Andy rolled over. The streetlight, filtered through five dollar curtains, cast water shadows across Trey’s dark, smooth skin. He closed his eyes, but when he reopened them, Trey was still spread about beside him, one hand resting on his chest, the other by his thigh, the sheets clinging at his waist. It almost made him look nude.
But he wasn’t. And Andy needed to keep that in mind. Needed to remember that Trey was here because the alternative was lying on hard plastic totes. Because Andy had invited him--as a friend. Because friends didn’t make their friends sleep in dusty warehouses.
Friends didn’t study the slope and curve of one another’s chest as it rose and fell, the sparse hair that gathered thicker near the waist and then vanished beneath the sheet. One little tug and…
And he’d see boxer shorts. Because friends didn’t sleep naked in bed together.
He rolled over, tucking his hands under his pillow. Turning away didn’t hide Trey’s skin, matte in the dimness, anymore than the dark had. But at least now he wasn’t tempted to reach out and touch it. His hands clenched one another. Or at least he thought he had more control to not do it.
He shouldn’t have invited Trey over. But what kind of friend abandoned their buddy without a place to sleep?
The smart ones who have been harboring crushes on their hot coworker.
So not him. Because he was an idiot who gladly invited said crush into his bedroom to sleep beside him. Platonically. Of course. He closed his eyes and squeezed his hand to the point of page. He was the biggest fucking idiot.
“Mmffg.” Trey shifted behind him, and Andy held his breath, waited, but nothing more happened.
Of course. Because the love interest slipping his arm around the besotted fool’s waist in the middle of the night only happened in cheesy romances.
“Mmm.” Trey shifted again, and this time a hand landed on Andy’s hip and slid around to his front, holding him there and drawing him closer as Trey wiggled behind him. Spooning him.
A string of curses, prayers, and hallelujahs streamed through his head before he managed a whispered, “Trey?”
Nothing. Then an aborted snore that rubbed against Andy’s shoulder.
Oh. He was still asleep. Cuddling. In his sleep.
He wished Trey had mentioned this little quirk. He inhaled and closed his eyes, ignoring the reasons and the whynots and just feeling the arm around him, the body behind him, the heat and scent and...well, the boner. Nothing to be done about that (literally, unless he wanted to risk waking Trey up with the motion).
He could always pretend he’d been dreaming about a hot chick or something. Afterall, it was Trey who had started the cuddle party.
Andy pressed his hips back, just enough to feel Trey’s dick press against his crack. He froze. Trey snuggled closer, hips pressing closer, body plastered against him. Wasn’t Trey hot? The air conditioning was doing its best, but still…
Though, maybe it was his pounding heart that was making him so warm.
He exhaled in a rush, then sharply inhaled as the hand on his stomach slid down--oh fuck--and bumped into the Boy Scout troop stationed there. Trey made another sleepy noise behind him and the hand slid up to his chest, once against holding him as Trey wiggled behind him, crotch--hardening cock!--nestling firmly in his crack.
Trey nuzzled against Andy’s short hair, probably envisioning kissing the crown of some high school sweetheart.
“Mmm,” came his sleepy voice. “Am I turning you on?”
That gravelly question should not have made him shiver, but it did. He also realized--several seconds too late--that the question was a little too keen for someone who was sleeping. He froze.
“Trey?” his shadow whispered.
“Mmm. Yeah, Andy?”
“Mmm. Yeah, Andy?”