Jayce

Jayce

Please.

He said please. Did I really hear him say that? Namid wants me too?

His face is so open, and his eyes are so blue, so deep and dark and indigo. There is red there too. That's my fault. I'm the reason he spent last night thinking he'd lost a friend. No. Not just a friend. Someone he wants. Someone he…loves? His lips are slightly parted, and he's leaning ever so slightly toward me, and he might just let me.

My fingertips hover in the bright ray of light that streams in through the window. They're so close. He's so close. I bite my lower lip as I let them slide to trace along the stubble of his jaw. I've never seen him unshaven before. It's dark, as black as his hair, and rough on the pads of my fingers. His eyelids flutter when our skin meets, and I swear his head leans into my hand.

My fingertips trail down the side of his neck, and his heart is racing so quickly under my touch. His eyelashes are so long and black, and his lips look so soft.

Is he closer now? He's closer now, and his hand is on my thigh. Jesus, his hand is on my thigh. I've never wanted anyone like this, never known it was possible to want someone this much. The ache that has lived in the pit of my stomach my entire life, the fear that I'd always be alone, that I'd never get to know what it feels like to fall in love, is suddenly gone, and there are butterflies in its place, and they are so fluttery and bright, and he's so very close.

When my lips brush his, the world no longer exists. There is nothing other than the smoothness of his skin and the warmth of his breath as he exhales sharply. I inhale, taking his breath into my lungs as if he's the only thing keeping me alive.

His hand is resting over mine against his throat, long fingers curling tightly, clutching at me like he's afraid to let go. His grip is strong, stronger than I'd expected, and I want him to overpower me. I want him to consume me. I want to be his. Only his.

His mouth parts, and his tongue traces my bottom lip, tender and slow, and I let his body into mine without hesitation. The sensation of our tongues and breath and skin together drags a moan from deep in my chest, and then he's moving. He surges forward and swallows my moan with his kiss. He pushes me back against the couch, his lips and his body desperate and hungry as he moves to straddle me, knees tucked in against my sides as he lowers himself to my lap, the fingers of his free hand gripping the back of my neck. I clutch at his hip, tugging him against me tighter and tighter, erasing the space between our bodies .

"Can you read minds?" I exhale the words against his lips.

He pulls back slightly and cocks an eyebrow. He's flushed and panting, and I never want to look at anything else again. Only him. Only like this.

"This is exactly what I want. You. Like this. Just like this."

His lips curl into a smile as his body surges back against mine, pushing me into the sofa cushions, and I let go, letting him cover me, letting him move me. He can have me. He can have anything.

I want him to kiss me for the rest of my life.

A loud chime breaks through the muted, desperate sounds of breath and skin and fabric, and suddenly, Namid's lips are no longer pressed to mine. His head drops to my shoulder as he exhales a pained, groaning laugh.

"That's my alarm. We have a service at work today." His words and breath roll across my skin, and I dig my fingers tighter into his hip.

"Of course you do." I can't suppress the laughter that's forming in my chest. I've never felt this light. I'm almost weightless, and Namid's lithe body is the only thing stopping me from floating away.

He lifts his head from my shoulder, and his indigo eyes hold my gaze as my fingertips wander along his throat, just above his T-shirt. I don't think I've ever felt anything as intense as the wave of love and lust that rushes through me when his body trembles under my touch .

"What time do you think you'll be finished?" Is that really my voice? It's at least an octave lower than normal.

He tightens his grip, his fingers curling through my hair until my scalp tingles.

"Maybe three? I just help get things ready and then clean up once people leave. I don't actually interact with anyone or go to the graveside services or anything. Things like that are too overwhelming for me."

I can't stop myself from touching him. My hand has slid down over his collarbones, and my palm is pressed to his chest, his heartbeat pulsing against my skin.

"Can I see you after?"

His smile is brilliant enough that it could guide ships into a stormy harbor.

"Yes."

I lean in and trail my cheek along his jaw, and his heart races as if it's trying to escape his chest.

"I want to take you on a date."

"Jayce…"

He doesn't look happy anymore. Why doesn't he look happy anymore?

"You know I'm not very good in public most of the time as it is, and it'll be too cold for us to wander the park with the storm coming today. I'm not sure it's a great idea for us to be seen dating anyway. I don't know any queer people here, do you?"

He doesn't wait for me to answer .

"I don't really know how that would go over even if you were seeing someone who people liked, but for it to be me on top of us suddenly being visibly queer…"

"Hey…" I cut off his rambling with a gentle smile. "Trust me enough not to do something stupid?"

The least attractive sound of skepticism I've ever heard snorts its way out of his mouth. I adore it. I lean up to brush my lips across his once more. I don't know how I'm going to convince myself to let him leave my lap and walk out the door, even if it's just for a few hours. My whole life I had no idea it was possible to feel like this, and I'm terrified that if I let him out of my arms, it will disappear.

He's kissing me again, and it only takes an instant before his lips part and his tongue asks for entry once more. I grant it gladly and with a whimper. It would be so easy to tighten my hand on his hip and roll to the side, sweeping his body underneath mine and pressing him into the cushions. But right now, in this moment, as much as I want that, I want this more. I want the slow, tender, delicate taste of him. I want the contrast of his petal-soft lips and his strong fingers digging into the back of my neck. I want to get lost in the way his heart rushes and how the air from his lungs escapes into mine and the weight of his body against me.

When he finally pulls away, I'm trembling against him.

"Pick me up at five?"

Jesus, if his voice sounds this wrecked right now, how is it going to sound when I touch him like the stranger in the alley did? Oh my god. He's going to let me touch him like that. He's going to touch me.

When he slips from my lap to stand in front of me, the line of his cock, long and hard and straining against last night's jeans, falls right into my line of sight, and I can't help the strangled groan I utter as I tilt my head back and catch his amused, lust-filled gaze.

"Later."

This time, my groan is long and deliberate, and I'm pretty sure that I might not survive the next seven hours.