Synchronised Motion (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 15

His freckles are absolutely adorable.
I fucking hate them.

There's soft yellow rays of light shining through my crappy curtains that do nothing to hide the light. It's early, I can tell from how quiet the hall is and how cold it is. It's always freezing in the mornings here. The hall's heating is shit and they are too cheap to fix it.

Oliver shifts his body, further into me, seeking further warmth. But I'm trapped in between the wall and him. No escape.

I trip. I'm not paying attention to my step and I tripped over a stone and face-planted onto the ground. I've grazed my hands and knees on the road, cursing as I stumble back to my feet. The grazes burn, a further heat to the fire. And I want nothing more than to fall back into bed with food magically appearing in my hand.

But I can't stop running.

Because fire in my legs, the burning of my chest, the blistering of my knees and hands—aren't distraction enough from the true fire.

He was warm, really warm. Skin on fire. Or maybe that's just mine? Either way, it's hot in here.

I'm feeling hot, Oliver is hot—we're all hot in here. And even asleep he made my heart stutter. I'm trapped in an embrace that is scarily good.

Suddenly the bed is too big. It's too big and he's not close enough. It's too big, he's not close enough and I'm so turned on. Feeling real needy right now.

If Oliver were awake, would he be this close to me voluntarily? Is it wrong for him to be so close to me when he doesn't really know it? Would it disturb him?

I let out a quiet puff of breath. Why the fuck am I questing this, he's the one who has hogged up the bed space. He's the one that has me pushed up against the wall. He's the one who's shifting his body further into me and hand is currently slipping under the rim of my shirt.

His skin is hot. So much of it is exposed, and not enough. His eyes are closed, he mumbles incoherent words under his breath. His hand inches towards the skin under my shirt, fingers brushing my rib cage. I bite my lip containing any sound threatening to come out.

I am completely flustered. Prisoner to his touch. His hand drags down my chest, dangerously low. I suck in an uneven breath.

He's pushing it.

He's pushing it and he doesn't even know it.

His hand curls around my waist, tugging me closer to him. Engulfing me further in his body. He lets out a huff of air and tries to pull me closer, but there's no more space between us.

Tired and frustrated I grind my teeth in annoyance. I'm not a cuddlier.
No way in hell.

So why am I not pushing him off of me?

Technically, I'm not hugging him back. I'm just enduring it. Putting up with it. I don't like it or anything...

But then he does something that is too much—makes enduring it too hard.

His palm spams along my chest, digits curling into my skin almost possessively.

I suck in a sharp breath. The contacts too much skin on skin, too possessive, too hot.

Oliver bolts upright. Alert and rigid at my sharp intake.

It takes a second before he notices the position we are in... Until he noticed our proximity and where his hand is.

He lets out a surprised throaty sound from the back of his throat and jolts back, the force of his movement causing him to fall off the side of my bed and onto the ground with a loud thud.