How We Are: A MFM romance

Possessive

Cain

Ezra doesn't think I know but I do. He doesn't like when I leave. Without him, I mean.

He's always been like that, clingy, touchy. And possessive. He's also manipulative. He thinks I don't know. Thinks he's smarter than me. He's just louder than me. Talks more.

"You're really leaving again?"

His eyes drop down to my pants and back up at me with a frown.

"Yeah," I nod, shifting a bit. "What are you gonna do? You should go out."

"My cat died," he says softly as Seinfeld plays in the background. I despise that show. I change the channel.

"Oh? When?"

He frowns softly. "One of my kitties passed yesterday. I went by, like always and one of them was gone."

"Maybe someone just adopted him,"

He frowns. "Maybe. But he's probably dead. It's so sad." He inhaled softly.

He wants me to console him. Touch him. Hold him. His head falls into my lap, lips hovering over my dick as he sighs. I roll my eyes.

Very Ezra. He thinks he's so subtle.

I stroke his hair gently. "I'm sure someone picked him up and gave him a good home."

He sniffles. I'm not sure if Ezra has genuine emotions. I don't really care though. He's my best friend. My rival. The only person I half way tolerate even if he is a emotionally illiterate bastard.

"You're going to get laid aren't you? Leave me alone with the laundry and the dishes to go fuck some girl?"

He poses it as if it were a genuine question, or a question he thought I would answer. I told him it was none of his business, and that means it's none of his damn business.

He knows me. When I say something I mean it, and I do not like to repeat myself. I stay silent, but stop stroking his hair, letting him know I'm not pleased with his games.

"I'm grieving," he prompts me. You can't stop, that's what he means. I'm hurting. You have to comfort me. You can't punish me for being a meddlesome little shit because my cat died.

Which I'm sure is also a lie. There's this box of kittens I won't let him take home. But he stops by and feeds them makes sure they don't have fleas, they're not sick.

It's part of the territory with Ezra. He takes in strays. But I don't complain because I'm one of them. Unfortunately. There's only one stray animal in this house that I'll clean up after and it's fucking me.

Ezra is pretty. Delicate features, light brown eyes, hazel, like honey gold.

I shouldn't coddle him so much, I'm sure. It's just routine at this point. I cater to his whims because why not? He's always been here for me.

I'll let him have it. He requires a firm hand sometimes that all. He's used to getting by on that pretty face.

"You're still gonna go?" He accuses me gently.

I nod, and he gives up. I stroke his hair for a little while longer, while we watch Family Guy which is extremely annoying but I've become to lazy to pick up the remote and change it.

Ezra calms down, knowing he won't change my mind, and is content to take this offering instead of having a mfit.

What a good boy.

"I wanna play 2K," he says instead.
"Too tired. Monday?"
He nods with a sigh. "You smell good."
"Your nose is in my dick."
"Yeah..."

Okay. Well, I'm going to leave that alone now. I focus in on the show and then quickly focus out, remembering how much I hate it. My eyes close. I worked 12 hours today.

His arms settle around my waist, as he snuggled into me. My eyes close. Fatigue is winning out, I'm sure he knows that.

There's a delicate understanding between Ezra and I. I am his leash, and he is my home. Maybe it's not conventional, or whatever but it's what it is. Ezra can get up to pretty fucked up shit when he's left alone.

It's my job to make sure he's never left alone for long.

It's my debt to him. For being there for me. For giving me a home. For being my friend.

It's just how we are, Ezra and I.