7. Daniil #3
My back hits the mattress and his weight settles on top of me, pinning me down completely.
The pressure of his body covering mine, the feeling of being trapped beneath him, nearly makes me come right there in my pants.
My hips jerk up involuntarily, grinding against him, and he groans into my mouth.
“Danya,” he breathes against my lips.
Hearing my name like that, in that voice, nearly undoes me completely.
I drag him back into another kiss, messier this time.
His tongue strokes against mine in deep, thorough sweeps that make my toes curl.
Heat cascades through me with every movement, making my skin feel too tight, making me ache in ways I’ve never ached before.
He starts grinding against me, his hips rolling in a slow rhythm that matches the slide of his tongue in my mouth.
The pressure on my cock is overwhelming, the friction almost too much.
I’m so hard it hurts, leaking steadily into my boxers, and every roll of his hips pushes me closer to the edge.
His hand tightens in my hair, tugging my head back to change the angle, and he kisses me so deep I forget where I end and he begins.
I can’t get enough of him. When he sucks on my tongue, I moan into his mouth, the sound desperate and needy, and my hips buck up against him hard.
The heat pooling low in my belly spreads outward until my entire body feels like it’s burning.
Every movement of his tongue against mine, every roll of his hips, every sound he makes goes straight to my cock and makes me throb.
My boxers are soaked, the fabric clinging to me uncomfortably, and I’m so close to coming just from this, just from kissing him and feeling his weight on top of me.
We’re breathing hard, gasping for air between kisses but unable to stop long enough to actually get it. His mouth is incredible, warm and demanding and taking everything I’m giving him and asking for more.
Then he slows. His kisses turn softer, lazier, his tongue stroking against mine in gentle sweeps instead of desperate claims. He pulls back slightly and rests his forehead against mine, both of us are panting, our breath mingling in the small space between us.
I can feel his heart racing as fast as my own.
He shifts, rolling off me and onto his back, taking me with him so I’m half-draped across him. His arm stays wrapped around me, loose now, and his breathing starts to even out.
I need to say something. Need to ask what this means, if he knows what he just did, if he feels even a fraction of what I’m feeling right now. The words pile up in my throat, fighting to get out.
“Mik,” I whisper.
Nothing.
His breathing has gone deep and steady, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of sleep.
He’s out completely, probably doesn’t even know he just kissed me, doesn’t understand what this means.
If he even remembers this when he wakes up, he’s going to think I assaulted him or something, that I used him while he was high.
Something twists inside me.
I’ve wanted this for so long. Imagined it a thousand different ways, built it up in my head until it became this impossible thing I’d never have. And I finally got it. He finally kissed me again and touched me the way I’ve been dreaming about for eight years.
And he’ll wake up tomorrow and have no idea he gave me the one thing I’ve been desperate for since I was fifteen years old. Won’t know that I’ve been in love with him for eight years, that every time he touches me casually it feels like torture.
This moment meant everything to me.
To him it was probably just a fucked-up impulse from someone too tired and strung out to know what he was doing. A mistake he made while half-asleep and coming down from whatever cocktail of drugs is still in his system.
Carefully, I untangle myself from his arms, moving slowly so I don’t wake him. He makes a soft sound in his sleep but doesn’t stir, just shifts onto his side and curls into the space where I was and buries his face in my pillow.
Standing beside the bed, I stare at him in the darkness.
My throat burns, and my eyes sting with tears I refuse to let fall. My nails dig into my palms hard enough to leave crescent marks, using the pain to ground myself.
I can’t keep doing this.
I’ve wanted this for so long, and I finally got it.
And it meant nothing.
I’ll have to pretend it never happened. Have to sit across from him at breakfast and act normal while the memory of his tongue in my mouth burns through my brain. Have to watch him go about his day completely unchanged while I’m falling apart inside.
I’ll have to pretend my heart isn’t breaking.
I turn away from the bed before I can talk myself out of leaving and walk to the door on unsteady legs, each step feeling like I’m ripping something vital out of my heart and leaving it behind with him.
At the doorway, I look back one more time before I close the door quietly behind me and lean against it, pressing my palms against my eyes until I see stars. My entire body feels like it’s been hollowed out, scraped raw, and left empty.
My eyes fill with tears… I’m crying over something I never really had in the first place. Mourning a relationship that only existed in my head.