by J. D. Light
"Wow," he said, playfully moving over to his closet and digging inside. "I always thought my first proposal would come from someone who truly appreciated my ability to make cookies that melt in your mouth, but an extra toothbrush will just have to do."
When he started pulling clothes out, including a collared shirt with his logo on it, I realized that alarm had been to wake him up so he could get ready for work.
"I'm so sorry," I said, standing. "Did I keep you up all night? What time is it?"
"It's three," he said with a chuckle, walking over and putting his clothes on the bed. "I would say it's probably too early for you to have a hangover, but you were smashed at eight thirty, and you only had three margaritas, so I guess it's probably time."
He glanced nervously at me before pushing his pajama pants down and kicking them off, and I swallowed a groan as he gave me his back to pick his pants back off the bed and start sliding them on, his boxer briefs molded to the perfect, beautiful lines of his plump ass.
"I have to go into the bakery, but you should go back to sleep," he said, hesitating again before grabbing the hem of his shirt and raising it above his head, giving me a beautiful view of his wide shouldered back that tapered down until it got to his love handles, and I actually stepped forward, reaching for him, before I caught myself, stumbling slightly. "You're more than welcome to stay as long as you want and help yourself to anything."
He slid his work shirt over his head, tucking it into his pants before buttoning and zipping them, and I sighed, wishing I'd had the chance to touch him more.
"What––" I cleared my throat, trying again. "What time do you get off today?"
I knew I shouldn't ask. Hadn't I already broken the vow I'd made to myself about not asking him out anymore, only to immediately be turned down? I had to be an absolute idiot to even be thinking about going down this road again, but I just couldn't seem to help myself.
"I'll probably leave around noon to come home," Declan said, turning to look at me, as he buttoned his shirt until there were only two buttons opened at the top. "Emma is taking Sunday all by herself for that shit she pulled last night.
"What are you doing after that?" I asked hopefully.
"I was just planning on watching Christmas movies. That's usually what I do all December long." He tilted his head, licking his lips, and I licked mine as well, unable to help it. "You… uh… do you watch your own movies?"
He cringed slightly, and I smiled. So, he was planning on spending his Sunday afternoon sitting around watching Christmas movies… with me in them.
"Not really," I said, almost regretfully, but answering honestly. "I tend to skip that part of the premier parties. It feels a little weird."
"Would you maybe want to watch movies with me?" he asked quietly, glancing down at his feet before snapping his gaze back up to mine. "We'll watch some that aren't yours if you want."
My heartrate went crazy, and I nearly squealed with excitement. Finally, finally, he was asking me to hang out. "Okay," I said, almost sounding calm, even if my voice pitched a little high. "That sounds like fun."
"Really?" Declan said, his tone skeptical, even as he smiled at me with wide, hopeful eyes. Eyes that also gave me hope. Hope that maybe, I could get this man to want me as much as I wanted him.
"Definitely."
Chapter Seven
I'd left the house that morning practically floating on air. I absolutely couldn't believe what I thought might be happening was actually happening. Blake Sunday was going to be waiting for me when I got home, and we were going to sit around all afternoon and watch Christmas movies. Together.
I'd done my best all day while I was baking everything and then while I was helping Emma make it through the eleven o'clock, after-church rush to not think about the way Blake had touched me in his sleep, and the way I'd let him, fully aware of what was going on the entire time. My only hope for not being incredibly embarrassed about the way I'd behaved, was that he wouldn't remember what had happened due to the hangover, and the just waking up thing.
But what about after, when you went to get the water and some pain relievers, and he was rubbing his dick––sorry, Jesus––through his underwear like he was so turned on he couldn't help himself? You can't deny that you stood there and watched like a perv. What if he remembers that?
Well, then I would just hope he'd be too embarrassed to mention it, and we could both just pretend it didn't happen.
"Blake?" I called when I walked into the house, butterflies dancing in my stomach at the prospect of sitting together on the couch and watching movies.
Would we sit on the couch together, or would he want to sit in the recliner? Would he still even want to watch movies, or had he already left?
"You still here?"
I could hear that the television was on in the den, and I followed the noise, knowing that if Blake was in there, he wouldn't be able to hear my voice over the surround sound.
"Did you…" My voice trailed off as I found him, standing off to the side of the den… with the door to my closet of shame standing wide open and staring inside with wide, shocked eyes. "Oh my God."
I rushed forward, stepping between him and the open door and groaning when I could clearly see everything that was inside. The movie posters, the pictures, the magazine articles––including the one where he posed mostly nude with strategically placed ball-shaped items for testicular cancer awareness––the cardboard cutout and different things I'd made that were basically just replicas of his face… all of it.
I shut the door quickly, pressing my forehead against the wood and closing my eyes, feeling incredibly exposed and so, so embarrassed.
"I wasn't snooping!" he said quickly, sounding guilty. "I had a legitimate reason for looking in there… but now I forgot what it was."
I bet. It's not every day you open a door in another person's house to find their obsession with you laid out like that. I was more surprised he was actually trying to explain himself rather than running out of the house as fast as he could.
"I really don't know what to say right now," I groaned, rolling my head against the wood, and absolutely refusing to open my eyes while desperately wishing I was just in the middle of a fudging nightmare.
"I already knew about this," he said quickly, his hands landing on my shoulders, making me flinch.
"About what?"
"The closet… well, I was told it was a room, but I did know about it." One of his hands moved away from me. "Actually, I was going to give this back to you, but I got drunk instead."
Something nudged my side, and I opened my eyes, glancing down and finding Blake's hand with a familiar snow globe resting on his palm, and I groaned, reaching out and taking the thing before closing my eyes again and sighing as I brought the globe up to my chest, just cradling it close.
"Jensen?" I asked, but I already knew the answer. Of course, it had been Jensen. And as much as I would love to say the cute little shit didn't know what he was doing and given him the benefit of the doubt, he was ten. He knew exactly what he was doing.
"Yeah," Blake said, sliding his hands up the outside of my arms and onto my shoulders where he gave me a squeeze.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, wishing I could find a hole to climb in. "This has to be super awkward for you." I turned to look at him, pressing my shoulders back against the wood, blinking in surprise to find him standing so close. "I'm not crazy or anything like that." I chuckled, rolling my head against the wood. "Probably all crazy people think that, huh?"
"I didn't think you were crazy, Deck. That's not what I'm thinking at all."
I swallowed, suddenly not able to meet his eyes. "So, Jensen told you about…" I trailed off, hooking a thumb over my shoulder. "And you wanted to come here last night and sleep in my bed? Weren't you worried about me like attacking you or something?"
He chuckled, running his finger under my chin, making me gasp as he lifted my head to smile down into my face, looking both amused and intense. "Yo
u mean like the way I attacked you in the middle of the night?" His voice was deep and slid sweetly along my skin while his breath ghosted over my face.
Oh, fuck. I'm sorry, Jesus, but we both knew that wasn't going to last.
"You remember that?" I asked, breathless. Heat flooded my cheeks, my mind going to the way it had felt to have him touching me, to have his hand slide down my body and wrap around my dick.
"I've been thinking about it all day." He pressed forward just a bit more, putting our bodies within inches of each other's, his heat nearly scalding me. "I found some movies you might like. Of course, not one of them has me in, so…"
I groaned, closing my eyes. "I probably deserve that."
He chuckled, moving away from the door, grabbing my hand and pulling me with him.
I tried to relax, but that damn closet and all of its contents were messing with my head. How could he act like it was no big deal? I really wasn't a stalker. Obviously, he'd been at the shop almost every day, and the only time I'd seen him outside of there had been the parade, but there was no doubt that closet sure made me look obsessive as fuck. I couldn't help but think I'd be pretty worried if I'd seen it.
The movie we were watching was probably pretty cute, and actually had one of the male side characters finding love with another man, though the main focus of the story was obviously on the free-spirit girl meeting and falling in love with the overworked businessman, but it was nice to at least see it and know that people were cheering for the secondary couple.
Of course, I was missing a great deal of it due to the fact that I was more rigid than my aunt's fancy couch, and I was constantly glancing over at Blake out of the corner of my eye. He was sitting closer than I'd expected too, His thigh and shoulder nearly touching mine.
Did I mention the man was still running around in nothing but his fucking underwear? Blake Sunday was sitting around my house, inches from me in nothing but his damn underwear, looking sexy as fuck, and I was supposed to give a shit about Holly Hippy and Bobby Billionaire?
Leaning forward suddenly, he grabbed the remote off of the table, pausing the movie, and sitting back to throw his arm over the back of the couch behind me. "You need to relax."
I groaned, letting my head fall forward and hang. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little embarrassed. I'm also a little confused and a little worried about making you uncomfortable." And distracted as fuck by your abs and thighs… and shoulders and chest and dick––which looks about half chubbed and like it would fit perfectly down my throat––and even your fucking pinky toe looks kinda hot, and I've never really been a feet guy.
"I'm not uncomfortable, Declan, but I have to admit that I'm a little confused myself." He turned toward me, and his chest nearly pressed to my shoulder. "Why did you keep saying no when I asked you out?"
I turned, blinking at him as I tilted my head in question. Asking me out? When the hell had he asked me out?
"Am I not what you expected?" He asked after a long moment, his eyebrows creasing.
"Wha…" I trailed off, shaking my head. "You asked me that last night. I guess I just don't understand what you mean. Expected in what way?"
"Did you expect me to be different? Maybe a bit more fun?"
I shook my head slowly, not at all understanding why he thought I might not think he was fun now. "No. You seem fun to me. I always enjoy talking to you. I've seen a lot of your interviews." Admitting that I spent several hours a week scouring the internet and social media for videos of him didn't sound like a great idea, so I figured I'd keep that part to myself. "I knew that wasn't a proper representation of how you probably really are, but I knew enough to expect you to be kind, funny and happy." I blinked up at him, meeting his gaze and hoping he believed me. "You've met all those expectations.
He took a deep breath, pursing his lips in a frown for a moment. "So, your room. It's not really about me? More about my movies. What about the snow globe?"
I blushed, looking away again and swallowing hard. "I don't know what's going on."
He leaned closer, whispering close enough to my face to make me shiver from the way his breath ghosted over my mouth. "If I asked to kiss you right now, would you let me?" He pointed at his own chest. "Me. Not the actor, not any of the characters you've seen me play on TV, just me."
I had to look like I was about to have some kind of episode as all my thought-processing abilities shorted out and restarted again. "A… are… you want… are you fucking kidding me?"
I knew immediately that none of that had come out the way I'd intended, but I was so fucking shocked, I didn't really know what to think anymore.
"Is that a no?"
Was this real life? Was this man really for real?
I didn't bother asking him with words. Instead, I latched on to both sides of his face and brought his mouth to mine, taking the would you right out of the equation. Of course, I would. I pressed my mouth to his in an impulsive move to assure him, fully intending on pulling back, so I could tell him that I was kissing him, but the pulling back didn’t happen like it was supposed to… because the moment my lips touched his, I was flipping-fudging-fucking lost.
I wasn't the most experienced person in the world, but I'd kissed some people. Obviously, I'd never kissed someone I'd had such a massive, ridiculous, and previously thought impossible crush on, because nothing in the whole world compared to kissing Blake.
We both gasped against each other's mouths, him probably from shock that I'd basically attacked him, and me from the zings of pleasure that shot from my lips straight through my body. He groaned and for a moment, I thought I might have hurt him with my overenthusiasm, but when one of his arms snaked around my back, making his mouth press even more firmly to mine, I just stopped thinking for a moment, my body basically going limp against his as he pressed me back against the couch just as his tongue breeched the seam of my lips, making me whimper.
He licked at my mouth and I answered back with licks of my own as he lowered me to the cushions, using his arm around me to lift slightly and drag me down when my head tried to angle in against the arm of the couch, in a position that was far from comfortable. Not that I would have probably even noticed. I was far too swept up in the heat of the kiss and the way his body came down on top of mine as he settled between my legs, his erection notching into the crook of my thigh as mine pressed into the hard ridges of his lower abs.
Seriously, who had fucking abs like that? Nobody I knew in real life. They were seriously like something you'd see off of a movie…
I pulled back suddenly, breathing hard and licking my lips, the skin tingling from the too-brief kiss. I wanted more, but there was something I needed to tell him. There was something I knew he'd be worried about if I didn't, and I never wanted this man to feel insecure about anything.
He looked dazed as he stared down at me questioningly, his head tilting to the side, even as his eyes moved back to my mouth.
"I'm sorry you have to worry about people only liking you because of your career or the characters you play on TV," I whispered sincerely. I smoothed my thumb over his glistening lower lip, and he flicked his tongue out against the digit, nearly making me forget what I needed to say. "Have I been obsessed with Blake Sunday, the actor for a long time now? Definitely. Have I watched every movie and every interview, hoping to just see your face and hear your voice? Embarrassingly, yes. But lately, I've kinda forgotten about you being who you are.
"I knew it in the back of my head, but you don't make a big deal of it, so it's really easy to forget that you are that man." I bit my lip, shaking my head. "Am I freaking out a little that I have Blake Sunday's dick pressed super close to mine?" I tilted my head to the side. "I'm sure I will be at some point, but really, I'm like in disbelief that I have your dick pressed close to mine. The man who comes into my shop every day and makes me smile even when I'm running around like I did a dozen shots of espresso. The guy who came to my house drunk last night, and was so fucking adorable, and sad, and who I wanted
to comfort so badly."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, knowing damn good and well what the feelings swelling up in me were… and fully understanding that I was probably going to get my heart broken by the end of all of this.
"I just don't want you hurting because you think the only reason I'm…" I motioned between us, knowing he'd understand what I was trying to say. "I don't want you to think this is about trying to fulfill some crazy fantasy I had about an actor." I cleared my throat again, blushing brightly. "I am fulfilling a fantasy I had about you, though," I whispered. "There's really nothing I can do about that."
He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as a soft smile slid onto his mouth. "Thank you," he said on a choked whisper. "Thank you for caring about that, for caring about my feelings, and how I might interpret all this when I wake up tomorrow. I've never had anyone care about those things before. Can… can I take you to your room?"
I licked my lips, wanting nothing more than to feel every inch of him against every inch of me, but getting to this point had been spontaneous. Completely unexpected, and completely beautiful, but it hadn't allowed me to think about what would happen when it went further. Just like that morning in the bed when he was touching me all over, molding my body with his hands. I'd woken up to the glorious feel of it all, my body already reacting, my mind already pretty much shut down. I didn't have to think about getting naked in front of one of the most beautiful men I knew.
But now I did. "Uh… I don't."
How the hell do you tell someone like Blake Sunday that you're nervous about him seeing your gut? I'd had a hard enough time taking my shirt off when my back was to him earlier, knowing he'd probably see my love handles in all their glory, but the idea of him seeing my white, thick stomach that overhung my pants and my less-than-shapely chest, made me want to curl in a ball and cry from the frustration of wanting him while being afraid to take him.