"Can feel yeh staring at me."
You stiffen, and a hot flush erupts over your chest. You open your mouth to say something, but any potential excuses evade you.
Alex cracks open his left eye, the corners of his lips kinking into a smug smirk. He's laying on the bed to your left, his stomach pressed flat against the mattress and his cheek squished against one of your fluffy pillows. You're on your back, your head turned towards him—you'd wanted to study him while he slept, and you had hoped that he would remain unconscious long enough to allow you the opportunity.
Of course, things are never that simple.
"Wasn't staring," you mumble bashfully, though the both of you know that it's a blatant lie.
"No?" Alex muses, his irises glazed with drowsiness. You can't help but to notice the deep octave of his voice, and his tone sends shivers down your spine. "Could practically feel yeh burning a hole through m'head, love."
"Piss off." You deliver a half-hearted blow to his side, but it does no real damage. Alex simply chuckles before letting out a quiet yawn and rolling over. You gasp loudly when half of his body bulldozes over your own, and you push lightly at his shoulders as you try to wrestle him off.
"What're you doing?" you hiss, but there's a smile pulling at your lips, "Stop it!"
"Just checkin' the time," Alex replies gruffly, but you can hear the amusement in his words. He casts a glance over at the alarm clock standing on your nightstand and hums when he sees that it's nearing seven in the morning. When he peers over his shoulder, he notices the first few orange rays of the sunrise peeking through your window.
"You're insufferable," you groan when he finally turns over and pulls his weight off of you. Alex cocks an eyebrow, placing his head in his palm so that he can keep himself slightly elevated.
"Weren't sayin' that last night, y'know."
You gulp. You hate him. You really, truly, hate him.
Except...you don't. Not even a little bit.
"Shut up," you say, rolling over on the bed so that he can't see the embarrassment morphing your features. Alex just snickers lowly, shifting closer to you and wrapping an arm around your waist. Your breath hitches in your throat when he presses his body firmly against you, and you can feel something hard and unyielding nestled snugly against your bum.
"Don't be like that, now," Alex scolds, but you know that there's a stupid grin on his face. He brushes your hair away from your back before planting a steady kiss to the nape of your neck. His fingers drum against your stomach over the material of your nightgown, and you shiver when you feel his hand begin to trail south.
"We can't," you whisper quickly, catching his wrist with shaky fingers. As much as you want to feel him again—really feel him—you know that Tommy and your parents are sleeping in rooms just down the hall. If your noises don't wake them, then the sunlight certainly will—either way, the situation can only end with your father taking the barrel of his pistol to Alex's head.
Alex releases a soft moan of protest, and you hate the way the sound travels right down to the apex of your thighs. He lays his palm flat against your mound, the only thing separating your skin being the fabric of your nightgown (your panties are still discarded somewhere on the floor). Despite your previous objections, you bite harshly on your bottom lip and keen upwards into his touch. He chuckles victoriously.
"'S cute, how much you want me," he tells you, and you squeeze your eyes shut. His index finger dips between your legs, and you reflexively clamp your thighs around the digit, preventing him from going any further.
