by R. Cooper
“I should get you slippers for Christmas. For here,” Iz said out loud and felt like he’d won a championship when this made Ronnie flash a dimple. “Although that ruins the surprise, doesn’t it?”
“Not what kind of slipper,” Ronnie pointed out reasonably, voice husky, and Iz tingled with heat to think of how his voice had gotten that way.
Sometimes, it turned out, kissing or something else could get Iz wound up, and in those moments, if he was happy, if he was relaxed, if he asked and they were also in the mood, his boyfriends were enthusiastic about making him come. Afterward, he got to keep kissing them, or touching them if they wanted. That was incredible, even if he wasn’t very good at it.
Sex was messy and there could be still pressure—from Iz, not from them, never from them—that sometimes made Iz stop, even when it was just two of them and he should have been fine.
Fine, of course, being a relative term and one that Iz was not supposed to use. Which was a matter for his new therapist, because Iz telling himself to do something when he didn’t really want to do it made Ronnie’s eyes bright with tears and sent Rocco into a miserable silence, and that was when bad thoughts ruled.
Iz didn’t want bad thoughts in this place, with them.
Thankfully, tonight had not been one of those times. Iz had not even been planning on anything but kisses but his body had said otherwise.
He smiled at Ronnie and turned his head to display his forming hickey.
Pleased with himself, Ronnie shuffled to the bed in his ill-fitting slippers and handed Iz the mug. “Hold, please.”
Iz held it to his chest. The drink inside smelled of lawn clippings and dirt. The calming tea Ronnie and Giselle were trying was unpalatable. But at least the cup was hot.
Ronnie yanked at the bedding, finally pulling something substantial over Rocco’s legs and Iz’s knees. Then he climbed in to sit next to Iz and accepted his mug of tea.
His arm was chilled from walking around with no shirt. Iz pressed against it. He thought he should ask about the calming tea—he’d made a mental note to, sometime the day before—and if Ronnie was also thinking of the future, or if this was just about finals.
But Ronnie peered curiously down at the screen, so Iz angled the laptop to let him see better and then scrolled up to the start of the essay. Ronnie sipped as he read, slurping a little because the tea was still too hot.
Iz tipped his face up to watch him. Ronnie moved his head to the music once or twice as he read, mouthed a few of the words, bit his lip thoughtfully. Iz sat, awaiting his judgment, letting the music and Rocco’s serene, steady breathing lull him. He was still cold, shivering faintly beneath the blanket, giving up some heat to warm up Ronnie, but that was fading. He snuggled Ronnie’s shoulder and felt Rocco roll against him, following warmth or maybe Iz’s touch.
Soon, they would all be warm and probably sleeping when they should be working. That, somehow, did not make Iz’s heart beat fast with worry. He suspected that was confidence in his boyfriends, or the delusions created by the flood of happy love chemicals throughout his brain, or something of both.
But it told him that, for now, there was this, and futures had been built on much less.
The End
More stories by R. Cooper
Jericho Candelario’s Gay Debut
Hottie Scotty and Mr. Porter
Vincent’s Thanksgiving Date
Checking Out Love
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