Obiora felt so calm, so safe, that he was about to fall asleep when Ejiro spoke, his voice a soft, shaky whisper, “Obiora? I think I might be demisexual.”
Obiora was immediately wide awake. His eyes met Ejiro’s and held. The moment felt tense but fragile, like a butterfly had landed on Obiora’s forehead, and he didn’t dare breathe for fear of scaring it away.
“Yeah?” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“Yeah,” Ejiro echoed, his voice just as light.
“That’s wonderful, Ejiro. That you’re figuring things out,” Obiora said, giving him a small encouraging smile. “Thank you for trusting me. It means a lot.”
Ejiro blushed, tearing his eyes away, back to focusing on the sheets, obviously self-conscious. “I mean, I don’t know. What if—?” His breath hitched slightly. His voice lowered even more, so Obiora had to strain to hear him. “What if I’m just faking it? What if I’m just—God, I don’t know.” He flopped onto his back, hiding his face behind his hands.
Obiora’s heart felt so fucking tender. “Don’t worry yourself, Ejiro. You feeling like this? At this point, I’m pretty sure constantly doubting yourself and your right to belong is almost like a queer rite of passage.”
Ejiro dropped his hands, laughing. “Are you serious?”
“I’m serious.” Obiora grinned. “Like, trust me on this. I’m sure everyone who’s ever suspected they were queer went through a stage of thinking that they’re just “faking it”, that they’re not valid or something along those lines—not like those “real” queers with their “real” trauma and “real” experiences, or some such bullshit.” Ejiro laughed, even as he looked a bit guilty, and Obiora had to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss his forehead. “I think that sort of thinking stems from this desperate need to belong. We want to fit in, you know? But we’re afraid of rejection, so we give ourselves some arbitrary criteria to meet—like, am I really bisexual if I’m attracted to women a hundred percent of the time, but other people like, only once in a blue moon? The answer is yes. Yes, I am. Not to say that having this fear isn’t valid; with how vilified the LGBT+ community is, some of us queer folk can get really defensive about who belongs and who doesn’t. But personally, I believe that as long as you aren’t hurting anyone and you aren’t like, a fucking paedophile, then you’re okay.
“Look at me, Ejiro.” He waited until Ejiro shyly met his eyes. “You’re valid, do you hear me? You’re absolutely valid, and the most important seal of approval you really need is your own.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Ejiro nodded, his voice thick with emotion, but Obiora could tell he didn’t really believe him, at least not yet.
Fuck. Obiora wished he could instil in Ejiro the confidence he himself already had in his sexuality, but he knew all he could do was support him. Ejiro unfortunately had to do the work for himself.
“Thank you, Obiora,” he said. A tiny smile curved his lips. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it, like, every single moment I’ve had to myself, ever since you said I might be—I’ve thought about it. What really cemented it for me, I think, is that I don’t know what sexual attraction even is? Like, you see someone and you can just, what, picture having sex with them?” He wrinkled his nose in faint disgust. “Sounds fake, but okay.”
Obiora laughed. Ejiro looked at him, pleased.
“Sexual attraction is a spectrum,” Obiora said, still grinning. “I mean, in general, all attraction is a spectrum, but I’ll focus on sexual attraction for now. Sometimes you see someone, and you absolutely can and do picture how they’d look naked.” Obiora leered, which made Ejiro roll his eyes.
“Be serious, abeg.”
Obiora laughed, then sobered up. “Sometimes, you can imagine—and often desire—what it might feel like to have their naked body pressed against yours.” Obiora’s voice, completely without his control, went deeper, gravelly. It could be a trick of the light, but Ejiro’s eyes were unusually dark, his full lips slightly parted. “Sometimes—most times, I think—sexual attraction is all about the ability to recognise, appreciate, and respond to someone’s inherent sexual appeal; to see a person as a sexual being, and find yourself helplessly drawn in reaction to it.”
“Right.” Ejiro’s voice was hoarse. “That …” He swallowed visibly. “That makes sense. A helpless response when you recognise someone’s sexual appeal. Got it.”
His eyes dropped to Obiora’s lips.
And Obiora saw it, the moment Ejiro—for the fastest second—stopped seeing Obiora as merely a walking flesh bag, but instead considered him as a sexual being. His eyes drank in Obiora’s mouth, his chest, his arms, his legs. The perusal was lightning quick, but it lit Obiora up like a match.
And then came the response. The slight quickening of Ejiro’s breath, the restless shifting of his legs; his eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes dark and intense, his tongue darting out to wet the seam of his parted lips.
Obiora felt like he was going to spontaneously combust.
“So, what …” Jesus fucking Christ, his voice was so fucking deep, scraping through his throat smooth yet raspy, like whiskey through rocks. Obiora felt his dick begin to thicken between his legs. “What about when … when you want to be close to someone?” Ejiro whispered. Obiora didn’t think Ejiro noticed he was leaning closer as he asked the question. “Like, when you find yourself desiring to be—to like, hold their hand, or be in their arms but like, not in a completely sexual way. What … is that also …?”
“Sensual attraction,” Obiora answered, his voice just as hoarse. Ejiro shivered visibly at the sound, his eyelashes fluttering. Obiora was going to die. “The desire to be close, right? Like, holding hands, cuddling, maybe even kissing, but in a non-sexual way …”
“Right. Kissing.” Fucking hell, did Ejiro even know? Was he aware how—how naked his desire was? “Yes. Exactly.”
“Yes. That’s sensual attraction.”
“Sensual attraction. Right. Um.”
Ejiro was staring at his mouth again. The only word Obiora could think of to describe his expression was hungry.
Obiora made a tiny, frantic noise.
It startled Ejiro out of his trance. He abruptly shot out of his bed. “I’m just—” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the ensuite. “I need to—freshen up. I’ll … see you.” He grabbed one of his bags from the floor and disappeared into the bathroom like the hounds of hell were on his heels, locking the door behind him.
