Six-forty in the morning and there's a kid in my bed.
That's the first thing I think when I wake up. It's gray out. The city is still waking up on the other side of the window. My alarm hasn't gone off. It’s a day off. And there's a kid in my bed.
Not a kid. Theo. Asleep. On his stomach, turned toward me, one hand tucked under his chin. His hair's in his face. There's a mark on the side of his neck where I bit him and it's darker this morning than it was last night. Purple showing it’s definitely going to bruise. His back has the shape of the sheet pressed into it where he's been sleeping on a crease.
I don't move.
I don't know what to do with this.
I've had guys in this apartment before. Not many. Not in this bed. The ones I bring home I send home. I don't sleep next to people. I don't like waking up with breath on my neck that isn't mine. Last night I didn't want him to go. I didn't want to call him a cab. I didn't want to put on pants and drive him. I wanted him here. I wanted him here so hard I didn't even notice I was goingto fall asleep with his hair under my jaw until I woke up now and his hair was still there.
Which is its own fucking problem.
He makes a small noise in his sleep. Not quite a word. His hand moves across the sheet and finds my hip and stops there.
My chest does something. I don't name it.
I lie there and I look at the ceiling and I try to talk myself into being pissed off. I'm Mad Dog Creed. I fuck and I leave. I don't hold guys. I don't watch them sleep. I don't let them put a hand on my hip in the morning like that's a thing we do now.
Except, apparently I do. And apparently I'm going to have to deal with that.
I turn my head an inch so I can see him better. The bruise on his neck. The line of his shoulder. His breathing, slow and heavy and trusting. Nobody has slept in this bed like that. I'm not sure I've ever slept in this bed like that.
His hand flexes on my hip.
“Hey,” I say. Quiet.
He doesn't answer.
He's asleep. He's half-asleep. His eyes are closed but his fingers know I'm there.
His hand slides off my hip, down, under the sheet, and he finds me already half-hard without looking and wraps his fingers around me and strokes me once, slow, and my whole body goes still.
“Theo.”
His eyes are still closed.
He pulls the sheet down off me. He moves without waking up all the way. He crawls across the mattress in the half-dark and he puts his mouth on my hip bone and he kisses it. Then lower. Then lower. His hair brushes my stomach. His breath is warm on me. He doesn't open his eyes.
He takes me in his mouth.
Oh fuck.
He takes me like he's been thinking about doing it in his dreams. He takes me in slow and deep; he doesn't rush. His tongue flattens. His cheeks hollow. His hand wraps around the base of me and holds me steady as he works me slow and patient, and it's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done to me in my life.
I put my hand in his hair.
I don't push. I just rest it there like he did for me last night. He makes a small sound around me. His eyelashes are dark on his cheeks. He's got a crease in his face from the pillow.
He takes me into his throat. I have no idea how he knows to do this. I don't ask. I hold on to the back of his head with my other hand and breathe through my teeth, and I don't move my hips. And then he does something with his tongue on the way up, and I fuck up into his mouth before I can stop it and he takes it. He just takes it. He hums around me likeyes.
“Fuck, Theo. Fuck.”
He's smiling. Around me. Around my cock in his mouth, he's smiling.
I come in his throat about ninety seconds later. I come with my hand in his hair and his name in my mouth and his eyes still closed like he's dreaming this. He swallows. All of it. He comes off me wet and he wipes his chin with the back of his wrist and he crawls back up the bed and lays his head on my chest and he's asleep again in under a minute.
I lie there.
