For now, I’ll enjoy this. “If you want to stay, I mean.”
“I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet. I can look tomorrow, but—”
“No. No, I mean . . . uh, no. If you want. I was just asking. I don’t mind you staying.”
“Well, I do mind the mess.”
“Move.” I push him aside, and he falls back as I move to get in front of him, digging into the clothes. There are instruments in here . . . old comic books . . . a huge bin of Cam’s figurines that he hasn’t taken with him anywhere. Yes, I need a shelf. I need to figure out what a stud is and why it’s important to find, and then build a shelf for all his shit. There’s a pile of clothes . . . and finally I find the small bin of Cam’s DVDs, pulling it out and sitting back, then realizing that Cam is still right there and I’m practically sitting in his lap. I turn my head to look at him. “Found it.” I swallow.
His arms circle me, opening the bin, and heat from his body soaks into mine. I can feel his chest rising and falling—it feels twenty degrees hotter inside the cocoon of his arms. “There we go.” He smiles then looks down at me. My gaze flicks to his lips, and like a reaction, his tongue darts out to lick the seam.
Full lips, pink tongue, and wicked thoughts.
Okay, shit, I need air. I get up abruptly, nearly knocking him over, and get onto my bed. I’m seriously having second thoughts about the cuddling part as Cam gets off the floor and puts his DVD on. “We will need to organize; I don’t know how you live when I’m not around,” he says.
“Just fine, thank you.” In fact, it’s very much out of sight out of mind when he’s not here.
Cam drops down beside me, pulling me into his arms. I wish he’d put a damn shirt on! I watch the way sadness creeps back into his eyes as he chooses “play all” in marathon mode. “She said I was boring and immature. That I just want to sit at home and watch anime—no! She called them cartoons, Bobo. The nerve.”I hate her.“The worst part is, she was wearing his shirt.She was just waiting for me to get my shit so she could go back to her happy life. She wanted me gone.”
This is the worst part of our friendship. I want to grab him and tell him how much I love him. How much better it could be if he’d give me a chance. Cam likes women, though, and he’s never given me any reason to believe he might be queer.
“You aren’t boring, Cam, you’re a homebody. Nothing wrong with that.” He looks down with his chin resting on his clavicle. He still won’t meet my eyes. I take him in, and for the millionth time I wonder how anyone could just walk away from him.
His soft brown skin is sculpted and defined with muscles he works so damn hard for, and his outie belly button makes me smile. That smile wipes clean as my eyes trace the path of dark hair on his abdomen as it dips beneath his briefs.
I look away, my head resting against his chest feeling the soft rise and fall of his breaths. “I always have fun when it’s us,” I whisper.
His chin lifts to look at me. “Yeah?” I nod. “Bowen—”
“Shh, my hot husbando is on.” I laugh at the growl rumbling in his chest, and Cam brings the blanket over us, the one his grandmother knitted him, and tucks it in at his side. I lay my head against his shoulder before settling against him like I’ve done so many times before. I dare—just a touch—sliding my hand across his stomach and feeling his muscles contract under my palm.
I have to work tomorrow, and I should be focusing on that. I’m working on a new piece I want to test out. That’s the thing about playing piano for people who just want to eat their dinner . . . I don’t feel the added pressure I would if I were playing for a crowd. People eat; I experiment. It’s great.
“Is that okay, Bobo?”
“Huh?”
“This? I fear your pillow wall had some flaws.”
Fuck the pillow wall.“This is fine.” I’m just happy he seems a bit better now, and if cuddling helps keep him happy, well, twist my arm. He plants a kiss on top of my head before settling in against me as Goku comes on the screen with his equally beefy squad of friends, fighting whatever evil they have to for more episodes than is probably neccessary. I don’t care about any of it.
It’s not that I don’t like anime—it’s okay—but it’s this I crave more. Cam’s quiet peace as he watches enraptured by the heroes on screen fighting evil. He mainly watches the ones with action. Shonen, he calls them. but I’ve gotten him to watch a couple of cute ones, and he lovedYuri On Ice.
The theme song blares from the TV and my eyes do not know how to behave in the dark of this room. His stomach flexes and contracts against my hand and he’s stinking up my pillow with his delicious woodsy scent. He smells stupid. His large hand on my back brushes slow moving circles along my spine.
It’s all too much; it’s way to intimate.
“Tien is hot.”
“Stop checking out badass anime men.”
“Why else am I here?” I’ve never seen this show in order, just bits and pieces whenever he puts it on. It’s his comfort show, and while I’m sure he’d love to dive into something new, the repetition calms him. “Who’s your favorite?”
“In this series? This isDragon Ball Z, so Piccolo is my favorite. Then inDragon Ballkid Goku is my favorite. I like Bulma too.” He winks.
“Of course you do.” I look up at him. “Isn’t Piccolo the bad guy?”
“There’s a lot more to it. It’s complicated, but no, he’s not a bad guy.” I listen to him talk about the show, the different forms and new characters who come and go. I don’t care about any of it, I just like hearing him talk. I love it when he nerds out on me. On any other day I’d just lie here and listen to him and all histangents, but right now my eyes are heavy. I haven’t slept much the last few days, and his deep voice is lulling my brain to sleep.
