Page 42 of When Ben Loved Tim
I get ready in the bathroom, brushing my teeth for the third time that day. When I return to the bedroom, he leaves to do the same. I strip down to my underwear and T-shirt while he’s gone and turn off the lights. All but the small lamp on the nightstand next to me. I’m sitting up in bed when he comes back. Tim shuts the door behind him and locks it. I try not to read into that. I honestly don’t know if anything is going to happen, or if I really want it to, considering the circumstances. But Iamsure that I won’t be able to say no to him. Not tonight.
I watch as Tim strips off his shirt. He’s facing me as he does so. And flexing, at least a little. I know what his muscles look like at rest. I’ve stared at them often enough. Although his biceps are so round that it can be hard to tell. He’s watching me watching him and doesn’t seem to mind. I experience a thrill when he grabs the waistband of his jogging shorts and they drop to his ankles. He’s wearing a pair of black boxer briefs underneath. I’m already rock hard. I can’t help it.
“I thought you couldn’t get underwear over your boot,” I comment.
“I don’t sleep with it on anymore,” Tim says, sitting on the edge of the bed.
As he loosens the strap, I study the curve of his toned back and those incredibly beefy shoulders that look so firm and warm. I wish I could pull him over me like a blanket and be smothered beneath all that muscle.
“Wanna see?” Tim asks, making my cock twitch.
He leans back. I’m so drunk on hormones that it takes me a second to realize that he’s referring to his ankle. Which I am curious about. I shift in bed, keeping the covers on me strategically. I can feel the heat from his body as I slide closer and gaze down the ridges of his torso to the bulge in his underwear. Which doesn’t seem abnormally swollen. That reminds me to look at the ankle he’s holding up. It’s the right size again, although still yellow and green with bruising.
“Sorry,” I say with a wince.
“Huh? It’s totally cool! I see the doctor on Monday. I think he’s gonna let me ditch the boot.”
“So it doesn’t hurt anymore?” I ask while retreating to my side of the mattress.
“Nope. It’s just a little tender.”
Tim gets into bed. He stretches out with his back to me, which I try not to take personally.
“Good night,” I say before switching off the lamp.
“G’night,” he mumbles.
I remain facing him. Even in the washed-out gray of a darkened room, my eyes adjust enough to see how the blankets are only pulled up to his waist. I want to run the tips of my fingers along his back, maybe draw a little picture while asking him to guess what it is. Or even better, I’d like him to hold me. I want to kiss him some more, suck him dry, and whisper secrets to each other that nobody else knows. Nope, I’m definitely not getting any sleep tonight!
I listen to the sound of Tim’s breathing instead, which doesn’t seem to be slowing. I slide my hand across the sheets to the space between us, leaving it on the invisible border between our sides. Ineedto touch him. I won’t. But I need it, really bad.
Tim rolls over to face me. The light from the window catches his silver eyes, which remain open. Can he see that mine are too? I remain perfectly still, but I don’t try to hide that I’m watching him. If he wants me, I’m right here. Come and get it! Tim shifts and extends an arm until the tips of our fingers touch. I nudge him back playfully. He slides his hand over mine. I’m certain that he’s going to move it beneath the sheets and finally accept what I’ve been offering. He doesn’t though. Instead his fingers wrap around mine like we’re wearing mittens. Then he squeezes. Tim’s eyes finally close. Mine do not. They remain open until my fluttering heart slows to a steady beat that, I like to imagine, is in perfect harmony with his own.
* * * * *
I’m sitting across from Tim at the kitchen table the next morning as we wordlessly eat cereal together. Although plenty is communicated in the silence. We're all by ourselves, since we slept late. Tim keeps dunking his spoon into the bowl to capture little marshmallow and oat pieces. Then he’ll bring the bite to his mouth and chew, all while fixing a smoldering gaze on me. Sometimes I laugh. Or blush. I’m happy to stare back in either case, my pulse quickening each time, because I think I love him. I don’t know what else this could be. He’s literally just eating cereal, but it drives me wild, my libido and heart in agreement that this is the guy for us. My mind still has a few reservations, but what does it know?
“I guess I should take off,” Tim says.
“Are you sure you don’t want more?” I ask, pushing the box of cereal toward him.
Tim smirks. “I want more.”
He doesn’t touch the cereal.
My mouth is hanging open as he stands and stretches, the bare skin of his stomach revealed in a teasing flash.
“Should I walk you to the door?” I ask.
“I think I can find it on my own,” Tim says. Then he shrugs. “But okay.”
“When will I see you again?” I ask when we’re standing in the entryway.
“Sunday night?”
“Works for me!”
“Cool.” His eyes dart to the living room. We’re alone. He doesn’t kiss me though. Instead he ruffles my hair. “See you around, Benjamin.”
