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Stop stalling, Callum.
The duvet is stiff under my fingers. Unfolding a corner, I slip inside before I can chicken out. Milo follows suit, the weight of his body dipping the bed. Warmth radiates from him like a furnace, and I shuffle further back, heat filling my cheeks.
He smells good. Masculine and rich, a mix of cherries and wine and fresh sweat. I lick my dry lips.
For a moment we lay there, saying nothing. Silence blankets the room, punctuated by the steady rhythm of our breaths. I’ve moved so far back that I’m practically hanging off the edge, my muscles burning with the effort.
It’s so quiet I wonder if Milo can hear my heart thumping wildly.
“Go to sleep, Cal.” He reaches over me and turns off the lamp before settling back into position. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
That’s easy for him to say. I feel like I’m vibrating, every part of me buzzing with electricity. Closing my eyes, I force myself to deepen my breaths. There’s no way I can fall asleep like this, with our bodies separated by mere inches of space.
I listen to Milo’s breaths deepen then even out until, somehow, sleep takes me.
2
I wake up slowly to a strip of light filtering through the window. The first thing I notice is there’s an arm around my waist and a warm body against my back. The second thing I notice is something hard digging into my clothed ass.
Mind still foggy from sleep, I try to think past the confusion. I’m in an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by the smell of cherries and fresh sweat, a large hand splayed across my stomach.
It dawns on me all at once. I’m cuddling my best friend.
In bed.
“What the—?”
Milo makes a noise in his sleep and pulls me closer, burying his nose into the back of my neck. Hips roll softly against mine in small, tired thrusts. Fuck, it feels good. What if I pressed back? Or if I turned around and lined my growing erection with his, matching his thrusts until we both unraveled?
Shit, shit, shit.
Biting back a gasp at the image, I grip the sheets and force myself to shift my hips away.
I need to get out of here.
Milo’s arm is heavy with sleep, but I manage to lift it off. Grabbing my glasses from the nightstand, I shove them onto my face and scramble off the bed.
Groaning, Milo rolls over and throws a hand over his eyes. Early morning light casts warm lines over his skin, illuminating his tattoos. He looks like a fallen angel.
The duvet has drifted down below his hips, displaying his boner proudly tenting the front of his pajama pants. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination. Jesus. I clear my throat and look away.
Milo yawns. “Is there a reason you woke me up or can I go back to bed?”
“You—no, you can sleep a little more. It’s still early.”
“Sweet.” He’s already half-asleep, seemingly not bothered by the situation in his pants. “Thanks, Cal.”
“Yeah, dude. No problem.”
A soft snore answers me. I need to have a shower and take care of the issue in my boxers, but I can’t help staring at him. He looks sweet when he’s sleeping, younger somehow.
I’ve only ever seen him like this when we’re on the phone together, talking about absolutely nothing until he yawns and falls asleep still on the call. We haven’t done that in almost a year. There’s been no time; either I’m down at the bar or hosting one of my dorm parties, or Milo’s out with some guy or studying for a test.
We’ve gotten good at putting each other off, citing our respective degrees—communications for me, psychology for Milo—as excuses.
This is the first time we’ve been this close in a while. It feels like coming home.
I’m careful not to touch myself in the shower. The last thing I need is for Milo to hear me jerking off and assume it’s because of him. Even though it is.
