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He looks up at me, and our eyes meet. “I do feel bad sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because they aren’t bad people, they’re just ignorant and set in their ways, and now they’re all alone. And my sisters don’t have parents. Because of me.”
I grasp onto his chin and force him to look at me. “They all made their own choices, Eli. You’re not responsible for the choices other people make.”
He blinks, wetting his lips. “Right. You’re right.”
My eyes flick to his lips, and I almost lean down and press my mouth to his, but I don’t because Eli takes a step back, and my hand falls to my side.
“We should catch up,” he says, and I nod.
Yeah, okay, Eli. I can read you. I’ll just try again later. I can play this game all fucking day long.
When we finish the tour, I meander around the small gift shop because I want some souvenirs, and that’s when I see Elliot holding up a shirt. He glances at it, presses it to his chest, but when he catches me looking at him, he quickly shoves it back on the rack. His cheeks are red, and he won’t meet my gaze. Fucker won’t let himself have fun things.
Fine. He doesn’t need to twist my arm.
I’ll buy it for him.
I walk over to where he’s inspecting a row of snow globes and grab the shirt he’d been eyeing off the hanger.
“What are you doing?” he huffs as I stroll over to the counter. He’s on my heels, hissing, “I don’t need that shirt, Luke. I won’t wear it.”
But those words go in one ear and out the other.
Blah, blah, blah.
“That will sit in my dresser and never come out,” Elliot continues. “The moths will eat it before I put that damn thing on.”
But I still hand the boy behind the counter my credit card and then stuff the shirt in my bag. He thinks I can’t tell how much he wants it. Well, one day, I’ll catch him with it on. He’ll blush and stammer, and then I’ll just bend right on over and let him fuck me. Because I am just that gone for this guy.
Maybe I’ll peel that shirt off of him before he does, or maybe I’ll let him wear it while he pounds into me. I could go either way.
And let me tell you a secret.
Later that night, when he thinks I’m not looking, he peers into that bag, reaches in, and pulls it out. He eyes it, his lips twitching, and my heart just outright stutters in my chest.
* * *
The next morning, Elliot sleeps through his alarm. It’s funny, I didn’t think someone like him was even capable of that. I’d assumed when I first met him that he’d always wake up before his alarm even had a chance to go off. But he’s been snoozing right through it ever since I started sleeping over.
I’m getting a big head over it. I know he’s sleeping better when I’m with him.
He’s probably dreaming of me too.
I press soft kisses against his bare chest. He actually slept without a shirt. HisSesame Streetpajamas haven’t left the suitcase.
I convinced him to keep them there, using my tongue.
“Eli, gotta get up,” I say softly, running my hands up his neck and into his hair. He presses against me and huffs contentedly.
“You’re gonna be late, Doc,” I say and move further on top of him. His hands slip down my bare back, and he ruts up against me.
Love how responsive he is when he’s asleep. Whatever hinders him from opening up during the day isn’t present now. He’s cuddly and sweet and raw.
He’d probably even let me kiss him if I tried.
