BWOC Fic: Silk (Tommy/Merton, NC17)
Title: Silk
Fandom: BWOC
Pairing: Tommy/Merton
Rating: NC17
It's funny the things you don't know about somebody until you live with them. Take Merton for instance; I mean I thought we knew pretty much everything there was to know about each other, especially after all the time we spent together senior year. I knew all about his obsession with magic and the wolf, I knew what kind of movies he liked and exactly when to tune out during one of his speeches about the art of Dungeons and Dragons. I knew he liked Marilyn Manson and The Pixies and a bunch of other bands I never heard of before I met him, but I didn't know how many classical CDs he owned. He says they help him study. Considering his grades I guess I should give them a try sometime.
I'd seen all his books in his room when he still lived at home, but until he moved into the dorm I never really thought about how many of them there really were. And I'd never looked at the titles; I guess I just figured they were all something along the lines of 'Magic for Dummies', but it turns out he's got a thing for some guy named Robert Louis Stevenson. I've flipped through a couple of them and they're mostly ghost stories, which doesn’t really surprise me. I mean come on, it's Merton. The fact that he's best friends with a real live werewolf doesn't phase him in the least, so it would follow that he'd read about ghosts and monsters when we weren't fighting them.
He talks in his sleep sometimes, that's another thing I didn't know about him. The first time I heard him I thought he was talking to me, because he was having a whole conversation in his sleep. I guess he must've been dreaming about me, because he kept saying my name. I tried not to think too hard about what that did to my stomach, because I didn't really want to jump him in his sleep and scare him into moving out. Still, listening to him say my name in his sleep…okay, so I kinda got off on that. I'm only human. Most of the time.
I guess that's what really got me started thinking about Merton and me. I'd always kind of taken for granted that he was gonna be there, which was weird because we hadn't been friends for that long. As soon as we started hanging out it was like I'd known him forever, though, so I guess sometimes I just forget that he hasn't always been my best friend. So it didn't really register that he was planning to go away to college until he actually hugged me and drove away, and even then I didn't let myself think about the fact that we wouldn't be hanging out anymore. No more hanging around the Lair making lame jokes just to hear him laugh, watching movies or listening to his weird music. I'd never admit it to him, but I even like some of it.
When he drove away with all his stuff in the back of the hearse that was the end of the music, though; the end of weekends spent watching movies or just hanging around staring at his ceiling while he surfed the internet. No more hiding out at his place during the full moon because he was the only person I could trust, and he never freaked out when I wolfed out for no reason. Well, I had my reasons, but he either didn't know what they were or he was being polite. I didn't know what they were back then, not really. I mean I didn't let myself think too hard about it, because he's my best friend and that's a line you don't cross. I didn't know until that day he showed up at the dorm how bad I wanted to cross it, but by then it was too late to do anything about it. I mean I couldn't kick him out, what would I say? "Hey, buddy, it's great to see you but no way am I gonna be able to sleep in the next bed without losing it."
He would freak. He might freak. Hell, I don't know anymore if he would freak, because he's still saying my name in his sleep practically every night.
And what does that mean, anyway? He could just be dreaming something totally lame and boring like us hanging out at the student union looking at girls, which is something we haven't actually done but maybe he wants to. The first time he said my name in his sleep I thought it was cool in a 'no chance in hell does it mean anything' way, but when it kept happening I started to wonder. After awhile it got so bad that it was all I ever thought about; how to ask him why he was dreaming about me so much and what exactly we were doing in his dreams. I can't really tell from what he says because most of it's mumbled and even with my wolf hearing I can't catch all the words. Half of it doesn't even sound like English, but if Merton knows another language he's never mentioned it to me.
I mean it makes sense that he'd dream about me, I guess. It's not like the guy's got a lot of friends; most people don't really get Merton, which is their loss but in a way I kinda like the fact that I get him pretty much to myself. I worried a lot at first that he'd notice I was blowing off my old friends to spend all my time with him, but he never seemed to think anything of it so I just chalked it up to him being glad to have a friend. Not that I think he should be grateful that I'm his friend or anything; really it's the other way around, although I'm pretty sure he doesn't know that.
Anyway all this thinking - okay, obsessing - about what exactly he's dreaming about is starting to drive me crazy. That's why I came up with the plan, and I'm not even sure if it's gonna work. I have to know, though; it's driving me nuts and if I don't do something I'll lose it completely. So after a few nights of lying less than ten feet away from him listening to him breathe I figured the best approach would be to just come right out and ask him. Not directly, I mean I'm not gonna just blurt out something stupid like "Why are you dreaming about me?". I just have to figure out a way to ask him without actually asking, and after a few days of thinking about nothing else I'm pretty sure I've come up with the answer.
I waited until Friday night just so he wouldn't be able to use class as an excuse to get away from me in the morning, but to tell you the truth it's been the longest week of my life. I mean I came up with this idea on Tuesday, and waiting all this time has been killing me. I almost asked Thursday morning when he woke up sweaty and breathing hard, but he got the hell out of our room pretty fast. When he came back he was showered and looked more or less like nothing had happened, but in a way I was glad that happened because it means he's hiding something. Doesn't it?
I'm definitely losing it here.
Friday night we went to a movie at the theater right next to campus, some old monster movie I think. It's one of those old revival theaters and Merton loves it, but I was too busy watching him to pay any attention to the movie or the theater. I acted like it was a date on purpose. I just wanted to see if he'd react; if he'd get nervous or maybe ask me if I was okay, or if he'd even notice that I kept touching him like he was my boyfriend. The problem is that I touch him all the time, so he's probably so used to it he didn't even notice. He never seemed to mind in high school when I put my arm around him, so I just went with whatever felt right. Well, whatever felt right that I could get away with without losing my best friend. When we were at the theater, though, I did everything short of actually holding his hand and he didn't even blink.
That was last night, and even though the first part of my plan didn't go the way I'd hoped I haven't given up yet. I'm not sure if I ever actually went to sleep last night; I went to bed when he did, but for a long time I just lay there and listened to him breathe. When it started to get light outside I got up and sat down in the only comfortable chair in the room and watched him sleep. He's still asleep three hours later, and I'm still sitting here watching him like some kind of stalker. I'm starting to freak myself out, but I haven't come up with a way to get over my obsession yet. If this doesn't work I don't know what I'll do; maybe I'll have to tell him just so he can tell me he likes me but he doesn't like me like that. That would probably be the only way to get me over it, because if I never say anything I'm just gonna keep wondering about every look and every touch until I can't stand it anymore.
I guess I've already pretty much reached that point, though, otherwise why would I be sitting here staring at him? After three hours of watching him I should have been able to talk myself out of going through with it, but I'm still sitting here and when he mumbles something and his eyelids flutter a little my heart skips a beat. I still don't get up, though, and a few seconds later he blinks his eyes open and glances over at my bed. First thing he looks at, before he even notices I'm sitting there watching. I'm not sure if that's a good sign or not; I mean he could have just been seeing if I was still asleep, but the look that passes over his face before he turns toward me makes me wonder. When he does see me his eyes get wide, then his cheeks get a little pink and God, he looks sexy when he blushes.
"Hey," he says, and I can tell he's trying to sound like everything's cool and it's not weird that I'm sitting across the room watching him. I know him too well to fall for it, though, no matter how dumb he thinks I am. "You're up early for a Saturday. We can actually get breakfast for once, before the rest of the dorm gets down there and eats all the good stuff anyway. I've just gotta brush my teeth and change…"
I watch him babble for a little while, watch him look everywhere but at me while he runs his hands through his hair. It's kinda flat on one side from where he slept on it, making the spikes on the other side look even crazier than usual. I decide he looks pretty good like that and clear my throat to get his attention. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?"
"Oh yeah?" He blushes harder and now I'm almost sure there's something to the way he says my name while he's dreaming. I feel myself start to grin but I can't stop it so I don't even try. "I think my mom…she said something about that once. Long time ago. I thought I quit doing that. Why, what'd I say?"
"Dean talks in his sleep every once in awhile," I say, ignoring the question until he doesn't give me any other choice but to answer it. I'm pretty sure now that I know what's happening, but I don't want to be the first one to say something in case I'm totally off base. "Mostly he just mumbles about whatever TV show was on when he fell asleep. You, though…you have whole conversations. And what language is that you've been talking in, anyway?"
He looks a little relieved when I ask him about the language, and I guess he's hoping that he's been babbling stuff I don't understand. I let him believe it for now, mostly because it relaxes him enough that I'm pretty sure he's not gonna get up and run out of the room. "My…uh…my grandparents…they're Polish. On my mom's side. My grandmother taught me a lot of Polish when I was a kid, sometimes I dream in it. It's weird."
"Yeah, sometimes. But not all the time." Maybe I should have given him the out; let him think whatever he said in his sleep was in some language I didn't understand. Now that I've started I can't just drop it, though, otherwise I'll be sitting right here tomorrow morning, and the morning after that until finally he moves out and files a restraining order.
For a second he looks panicked, like maybe he is gonna bolt after all. I'd probably let him go; it's kind of mean of me to ambush him like this and if he needs time to sort out whatever he's been dreaming about I should give it to him. Then he looks up at me again and his expression shifts, all the fear and embarrassment giving way to concern. For me, I guess, since he's looking right at me, which means I must look pretty bad. "Tommy, are you okay? Did you sit there all night?"
"No, just the past couple hours," I answer. He looks even more confused when I say that, but I'm not really sure how to say this without making it worse. "You know anybody else named Tommy?"
"N-no…why?"
He might kill me later for doing this to him, or at least be mad at me for trying to drag the truth out of him instead of just being brave enough to come clean. I can't help it, though, I mean I don't think he'd mind if I came out to him but knowing how I feel about him specifically is a different story. It might cost me a roommate and a best friend, and I don't want to say anything I can't take back until I'm sure. "You've said my name four times since I've been sitting here."
"Oh." My heart does this weird little tap dance against my rib cage when he bites his lip and looks down at his sheet, twisting the fabric in his fingers like if he just concentrates on not looking at me this'll go away. "Look, Tommy, I…if I'd known I still talked in my sleep…maybe I should have stayed at my first school. I mean it was probably a good idea for me to leave town…"
I have a feeling if I don't do something he might never finish a sentence again, and anyway I'm pretty sure from the way he's babbling that I already have my answer. I stand up, stretching my stiff legs a little before I walk over to his bed. He stops talking as soon as I move and stares at me, his mouth still open like he's frozen in place. For a minute I just stand there wondering if I should sit down or wait for him to make some kind of move, because as soon as I'm close enough to reach out and touch him I'm not so sure what he wants anymore.
Before I make up my mind he blinks and moves back a little on the mattress like he's trying to put as much space between us as he can without actually getting out of bed. "Okay. Maybe you want to kill me and that's okay, I completely understand. I shouldn't have moved in here without telling you, but they're just a few little dreams. No big deal, right? But if you still want to kill me can you at least consider making it as painless as possible? You know I hate the sight of blood - well, my own anyway - and we're best friends so you sort of…well, you don't owe me, I wouldn't go that far but…"
For awhile I just listen to him babble because I can't believe he really thinks I want to hurt him. I mean we've been friends for a year now, I thought he knew me well enough to know I wouldn't do that. I always figured he trusted me enough to tell me anything, but I guess I couldn't really blame him for keeping this a secret. It's not like I ever told him either, and he definitely had more to lose than I did if he said something and I freaked out. Well, from his perspective he had more to lose; his best friend, his link to the supernatural weirdness around town, and maybe his life if I turned out to be some kind of homophobe. If I came clean with him and he kicked me out of his life I'd lose him, though, and he was the only thing in my life I couldn't even imagine living without.
"Tommy?"
I snap back to reality when he says my name, focusing on him again. He still looks kind of scared, but the concern's back in his eyes which means I must have zoned for awhile. That's just like him, too, to forget about the fact that I might be two seconds away from killing him long enough to ask me if I'm okay. Instead of answering I sit down next to him, letting my gaze trail down his chest and back up again. He's wearing these black silk pajamas that I've been dying to touch since the first time he put them on; they just look so soft against his skin, and I want to rub the fabric between my fingers to see if they're as soft as they look. I never let myself think about it for long, because I know I can't touch him. If I touched him while he was wearing those he'd know right away how I felt about him, and until this morning I was still pretending I could keep the truth from him.
"I don't want to kill you, Merton," I say, although from the sound of my voice you'd never be able to tell. It sounds rough, almost like a growl and I can feel my skin tingling a little like it does right before I wolf out. I know why it's happening, but he helped me learn to control it a long time ago so I pull myself together and meet his eyes again. "Do you wanna tell me what you were dreaming about?"
"Not really," he says. I grin at the honest answer and shrug, looking down at the mattress long enough to pull the sheet off his legs. "Tommy, what are you…?"
Before he has a chance to finish the question I move, sliding toward him until there's less than a foot of space between us. He doesn't move but I can hear his heart pounding and his breathing is kinda ragged, and for the first time in a long time I'm thankful for heightened wolf senses. I can tell he's caught between terrified and curious, which is no surprise considering he's a scientist at heart. All I'm thinking about right now is finally finding out how those pajamas feel against my skin, though, so I reach out and press my palm flat against his chest.
"These are softer than I thought they'd be," I say, watching my hand as I run it up and down the fabric. I can feel the heat of his skin through the silk, his temperature creeping up a notch or two. He must be blushing again, and when I look up sure enough his cheeks look like they might burst into flames.
"You've been…wondering…about my pajamas?"
"Yeah," I answer, like this is a totally normal conversation for us to be having. Okay, it's us, so 'normal' doesn't really come into play that often, but this is a little out of the ordinary even for me and Merton. I look up in time to catch him eyeing my chest, and I remember for the first time that I'm not wearing anything but sweatpants. Which is convenient, because I'd really like to see what the silk feels like against the rest of my skin. "Hey, Merton?"
"What?" he asks, his eyes darting back up to mine. He looks guilty at being caught checking me out, but as soon as I smile the guilt's gone and he looks…yeah, that's how I like him best. I've never seen him like this before, but it's definitely my new favorite look for him.
"You mind if I see how they feel?"
For a second he gives me this blank stare, then he frowns and glances down at his pajamas. "What, you wanna try them on? I don't think they'd fit you, but if you want I can order…"
The sound of my laughter makes him stop talking, and when my hand moves from his chest to his hip I feel him shiver. "I don't want to try them on. Exactly," I say as I press him backwards onto the mattress. Either he's too stunned to put up a fight or he doesn't want to, which I'm really hoping is the case because the idea of stopping now that I've started is pretty hard to imagine. His eyes are wide as he watches me kind of crawl over him, then I press my hips into his and all of a sudden I have a new favorite look for him. His eyes flutter closed and he gasps as he arches up into me, lost for a second in the feeling before he realizes what he's doing and forces his eyes open again. He's probably wondering if I've been possessed by some freaky sex-crazed demon, but I'm too busy testing out the feel of all that silk against my bare skin to notice.
Suddenly I'm wishing I wasn't even wearing sweatpants because I want to feel all that smooth, slippery fabric against my legs too, against my dick as he thrusts up again before he can stop himself. I'm watching his face the whole time, watching him fight what's happening with whatever logic's still working in his brain. I know this doesn't make any sense, so I want him to stop trying to find an explanation and just go with it. I slip one hand between us and slide it under his shirt, pressing my palm flat against his hot skin as the silk slides against my arm.
"If I'd known you had a silk fetish I could have just gotten you a pair for your birthday," he says, his laugh a little hysterical as I grind my hips down into his. The sound of his voice reminds me how close his mouth is to mine, so I lean forward and press our lips together. He lets out this strangled sound, his hands coming up to touch me for the first time since I climbed into bed with him. One hand lands in my hair, holding my head in place as his lips part under mine. His other hand is on my back, his fingers pressing hard enough to leave a mark. For a second I find myself wishing I'd just told him how I felt months ago, because if I had maybe our senior year would have been a lot more interesting. Then his tongue's sliding against mine and I stop thinking at all, focusing whatever parts of my brain haven't short-circuited on kissing him back like it's the last thing I'll ever do. It might just be, because between his hands moving on me and his dick thrusting against mine I'm not sure I'll survive this.
The silk feels good against my skin, but I have a feeling he'd feel even better so I start working open the buttons of his shirt. It takes me awhile to do it one-handed, but finally I get it open far enough that I can pull it over his head. That means I have to stop kissing him, but it's worth it when I feel his skin pressed against mine. I lean in to kiss him again, but he pulls back a little and puts his hand on my shoulder to hold me away from him. "Tommy, what are we doing here?"
For a second I consider making a joke of it, maybe telling him that if he can't figure that out he should have paid more attention in health class. When I look in his eyes I can see he's serious, though, and I can't tease him when he looks like that. I know what he's asking me, and I have a feeling that if I tell him the truth it'll just make everything better. "I want you," I say, reaching for his other hand and lifting it to my mouth. Maybe I've been watching too many movies on Cinemax or something, because I can hear myself talking but it doesn't even sound like me. My voice sounds deeper and way more confident than I feel, and before I know it I've got one of his fingers in my mouth. I had to have seen that on TV, because there's no way I'd come up with finger sucking on my own. His eyes roll back a little and he lets out a moan, though, so at least he's enjoying it. "I'm crazy about you, Merton, I think about you all the time."
I guess that's what he was waiting to hear, because when he opens his eyes again he smiles at me. Not his usual wide, open grin, either - this is more like he knows a secret that he's just been waiting for the right moment to tell me. Before I get a chance to ask he pulls his hand away from my mouth and leans forward again, pulling me back onto the mattress with him while he kisses me. I've kissed a few girls before and it was okay, but none of them ever made me forget how to think. With him it's like I can't even remember my own name, and when his hands slide down my back to the top of my sweatpants I just know I'm gonna come before he ever even touches me.
I don't even care if I do, because knowing he wants me alone is enough to make me think this has to be a dream. It has to be; I'm still back on my side of the room fast asleep, and he's over here dreaming about the two of us as some kind of crime-fighting super team. If it is a dream I'm sure as hell not waking up until I taste every inch of him, though. I tear my mouth away from his and bury my face in his neck, kissing my way down to his collarbone. He arches up against me, his hands sliding under my waistband and pushing the fabric a little further down my hips.
I'm caught between wanting to let him undress me and wanting to kiss every inch of him before I wake up, but finally I decide on a compromise. I push myself off him long enough to struggle out of my sweatpants, dropping them on the floor before I kneel between his legs. For a second I'm frozen there with my hands on his thighs, my heart lodged in my throat at the look on his face. He's propped on his elbows staring back at me, skin flushed and lips wet from his tongue. I've imagined this enough times to be a little familiar with the way he's looking at me, but my imagination is nothing like the real thing. I want to do everything at once; kiss him again, wrap my arms around him and breathe in the smell of sweat and hair gel and Merton, suck him off until he's babbling in Polish or Klingon or whatever language he can come up with. I don't care, as long as it's me making him feel like this.
His dick's straining against the silk of his pajamas, leaving a darker spot where it's wet from the slick head rubbing against the fabric. I can't believe he hasn't come from that alone, and suddenly I wonder if I really do have a silk fetish. Although Merton in pretty much any fabric would probably do it for me, so maybe it's just a Merton fetish. I don't spend too much time analyzing that; instead I just lean over and let out a hot breath on the wet spot at the front of his pants. His hips jerk and he lets out this cute little groan, his eyes shut tight when I look back up at his face. I can tell he's still trying hard not to let go, so I lean even closer and cover the wet spot with my mouth.
I don't really know what I'm doing; it's not like I have any practical experience, so all I know is what I've read. If anybody had been paying attention in high school they probably would have thought it was weird that I wasn't scoring with a different girl every weekend, but then again maybe they assumed I was and I just wasn't the type to brag about it. I tried to want to do this stuff with the girls I did date, but it turns out I'm a pretty bad actor so things just never got this far. Thankfully I don't have that problem with Merton, though, and considering the sounds he makes when I suck the head of his cock into my mouth through the fabric I guess I'm doing okay so far.
When he bucks up into my mouth I pull off, ignoring the frustrated sound he makes while I hook my thumbs in the sides of his pants and yank them down. I never really thought Merton was the type to go commando, but I guess if I had a pair of silk pajamas I wouldn't want anything between me and them either. The guy must have amazing self-control, though, because he's worn these things a few times since we moved in together and I've never once seen him hard. Either that or he's just really good at hiding it. Maybe I'll ask him later, but for right now all I want to do is finish what I started. I toss his pants on the floor and settle between his legs again, pushing them a little further apart as I grab his hips with one hand and his dick with the other. I close my mouth around the head again and run my tongue over it, getting used to the taste and the weight of it against my lips.
Meanwhile Merton's bucking up against the hand that's holding him down and babbling, in English this time so I can understand a word here or there. Mostly he's not making any sense, but he says my name every so often and that's enough for me. I take as much of him into my mouth as I can, sucking hard as I jerk my fist up and down his shaft in time with my mouth. Maybe he tried to warn me that he was about to come, but if he did I couldn't make it out between whatever else he's been saying all this time. So when he arches into me and lets out a low moan it's the first warning I get that he's coming, but I don't really mind. I mean I've tasted myself once or twice after I jerked off, so I'm kind of curious to see if Merton tastes any different.
I swallow around him and pull off, running my tongue over the head one more time before I crawl back up the mattress. He's panting and red when I look down at him, but when I cover his mouth with mine his arms come up around my neck and he kisses me back like his life depends on it. I start rocking against him again, so close I want to cry. Before I even say anything he reaches between us, thin fingers closing around my cock and stroking hard. I thrust into his fist with each stroke, probably bruising his lips with the force of my kiss but I can't stop. Then his grip tightens a little and he twists his wrist, just enough to surprise me into letting go. I let out a grunt and bury my face in his neck, my eyes squeezed shut tight as I ride out the wave of pleasure.
It takes me a minute to remember where I am, but when I do I turn my face into his neck and kiss the sweat-slick skin. His hands are moving on my back again and it feels good; comforting, kinda, in a way I didn't really expect but I definitely like. In fact I can't really think of anything I don't like about Merton, which is a good thing considering he's still my best friend.
"Something you want to tell me?" he says, his voice sending another shiver down my spine and straight to my groin.
"I thought I already did," I say, rolling off him just enough to let him breathe. "You're the one that hasn't said anything." It doesn't hit me until that minute, but as soon as I say it I know it's true. He hasn't said anything about how he feels about this - about us - and meanwhile he knows that I'm nuts about him. It makes me feel way more naked than I did a minute ago, but I give him a chance to come clean before I do something drastic like get out of his bed.
"You really have to ask?" I can hear the laughter in his voice and I open my eyes to look at him, smiling back at him in spite of how nervous I am about his answer. "Like you couldn't tell I love you. It was so obvious, Tommy."
"What are you talking about?" I ask, frowning as I push myself up on one elbow to stare down at him. "You've dated more than me since I met you. You were pretty pissed about that whole thing with Sloane." As soon as he rolls his eyes I figure out why he was so pissed about Sloane, and I know I shouldn't let it but it makes me feel pretty good to know he was jealous of her and not me. "If you wanted me to take you to the prom you should have just said."
He laughs then and I smile back at him, relieved that everything's still cool between us. So there's this new thing between us now, but that can only make things better. "Sure, and I could have worn a silk tux. We never would have made it out of the Lair."
"And the problem with that would be…?" I ask, doing my best impression of him as I lean over and cover his mouth with mine again.
Fandom: BWOC
Pairing: Tommy/Merton
Rating: NC17
It's funny the things you don't know about somebody until you live with them. Take Merton for instance; I mean I thought we knew pretty much everything there was to know about each other, especially after all the time we spent together senior year. I knew all about his obsession with magic and the wolf, I knew what kind of movies he liked and exactly when to tune out during one of his speeches about the art of Dungeons and Dragons. I knew he liked Marilyn Manson and The Pixies and a bunch of other bands I never heard of before I met him, but I didn't know how many classical CDs he owned. He says they help him study. Considering his grades I guess I should give them a try sometime.
I'd seen all his books in his room when he still lived at home, but until he moved into the dorm I never really thought about how many of them there really were. And I'd never looked at the titles; I guess I just figured they were all something along the lines of 'Magic for Dummies', but it turns out he's got a thing for some guy named Robert Louis Stevenson. I've flipped through a couple of them and they're mostly ghost stories, which doesn’t really surprise me. I mean come on, it's Merton. The fact that he's best friends with a real live werewolf doesn't phase him in the least, so it would follow that he'd read about ghosts and monsters when we weren't fighting them.
He talks in his sleep sometimes, that's another thing I didn't know about him. The first time I heard him I thought he was talking to me, because he was having a whole conversation in his sleep. I guess he must've been dreaming about me, because he kept saying my name. I tried not to think too hard about what that did to my stomach, because I didn't really want to jump him in his sleep and scare him into moving out. Still, listening to him say my name in his sleep…okay, so I kinda got off on that. I'm only human. Most of the time.
I guess that's what really got me started thinking about Merton and me. I'd always kind of taken for granted that he was gonna be there, which was weird because we hadn't been friends for that long. As soon as we started hanging out it was like I'd known him forever, though, so I guess sometimes I just forget that he hasn't always been my best friend. So it didn't really register that he was planning to go away to college until he actually hugged me and drove away, and even then I didn't let myself think about the fact that we wouldn't be hanging out anymore. No more hanging around the Lair making lame jokes just to hear him laugh, watching movies or listening to his weird music. I'd never admit it to him, but I even like some of it.
When he drove away with all his stuff in the back of the hearse that was the end of the music, though; the end of weekends spent watching movies or just hanging around staring at his ceiling while he surfed the internet. No more hiding out at his place during the full moon because he was the only person I could trust, and he never freaked out when I wolfed out for no reason. Well, I had my reasons, but he either didn't know what they were or he was being polite. I didn't know what they were back then, not really. I mean I didn't let myself think too hard about it, because he's my best friend and that's a line you don't cross. I didn't know until that day he showed up at the dorm how bad I wanted to cross it, but by then it was too late to do anything about it. I mean I couldn't kick him out, what would I say? "Hey, buddy, it's great to see you but no way am I gonna be able to sleep in the next bed without losing it."
He would freak. He might freak. Hell, I don't know anymore if he would freak, because he's still saying my name in his sleep practically every night.
And what does that mean, anyway? He could just be dreaming something totally lame and boring like us hanging out at the student union looking at girls, which is something we haven't actually done but maybe he wants to. The first time he said my name in his sleep I thought it was cool in a 'no chance in hell does it mean anything' way, but when it kept happening I started to wonder. After awhile it got so bad that it was all I ever thought about; how to ask him why he was dreaming about me so much and what exactly we were doing in his dreams. I can't really tell from what he says because most of it's mumbled and even with my wolf hearing I can't catch all the words. Half of it doesn't even sound like English, but if Merton knows another language he's never mentioned it to me.
I mean it makes sense that he'd dream about me, I guess. It's not like the guy's got a lot of friends; most people don't really get Merton, which is their loss but in a way I kinda like the fact that I get him pretty much to myself. I worried a lot at first that he'd notice I was blowing off my old friends to spend all my time with him, but he never seemed to think anything of it so I just chalked it up to him being glad to have a friend. Not that I think he should be grateful that I'm his friend or anything; really it's the other way around, although I'm pretty sure he doesn't know that.
Anyway all this thinking - okay, obsessing - about what exactly he's dreaming about is starting to drive me crazy. That's why I came up with the plan, and I'm not even sure if it's gonna work. I have to know, though; it's driving me nuts and if I don't do something I'll lose it completely. So after a few nights of lying less than ten feet away from him listening to him breathe I figured the best approach would be to just come right out and ask him. Not directly, I mean I'm not gonna just blurt out something stupid like "Why are you dreaming about me?". I just have to figure out a way to ask him without actually asking, and after a few days of thinking about nothing else I'm pretty sure I've come up with the answer.
I waited until Friday night just so he wouldn't be able to use class as an excuse to get away from me in the morning, but to tell you the truth it's been the longest week of my life. I mean I came up with this idea on Tuesday, and waiting all this time has been killing me. I almost asked Thursday morning when he woke up sweaty and breathing hard, but he got the hell out of our room pretty fast. When he came back he was showered and looked more or less like nothing had happened, but in a way I was glad that happened because it means he's hiding something. Doesn't it?
I'm definitely losing it here.
Friday night we went to a movie at the theater right next to campus, some old monster movie I think. It's one of those old revival theaters and Merton loves it, but I was too busy watching him to pay any attention to the movie or the theater. I acted like it was a date on purpose. I just wanted to see if he'd react; if he'd get nervous or maybe ask me if I was okay, or if he'd even notice that I kept touching him like he was my boyfriend. The problem is that I touch him all the time, so he's probably so used to it he didn't even notice. He never seemed to mind in high school when I put my arm around him, so I just went with whatever felt right. Well, whatever felt right that I could get away with without losing my best friend. When we were at the theater, though, I did everything short of actually holding his hand and he didn't even blink.
That was last night, and even though the first part of my plan didn't go the way I'd hoped I haven't given up yet. I'm not sure if I ever actually went to sleep last night; I went to bed when he did, but for a long time I just lay there and listened to him breathe. When it started to get light outside I got up and sat down in the only comfortable chair in the room and watched him sleep. He's still asleep three hours later, and I'm still sitting here watching him like some kind of stalker. I'm starting to freak myself out, but I haven't come up with a way to get over my obsession yet. If this doesn't work I don't know what I'll do; maybe I'll have to tell him just so he can tell me he likes me but he doesn't like me like that. That would probably be the only way to get me over it, because if I never say anything I'm just gonna keep wondering about every look and every touch until I can't stand it anymore.
I guess I've already pretty much reached that point, though, otherwise why would I be sitting here staring at him? After three hours of watching him I should have been able to talk myself out of going through with it, but I'm still sitting here and when he mumbles something and his eyelids flutter a little my heart skips a beat. I still don't get up, though, and a few seconds later he blinks his eyes open and glances over at my bed. First thing he looks at, before he even notices I'm sitting there watching. I'm not sure if that's a good sign or not; I mean he could have just been seeing if I was still asleep, but the look that passes over his face before he turns toward me makes me wonder. When he does see me his eyes get wide, then his cheeks get a little pink and God, he looks sexy when he blushes.
"Hey," he says, and I can tell he's trying to sound like everything's cool and it's not weird that I'm sitting across the room watching him. I know him too well to fall for it, though, no matter how dumb he thinks I am. "You're up early for a Saturday. We can actually get breakfast for once, before the rest of the dorm gets down there and eats all the good stuff anyway. I've just gotta brush my teeth and change…"
I watch him babble for a little while, watch him look everywhere but at me while he runs his hands through his hair. It's kinda flat on one side from where he slept on it, making the spikes on the other side look even crazier than usual. I decide he looks pretty good like that and clear my throat to get his attention. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?"
"Oh yeah?" He blushes harder and now I'm almost sure there's something to the way he says my name while he's dreaming. I feel myself start to grin but I can't stop it so I don't even try. "I think my mom…she said something about that once. Long time ago. I thought I quit doing that. Why, what'd I say?"
"Dean talks in his sleep every once in awhile," I say, ignoring the question until he doesn't give me any other choice but to answer it. I'm pretty sure now that I know what's happening, but I don't want to be the first one to say something in case I'm totally off base. "Mostly he just mumbles about whatever TV show was on when he fell asleep. You, though…you have whole conversations. And what language is that you've been talking in, anyway?"
He looks a little relieved when I ask him about the language, and I guess he's hoping that he's been babbling stuff I don't understand. I let him believe it for now, mostly because it relaxes him enough that I'm pretty sure he's not gonna get up and run out of the room. "My…uh…my grandparents…they're Polish. On my mom's side. My grandmother taught me a lot of Polish when I was a kid, sometimes I dream in it. It's weird."
"Yeah, sometimes. But not all the time." Maybe I should have given him the out; let him think whatever he said in his sleep was in some language I didn't understand. Now that I've started I can't just drop it, though, otherwise I'll be sitting right here tomorrow morning, and the morning after that until finally he moves out and files a restraining order.
For a second he looks panicked, like maybe he is gonna bolt after all. I'd probably let him go; it's kind of mean of me to ambush him like this and if he needs time to sort out whatever he's been dreaming about I should give it to him. Then he looks up at me again and his expression shifts, all the fear and embarrassment giving way to concern. For me, I guess, since he's looking right at me, which means I must look pretty bad. "Tommy, are you okay? Did you sit there all night?"
"No, just the past couple hours," I answer. He looks even more confused when I say that, but I'm not really sure how to say this without making it worse. "You know anybody else named Tommy?"
"N-no…why?"
He might kill me later for doing this to him, or at least be mad at me for trying to drag the truth out of him instead of just being brave enough to come clean. I can't help it, though, I mean I don't think he'd mind if I came out to him but knowing how I feel about him specifically is a different story. It might cost me a roommate and a best friend, and I don't want to say anything I can't take back until I'm sure. "You've said my name four times since I've been sitting here."
"Oh." My heart does this weird little tap dance against my rib cage when he bites his lip and looks down at his sheet, twisting the fabric in his fingers like if he just concentrates on not looking at me this'll go away. "Look, Tommy, I…if I'd known I still talked in my sleep…maybe I should have stayed at my first school. I mean it was probably a good idea for me to leave town…"
I have a feeling if I don't do something he might never finish a sentence again, and anyway I'm pretty sure from the way he's babbling that I already have my answer. I stand up, stretching my stiff legs a little before I walk over to his bed. He stops talking as soon as I move and stares at me, his mouth still open like he's frozen in place. For a minute I just stand there wondering if I should sit down or wait for him to make some kind of move, because as soon as I'm close enough to reach out and touch him I'm not so sure what he wants anymore.
Before I make up my mind he blinks and moves back a little on the mattress like he's trying to put as much space between us as he can without actually getting out of bed. "Okay. Maybe you want to kill me and that's okay, I completely understand. I shouldn't have moved in here without telling you, but they're just a few little dreams. No big deal, right? But if you still want to kill me can you at least consider making it as painless as possible? You know I hate the sight of blood - well, my own anyway - and we're best friends so you sort of…well, you don't owe me, I wouldn't go that far but…"
For awhile I just listen to him babble because I can't believe he really thinks I want to hurt him. I mean we've been friends for a year now, I thought he knew me well enough to know I wouldn't do that. I always figured he trusted me enough to tell me anything, but I guess I couldn't really blame him for keeping this a secret. It's not like I ever told him either, and he definitely had more to lose than I did if he said something and I freaked out. Well, from his perspective he had more to lose; his best friend, his link to the supernatural weirdness around town, and maybe his life if I turned out to be some kind of homophobe. If I came clean with him and he kicked me out of his life I'd lose him, though, and he was the only thing in my life I couldn't even imagine living without.
"Tommy?"
I snap back to reality when he says my name, focusing on him again. He still looks kind of scared, but the concern's back in his eyes which means I must have zoned for awhile. That's just like him, too, to forget about the fact that I might be two seconds away from killing him long enough to ask me if I'm okay. Instead of answering I sit down next to him, letting my gaze trail down his chest and back up again. He's wearing these black silk pajamas that I've been dying to touch since the first time he put them on; they just look so soft against his skin, and I want to rub the fabric between my fingers to see if they're as soft as they look. I never let myself think about it for long, because I know I can't touch him. If I touched him while he was wearing those he'd know right away how I felt about him, and until this morning I was still pretending I could keep the truth from him.
"I don't want to kill you, Merton," I say, although from the sound of my voice you'd never be able to tell. It sounds rough, almost like a growl and I can feel my skin tingling a little like it does right before I wolf out. I know why it's happening, but he helped me learn to control it a long time ago so I pull myself together and meet his eyes again. "Do you wanna tell me what you were dreaming about?"
"Not really," he says. I grin at the honest answer and shrug, looking down at the mattress long enough to pull the sheet off his legs. "Tommy, what are you…?"
Before he has a chance to finish the question I move, sliding toward him until there's less than a foot of space between us. He doesn't move but I can hear his heart pounding and his breathing is kinda ragged, and for the first time in a long time I'm thankful for heightened wolf senses. I can tell he's caught between terrified and curious, which is no surprise considering he's a scientist at heart. All I'm thinking about right now is finally finding out how those pajamas feel against my skin, though, so I reach out and press my palm flat against his chest.
"These are softer than I thought they'd be," I say, watching my hand as I run it up and down the fabric. I can feel the heat of his skin through the silk, his temperature creeping up a notch or two. He must be blushing again, and when I look up sure enough his cheeks look like they might burst into flames.
"You've been…wondering…about my pajamas?"
"Yeah," I answer, like this is a totally normal conversation for us to be having. Okay, it's us, so 'normal' doesn't really come into play that often, but this is a little out of the ordinary even for me and Merton. I look up in time to catch him eyeing my chest, and I remember for the first time that I'm not wearing anything but sweatpants. Which is convenient, because I'd really like to see what the silk feels like against the rest of my skin. "Hey, Merton?"
"What?" he asks, his eyes darting back up to mine. He looks guilty at being caught checking me out, but as soon as I smile the guilt's gone and he looks…yeah, that's how I like him best. I've never seen him like this before, but it's definitely my new favorite look for him.
"You mind if I see how they feel?"
For a second he gives me this blank stare, then he frowns and glances down at his pajamas. "What, you wanna try them on? I don't think they'd fit you, but if you want I can order…"
The sound of my laughter makes him stop talking, and when my hand moves from his chest to his hip I feel him shiver. "I don't want to try them on. Exactly," I say as I press him backwards onto the mattress. Either he's too stunned to put up a fight or he doesn't want to, which I'm really hoping is the case because the idea of stopping now that I've started is pretty hard to imagine. His eyes are wide as he watches me kind of crawl over him, then I press my hips into his and all of a sudden I have a new favorite look for him. His eyes flutter closed and he gasps as he arches up into me, lost for a second in the feeling before he realizes what he's doing and forces his eyes open again. He's probably wondering if I've been possessed by some freaky sex-crazed demon, but I'm too busy testing out the feel of all that silk against my bare skin to notice.
Suddenly I'm wishing I wasn't even wearing sweatpants because I want to feel all that smooth, slippery fabric against my legs too, against my dick as he thrusts up again before he can stop himself. I'm watching his face the whole time, watching him fight what's happening with whatever logic's still working in his brain. I know this doesn't make any sense, so I want him to stop trying to find an explanation and just go with it. I slip one hand between us and slide it under his shirt, pressing my palm flat against his hot skin as the silk slides against my arm.
"If I'd known you had a silk fetish I could have just gotten you a pair for your birthday," he says, his laugh a little hysterical as I grind my hips down into his. The sound of his voice reminds me how close his mouth is to mine, so I lean forward and press our lips together. He lets out this strangled sound, his hands coming up to touch me for the first time since I climbed into bed with him. One hand lands in my hair, holding my head in place as his lips part under mine. His other hand is on my back, his fingers pressing hard enough to leave a mark. For a second I find myself wishing I'd just told him how I felt months ago, because if I had maybe our senior year would have been a lot more interesting. Then his tongue's sliding against mine and I stop thinking at all, focusing whatever parts of my brain haven't short-circuited on kissing him back like it's the last thing I'll ever do. It might just be, because between his hands moving on me and his dick thrusting against mine I'm not sure I'll survive this.
The silk feels good against my skin, but I have a feeling he'd feel even better so I start working open the buttons of his shirt. It takes me awhile to do it one-handed, but finally I get it open far enough that I can pull it over his head. That means I have to stop kissing him, but it's worth it when I feel his skin pressed against mine. I lean in to kiss him again, but he pulls back a little and puts his hand on my shoulder to hold me away from him. "Tommy, what are we doing here?"
For a second I consider making a joke of it, maybe telling him that if he can't figure that out he should have paid more attention in health class. When I look in his eyes I can see he's serious, though, and I can't tease him when he looks like that. I know what he's asking me, and I have a feeling that if I tell him the truth it'll just make everything better. "I want you," I say, reaching for his other hand and lifting it to my mouth. Maybe I've been watching too many movies on Cinemax or something, because I can hear myself talking but it doesn't even sound like me. My voice sounds deeper and way more confident than I feel, and before I know it I've got one of his fingers in my mouth. I had to have seen that on TV, because there's no way I'd come up with finger sucking on my own. His eyes roll back a little and he lets out a moan, though, so at least he's enjoying it. "I'm crazy about you, Merton, I think about you all the time."
I guess that's what he was waiting to hear, because when he opens his eyes again he smiles at me. Not his usual wide, open grin, either - this is more like he knows a secret that he's just been waiting for the right moment to tell me. Before I get a chance to ask he pulls his hand away from my mouth and leans forward again, pulling me back onto the mattress with him while he kisses me. I've kissed a few girls before and it was okay, but none of them ever made me forget how to think. With him it's like I can't even remember my own name, and when his hands slide down my back to the top of my sweatpants I just know I'm gonna come before he ever even touches me.
I don't even care if I do, because knowing he wants me alone is enough to make me think this has to be a dream. It has to be; I'm still back on my side of the room fast asleep, and he's over here dreaming about the two of us as some kind of crime-fighting super team. If it is a dream I'm sure as hell not waking up until I taste every inch of him, though. I tear my mouth away from his and bury my face in his neck, kissing my way down to his collarbone. He arches up against me, his hands sliding under my waistband and pushing the fabric a little further down my hips.
I'm caught between wanting to let him undress me and wanting to kiss every inch of him before I wake up, but finally I decide on a compromise. I push myself off him long enough to struggle out of my sweatpants, dropping them on the floor before I kneel between his legs. For a second I'm frozen there with my hands on his thighs, my heart lodged in my throat at the look on his face. He's propped on his elbows staring back at me, skin flushed and lips wet from his tongue. I've imagined this enough times to be a little familiar with the way he's looking at me, but my imagination is nothing like the real thing. I want to do everything at once; kiss him again, wrap my arms around him and breathe in the smell of sweat and hair gel and Merton, suck him off until he's babbling in Polish or Klingon or whatever language he can come up with. I don't care, as long as it's me making him feel like this.
His dick's straining against the silk of his pajamas, leaving a darker spot where it's wet from the slick head rubbing against the fabric. I can't believe he hasn't come from that alone, and suddenly I wonder if I really do have a silk fetish. Although Merton in pretty much any fabric would probably do it for me, so maybe it's just a Merton fetish. I don't spend too much time analyzing that; instead I just lean over and let out a hot breath on the wet spot at the front of his pants. His hips jerk and he lets out this cute little groan, his eyes shut tight when I look back up at his face. I can tell he's still trying hard not to let go, so I lean even closer and cover the wet spot with my mouth.
I don't really know what I'm doing; it's not like I have any practical experience, so all I know is what I've read. If anybody had been paying attention in high school they probably would have thought it was weird that I wasn't scoring with a different girl every weekend, but then again maybe they assumed I was and I just wasn't the type to brag about it. I tried to want to do this stuff with the girls I did date, but it turns out I'm a pretty bad actor so things just never got this far. Thankfully I don't have that problem with Merton, though, and considering the sounds he makes when I suck the head of his cock into my mouth through the fabric I guess I'm doing okay so far.
When he bucks up into my mouth I pull off, ignoring the frustrated sound he makes while I hook my thumbs in the sides of his pants and yank them down. I never really thought Merton was the type to go commando, but I guess if I had a pair of silk pajamas I wouldn't want anything between me and them either. The guy must have amazing self-control, though, because he's worn these things a few times since we moved in together and I've never once seen him hard. Either that or he's just really good at hiding it. Maybe I'll ask him later, but for right now all I want to do is finish what I started. I toss his pants on the floor and settle between his legs again, pushing them a little further apart as I grab his hips with one hand and his dick with the other. I close my mouth around the head again and run my tongue over it, getting used to the taste and the weight of it against my lips.
Meanwhile Merton's bucking up against the hand that's holding him down and babbling, in English this time so I can understand a word here or there. Mostly he's not making any sense, but he says my name every so often and that's enough for me. I take as much of him into my mouth as I can, sucking hard as I jerk my fist up and down his shaft in time with my mouth. Maybe he tried to warn me that he was about to come, but if he did I couldn't make it out between whatever else he's been saying all this time. So when he arches into me and lets out a low moan it's the first warning I get that he's coming, but I don't really mind. I mean I've tasted myself once or twice after I jerked off, so I'm kind of curious to see if Merton tastes any different.
I swallow around him and pull off, running my tongue over the head one more time before I crawl back up the mattress. He's panting and red when I look down at him, but when I cover his mouth with mine his arms come up around my neck and he kisses me back like his life depends on it. I start rocking against him again, so close I want to cry. Before I even say anything he reaches between us, thin fingers closing around my cock and stroking hard. I thrust into his fist with each stroke, probably bruising his lips with the force of my kiss but I can't stop. Then his grip tightens a little and he twists his wrist, just enough to surprise me into letting go. I let out a grunt and bury my face in his neck, my eyes squeezed shut tight as I ride out the wave of pleasure.
It takes me a minute to remember where I am, but when I do I turn my face into his neck and kiss the sweat-slick skin. His hands are moving on my back again and it feels good; comforting, kinda, in a way I didn't really expect but I definitely like. In fact I can't really think of anything I don't like about Merton, which is a good thing considering he's still my best friend.
"Something you want to tell me?" he says, his voice sending another shiver down my spine and straight to my groin.
"I thought I already did," I say, rolling off him just enough to let him breathe. "You're the one that hasn't said anything." It doesn't hit me until that minute, but as soon as I say it I know it's true. He hasn't said anything about how he feels about this - about us - and meanwhile he knows that I'm nuts about him. It makes me feel way more naked than I did a minute ago, but I give him a chance to come clean before I do something drastic like get out of his bed.
"You really have to ask?" I can hear the laughter in his voice and I open my eyes to look at him, smiling back at him in spite of how nervous I am about his answer. "Like you couldn't tell I love you. It was so obvious, Tommy."
"What are you talking about?" I ask, frowning as I push myself up on one elbow to stare down at him. "You've dated more than me since I met you. You were pretty pissed about that whole thing with Sloane." As soon as he rolls his eyes I figure out why he was so pissed about Sloane, and I know I shouldn't let it but it makes me feel pretty good to know he was jealous of her and not me. "If you wanted me to take you to the prom you should have just said."
He laughs then and I smile back at him, relieved that everything's still cool between us. So there's this new thing between us now, but that can only make things better. "Sure, and I could have worn a silk tux. We never would have made it out of the Lair."
"And the problem with that would be…?" I ask, doing my best impression of him as I lean over and cover his mouth with mine again.