FOUR
Sometime early, early in the morning, John woke up. He was confused, at first. The air didn’t smell the same as it did at his place, somehow both dusty and filled with mold at the same time. It didn’t smell like ancient paint or old carpets or any of the scents which had become so familiar since he had been living there.
It smelled clean. Fresh. Slightly spicy. And he wasn’t in his own bed, either, but on a couch that seemed to be getting more uncomfortable by the second. Funny, since it had seemed comfortable enough when he had collapsed down onto it, but then, he’d had quite a few beers in him by then. He seemed to have slept that off.
For some reason, his cheek tingled. He touched it, brushing his fingers over his stubble, and it felt faintly familiar. Had someone touched him? But this was clearly Brett’s house, and Brett surely hadn’t touched him. It wouldn’t have been anyone else.
Maybe he had been having a dream—that made sense. He dimly remembered a pair of brilliant blue eyes, the taste of salt. He had kissed something. He sat up, trying to grasp it, because it seemed like such a nice dream, but it was gone.
Yawning, John rubbed at his eyes, peered out through the window, which was a solid wall of white. It was snowing, and hard, out there, the street lights reflecting off of it so that there was that particular glow which only happened at nighttime in winter.
Groaning softly, bracing himself for the surge of pain that he knew was coming, John pushed himself up off of the couch. He needed the bathroom, and badly. But when he was walking back, even though he knew it was a bad idea, he peeked in through the door of Brett’s room, which was just slightly open.
It was stupid, and he even knew it. But at that moment, something inside of John snapped. There would be consequences from this, but he knew that he wouldn’t lose his best friend, so why not? If he had to spend even one more minute alone, John was going to scream, and since that would just wake Brett up anyway, he might as well go for what he wanted.
It made sense in his sleep-hazed mind, anyway, and it was with a huge feeling of relief that John entered Brett’s bedroom. It was so nice to sit down on the bed, to take some of the pressure off of his back, which was throbbing in time with the beat of his heart now. He found himself smiling a little as he shifted aside the blankets and lay down again.
When he had decided, if that was the right word to use, to do this, he had told himself that it wasn’t so bad. That he could always just rest for a second, deal with the blinding pain, and then get up and continue his trip back to the couch. He could confess it in the morning, maybe, make a big joke out of it.
Instead, he was asleep again in seconds.
Since he was asleep, he would never know if he moved toward Brett, or if Brett rolled toward him. He would never know who cuddled up to whom, drawn by the heat of the other’s body. To John, it seemed as natural as breathing, and all he really knew was that he felt safe. That he felt like he had come home. And that, he knew only on a purely instinctive level.
When he woke again, there was someone in his arms, someone that felt completely different from any of the people that John had ever woken up with before. They had all been women, and this person wasn’t a woman. This was a man. He knew that by the smell and by the way that the flat stomach felt under his fingers.
Because he had his arm draped around this man, and his first thought wasoh shit, I never should have let myself …
But it was okay because it was Brett, and Brett was his friend. Okay, so it was still a little bit weird for him to wake up in bed with Brett, but at least it wasn’t as bad as it would have been if he had woken up with a stranger. He had some deniability, and to his sleepy mind, that made it somehow all okay.
Even his back didn’t seem to throb as much, having settled down into a much more relaxed, slow pulsing, something that could nearly be ignored. He was warm, and he was comfortable, and it seemed to him that it had a lot to do with the man in his arms.
So he did the logical thing. Logical to his muddled mind, anyway. He pulled Brett’s body back against himself only that was perhaps not a great idea because, well, his back wasn’t the only thing that was pulsing with a slow, regular heat. He had some serious morning wood going on, and when he pulled Brett back against himself, when he felt the curve of that incredible little ass against his dick, he was suddenly very, very aware of the way he seemed to fit just perfectly against the smaller man.
Brett let out a soft little noise, something that sounded to John almost like a moan, and there was no doubt that he nestled back firmly against John’s body. John’s chin rested on Brett’s shoulder so that he could feel the rhythm of the other man’s breathing, and it seemed like they fit.
Later, he could talk himself out of it, tell himself that he didn’t remember it right. At the moment, though, it really did feel like Brett’s small, slender body, cradled sweetly in the crook of John’s, was perfect, a flawless connection that was utterly unlike anything that John had experienced before.
That beautiful ass slipped back, hips rocking just a little, so subtle that John wasn’t sure he had felt it before Brett stilled again. What was Brett dreaming about? Whatever it was, John hoped it was good.
But John was awake now, which meant that he wasn’t allowed to do this. What he had done in his sleep, that was not anything that he could really help. But he was awake, and Brett was asleep, and they weren’t the kind of friends who cuddled up to each other in their sleep or any other time.
So John did the right thing, as hard as it was. As hard as, he had to admit, he was. He rolled back over, releasing Brett’s body, shifting carefully onto his back, which was limber and relaxed now, at least for him. Enough so that he was able to roll further, onto his side, facing away from Brett, from the temptation which had unaccountably arisen.
Brett was not one of John’s soldier buddies. He was so much more than that, and it was something to John that was almost sacred, though not much was. Something worth keeping, protecting.
Besides, to have those sleepy, muddled, half-formed desires, it had to have been the alcohol the night before, or just the fact that it had been a while since John had gotten laid. It had just seemed like too much work for the last couple of months. Go to the bar, get shot down over and over again, until someone went for it. Boring. Predictable. No real challenge, because there were usually at least a couple of women who were there for the same thing as John was. And some were impressed by him being military.
It all just seemed like a chore, but if his body was, while he was asleep, seeking out the nearest person, that could be a problem. Sex had once seemed so important to him, and it probably still was. Probably. Didn’t people say that?
When he had first come back, after the rehab process, John had gone out to the bars almost every night. That had dwindled down to nothing. Which had, he supposed, led to him seeking the comfort of Brett’s body. Which wasn’t fair to Brett, John knew that. Well, no harm done. John had woken up first and had stopped what had never really started.
So here was the thing about that, though. If what he had felt while holding Brett in his arms had been nothing, why was he still aching for it? Why did the thought of going out and finding some random hookup not appeal to him in the slightest?
Against his will, his own treacherous brain brought to mind something which had to be nothing more than a dream. Brett’s fingers, brushing over John’s cheek. Strong fingers, but gentle. Brett’s hands must be skilled, with his job being what it was. Strong and deft and sure, with a knowledge of anatomy that would make him …
And that was just about enough of that, he told himself firmly. There was no benefit in thinking about that, in having this sensual, half-erotic fantasy about his best friend’s hands. He was being ridiculous, and he would laugh at himself later. It was just that it didn’t seem so amusing right at the moment.
It felt to him that there was something in the air between them, in the pristine stretch of sheets between his body and Brett’s. Expectation, maybe, only that wasn’t quite right. It couldn’t be, because Brett was soundly asleep, and all of this was only happening in John’s head.
And yet, the feeling persisted, and John closed his eyes and finally just relaxed enough to let himself bask in it. It was stupid, taking comfort from something which didn’t exist, but maybe he just needed to take comfort in something right now. And Brett was his best friend, the one person who had been there through everything. Somehow, John thought that Brett wouldn’t mind.
He should get up and leave, go back to the couch, but a new wave of sleepiness was wrapping dark tendrils around him, tugging him down, and a sort of stubbornness gripped him at the same time. He was here, and he was comfortable, and that couch downstairs was really just not comfortable at all.
So, for once, he just let it happen. He enjoyed the embrace of the soft mattress, which seemed to suck him in and refuse to let him go, and he was all too willing to stay, it had to be said. He let himself feel the weight of the man on the bed with him, to be soothed by his soft breathing, and as he got dragged down more and more into sleep, it got easier and easier not to think about it, not to try to logic himself out of the way he was feeling.
It wasn’t stupid. No matter how many times he told himself that it was, what he was feeling from Brett was the furthest thing from stupid. And the fact that John liked it, that wasn’t stupid, either. It just was what it was.
And it was so good, so fucking amazing, just to feel that, even just for those few minutes. He only got a few more hours of sleep, but that sleep was the most restful that he’d had in years, maybe ever. And no matter what Brett said about John passing out in his bed, that was worth it.
