Page 6 of A Very Gay Halloween
"It's plastic, you know."
He presses the blade harder against my skin, and I swear I can feel my pulse jumping against it. "Answer me."
"I don't have a—"
"Bullshit. You've been acting like I killed your dog for two fucking years."
The confined space makes everything feel amplified. His voice, his breathing, the heat coming off his body. I can see every detail of his face in the flickering light. The way his pupils are dilated. The slight flush across his cheekbones.
The way his lips are parted like he's breathing harder than he should be.
My head feels fuzzy, like I'm not getting enough oxygen. Or maybe I'm getting too much of something else. Something that smells like Cooper's cologne and tastes like danger.
"I can't... just back the fuck off."
"Not until you tell me why you hate my guts."
"I don't—"
"Don't lie to me."
He shifts his position, and his thigh presses more firmly between my legs. It's an innocent movement, probably just him trying to get more leverage in the cramped space, but my body doesn't give a shit about innocent.
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my stomach and spreading outward like wildfire. My cock starts to swell, pressing against the front of my jeans, and there's no way—absolutely no fucking way—that Cooper doesn't feel it.
I watch his eyes widen slightly, then narrow as understanding crosses his face.
"Oh." His voice drops to barely audible. "Oh, that's what this is."
"That's not— It's not—"
"Isn't it?" He deliberately presses his thigh harder against me, and I can't stop the soft sound that escapes my throat. "All this time... all the bullshit, all the attitude..."
"Don't."
"You've been trying so hard to convince yourself you don't want this."
"Shut up."
But he's not wrong. And we both know it. My cock is hard now, straining against his thigh, and there's no way to hide it, no way to pretend it's not happening.
Cooper's free hand comes up to grip my hip, his fingers digging into my skin through the fabric of my costume. His chest is pressed against mine, and I can feel his heart beating just as fast as mine is.
"You want me," he says, and it's not a question.
"You're out of your fucking mind."
"Am I? Because your dick is telling a different story."
Heat burns across my face.
The plastic scythe blade is still pressed against my throat, and Cooper's eyes are dark in the candlelight, intense in a way that makes me want to look away and never stop looking at the same time.
"I was wondering," he continues, his voice low and rough, "how long you were going to keep this up. The whole tough guy act. The pretending you can't stand to be in the same room as me."
"I can't," I manage to say, even though my body is betraying every word.
"Because you might do something stupid? Like admit you want to fuck me?"
