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I'm a sucker for a guy's hands.
He’s the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen in real life, and I hate it.
“Fuck you.” He leans forward, and his eyes burn mine. “That’s what you want.”
“Never jump,” I whisper. “Never fall.” His lips brush my back. He hugs me tight, wrapping himself around me. “You gotta be careful, Millsy. Don’t come here without me.”
And then he steps in closer, wraps a hand around the back of my head, and kisses me so hard and deep I nearly slide to the ground.
“In my better-case scenarios I like to think we graduate to something better. Sort of how the little babies don’t know what the fuck is going on, and then they grow up and their brains, their consciousness like…refines its focus on speech and all this complex social behavior. I feel like maybe it’s the opposite with death. Maybe our brains are too narrowed when we’re human, framed in by the senses we have, and once we die and ditch the meat bag, those walls are busted down and we can see more.
“Perfect angel,” I whisper. “You.”
“This is fucking nuts. When I’m with you, I come like—” “Like what?” I whisper, grinning. “It’s like a drug. Like my dick’s fucking pumped on something. Even now” —he reaches down to palm himself— “I bet I could get off again. Like, five minutes.”
“I want to suck you again,” he says. “All the time.”
“You’re the only one I could have done this for. With,”
“There’s no such thing as too good, Ezra.” On a whim, I wrap an arm around him, pulling him against my chest. “Only with you,”
“You smell good,” I whisper. “It’s just soap.”
I kiss his throat. He kisses my lips—a little brush of his mouth on mine. I kiss him back and deepen it, because I love the way his tongue feels. Kissing him is so much better than I ever knew it would be.
I don’t know what I can say—to make him understand where I am. What’s at stake for me. Maybe it doesn’t matter. I catch his gaze before turning left onto the highway, and I decide it doesn’t. Nothing matters but him—being in this moment with him. At least until I can’t anymore.
I feel like I’m falling through thin air alone. I’ve felt like this for so long with him. Even though last night was a damn dream, the fact that he’s acting cooler today scares me.
“Okay, Daddy.”
For the first time ever, I have the thought that I’m not sure how long I can stand it. Wanting him…and getting pushed back. Craving what we had briefly, and getting angry blow jobs instead.
Every passing day, I feel more stupid for engaging in it, but how do I stop? How do I just…not want him? Why do I want him?
I like how he kisses me. Like I’m the only thing he needs in the world. I fucking love the way he whipped into the old ball fields and sucked my dick so hard and forceful. More than that, I loved how he wrapped his arm around me that night on the couch. The tight hug. I love that.
“Beauty or power?” After a second, he says, “Power. No contest.” “That’s because you’re beautiful,” I whisper, smiling. “I might be tempted to go with beauty.”
“Hugging you. Like…holding you. You know.” I’m awkward now. He’s gonna laugh or something. “I’m so tired,” he murmurs. “Can you say that again?” Fuck, I’m babbling as he tries to fall asleep. “I’m just weird.” I laugh. “I’m saying I’ve been wanting to hug you. For a really long time,” I whisper. “Like some kind of clinger.”
"You shouldn't fuck with me, though." "But if I do, you want it,” I say sharply. “You want me. Say it again." My throat aches and my heart races, and he looks up at me. "I want you,” Ezra whispers. “I wanted you since—" His lips press together. "Since when?" "I don't want to tell you."
“Look at me, Ez. Look at my face.” He shuts his eyes. “Tell me this much: Who fucked up before me? Who fucked around with you and made you feel like loving you was hard work?”
“Because I’m into you. That’s why. There’s no other why. I just…want you,”
“I want you near me. I want to see you feeling good. Because I do. When I see this look in your eyes” —I stroke his eyelid softly with my fingertip— “it hurts me. Like, it actually hurts my chest.”
now I can’t sleep without you.”
“I like everything we’ve done,” he whispers. “But I’m not a real person.”
If you’re sick, nothing feels good; you’re in pain. And you’re saying I can make you feel better? I’d do that all damn day. All night, too. I’ll suck your dick ten times a day if you want. If I can cure depression for you with a blow job, sign me the fuck up, baby. You got nightmares but I make them better? I’ll be your drug. You think helping you feel good could ever be a burden to me?”
“You’re my guy now. I’ve got you.”
“You’re my guy, too.” His arm wraps around me. “I’ll try not to fuck up again. I don’t want to make things hard for you.”
"Shut up, Ezra." “You love me.”
I want so much to say I love him back, but no one’s ever really said “I love you” to me. It feels too awkward. Miller looks up at me. “I do,” he rasps. “Love you.”
“I love you too,” I murmur. I grab his hand. “I really do. It’s hard to say, though.”
“I want you,”
I try to stay in the moment. I’ve realized I’m pretty shitty at it, but I’m trying more—for Miller. So he won’t have to spend time with a zombie who’s always stuck in a loop in his own mind.
I don’t know how good I am at this, but I love how soft his lips feel. The moment his tongue laps against mine—fire.
“I’m your person. And you’re my guy. Don’t you wanna be my guy, Ez?”
feel like a broken child…always hungering for Miller. His warmth, his gentle hands, his steadiness.
“My Miller,”
“I kept looking at you,” he whispers. “I kept looking at you,”
“I want you.” “I want you too,”
“Feeling like we’re a couple,” I confess. “We are. You’re my Miller.” He hugs me tighter. “I can’t let you go.” “I don’t want you to.”
“You deserve the best.”
we can live there all the time.” His eyes look wide. “You want that?” “Yes. Do you?” My stomach pitches. “Yeah. Of course. You’re all I want.” He kisses my jaw. “Only my Miller.”