ridiculous and romantic

Computer games. Pizza. Movies. Books. Nothing surreal. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just another night. Just another day.
Sometimes he sleeps on the couch. He steals your hoodie. Buries himself between the cushions. Curls into a ball like a cat. He even purrs too. That's the part you always giggle about the most.
You lay awake most nights. Because you know you won't be on your own for long. You hear him creeping up the stairs. Creaking.
He tends to stand in the doorway a lot. Watching. Or trying to make his mind up. Whether he wants to be there or not.
This happens most occasions. But he's never once left without climbing into your bed.
He pretends to be cold. Shivering. In the middle of July.
Arms envelope themselves around your waist. You lean back against him. Aware your hair is tickling his nose.
He sneezes. Like a puppy. You bite your lip and giggle again.
He ignores you. His hands drift over your bare skin. Bare tummy. Bare chest.
Mouth against your shoulder.
You manouever a hand around yourself. Graze his lower stomach. You can tell he wants more. He always wants more.
He lets you know. When you tilt your head around to catch a glimpse of his heavy eyes and parted lips.
There's hesitation. Always. When he leans in. Leans in to press his wet lips against your own.
He stops. Looks. Watches you.
- Stopping. Looking. Hestitating.
He clears his throat. You think, maybe? Maybe this is the time he doesn't go through with it?
He's thinking too much.
Unsure. You're his friend. Friend. The Friend he sometimes likes to...ahh.
He's there again. And this time he's coming in...for sure. He's there..an inch away. A second from now...
That familiarity. His mouth against your own. A tongue slipping through the crease between your lips.
He sighs heavily. And he's resting on top of you now. Subconsciously you move against him. On your back.
Tongue. His tongue. There. Against yours. It's sweet and gifted and it makes the muscles in your tummy twitch and tumble.
Butterflies. In your chest. Not unfamiliar. This happens a lot.
His hands reach for your shorts. You follow the curves of his fingers with your own.
He breathes heavily against you. You feel his heart beating through his chest. Against your skin. It feels like your own.
It could be. His goose pimples feel like your own.
You feel him against your stomach. Telling you. Telling you that this is what he wants. As always. Hard.
He loses a hand inside your hair. Another hand pushing the cloth away from your legs. He's reaching for his own.
You jump slightly. His hand against you. Around you. Pressure. Gentle. Unsure hands. But not unfamiliar. He's done this before.
You mirror him. Place your hand against him. Around him. He purrs again.
This time it isn't so funny. He makes you growl. Low. Humming. As he traces a tongue against your stomach. Along a secret path.
A secret only you and he share.
He's tantalising. Erotic. Your best friend. When he climbs into your bed and touches you like that. It's becoming routine.
Something you'd like to stay that way.

Especially when he licks you like that. Like he's thirsty for you. Like he aches for you. All alone on that couch. Touching himself and thinking of you.

You digress...

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Leans forward and thrusts his tongue back into your mouth. He likes you to taste it.
You're spent and you're tired but those lips and his dirty sweet words keep you from collapsing against the bedsheets.
He's on his back already. Stroking his stomach and looking down. Looking back up at you. Sending you messages. With his innocent fuck-me eyes.
He needn't bother. Your hand is already there. Fingers. Followed by a mouth.
Familiar. Bitter sweet. You've tasted him before. Swallowed.
He succumbs to your mouth. Pushing himself up against you. He isn't as patient as you. Nor as subtle. He's shameless and he doesn't care.
How many times he thrusts against you. You lose count. But your hands against his hips. Pushing him down.
He's noisy and his toes curl beside your head. He flinches. Contracts. Twitches. Clasps a hand over his mouth.
He tastes the same as last time. Always. Warm.
He shivers now. For real. You rest your head against his tummy. He places a hand against your head. Damp.
You know he'll still be there in the morning. Stroking fingers along your spine. Pressing lips against the curve of your neck.
He'll drag you out of bed. Throw clothes at you and you follow him to the kitchen. He kicks a ball around. Complains.
He plays computer games. Eats pizza. Watches a movie or two.
You sit and observe. And wonder if always will be always.