I'm trying

Come a little closer

I didn't think it would get to this point; I thought I'd move a little closer; catch a bit of comfort, maybe even steal small sips of love and yet it ended up so much more.

I didn't know it was a thing until much later, I just felt this itch. It crawled under my skin and when he touched me my mind would scream moremoremore, not enough. I ended up online, fingers trembling and heart just a slight bit jittery as I scanned through articles until something caught my eye; my breath stilled. Daddy. I sat there; the air caught in my chest, fluttering like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. I hastily closed the web browser shaking my head even has my heart lurched with want.

We weren't together, just two friends, a little touching here, groping there. I didn't feel I could ask for more; ask him to fill this emptiness. I would watch him, watch as his shoulder length curls would sweep forward and shine like burnished timber as he bent to pick something up and my heart would clench, almost curling inside itself with want. Then he would turn his eyes toward mine, bright green meeting blue and I would smash the need back down and smile, guilt behind every one.

I put it off as long as possible, things would get heated and I would back off saying I wasn't ready even though my body burned, burned bright for his touch. He would place a big hand on the side of my face, brushing my cheek and the stubble I always forgot to shave, and lean forward to place plump pink lips to my cheek and I'd close my eyes trying to lap up the feeling of breath rasping across my skin. I put it off as long as I could, until I couldn't.

Every moment was perfect, every drag of skin and sloppy kiss. I relished every rough groan, and barely noticed the breathless whine's slipping from my clenched teeth. He licked a stripe across my throat, felt his tongue as my throat bobbed with need. I was nothing, felt nothing but the molten heat lurching through my body and the feeling of cool curls against my skin. I nearly slipped up. The word, as beautiful to me as bittersweet poison bubbled up; it pushed at my throat until I came, grateful when the dizzying heat of it wiped even that out.

It was amazing, it was great and yet my mind whispered not enough, with every rasp of skin, every light caress it would add up until my mind was just a screen of white noise and not enough. I would end up gasping, little tremors moving through my body and I would beg him, with tear bright eyes to please, just please fuck me.

Each day passing felt like I withered a bit more, I became a bit more tense with each touch a bit more tight lipped with each time the magic word went unsaid. Each time I flinched I was met with pools of green worry and hurt. I didn't know how to be this open person, I didn't know how to not be soft inside, I didn't know how to ask.

It got to the point where nothing helped, the hurt at home hurt more than anything else and while alcohol didn't solve problems it sure as fuck helped. A half a bottle of whiskey later I found myself at our door, keys fumbling in dizzy hands and brow curled in with frustration. I finally made it inside and I turned my already bone weary body to start the final fumble, trying to fit the key in lock.

I didn't hear a thing but my frustrated breathing and was startled; blue eyes wide, as I felt a pair of long arms encircle my waist. A small smile made my lips twitch as a sleep rough voice grumbled along my shoulder, "You coming to bed baby?" I shook my head, mouth a bit slow to open and explain that I needed the bathroom. What I heard next made me choke on those words; everything turning shockingly sober around me. "C'mon be a good boy for Daddy." I heard the joking tone to the words, I swear I did. Every part of me turned tourniquet tight and I could barely get any air into my lungs because nononono that word wasn't supposed to make it into the naked air, it was tainting everything around me; tainting him with my want and my need, my sick unhealthy need. I lurched from his arms and ran to the bathroom, where the mix of Jack Daniels and bubbles of unsaid feelings made their way to the toilet.

He came in; eyes gentle and a bit confused and helped to clean me up, I felt clothes being twisted skilfully off my body and a toothbrush being placed in my unmoving hand. Somehow I ended up clean and placed in the living room, a cup of tea in my dead still hands. We sat there, for who knows how long, and he waited patiently until I finally lifted my eyes from my cooling tea.

His face was etched with his confusion, his worry and what eventually caught my eye, a burning need to understand. I cleared my hoarse throat and didn't have a clue what I was going to say until I heard myself croak out "It's not just a word." I held my breath, kept my face smooth so that when he laughed it off he wouldn't see how I crumbled inside.

And yet, he tilted his head sideways and simply said, "Explain it to me love."