Page 37 of Shiver
He’s standing by the bed when I come out. I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable, so I make sure there’s no hesitation when I approach him. However, apparently my promise to take care of him has torn down some boundaries that were in place between us as straight-gay friends. My hands find his hips and I push him toward the bed.
With a timid smile, Egon climbs in, and while he settles, I move into the seating area to turn the television so it faces the bed. It’s still far too early for sleep, so I get into bed with the remote in my hands.
He’s sitting against the wall, so I join him. “What do you want to watch?” I ask.
“I don’t care,” he answers quietly.
I flick on Sports Spot and set the remote between us. Letting him have access to it if he wants to change it. I’m not really watching, too keenly aware of this man in my bed. Wearing my clothes. Having used my toothbrush.
After I fed him. After I promised that I’d take care of him.
“I have a game on Friday,” Egon says.
I look at him and nod. “Yep. You ready?”
He smiles. “Yeah. But,” Egon hesitates, his gaze shifting away. His cheeks, once more, pinking. It’s so fucking cute.
And then I find my hands cupping his face. Both hands. Bringing his eyes back to mine. He leans forward, letting me. I stroke his cheeks. “But what?” I ask.
His inhale is shaky. “Will you come to my game, Rake? Watch me play?”
The urge to kiss him is fucking strong. Somehow, I manage to just nod. “Of course.”
He smiles in relief.
“All you need to do is ask. Whatever you need, Egon. Just ask.”
The look he gives me has everything inside me breaking. There’s so much hurt and emotion surging to the surface that I nearly choke on it. And they’re his emotions, not mine. I’m completely ignoring mine. They’re on time out for their betrayal.
“I didn’t know I-I-” He stumbles over his words. When a tear slips down his cheek, I’m dragging him to my lap without thinking. Bringing him between my legs and wrapping around him so this big man is somehow blanketed by me. Which is silly because he easily outweighs me by like thirty pounds of pure muscle.
“Shh,” I murmur, stroking his back, still cupping his cheek as I press his face to my chest. “It’s alright. Whatever you’ve been through, I’m here now. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”
He chokes on a quiet sob as he curls in further.
That’s when I know he’s been hurt. I wonder if it’s still Temca. And the urge to kill someone has me nearly blind with rage. But I hold him to me and continue to tell him that I’ll protect him. Though I’m not sure who will protect him from me.
Eventually, we quiet and lay on the bed. The television is on, but neither of us are watching it. Egon is on his side facing me, leaning against my pillows so he’s somewhat reclining back. My arm is under his head, cradling him to me. And my other hand? Stroking his fucking stomach and chest!
His hand is gripping the hem of my shirt, dangerously close to my semi-hard dick. It’s only because I’m struggling with everything going on in my head that I’m not as hard as a steel rod right now.
“Want to tell me who hurt you?” I ask.
He snorts. “No. I mean, Temca. I don’t know if there’s been others.”
“You said no first. That means you have something in mind,” I hedge.
Egon sighs, shifting closer to me. Bringing his face into my neck again and making my dick jump. Jump enough that it brushes his hand as if giving it a high five.
I do my damnedest to ignore that little bitch.
If someone would have told me I had a protective streak, I’d have laughed in their face. I’d have balked if someone would have suggested that I had any desire at all to take care of someone.
Contrary to how it might appear, I haven’t been hurt in any way. I’ve never allowed myself to be vulnerable enough with anyone to explain my aversion to relationships. The only pattern I’ve noticed in my desires is that if sex is too easy to get, it’s boring.
Hell, sex can be a bit boring in general. Empty. The only time I feel fulfilled in any way is when I’m breaking in a man who’s never been with another before. Not the virgin gay. They’re eager. But the straight man is hesitant. Fighting the forbidden desire. Going through a crisis of identity. Trying to justify and deny the pleasure I give.
But this. This weird need to take care of Egon is freaking me the fuck out. Part of me demands I kick him out. He’s already too close. Far too close.
