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I press my hand against his mouth, watching in fascination as he licks my palm. His mouth is gorgeous and, dazed, I slip two fingers past his lips. Wesley sucks, lapping at them until they’re clean. I wasn’t sure about it at first but seeing him lick my come like it's a delicacy sends new sparks of arousal down to my spent cock.
“You do that so well,” I say quietly and nibble at the faint stubble on his jaw. “God, you’re amazing, Wes. You’re gonna make me hard again just from watching you.”
Wesley squeezes his eyes shut, mouth clamping down on my fingers as he pumps his cock steadily, his orgasm much quieter than mine was. It’s still fascinating. I catalog every detail of how his come splatters against his hand, some landing on his shirt and hip, how his mouth falls open around my fingers as I caress his tongue. I shiver, overwhelmed.
When he’s finished, he takes off his sleep shirt and uses it as a makeshift napkin, cleaning both of us up. I slip into my pajama pants, settling onto my side of the bed again. This time I’m facing inwards.
Wesley wraps his arm around me, pressing my face against his chest. The scent of pine and sweat and sex consumes me, and it doesn’t take long before I fall asleep.
I think I feel the press of soft lips against my forehead, and I enter my dreams with a smile on my face.
*
The next morning, the storm is over, and the wind has died down, but the snowfall is too high to hike through.
Like always, I wake up before Wesley does. It’s funny, for such a practical and organized person, he’s the heaviest sleeper I know.
Breakfast is ready by the time he wakes up; a full plate of pancakes made from store-bought mix, but I added milk and an egg to make the stack extra light and fluffy. I fill two metal mugs, coffee for him and sweetened hot chocolate for me, and bring it to the bedroom on a makeshift tray.
I place it gently on the bedside table and squat down beside Wesley’s sleeping figure. He looks peaceful like this, the ever-present wrinkle between his brow smoothed out.
I’ve always known Wesley was a good-looking guy, but I’ve never let myself see how breathtaking he is. He could be a model in another life.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” I say, shaking him a little. “I made your favorites for breakfast.”
Wesley groans and blinks his eyes open blearily. When he finally sees me, a tender, radiant smile lights his face, and my breath hitches in my throat. I know a lot of his facial expressions, but this smile is new. I blink, staring at him for a moment, and I don’t notice his hand reaching out until he’s grabbing my chin and enveloping my mouth with his.
I can’t help the sound that pulls out of me as I brace myself, one arm on the bed, the other gripping his shoulder. His tongue is languid, lazily coaxing more sounds from me like spun gold, and I relax into his embrace, ignoring the taste of both of our morning mouths. I want to pull closer to him, to meld myself into his skin, and stay there forever.
His other hand catches mine and guides it down over his chest and between his legs to the large bulge resting there. Running off of instinct, I grab him through his sweatpants and rub, like he did to himself last night.
Wesley moans appreciatively against my mouth, and heat flashes through me like a flame.
It takes us a while to get to breakfast. By the time we’re finished, Wesley is sitting against the headboard, sweaty and flushed. I’m straddling his hips with my shirt somehow lying on the floor, and the food is lukewarm.
As we eat, I can’t help but sneak glances at Wesley. He doesn’t look like he hates me. He’s the calmest I’ve ever seen him, his shoulders relaxed and the same, blinding smile gracing his features.
“What’s the matter?” he says.
I turn my face away, feeling flush.
“Nothing,” I say quickly.
My chest is tight, anxiety thrumming in my veins and down my fingers. I can’t believe this is real. Three years of keeping my hands to myself, of making sure not to stay too close to my best friend in case he thinks I’m weird and leaves me forever.
Now I’m sitting in his lap, my mouth full of the taste of him, and the sky hasn’t fallen. I don’t want to think about what this means, so I don’t.
Wesley leans over to place his coffee mug on the tray and grips my waist to keep himself steady. My breath hitches.
“Okay, it’s something.” I tug on my fringe, stomach curling with nerves. “You don’t regret last night, do you?”
“Never. It was…” Wesley trails off, clearing his throat. “I liked it very much.”
I grin. “Me too. It was intense.”
“Yeah? I thought you said you’ve had encounters before.”
“I’ve jerked off with my ex, but it was never like that.”
