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Secretly, I love it. I like taking care of him. I like that I can touch him sometimes, and I like that he only lets me do this for him.
He runs his hand over my hair and walks away. After all the years of playing, there’s still anxiety before a game. You never know how it’s going to go, who will get hurt, which team will be hungrier for the win. Paul knows physical touch helps calm me, so he always makes sure to do something before we start warmups. We’ve gotten comments over the years from players about us fucking. Sports are notorious for being homophobic and full of toxic masculinity, so most of us that are part of the alphabet mafia tend to keep it pretty quiet. I’m bi, and only a handful of people know. Not because I’m
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The man who has come to mean more to me than anyone else wants intimacy, but not sex. I can care for him, about him, but I can’t be in love with him.
A warm body presses against me, making me jump, but a quick look over my shoulder and getting an eyeful of red hair has me relaxing. Brendon’s arms come around my waist, and his face presses to the back of my shoulder. He’s my comfort, and he doesn’t even know it.
Nothing has ever felt as right as this moment, with this man, in this room. He’s my everything. And that terrifies me. I’m so gone for this boy.
Brendon is a toucher, it’s just how he is. He needs it, but it’s killing me.
I’ve been living and breathing your touch lately. If I don’t come up for air, I’ll drown in you.
My best friend, the love of my fucking life, is in pain and fighting himself.
“You’re my favorite person. You’re my person. There’s nothing about you I would change. You hear me?”
My boy, the love of my fucking life, looks at me like he’s a child. Hurt and uncertainty and humiliation clear in his sad brown eyes.
“It’s a horrible idea. Why do you want this?” The smile drops from his face, and it turns serious. “Because you’re my person.”
“Come on, my merry band of hooligans!” he calls, thrusting one fist in the air and running down the hallway. His cape billows behind him, and I mirror his pose. “Come now, Batman, there is fuckery a foot!” I yell over my shoulder and run down the hallway toward the elevator.
“Your quirks don’t bother me. I like that you’re you. You make me smile; it’s impossible not to have fun with you around, and some of my favorite memories involve you.”
“I can’t imagine my life without you,” he says, his voice rough. “You’re it for me.”
I love that Brendon doesn’t hide who he is, isn’t afraid to show affection to other guys, isn’t intimidated by toxic masculinity mentality. Being around him has helped me accept myself too.
Brendon may have been the one to need touch first, but he’s made me crave his nearness. Nothing calms me like he does, like his skin against mine, his heart beating with mine. The raging, turbulent emotions ease into a calm, flat sea.
