Give Me A Chance (boyxboy)

Thirty

I've lost track of how long we've been kissing. It's been a long time. I don't care.

I do, however, notice that his hands are slowly moving down my upper body. Lower and lower, and they've reached my stomach now. Mine are still on his waist, their usual spot, where it seems both he and I like them to be.

I don't know what peace is, but this feels awfully close to what I think it might feel like. And knowing that he wants to do more, because he's with me, only elevates the feeling. And it skyrockets the feeling that I think is probably love. Sadie seems to think it is.

I smile against his lips. What am I doing thinking about Sadie when my boyfriend is literally in my lap?

His hands hit my waist, and he breaks the kiss. "Is this okay?" he asks me, sliding backward, away from my mouth, which is where I want his mouth. But I think he's got other ideas.

I nod, not trusting myself to say any words.

He slowly grabs the hem of my shirt. "Okay?" he asks. I nod again. He slides his hands under the fabric, and I shiver when his hands fall on bare skin underneath. He giggles. "This is new."

I laugh. "No, it's not," I say. "You've seen me without a shirt so many times before this." Saying that kinda scares me. But I think it's a good scared, like he said. And no matter how much I tell him it isn't new, it really is. It feels brand new. In the changing room, I didn't care. But here, alone with him, thinking about him seeing me shirtless, it's both exhilarating and terrifying.

"Well, I know that," he says, rolling his eyes. "But it's new circumstances." He keeps moving the fabric further up my chest, but when he gets to my shoulders, he's stumped. "Uh," he says, scratching his head. "Is it supposed to take brainpower to figure out how to take off a shirt?"

I smirk. "Kinda need a second person?" I ask, throwing his words back at him.

He glares, waiting. I laugh and grab the shirt, not thinking about it, because if I do, I won't do it. I pull it over my head and set it beside me. I know my hands are shaking a little. "Better?" I ask, cocking my head. He shakes his head, smiling.

"Maybe you're the confident one," he says.

"This is a facade," I say immediately. "I'm petrified." I laugh.

"Good," he says, grimacing. "Me too."

I chuckle. "Let's not try to be perfect, okay?" I say. My stomach flips. "Can we just be ourselves?"

"You're right," he says. "I don't need to be perfect to impress you." He bites his lip. "Being me seems to be enough."

"More than enough," I tell him. And his hands are still on my bare skin. And sparks are flying from his hands, igniting me.

I have to keep reminding myself I'm not dreaming. Because lying in front of the boy I maybe love without a shirt on feels like some sort of fever dream. Because I never expected this to happen to me. I wanted it, but I dismissed it, thinking that nobody would ever want to be here with me. Nobody would ever want me.

He's proven me wrong. In fact, I'm pretty sure I can say this was his idea. My dream, but his idea.

"Thank you," I say.

"For what?" He looks a little confused, and I have to say, it's adorable.

"Helping me find myself,"

He smiles, his hands slowly moving. "You did that," he contradicts. "You found yourself. I tagged along for the ride."

And then I kiss him, and then his hands are at my waist, but not the sides of my waist. They're at the front, at the waistband, where my belt buckle is, and where my button is, and where my zipper is, and where something else is. I inhale through my teeth.