Page 19 of Only You
This thing with Remy is really messing with my head. I don’t really know how to explain it.
I can’t stop thinking about him when I’m not with him, but I’ve spent as much of the free time I have with him that I can—because I don’t like not being with him. It makes no sense.
I spent so long trying to push his memory away, and now it’s like the floodgates are open. And thinking about our conversation—pegging and bottoming, anal and fingers—shit, it kind of really fucked with my head.
I don’t know how to explain it, but ever since that night I haven’t been able to stop wondering about what he meant bymeet your prostate. I mean, I understand the logistics of it, but can it really feel that good?
I’ve never really thought about it before and doubt I would have without Remy mentioning it—it was just never really on my radar. But now that it is, it’s like I’m a little obsessed with it. Though I can’t quite gather the courage to try.
We haven’t talked about that particular subject again, but it feels like in the week since that night, we’ve talked about everything else. Well, almost. We still don’t talk about our timein foster care—something I’m mostly okay with. Though I do still wonder what the hell happened. Why he pushed me away. I hate that I pushed him so hard to talk to me, and I think about the look he had in his eyes when he told me to leave him alone and not to ever bother him again.
The fear in his eyes—like he was afraid for me to know the truth. Like I would see him differently. I wake up at night sometimes, just thinking about that day.
“Here, try it,” Remy says, holding a small plate with a piece of pie on it.
I take it from him, and he sits down next to me with his own plate in his hand as he grabs the remote and starts flicking through programs on Netflix. “You made this?” I ask, still surprised that he made it from scratch as he bragged to me earlier.
“I like to bake,” he says with a smile. “It’s good. I promise.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I say and then use the fork to dig into the apple pie. I bring it to my lips, Remy watching me the whole time, and an unexpected groan falls from my lips as the delicious pie fills my mouth. “Holy fuck. That’s good.”
My eyes meet his, and he looks quite pleased with himself as he selects some baking competition show on Netflix and takes a bite of his own slice. “See? I’m pretty good.”
“No arguments here,” I say, shoveling another big bite into my mouth. “You’ll have to teach me how to bake,” I say absently, watching the show and eating the delicious pastry.
“Yeah? You serious?”
I nod. “Yeah, it’d be fun to blow Kellan’s mind with my culinary skills. I love the guy and all, but he can’t cook for shit.”
Remy chuckles and takes a tentative bite of his pie, thinking it over as he watches one of his favorite shows. “I could do that. We’ll start easy. Maybe chocolate chip cookies or something.”
“That sounds good.” I finish the pie and put the plate on the coffee table in front of the couch. I took my shoes off when I got here earlier, so I don’t think Remy minds when I prop my feet up and settle into the couch.
I know he must not mind when he finishes up his pie and mimics my exact actions, his body close to mine with his feet up on the coffee table. I can’t help but notice the difference in our feet. Mine look gigantic next to him, and I suppose that tracks with us in general.
We’re just getting super comfortable, his body moving a little closer to almost snuggling status—and I gotta tell you I don’t mind that at all. It’s been years since I’ve cuddled with anyone, and even then, it didn’t feel anywhere near as right as being here with Remy, but then I hear the notification on his phone.
It’s in his pocket, and he reaches in to grab it. I don’t want to be a creeper, so I resist staring at his screen—but I’m only human and maybe take a little peek. I see the message that popped up, but don’t read the actual words.
“Hookup tonight?” I say, trying to keep my voice cool and calm. Like I don’t care either way, even though everything inside me is screaming. I don’t like it. I don’t like the thought of him leaving here and going to meet up with some guy. Whether he’s using them or they’re using him. I don’t fucking like it.
I sit there, anxious, everything feeling off-kilter. Like it’s been hours since I asked the question, but I know it’s been mere seconds.
He locks his screen and puts the phone on the coffee table next to our discarded plates. “Nah. I don’t feel like going out.”
My chest is still tight, and I want to prod further. I want to know who it was. I want to know why he doesn’t feel like going out. I want him to admit it’s because he would rather just hang out with me.
Who the hell am I right now? This is so not me. I’m not this needy, cuddly guy. Never have been. But I want to question him, and then I want to pull his body to mine and cuddle the shit out of him. I want to be the reason he wants to stay in tonight.
This is quickly becoming a confusing situation. I’ve always felt this pull to Remy—one I could never really explain—but now, it’s more bewildering than ever. But all feels right with the world when Remy scoots a little closer to me and lays his head on my shoulder.
“This okay?” he asks carefully, his eyes on me.
“Yeah,” I say effortlessly and then go one step further, tucking my arm behind his neck and pulling his body closer to mine. He doesn’t stiffen one bit, and instead, it’s like his body melts into mine, and we just kick back on the couch together.
Just two friends who happen to be men, one gay and one straight, just cuddling on the couch together. No big deal.
Okay,so waking up next to your friend after what feels like a full night’s sleep—that might be a little bit of a big deal. I can see the sun streaming through large windows in his living room, and Remy’s face is tucked into the crook of my neck.
