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Alex had had every intention to tell the man (Michael, he’d said his name was Michael when they’d barely made it inside of Alex’s flat before they'd started making out) that he couldn’t stay the night, but somewhere between Michael going down on his knees and swallowing Alex’s cock to the hilt, and Alex fucking Michael with reckless abandon, he must’ve forgotten to mention it. And now it’s 4 am and Alex is wide awake with Michael softly breathing (snoring) into his neck, his arms and legs wrapped around Alex from behind like a cuddly octopus.
Alex waits. Waits for his anxiety to kick in, for his body to go rigid in the warm embrace, waits for his ears to strain and listen for heavy footsteps in the corridor outside of his apartment. Instead, there's nothing. He feels amazing actually. His breathing is and remains even, his body and limbs are relaxed, his mind is at ease, he feels deliciously warm, and apart from Michael breathing and rustling the sheets ever so slightly when he moves in his sleep, Alex doesn’t hear anything, which puzzles him.
The only two nights he’s ever dared to spend with someone else in his bed, have both ended in disaster. The first disaster had been courtesy of his father, who’d kicked the quarterback (from a visiting high school) he’d snuck into his room to the curb in the middle of the night. He’d then made Alex enlist as a punishment the following morning. Alex had been seventeen at the time.
The second disaster had been courtesy of one of his nightmares a few years ago. He doesn’t even remember the guy’s name, only that he’d looked exceptionally uncomfortable (almost scared) when Alex’s screams and flailing had woken him up. He’d left in a hurry and Alex had never seen him again. Since then, and especially since the loss of his leg, his rule for hook-ups had been: don't stay the night.
So, the fact that he’s lying here in his own bed, peacefully, in the arms of a stranger in the early hours of the day, is difficult for Alex to process.
They’d met at the Wild Pony the night before. Alex had been there to meet with a group of friends when he’d spotted Michael at the bar. He’d looked gorgeous. A halo of honey golden curls framing a face Michelangelo would have desired to immortalize in marble, a lean yet muscular body clad in all denim, worn jeans low on slim hips, a shiny belt buckle directing Alex’s gaze to another promising area of the man’s body (if the decent bulge below the belt was anything to go by).
Michael had been talking to a leggy blonde amazon sitting on a barstool. She’d kept touching his arm and even grabbed for a strand of his curls to tuck behind one of his ears. In that moment, Alex had known he didn’t stand a chance with the guy, of course he was straight and had a model for a girlfriend.
Before he’d decided to turn around and look for his friends, Alex had allowed himself one last look at the Greek god, when suddenly Michael had looked up and stared right at Alex. They’d locked gazes and Alex had felt like time came to a halt suddenly. The music had faded into the background, the strobing lights from the small dance floor in the corner had dimmed down, and all Alex had been able to do was to stare at Michael for what felt like half an eternity. Then the blonde woman had poked Michael in the ribs with a perfectly manicured finger to get his attention.
When Michael had gestured at Alex to stay put, Alex had held onto a nearby barstool to steady himself, while Michael had bent down close to the woman’s ear to say something to her over the sound of the music.
She’d turned around and had followed Michael’s line of sight until she’d spotted Alex. She’d winked at him, her smile laced with something he interpreted as approval and encouragement. Alex had found that rather odd, what kind of arrangement did she and her boyfriend have? She’d slapped Michael on the back before she’d turned back around to the bar where a drink had been placed in front of her.
Michael’d had the swagger of a cowboy when he’d walked over to where Alex stood. He’d invaded Alex’s personal space with confidence, his curls had tickled the side of Alex’s face when he’d bent forward and whispered into Alex’s ear.
“Hey darlin’, haven’t seen you in here before.”
The drawled endearment should’ve annoyed him, but Alex had flirted back.
“I’ve been here before, cowboy, but you were probably just too busy making out with your girlfriend to notice.”
“She’s my sister, not my girlfriend.”
Oh, his sister. That would explain the intimate body language between the two.
“So, how about you save a horse and ride a cowboy, Private?”
Alex had tilted his head back to look at the man with a raised eyebrow, silently communicating his faux annoyance at the atrocious pick-up line. He’d wondered how the man knew he was military, but then he’d remembered he was wearing an Air Force t-shirt and his dog tags underneath his open black leather jacket.
“Airman, actually. Does the macho cowboy swagger shtick ever get you laid?”
Michael had winked at Alex, and as if he was laying down a challenge, he’d asked:
“You wanna find out, darlin’?”
Alex had indeed wanted to find out, or more precisely, his dick had wanted to. Alex had texted his friends, had called an Uber and half an hour later they’d stumbled through the door of Alex’s apartment, lips locked in a searing kiss and hands groping, trying to get off too many layers of fabric as fast as possible.
The sex had been epic. Like two pieces meant to be together, their bodies had seemingly known exactly what the other wanted and needed, and when.
Alex hadn’t even had time to consider a mental breakdown when Michael had pulled Alex’s jeans down in one smooth move and revealed the prosthetic. Michael hadn’t flinched at the sight, he’d just looked up at Alex with heavy lidded, kind eyes.
“Is it okay if I help you take it off, or would you rather do it yourself?”
Alex had been too far gone in his need to get Michael’s mouth back on his dick, he'd just waved at Michael in a helpless gesture. Michael had taken a quick look at the leg, then he’d removed it with sure hands and had placed it on the floor beside the bed very carefully. He’d even removed the sock covering the stump of Alex’s right leg, then bent down and tenderly kissed Alex’s knee just above the stump. Alex’s heart had almost stopped at the intimacy of it. Michael had continued to leave a trail of kisses and teasing bites all the way up Alex’s inner thighs until his mouth had been back on Alex’s cock.
Alex knows it’s ridiculous and utterly pathetic, but it had been during those few precious moments that he’d felt like he was falling head over heels in love with Michael. That’s nonsense, of course, he’s not the type to fall in love with someone he’s only known for a couple of hours. He’s not the type to fall in love with anyone for that matter.
And yet he can’t help but notice the flutter of his heart when he thinks back to that moment. Suddenly, tears prick at his eyes. He hates how his brain is always so eager to turn a wonderful thing into something that will no doubt make him feel miserable, but before he has a chance to start a mental downward spiral, he hears Michael’s hoarse whisper from behind.
“Stop thinking, Private. It’s way too early for that. Close your eyes and sleep.”
Alex turns half around in Michael’s embrace and his lips meet Michael’s in a soft kiss.
“Okay.”
He feels Michael settle behind him, his arms still a warm and reassuring cage around Alex’s torso. Alex gives in and with the feeling of Michael’s soft lips pressed to the nape of his neck, he drifts off to sleep.
-----
When he wakes up what must be hours later, it’s light outside and the alarm on his bedside table tells him it’s past 7am. He can’t even remember the last time he’s been able to sleep past 6. He stretches carefully and notices with a certain delight, how pleasantly sore he feels. A smile tugs at his lips when he thinks about the "exercise” that makes him feel like he overdid it at the gym yesterday. Only, it’s so much better!
That’s the moment when Alex’s brain finally kicks in and he becomes painfully aware that he’s alone in his bed. He looks around his bedroom. The clothes Michael had pulled off of him in his rush to get Alex naked, have been folded neatly and placed on a chair by the window. Michael’s all denim outfit is nowhere to be seen, though.
Alex closes his eyes for a second to tamp down the disappointment. Michael’s gone. They had fun last night, sure, and the sex had been amazing. Best he’s had in years, if not the best he’s ever had. He’d felt a deep connection with Michael, almost like they’d known each other for years.
What if Michael’s left his number somewhere? Alex turns and searches his night stand for a note, but he only sees his phone. For a wild moment Alex wonders if maybe Michael had unlocked it with his fingerprint while he was asleep and added himself as a contact, but when he checks his phone, there’s nothing. Maybe Michael left a note outside of his bedroom? It’s not like he has pen and paper stored by his bedside.
Alex doesn’t really want to get up, but he’s curious. He fumbles under the pillow and pulls out a pair of pyjama pants he puts on. He doesn’t bother with the prosthetic, instead he grabs a pair of crutches leaning against the wall near his bed and pulls himself into an upright position. He stretches again. He feels so good, and yet he’s anxious that his brain will come up with a million reasons to feel shit about himself, and last night.
Before he can dwell on any more negative thoughts, he walks over to the door of his bedroom and opens it. He’s surprised to hear music playing in the kitchen at the other end of the flat. Maybe Michael turned it on while he got dressed and forgot to turn it off? Then Alex hears someone sing. Slightly off-key, but that’s definitely a man’s voice, belting out the lyrics to Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings.
When Alex enters his kitchen, Michael stands at the stove and stirs something in a pan. The man is a sight to behold. He's only wearing a pair of almost see-through white boxers and Alex’s mouth waters when Michael’s buttocks seem to clench to the rhythm of the song underneath the fabric. Alex remembers all too vividly how amazing it felt to drive into the tight heat between those cheeks. He blushes and coughs, and almost drops a crutch in his haste to cover his mouth with his hand.
When Michael hears Alex behind him, he turns around mid-chorus. He keeps singing.
“I’d marry you with paper rings.”
Alex can’t help himself, he laughs.
“Are you proposing?”
Michael holds the spatula like a microphone and sings at Alex, fluttering his lashes.
“Darlin’, you’re the one that I want.”
Then he drops the spatula on the counter, walks up to Alex and pulls him into a tight embrace. Their lips meet and for a while they’re very busy kissing each other thoroughly, morning breath be damned.
When Alex feels like he’s about to keel over, Michael pulls up a chair for him and places the crutches right beside it on the floor. Alex takes a seat while Michael turns down the volume of the music. Alex is still slightly shell-shocked and he looks at Michael with wide eyes.
“You... stayed.”
His voice is a bit wobbly, he’d been prepared for the disappointment of finding his flat void of any hint that Michael’d been here, instead Michael's still here, almost naked in his kitchen, making breakfast and proposing marriage to Alex. Well, sort of.
“Of course I stayed, darlin’. Would you rather I’d be gone by now? I can still leave if you want?”
Michael sounds insecure, and Alex can’t have that.
“God, no. I’m honestly so relieved you’re still here. You know, normally, I have a strict rule where no one sleeps over but I guess I forgot to mention that because I wake up and you’re making coffee in my kitchen, and I’ve just been wondering why you haven’t left yet?”
“I wanted to eat breakfast with you. And if you’re free today, I wanted to ask you out on a date?”
Alex is baffled.
“You’re asking me out on a date? But why?”
“Because I like you, Private. And while we are unbelievably compatible in bed, I’d like to do something other than finding new ways to make you come. Not that I don't want to continue doing that, don't get me wrong, I very much want to. Just. Call me old-fashioned, but I think it would be great to see whether our compatibility also applies to other aspects of spending time with each other, if that’s ok?”
The alarm on Michael’s phone startles Alex and spares him an answer. Michael twirls around to the stove and turns it off. Then he fills two plates with something steaming hot that looks like some kind of stew and smells utterly delicious. Alex’s stomach growls. Michael carries the plates over to the table where a thermos with coffee, two mugs, and cutlery are placed already.
“You don’t have milk and I didn’t feel like making pancakes with the creamer in your fridge, so I’ve made shakshuka instead. Hope you like it?”
“I love shakshuka. And coffee.”
Alex bites his tongue, because he wants to add “and you”.
“Next time I’ll make sure I have milk for pancakes, though, pancakes are my favorites.”
Michael places the pan in the sink, then he walks over to where Alex still sits on a chair in the middle of his kitchen. Michael goes down on his knees in front of Alex (and doesn’t that stir another deep desire in Alex) and pulls him in for a long and thorough kiss. When he pulls back just a fraction of an inch, he mumbles against Alex’s lips:
“Next time. I love the sound of that.”