When they left the room, exhausted, I felt your eyes dart back and forth between me and the television. I don’t remember what was playing. An old movie, no doubt. One of yours, no doubt.
The sofa seemed too large somehow. Each of us at either end, a whole gulf of cushion separating us.
You yawned and outstretched your arms.
“So…tired…but this is good”
You leant over and put your head in my lap, pulling down the blanket that lived across the back of the couch and wrapping yourself in it.
I breathed deep and tried to re-focus on the monochromatic shapes on the screen. My stomach flipped, heart raced and I started to feel a stirring. The potential for embarrassment was high…but the potential for something else seemed more and more real.
Aside from the dialogue we were motionless and soundless for minutes. A long, viscerally tense stretch. We were vibrating, silently connected.
I stroked your hair. You made a contented sound. Cat-like and comfortable. More comfortable than I felt in that moment. It was all I could do to stop shaking as I got harder with each groan you allowed to escape from your lips.
You slid your hand up my thigh and in a swift but considered movement, unzipped me. You ran your hand across me, pulled me free of my jeans and without hesitation took me into your mouth.
I stroked your hair as you licked me, outlining the shape of your body under that blanket with my hand. You moved slow and steady, quiet, allowing only noises that I could hear emerge from your nose and mouth.
I reached for the remote control to switch off the distraction but fumbled but failed to find it. I closed my eyes.
When I came, you stayed, mouth tightly wrapped around me as I gripped your body awkwardly.
You remained right there until we both fell asleep and in the morning, when I woke, you’d wrapped me in that blanket and gone out to begin your day.
The TV was on standby.
You didn’t leave a note.
Michael James Hall, January 7th, 2019