DRIFTING TO SLEEP WITH A MOAN AND A WEEP

Leo closes the door behind himself and leans on it, closing his eyes and breathing out for what seems like the first time in hours. He’s tired as if he had run a marathon, and the truth is he hasn’t left the couch for the last three hours. It’s frightening, if he thinks about it, that he could be so spent after three hours of just sitting down with his boyfriend watching a movie, but that’s exactly how he feels. He wonders if this is good for him, but it’s just a passing thought. It’s there, and then it isn’t anymore, and it’s easy to pretend it never was there to begin with.

The problem is simple – Cody is too beautiful, and Leo’s supposed to be able to handle this, but he can’t. He’s trying. He’s trying so very hard. But he’s so horny.

He’s always been an easily excited guy, that’s true. He’s almost twenty, now, and he can keep himself in some sort of control when it comes to sex, but the same things that made him hard when he was a sex-starved fifteen years old boy who’d have given anything for a snog make him hard now. It’s not as frequent as before, granted that, but it still is just as easy.

Now, if sometimes he gets an hard-on while thinking about underboobs or just a pair of hipbones peeking out the waistband of some denim jeans, he really has no idea how is it possible that the world – and the laws of decency – demand from him that he sternly orders his body to keep itself calm and cool upon seeing something like Cody.

Cody would fucking give an hard-on to the dead. Cody would made it impossible for a zombie apocalypse to happen by just flashing his baby blue eyes to the undead, making them instantly fall in love and want to have babies from him. Cody would make eunuchs hard. He would give boners to a lady, he would make a lesbian want to grow a penis just to use it on him. And his complete lack of awareness of the effect he has on people just makes him even sexier.

How is Leo supposed not to react to that?

He moves away from the door, sighing deeply and passing a hand through his hair. It shouldn’t be this hard to be around your boyfriend. But then again it wouldn’t be this hard to be around Cody if he could fuck him. God, that’s all he can think about. It literally is everything Leo can think of when they’re together. He loves Cody, he appreciates everything about him, not just his looks, but his kindness, his smartness, how talented he is, his cute sense of humor, being with him is not all about the sex (they don’t have), but not having it makes it all so damn hard.

He gets him, it’s not that he doesn’t. When Cody first told him his story, Leo was the first to back off. To give him space. “When you’re ready,” he told him, and he meant it. When he repeats it now, he still means it. He would never want sex to be something Cody feels compelled to do just to make him happy or keep him satisfied, that would be wrong and disgusting and he’d never do something like that to anybody, let alone somebody like Cody, somebody so precious and sweet, who’s been through so much.

But it’s been four months since then. Four months of being around Cody, kissing him, hugging him, sticking his hands underneath his clothes, touching him everywhere, everything but proper sex, and it’s starting to feel like torture. He’s physically affected by frustration, it makes him sore all over. Not to mention the fact that sometimes, when he’s with Cody, he kisses him or touches him in just the right way and he gets hard so quickly and so much, and it just doesn’t go away. And he spends hours sitting on a couch or walking down the streets or lying down in the stupid bed with a revolution in his pants and no way to quell it, and it’s fucking painful. Like, literally painful.

Like right now, for example.

Today, Cody was wearing just a simple sweater and denim jeans, when he came over, late in the afternoon. Cody rarely dresses so casually. He’s pretty shy, generally speaking, but when it comes to clothing he’s frighteningly shameless. Ridiculously tight leggings, shirts and sweaters that leave him bare more than they cover him up, boots with high heels up to his thighs, naked shoulders, naked tummy, tons of bracelets dangling around his thin wrists, necklaces wrapped twice or thrice around his pale, slender neck. He doesn’t do it to be looked at, he does it because he likes the way he looks when he’s dressed like that, but sometimes he prefers not to put any of his loud clothes on, and he keeps it down.

One would expect him to be a little less sexy, when he doesn’t doll himself up.

One would be very wrong to believe that.

Maybe it’s because it’s unusual to see him dressed so carelessly, but the moment Leo saw him appear on the threshold he instantly thought he wanted to strip that clothes off him and fuck him right there, in the hall, on the floor, screw the rest, and the laws of decency too. He was just so damn gorgeous, those ridiculously tight but simple denim jeans wrapped around his soft, girly-shaped legs, defining them perfectly, while the upper part of his body drowned in that sweater at least three sizes bigger than his own. It was so baggy the collar kept falling off his shoulder while they were snuggling on the couch, watching that movie.

Leo hasn’t seen a second of it. While the movie played on the TV screen, a whole different movie was playing in his head, a movie starring Cody undressing for him, stripping off those clothes he was wearing to show himself naked to him, bending over for him, exposing himself for his hungry eyes, pliant to the intrusion of his prying fingers.

It’s been incredibly hard to get through the night without throwing a fit or kicking Cody out after picking the lamest excuse to fight with him. It hasn’t happened only because it’s even harder to fight with Cody than it is to survive his presence without being able to fuck him senseless. But now that he’s gone, and that Leo’s alone in the house – Adam out somewhere, Leo doesn’t know and right now he doesn’t even care – it’s all coming back to him, the weight of the effort it took to pull the normal, not sex-crazed at all person act for the evening, and he feels drained.

Exhausted, he lets himself go face first on his bed, hiding against his pillow. The moment he closes his eyelids, Cody comes back. “God…” Leo whines, rubbing his face against the pillow, trying to make him disappear by squeezing his eyes so hard he starts seeing white spots everywhere, “Can’t you leave me alone? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

Apparently not, since those pictures keep coming at him. He just can’t stop seeing Cody on that couch, wrapped in that huge sweater and those skinny jeans. He’s unable to stop himself from picturing his own fingers tug at those clothes, rip them off Cody’s body. He closes his eyes again and, in his imagination, he’s already sliding down Cody’s body with his lips parted, leaving a wet trace behind each and every kiss as he travels south, taking a bite of his rounded tummy before moving even lower, reaching for his soft, perfectly bubble-shaped buttocks.

He slips his right hand in between his body and the mattress, sticking it underneath his own pants, reaching for his cock. God, he’s so hard. He needs to jerk off now, or he’s going to explode, and that wouldn’t be pretty. His room’s already enough of a mess.

He quickly turns on his back, his eyes still closed, his hand firmly wrapped around his raging hard-on. His skin’s never been hotter, it’s almost worrying. He feels feverish and he wonders if that’s normal. Maybe he developed a condition, some sort of illness. Like those men that don’t jerk off for years and keep storing sperm until their testicles swell and then fall off. If those men even exist. Leo isn’t sure about that. He’s not sure about anything, right now. He only knows he wants Cody, that jerking off is necessary but it’s not enough. It’s pleasant alright, but it’s not him. It’s not like feeling him close, naked and sweaty and shivering under his touch. It’s not like inhaling his sweet scent, it’s not like tasting his salty skin on the tip of his tongue as he steals bites and kisses from him. It’s not like feeling the smooth texture of his skin under his fingertips as he caresses him everywhere.

It’s not like making love. This is not like making love at all, and he needs that so bad sometimes he thinks about it and the strength of his need almost makes him want to weep.

Holding his breath, clutching his jaw, he bites at his cheek coming so suddenly and unexpectedly that, at first, he doesn’t even realize he hasn’t taken his pants off first. For a few minutes he just basks in the post-orgasmic bliss that surrounds him, together with the warmth of his bed and the newly found calmness his whole body can experience now that he let out all that frustration, but when the feeling’s gone he can’t help to make a face as he takes his dirty hand out of his pants and realizes he’s gonna have to wash all this shit out right this instant if he doesn’t want his clothes to be stained forever.

Sighing deeply, he stares at the dark ceiling of his room and contemplates the prospect of standing up, taking his clothes off, maybe having a shower, slip into his pajamas and then crawl back to bed. He even tries to pick himself up from the bed to do something, but his body falls back, heavy and forceless.

Fuck the stains, he thinks with a snort, closing his eyes. Cody’s thought is coming back at him already, and he feels himself hardening once again. And, well, there’s no reason to clean himself up if he already knows he’s gonna be dirty again in but a few minutes.