like saying those words is difficult. Like admitting it is difficult.
That takes all the wind out of my sails.
This is what I get for not thinking things through. For reacting without considering every angle. I usually don’t do this. Sometimes. It always ends in a monumental fuckup.
Now I’m nervous. Now the stakes have been spelled out. I suddenly wish I could turn back time and keep my mouth shut. Shut and, most crucially, off his.
He looks deep into my eyes. Sees me.
“What do we do now?” he asks in a low voice, like he’s reading my mind.
I don’t have an answer. Instead, I close the gap between us, erasing the last few inches that separate our lips.
His hand goes to the back of my head, gently cradling while his lips do the talking.
Want you. Want you. Want you.
He groans and our bodies collide. Bedsheets rustle as I scramble forward to meet him. He presses his body against me, and I reply by pressing my body to his. My hands go to his cheeks.
We kiss like we’re starving. Like nothing exists but this. My mouth on his. His lips on mine. His arm snakes around my waist, then travels up my back until he’s clutching my shoulder from behind, still pulling me closer.
He falls onto his back, and I tumble on top of him. Now our lips are fused and bodies aligned, not an inch of space between us.
Nothing else matters.
I breathe out his name, and he moans.
He bites down on my lower lip, and a broken sound escapes me. It makes him groan and buck against me.
He’s hard.
It should feel strange. Foreign. Unfamiliar.
It makes my toes curl and flaming hot shivers prickle over my skin.
My hands scramble for his waist, and I slide my fingers over the bare skin.
He wrenches his mouth away, panting harshly.
I try to seek out his lips again.
“Wait,” he says. “Wait.” The breathless cadence of his voice makes my cock jump.
My fingers stop their exploration, and I freeze, blinking and trying to figure out what happened.
“What?” I look around, trying to find the distraction that stopped him from giving me more.
He closes his eyes and draws in a couple of deep, slow breaths before he looks at me again.
His eyes move from my face to my chest, where our bodies are still glued together, then back up to my face.
“We need to cool it,” he says.
I squint at him. It’s hard to comprehend what words mean when you’re this turned on.
“Do we?” I pant. “Could we maybe have a vote on that?”
He laughs. That, too, is breathless. “The way I see it, it’ll end up being a tie since there’s only the two of us.”
“If you’re younger, you get the tie-breaker vote. I thought that was common knowledge.” I try to kiss him again.
He gives in for a second but then remembers himself and pulls his mouth away. I groan and let my forehead fall against his shoulder.
He kisses the top of my head with a soft chuckle, and there’s a gentle flapping in my stomach.
“We need to talk,” he says.
I can do that. I can talk. It doesn’t feel like I want to right now, but if Milán wants to talk, I can do that.
I take a deep breath then nod, forehead moving against his shoulder. “Right. Talk.”
Now, if my body could get the memo, that’d be great.
“You should probably get off me,” he says in a strained voice.
I blink. “Really?”
“Yeah, I can’t believe this suggestion is coming from me either.”
I chuckle before I plant a quick kiss on his neck and then roll off him.
We quietly stare at the ceiling, lying side by side, until the boners go down.
“We’re doing this the wrong way,” Milán eventually says.
I turn my head to look at him.
“You’re the one having all sorts of revelations, and yet I’m the one losing my shit.”
I frown while I consider his words, then I turn on my side and face him. “I didn’t kiss you spontaneously. I’ve had time to think.”
“I don’t know what happens now, though. And I’m freaking the fuck out about losing you.”
He turns on his side, too, and now we’re practically nose to nose.
“That’s good,” I say.
“Is it?”
“Means we’re in the same spot. Kind of nice to have a fellow traveler.”
He smiles at me sleepily, and I smile back.
So much is unknown and uncertain, but for now, hidden away from tomorrow, it feels like everything is just right.