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“We’re getting closer, inches away. Lose composure, favorite mistake. Friendship’s over, won’t be the same. (Baby I’m yours, yours, yours.)”
Objectively, James' body should have been the last thing on my mind, coming home after the incident at the lake; and in my defense, it wouldn't be that way if he had picked any other place to stay for the night. It wasn't as if Alexander was doing anything important, and Meredith was in need of company, as I was all too aware of. I can only guess he chose to stay with me because we've already been rooming together all this year, which should have made this situation easier for my mind to handle. That was most definitely not the case.
James' chest rose and fell next to me, so close I could feel the bedsheet shifting beneath me. I couldn't have blocked it out of my mind if I tried. My bed here at home wasn't by any means big enough to fit two people, so in my effort to ensure no skin touched between us, half of my ass uncomfortably pressed against the mattress and the other half spilled over, leg following the pull to the floor. He rested silently, to the point where I wondered how he could possibly sleep at a time like this. How he could even think to rest his eyes without seeing Richard's mangled body behind his eyelids. I certainly couldn't. I stared up at the ceiling, trying not to listen too closely to his breathing and avoided the seductive pull of sleep.
I didn't notice, when we had been in different beds at the opposite sides of the same room, that James moved quite a lot in his sleep. Or maybe he was just as uncomfortable as me. Each time he'd flip onto his side or his stomach, he'd take part of the blanket with him, and I'd slide further off the edge of my own bed. Or worse, skin touched for a moment, and I'd have to burn the impression of his body heat from my long-term memory. Now was not the time for this. There couldn't have been a more inappropriate time for my thoughts to run wild, and it was James' fault. He could've chosen anyone else.
A few times, I followed his shifting. When he laid on his side, I moved to mine, back facing him. That was much more comfortable, my leg was at least where it should be. But then he'd move to his back again, and his elbow would rub against my back. Was it normal, for one to be so restless in bed? Obviously, he had to be just as fucked up as I was, I thought. Maybe he wasn't awake at all. Maybe he was tossing and turning in the whirlwind of his thoughts, tumbling physically to mirror the mental. For that, I couldn't blame him.
After quite a long stretch of this back-and-forth, James went still. I couldn't quite tell what changed - if he had been turning in his sleep and was somehow awoken, or the opposite. Maybe a particularly painful memory caused him pause. For his sake, I hoped he had finally caught a moment's rest. Something had changed in him since what happened at the lake. I didn't know if anyone else caught it, but I did. In the moment of stillness, I remembered how desperate he sounded to run off the dock and drag Richard back to the shore. I remembered the tears down his pale face, and how Alexander gripped onto his shoulders with force, to pause him.
There was barely an inch between us now, but it was enough. Being in bed with James wasn't anything like I had felt with Meredith, only a few days prior. I knew I could touch her. I knew I could hold her anywhere I wanted, or kiss her whenever I felt want to. I was secure in the understanding that she wouldn't shrink away from my mouth or push me off of her body. When I touched her, I knew she'd touch me back.
Just as her presence pulled me in in a way I couldn't ignore, James grasped onto me in just the way that was just easier to, in the long run. It was safer to ignore how I felt with him; overwhelmed, dizzy, high on our memories together. Meredith seduced me in a way that was hypnotizing, and James always made me feel awake.
"Oliver?"
My breath stilled. James' voice punctured the thickness that permeated the room, with a gravelly rasp that made my stomach do a cartwheel. I'd heard it before, mostly the early morning of a performance day. James would often be first to wake, sneak breakfast and coffee into the Tower, and run over his lines in a quiet rasp that I pretended didn't wake me, just so he wouldn't stop talking on my account. I never felt more alive listening to him.
"Go back to sleep," I sighed. My body felt sore, stiff. It had been pushed to the limit lately, and seemed to ache for the support of cushion in the way one longs for the embrace of a loved one. James had ownership of most of my bed, and I wasn't about to take it from him. Sure, we both needed the comfort, but I couldn't bring myself to force him away when he seemed so off-balance. I could always hibernate once I was assured he had somewhere else to stay until break was over.
Then, there was shifting again. The blanket lifted over me, and I turned to find James propping himself up on his elbows and staring at me with a curious expression. He looked much more exhausted than could be only physical.
"What?" I stared right back at him, fighting his amused look with my own.
"Surely you've noticed your ass falling off the bed by now," he grinned, the smile not quite reaching his dark eyes. It almost felt wrong, uncanny valley, remembering this same man to be so easygoing, confident, calm - just a month or so earlier. Something had shattered in him, I could tell. I was looking into the eyes of someone who had died on the dock, alongside Richard. It twisted my gut to think of, and I did my best to not let it show.
"You comfortable like that?" He continued, raising an eyebrow.
"Very," I lied, offering a smile in return.
"I don't bite, Oliver."
I didn't know what to say. I wanted to be near him, but that want was wrong. I wasn't allowed it. I was already toeing a dangerous line, continuing my relationship with Meredith after Richard passed. We weren't official by any means, but I assured myself to want James in the way I wanted her was morally ambiguous. Or maybe I was covering for something else. Something much more complicated, and yet much simpler. Part of me wished I had confided in Alexander before this, though, how could I have known? I hadn't known the name for this attraction - whether it was romantic, admiration, or a product of the fantastic, heroic roles he had played over the course of our time at Dellecher. He always seemed to have a spotlight on him, in my mind, and until now I had thought that was all it was. There was no spotlight here. Only him and I, blank slates without a character to impress upon our desires. The room was dark, and it was only us. Who were we, if not our roles? What did I want?
"What do you want?" I asked cautiously, searching his face. This made him pause. I could tell the exact moment he started his own internal debate, and cursed myself for even thinking of bringing this into our friendship. He contemplated with a pained look in his eyes. His hair fell over them; black, curly. You could hardly see the bags from behind it. He looked, in that moment, somewhat like the painting of The Fallen Angel, by Alexandre Cabanel. He looked ethereal and strong, but in a way that was also brooding and fragile.
Finally, he spoke again, and his face softened - opened, inviting.
"Hold me?"
At least I had the sense not to second-guess him. He scooted closer to his end of the bed to let me join him in the center. The width of our two bodies together moved into the width of one, as we both turned over onto our sides and I pressed my chest against his back. It wasn't perfect; I had to awkwardly shimmy to fit against him, and my nose pressed against his neck, not very softly. I almost started wondering why anyone had ever called this comfortable.
"Where do you want my arms?" I asked quietly, hardly above the volume of my breath, half hoping he wouldn't hear me. Of course, he did. He didn't answer verbally, but instead reached back behind himself to grip my right arm and pull it over himself like another comforter. He guided my hand to rest against his chest, and my body heat centered into my face, reddening the skin on my cheeks. I was touching James' chest. He invited me to.
He didn't remove his hand from the back of mine, so we laid like that for a while, his hand pressing mine against himself. I felt his heartbeat gently pulsing beneath my fingertips, and I unconsciously timed my breaths to match his. We could have become a single entity under that blanket, with the lights dimmed low, in the middle of a November night.
With a bit of time and adjusting, the awkwardness slipped away, and holding him became very pleasant. Once I could get over myself, I realized I would miss this once his body was torn from mine. I wasn't scared of his skin, and I was less sure he would kick me off the bed if I advanced further. Taking a wary step forward, I took my hand from his and pressed it against his chest of my own volition, rubbing it up and down between his pecs. I could feel his back round slightly against my chest, posture relaxing with the touch. He didn't say a word, but I knew I'd done something right. I'd pause between strokes of his chest, then give him the gentle pressure of my palm again.
"Don't stop," he mumbled, seeming to curl with my body like a cat. His hair was splashed against my pillows, and I finally allowed myself to smell him. The more senses I could engage in this memory, the longer I could keep it at the forefront of my mind when, eventually, we'd have to pretend nothing happened here. I noted for future reference that James smelled like midnight air, firewood, with a slight hint of cigarette smoke. It wasn't unpleasant. It was warm, and refreshing. I wanted to bottle him, and burn him at my bedside table.
Suddenly, and without warning, he turned over to face me.
"I thought you wanted me to hold you-"
"Can I kiss you?"
I was dumbfounded. Not a single word that came from his mouth processed in my head, no matter the effort I took to piece them together.
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"I want to kiss you, Oliver. Please."
Once again, I looked into his eyes. It seemed the light in them was winning against the dark, now. He was battling himself in his head, and my James was winning in this moment. We shared a look that could be translated roughly into no one will know.
"Kiss me, James."
He stared, still, for a moment - as if he didn't believe me. Couldn't, or didn't want to.
"Please. I want this."
That was all he needed. Finally, traces of his grin could be found in his eyes, and his hands were cupping my face. He drank me in, and our lips met with force, like magnets. Like they've been held back for far too long, and were running to one another. I shut my eyes as the soft skin of his lips pressed against mine, and I felt my hands blindly to the scruff of curls at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life. My stomach warmed the way it often did after hot tea in Frederick's class, like James' mouth was nourishing something inside of me I never knew I craved. No matter how good it felt, my body only continued to need more of him, and I had to make a conscious effort to slow myself and enjoy this moment, rather than rush to the next.
We kissed each other laying down, and then James broke free to hurriedly explain his shoulder was aching from being pressed into the bed so hard, and we moved to sit with one another over the blanket. Suddenly, neither of us were very tired anymore. I had my back against the headboard, and he crawled to sit in front of me, his knees on both sides of my legs. He then took my face in one hand, put his other around the small of my back, and pulled me into him with a passion I can only describe as necessity. Our lips found each other again, and I rested my elbows on his shoulders.
He then leaned away, our mouths parting with a soft sound, and shook his head, as if in response to himself - something inside his own head I didn't have access to. For a terrible second, my stomach plummeted. He didn't want this after all. It wasn't what he thought it'd be. I wasn't what he needed.
James then took one of my arms, and once again guided my hand to his chest. He didn't blink when he stared at me, our hands splayed over his chest together, finger over finger. I could breathe. I moved my hand over his chest again - up and down, as he liked. He shut his eyes, relishing in the touch, then opened them again. I decided I enjoyed watching him like this.
"More, Oliver."
I didn't know what to give him. I didn't know how much was more, or what to do with his body without his tutoring. But I couldn't sit there like an idiot, either. Hesitantly, I put both hands against the sides of his chest - where armpit and pec met - and pressed my palms against the curve of his chest, massaging it and letting go of a held sigh when I heard a soft groaning sound. He liked what I did to him. I was doing the right thing. Experimentally, I found where his nipples would be, underneath the fabric of his shirt, and swiped my thumbs over them. I lost myself in the way his breath hitched.
"Fuck, Oliver. Why haven't we done this sooner?" He smiled, panting quietly. Was I really doing this to him?
"I could think of a few reasons," I whispered. It was stupid of me, to ruin the mood. At least, I thought it would when the thought broke past my mental barrier and left my lips. He only kissed me again.
"There's nothing wrong with this," he assured me, now grabbing me harder. His fingers surely left pale imprints against my skin before it faded to my usual color, and I wondered just how badly he needed me. He wasn't normally a forceful type, but he touched me that night with an indescribable greed. His hands bruised my hips, and gripped into my hair, and I wish I could say the tension was unwelcome. It only added to the rush of adrenaline that flooded my system, and turned all conscious thought off inside my head. For the first time, I wasn't anxious of the future, or trapped in the past. I was extremely, painfully present. Present with James.
I was even more aware of the present when James had shifted even closer to me, and his clothed crotch briefly met mine, sending a shock to my hips and causing them to involuntarily jerk towards him - which only added to the warmth and friction between us. I opened my mouth and shut my eyes, but didn't even hear the sound that left my mouth. It must have been surprising, though, because soon I had hands holding my shoulders and James' gorgeous, wide eyes met mine, half-lidded. He looked torn between the choice of accelerating or braking, and his face was very pleasantly flushed.
"Too much?" He asked softly, unable to hide a satisfied smirk.
Slowly, I nodded. I wasn't ready. I was hardly ready for James to be kissing me in the first place, I couldn't go much further. Not with…everything else, to worry about, anyway. I found a distant part of me pleading the universe to allow us another night. A "next time".
He kissed me again, and took more care to be soft with my skin now.
"Is this okay?" He checked, rubbing my shoulders. I relaxed, and nodded again. Before I could thank him, he spoke again. "Tell me if this is overstepping, but…that was hot." Then, he laughed.
He laughed.
The mere concept of making James laugh when it seemed the entire Earth was tilted off-axis made me delirious. Or maybe it was the lack of sleep.
I found my stability there, tangled with James in my bed, the both of us kissing one another and holding one another as if we were both shields, covering each other and deflecting anything that would dare throw us off-balance.
How strange, in the midst of the world spinning under our feet, we both found in each other someone willing to spin out of control together.