Chapter 12 Noah

My eyes drop to Cole's smooth, firm butt.

His toned thighs that give way to two perfect legs. To his two shapely calves. Even his feet, which somehow carry personality in the light way he treads as he steps out of his clothes.

Then he walks up to the shower, leans in, and twists on the water. He stands there by the side, reaching his hand in to test the temperature, making no effort to hide himself from me.

He glances over his shoulder at me, that sly smirk still curling his lips ever so slightly.

Then he slides the shower door open and steps in, but leaves it open just enough to show his back as he lets the water run over his body.

Thin streams of water draw roadmaps down his tapered back.

Tracing lines down his muscles that lead like a canyon to the tops of his butt cheeks, pert and beautiful.

I'm drawn to him, as if by the force of gravity, unable to pull away so easily. It felt like just a minute ago I was set on going back to my room to give him his privacy. It was the respectful thing to do. The right thing. The obvious thing.

Now I'm glued to the spot like some kind of voyeur.

Caught in a situation I never dreamed I could possibly be in. A situation that doesn't happen to people like me. A situation that has me questioning whether it's ever been a matter of me lacking the confidence to do bold and crazy things in my life—or if I was just always too many steps away from the opportunity.

Now I'm standing right by the greatest opportunity.

Watching with implied yet obvious permission as Cole takes his shower. After he left the door wide open.

His literal open invitation.

Cole runs his hands through his hair. Steam gathers in the air around him as he takes his time. Is he waiting for something?

Is he waiting for me?

I step inside the bathroom and close the door behind me. After a moment's hesitation, I begin to take off my clothes. Cole continues to shower, the water trickling down his smooth skin, turning it wet and glossy under the dim shower light.

When the last article of clothing comes off, I feel like I'm still wearing something. Is it my fear? My hesitation? Or the invisible chainmail of my reclusiveness that's kept me safe my whole life?

But what do I think I'm keeping myself safe from?

Life itself?

I step into the shower behind Cole. Water droplets spray from off his body and onto mine, almost cold, if it weren't for the hot steam drifting around me like a hug. This close to his body, I'm not sure what to look at, what to touch, what to do. Despite everything we've already done tonight, I'm still nervous.

He turns.

His eyes find mine.

The hunger in them is so much more apparent in the light than it was in my bedroom or in the car. I can see how he gazes at me with intense adoration. It's nearly overwhelming as I gaze back at him. Water drips down his face from the wet, curly spikes of his bangs. He brings a hand to the side of my face, caressing my cheek and the side of my jaw, his fingers tracing the outside of my ear, as his eyes never leave mine. Then he goes in for a kiss, and my back feels the cold wall of the shower as he presses against me.

And even while coated in steam and droplets of water, I feel the electricity of his lips course through my body from our kiss.

My tongue comes out to meet his.

His hands slide down my naked body, slick from steam and water.

I think it's in this moment that I realize I'm safe.

Because instead of reaching for my swelling cock, which is what I believe any reasonable warm-blooded guy would have done in this circumstance, Cole's gentle hands slide behind the small of my back protectively. He draws his body closer to mine, and I feel his warmth envelop me.

It inspires me to kiss him even deeper.

Cole's body responds as his protective grip on me tightens—and our hips come together.

And our cocks touch.

"Are you okay?" he asks me.

I didn't even realize we'd stopped kissing. My eyes pop open. "What?"

"Is this too fast?"

I do acknowledge that there is an insurmountable number of anxieties and questions waging war in my brain right now.

Not to mention the notion of being with another guy in my shower with my parents a mere handful of rooms over.

But standing this close to Cole's beautiful face, it's difficult to think of anything else in the world.

I think I like that.

I think I desperately, urgently need the distraction Cole's face is giving me in forgetting everything that makes me afraid.

"We can slow down," says Cole, attempting to read the weird look on my face. "You were just telling me how I'm your first guy to do anything with. I don't want to overwhelm you or make you feel like I'm pressuring you into anything at all. Even a little bit."

The truth is, I've dreamed things like this before.

For years and years, all through high school, I've had dreams of being some other version of myself—another Noah Reed—who lives recklessly, who doesn't waste hours of his day calculating probabilities of danger and misfortune, who doesn't question all the words he says …

A Noah Reed who cares less.

Happy and free.

"This is the first time I've … truly felt like him," I find myself saying out loud.

Cole lifts his eyebrows, lips parted and wet. "Like who?"

"Like Other Noah Reed," I answer proudly.

Cole's face wrinkles up. "Like, uh … who …?" he asks again, understandably still confused.

I bring my hands to the back of his head, hooking my fingers. "I don't want to slow down. I want you to do what you promised. I want you to …" My heart is beating frantically. The drummer who lives in my chest doesn't know what to do. He's freaking out. "I … I want you to show me things."

Cole's eyes gleam. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

He purses his lips knowingly as he appraises me. "You know, I stand by what I said earlier. You're more confident when you're around me."

Then he kisses me again.

I lose my breath as I kiss him back.

His lips are both gentle and strong, which I can't explain. I feel entirely receptive to the touch of them on me, yet my body reacts like a full-blown war has broken out inside my body, freaking out, celebrating, fight or flight response triggered, yet feeling totally at home under the command of his lips.

My hands are on his chest.

I'm not sure when that happened.

But my fingers are dancing across the shape of Cole Harding's hard, supple body. His smooth pecs. The soft, fleshy surprises of his nipples. His abs that seem to cascade for ages down to the cute, hidden cove of his belly button, where a trail of soft hairs lead to a place where I'm stunned to say my hand is now familiar.

Cole's lips leave mine, then dive into my neck. My head rocks back as he kisses me just under my ear, driving my senses wild. He seems to notice and spends an extra moment there, just to make me squirm giddily against his body.

His lips reach my chest, where his kisses deepen. My hands find his back, where I feel the muscles in his shoulders work as he wraps his arms around me and brings his mouth to my nipple.

The second his tongue comes out, I'm done for.

Pleasure crackles through me with unrelenting force as I feel his tongue play against my nipple. I sorely underestimated how sensitive they are—and how skilled Cole's tongue can be.

My hips thrust forward, grinding my hard cock against him. Without clothes in the way, I realize how exhilarating it can feel to be this exposed to another man. All of my body, on display. Every part of me, accessible for him to do with as he pleases.

He moves further down, lips and tongue dragging, causing my heart to beat harder as I feel him slowly growing closer to where all of my pressure suddenly lies. I feel his wet body slide across my cock as he descends, until finally my cock brushes against the side of his smooth face.

My fingers curl into his wet hair, caressing him. I gaze down to watch as he places kisses on the side of my cock, as if greeting it with love. He looks drunken with desire as his kisses grow deeper, my cock throbbing against his soft lips.

Then his tongue comes out to play again, licking along the whole length.

My mouth hasn't closed. I can't believe what I'm watching. What I'm feeling. What he's doing to me.

What he's about to do to me.

He places kisses down the length of my cock until he's at the tip, where I watch him lick his lips.

But that innocent act of licking his lips causes his tongue to brush over the sensitive tip of my cock.

I gasp and issue a desperate groan.

He brings his tongue out again, this time with more intention, and swirls it around the end of my cock, wetting it. His lips, as soft as silk, keep grazing the tip, making me feel as if I could explode in seconds with no further buildup or anticipation.

I must be more pent-up than I thought. Coming twice in one night is a goalpost I sure didn't know existed in my universe, let alone one I would achieve so unexpectedly.

But just after a few of his playful licks, I'm already there.

Then he opens his mouth.

He wraps his lips around just the head of my cock.

I let out a groan that shakes the walls.

How can just the tip feel so deliriously charged with pleasure?

That's because there's more than four thousand nerve endings there, the know-it-all in my mind explains. And there are another three to four thousand nerve endings down the shaft of the penis, meaning that if Cole decides to proceed, an orgasm will become imminent.

Cole's mouth takes in another half inch.

My fingers curl, pulling on his hair. I gasp. Every muscle in my body tightens.

You need to hold back, the voice tells me. You can't orgasm yet. It is too soon, and Cole's warm, wet mouth is engulfing your throbbing cock one sensitive inch at a time.

The more I clench Cole's hair, the deeper I feel his mouth go.

I think I'm inadvertently encouraging him.

My body wages war against the insurmountable pleasure that is flooding every part of my body right now. It's a tug-of-war, in fact: just me on one side, pulling against a team of powerful Coles who are bringing me with one muscular tug at a time toward the messy, exciting, pleasurable pit of orgasm in the center.

It's a lose-win situation I'm happy to be in.

"Cole …" I whimper.

His tongue bathes my cock as he continues to swallow more and more of me. I'm teetering on the brink. Each and every second that passes pulls me closer.

He starts to run his mouth up and down my cock, slowly and steadily, keeping a perfect rhythm.

Something about that perfect rhythm makes it even harder to hold back. The way he gives me pleasure in timed waves of his lips gliding up, lips gliding down. The way my body anticipates each slippery stroke of his tongue. The way my cock reacts, forced onto the edge, riding it whether it wants to or not, just from the perfect way Cole handles it.

The way he trains my body to rely on his mouth.

Drawing me closer and closer.

My heart, raging and happy.

"Cole … I-I'm about to …"

With surprising finesse, he slides my throbbing wet cock right out of his mouth and lets his soft hand take over without missing a beat. I have nothing to cling to but Cole's wet hair, feeling as if I'm hanging off the end of the earth, just one tap away from falling.

He rises to his feet as he continues stroking me below.

His eyes lock onto mine.

"You're so beautiful, Noah." His words blend into the white noise of the shower, yet ring crystal clear in my ears. "You're such a beautiful person. I wish you could see you through my eyes."

I lean forward and catch his lips with mine.

Just that touch is enough to send me over the edge.

For the second time tonight.

Instinctually, he slows his strokes down as I come. My breaths turn jagged. My hands fall to his back, where I nearly claw with an urgent desperation as I feel myself empty. Something about the way he slows down makes me erupt even harder. Our kissing gains momentum as I cling to him, flying over the clouds, weightless.

I don't know when it happens, but suddenly we're just holding each other under the water, kissing. His hand is still down there, but it's stopped, and my cock pulses as it calms down, dribbling its last drops of pleasure, spent and happy. His other hand caresses my cheek as we softly kiss.

It seems like neither of us wants to stop kissing.

So we don't.

Maybe we aren't ready for this moment to end.

"I swear, I could kiss you for hours," says Cole.

I sigh happily against his face. "There goes the world we were trying to save, wasting all this water."

He gives either of my cheeks a playful kiss, then zeroes in on my eyes. "How about we finish up before we drain Spruce's water supply dry, then?"

I smile at him, feeling giddy and outside of myself. Then my smile falters. "But what about you?"

"Oh, don't worry about me. No need to reciprocate." He grins as he puts another kiss on my lips, then strokes my hair. "I'd be lying if I said it wasn't totally my pleasure to help you experience something amazing. That's enough satisfaction for me."

I return his kiss. "Are you sure?"

"Kiss me again and tell me this face isn't sure."

I kiss him again. Then again.

And again.

The rest of the shower is a dream. We wash each other. I play with his hair as I massage shampoo into it. He does the same to me while facing me and wearing a cute smirk. He slaps me on the ass at one point, surprising me, and then we're back to hugging under the water as the steam swirls around us.

We've done the world no favors today—and certainly not the water bill, either. It is a statistical certainty that despite our efforts, we have drained Spruce's water supply tonight.

"Do you wonder if we're someone else's train town on a card table in a guestroom?" asks Cole later when we're in front of the bathroom mirror brushing our teeth. He's only in a towel. His bare, toned chest still has beads of water clinging to it like they're in love with him, desperate not to evaporate or be wiped away, hanging on for dear life. Trust me, water droplets, I get it.

"Someone else's what?" I ask, my mouth full of toothbrush.

"What if we're just a made-up train town called Windville and an imaginative man is ‘playing' with us, moving our pieces around the town and imagining our lives as they unfold?" He runs water over his toothbrush, then resumes vigorously brushing. "What do you think?" he asks me through his mouthful.

I wonder if he always wears his towels so low-hanging around his slender waist, or if he's just doing it to be sexy around me. Oh, how little effort it would take for that towel to suddenly come loose and drop straight to the floor …

"I think you and my dad spent too much time playing with trains," I answer him.

"Your dad's, like, way cool." He spits into the sink, then points his toothbrush at me. "And now I know where you get all of your quirkiness and personality from. You've got cool parents."

I make a face. "Cool? They're … embarrassing and … and really weird."

"Aww, come on, Noah. They're unapologetically themselves."

"My mom babies me," I grumble as I brush my teeth sulkily. "I don't know why she keeps doing it. I'm an adult, now. And my dad is always engrossed in his weird little worlds. Just be glad he didn't take you out to the garage to show you his other hobbies. It doesn't stop at tiny train towns. You would be up until five in the morning hearing his jibber jabber."

"I might be up for it. Been a while since I've enjoyed a good, long jibber jabber session with a parent. And your mom loves you and cares about you, as far as I can tell. So what's the problem? Let her baby you." He chuckles and shakes his head. "Heck, I'd rather have parents that baby me than—"

Suddenly he stops, appearing uncomfortable.

I look at him. "Than … what?"

He comes out of it, shrugs, then resumes brushing without finishing his sentence. I wonder what he was about to say.

And why he stopped saying it.

He catches my eyes right then in the mirror. Then he lifts his arm abruptly to show me his wound, which I notice is wrapped only halfway with protective gauze. "I made a soggy mess of my bandages in the shower. I have to redo them. Do you, uh … mind helping me wrap the rest of it? I could only do this much."

"Of course." I pop my toothbrush in my mouth, then take hold of the roll of gauze that hangs from his arm and carefully wrap the remainder of the wound.

As I do, he watches me, his eyes looking bright and playful, as if this was a ploy of his to get me to touch him more.

Mine, by contrast, are serious and hyper-focused on my task.

"Aww, look at us, Noah," he sings, practically giddy.

"Don't distract me."

"We're so cute together."

"Shush."

He can't wipe his smile away. "Alright, alright. I'll keep all of my thoughts to myself."

As I finish wrapping his arm, I wonder what thoughts exactly he's having. Thoughts about us? Thoughts about our parents?

Thoughts about what we just did in the shower?

And what we did on my bed before?

And in the car before that?

I don't recognize my life tonight. I don't know who I am.

But as I wrap Cole's arm, with his eyes affixed adoringly to me and my work, I wonder if I miss the old Noah at all. I wonder if it's totally okay that I've been thrust so far outside my comfort zone, I feel like a completely different person.

What if this is what I've needed my whole life?

Someone like Cole Harding, who sees the person inside of me that no one else could?

"You should be a nurse," says Cole.

I look at him. "What?"

"The way you take care of me. And your knowledge, like when you told me about the Necro-fancy-eye-tis thing."

Still not even close, but nice try. "I just look too many things up. I spend too much time in Wikipedia rabbit holes. That doesn't make me a doctor by any generous stretch of the imagination."

"You fascinate me, Noah."

His compliment still makes me smile.

When I'm finally done, I'm not sure what to say, so I gently let go of his arm, nod at him, then resume brushing my teeth.

Cole lingers there a moment, his eyes on me, then he casually observes his arm while smiling appreciatively. Soon, he's back to brushing his teeth as well. After a minute, he catches my gaze in the reflection of the mirror and makes a funny face. I look away. After he rinses off his toothbrush, he quickly throws another face at me, catching me off-guard, this time with his eyes crossed and his tongue sticking out. Honestly, it's more cute than it is funny, and I crack a smile. "There we go," he sings, taking that for some kind of victory, then struts out of the bathroom.

I watch him go. My eyes run down his tapered back, settling on the round, perfect shape of his butt through the towel, which hugs it excruciatingly well. It moves like music as he confidently struts out of the bathroom with his freshly-bandaged arm.

I peel my eyes away, my heart thrashing in my chest. Why is my heart racing again? Aren't I comfortable around Cole by now?

These are sensations I am not used to.

Powerful sensations.

I have to acknowledge that what my body is feeling right now is totally normal and human. It's just like when anyone touches a hot surface and shrieks out in pain. Or when someone steps into a cold room and their nipples acquire the ability to cut glass.

This is just another kind of reaction. Like seeing something beautiful, then feeling like I'm going to die.

It's just the ups and the downs of post-orgasm chemistry.

Feeling like I'm on top of the world. Like a king. Invincible and drunk on a goblet of happiness.

And feeling strangely exposed and terrified. Like a prisoner in that same king's cell. Small, insecure, and awaiting certain death.

I simply need to accept the fact that whatever I'm feeling is okay, relax as best as I can, and understand I have no control over what is happening to my body.

I want to enjoy my night with Cole, a guy who has proven capable of upending everything I know.

A guy who makes me not recognize my life.

And gives me immeasurable pleasure.

After giving myself time to calm down with that pep talk, I put away my toothbrush and leave the bathroom, feeling capable of facing Cole and whatever tonight brings in terms of surprises, spontaneity, and other unexpected phenomena.

Then I reach my bedroom.

And I see Cole.

Who has traded the towel for the clothes I left him.

He glances quickly at me. "Tell me, Noah," he asks, inspecting my shelf of figurines. "Did you really never notice me back then?"

I know he asked me a question. And I know it's normal to give a response, or at the very least acknowledge that a question was just asked. But I can't seem to focus on anything other than the fact that Cole is wearing one of my old math club shirts from high school, and it's a size too small for his body, and the soft heather-gray material is clinging to his toned chest and lean back in all the right places. He borrowed a pair of green gym shorts from me, too, and the bottom of my math club shirt clings exquisitely to his butt in a distracting and pleasurable way, just like the towel did. I can barely peel my eyes off of him.

Until he turns away from the shelf to face me. "Noah …?"

I snap my eyes to his. "I … I never really paid much attention to anything or anyone. It's nothing personal. I just didn't really have a lot of friends."

"But you were in the math club," he says with a note of humor as he points at his chest.

His broad, muscular chest.

With the material of my math club shirt pulled taut across his pecs, so tightly I can even see the punctuation marks of his nipples through the shirt.

"Right," I finally answer. "I was in the math club."

"So you had at least some friends," he concludes.

Then, without warning, he decides to take a seat at my desk. He twists the chair around to prop his feet up on my bed and put his hands behind his head. The soft, stretchy material of the shirt even clings to his armpits somehow, drawing my eyes at once. With his arms up like that, the good one and the bandaged one, his biceps pop with extra emphasis. How am I supposed to carry on a conversation when he goes and does something as cruel as that?

It makes me wonder how I might have reacted if he was in my math club back then. If he was given one of the shirts and wore it the way he wears mine. If I would've gotten a single math question right with my attention so robbed by perfect pectorals.

But it's more than his looks that are killing me right now, isn't it? It's how he keeps his heart open to everything. Even my weird parents. He takes a look at every part of me and accepts it wholly without compromise. I'm not sure I ever realized such openness can exist in a person with no small print attached.

Everything about Cole Harding is unapologetically genuine.

"You were the popular one," I point out as I force my eyes off of him and come into the room to take his towel, which was left on the bed. I hang it on a hook on the back of my closet door to dry.

"‘Popular' doesn't necessarily equate having a lot of friends." Cole shrugs as he insists on staying in that distracting pose of his, with his hands behind his head and feet propped up on the bed. "I wasn't that close with many people in school. Despite having a lot of people in my life, it felt like none of them really knew me."

I sit on the edge of the bed. "Really?"

He smirks at me. "I'm getting the sense you're not all that close with a whole lot of people, either."

"Not really."

"I wish one of us approached the other back then." He sighs as he gazes at me fondly. "I would've happily been your friend."

I'm trying not to just stare back at him, objectifying him with my out-of-control eyes. I'm not the kind of person who objectifies. But Cole is in my bedroom. Looking the way he does. After having done the things he's done to me. Going on with absolute sincerity about wishing he had been my friend back then.

What if I had a friend like him?

What if we had tons of sleepovers like we're doing tonight?

What if my racing heart never stopped racing?

His smile broadens. "I'm happy we're catching up on all of this lost time. I'm happy I'm here. I'm …" His voice soften as he gazes at me. "I'm happy you let me stay."

I smile back. "Me, too."

The more I look at Cole, with that disarming power behind his gaze and his smile, the more I find myself seeing the vulnerable human being underneath the beauty. His beautiful body falls away like it was a fa?ade all along, like drapes falling from the window, and for a moment, all I see are his eyes. I see the guy at the photo shoot who wasn't sure where to put his hands or how to position his arms. I see the uncertainty in his posture when he was on that walk with me yesterday, when he looked afraid of offending me or going too far, when he was stripped down to just his feelings.

I guess what I'm realizing is that Cole is a beautiful person.

Even without his beauty.

"Can I confess something?" he asks.

I look up. "Confess what?"

He drops his feet from the bed and sits next to me suddenly. "I know things are gonna be happening fast. Lots of stuff. Like you pointed out earlier. I know I'm gonna be in the middle of a bright-ass spotlight I never asked for. But …" He looks at me. "I need you to know that I don't want anyone else. I'm not doing this pageant to find the perfect guy. He's already sitting right next to me. The perfect guy is you, Noah."