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Sex with the librarian.

We sat on the carpet across from each other, backs braced against our respective beds and toasted one another with the weird glasses he'd also brought back especially for the occasion.

Thomas told me with an extraordinary lack of enthusiasm that he'd been to Aspen with his mother's parents for a week, and that he'd then met up with his parents in Detroit for a couple of days. I told him about my own holidays, purposely making them sound even more boring than they'd actually been, and still could see that he was sure I'd had a better time. We were on our third bottle each - and Belgian Trappist beers pack the kick of a mule - when Thomas dropped his head back onto his bed and stretched his long legs out, until his crossed bare feet lay next to my left hip. One of his hands was curled loosely around his glass, which balanced on his flat stomach, and the other lay palm up on the carpet.

"It's good to be back," he mumbled fuzzily, and I grunted in agreement. He raised his head and smiled at me lazily, his lids at half mast. "Is your schedule as crazy this term?"

"I guess so. Not classes so much, but swimming. I'll be busy. You?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. There's some off-campus stuff I might be interested in. We'll see."

He looked embarrassed and it intrigued me.

"Off-campus? Like what?"

He cleared his throat. "Ah. You know. Volunteer work. That kind of thing. I don't know. It's just a thought." He took a drink and let his head drop back again, breaking eye contact.

I leaned my head back as well, staring up at the ceiling. I felt his feet bump against my hip as he adjusted his position slightly, and I dropped my hand on his bare ankle.

"Your feet are cold," I said. I flexed my fingers, massaging the fine bones and tendons.

"Are they?" he asked. "I'm not really feeling them right now. Or my cheeks."

I rubbed the top of his foot to warm it, then let my hand slide under the cuff of his jeans to his shin. I caressed the fine hairs there with my fingertips and his leg jerked.

"I can feel that."

I stopped moving, but left my hand on his shin and continued to stare resolutely at the ceiling and at the scuff marks that all seemed to be gently spinning. Thomas pulled his legs and feet out of reach, and my hand dropped to the floor. I closed my eyes, but now it felt like I was spinning.


I heard him move, and then he was straddling my lap, his hands on my shoulders, his thumbs stroking along either side of my neck. My eyes still closed, I placed my palms on his thighs, then slid them upward to his hips. Holding onto him like that made the spinning stop. We'd closed the door, because of the beer, but we hadn't locked it and I knew that anybody that barged in wouldn't mistake our position for anything other than what it was, yet I didn't push Thomas off of me.

"Scott?" he whispered again, and I wondered how I could hear him over the rush of blood in my ears. I opened my eyes reluctantly and met his.


He bent his head slowly and brushed his lips softly against mine. I didn't respond, but I still didn't push him away, either.

"You want this, right?" he asked, still so close I could feel his breath on my lips, and I raised my head so that he could kiss me again, but he drew back.

"You need to say you want this. And that you won't be a dick afterward."

"Okay." My voice sounded foreign to my ears, like it was somebody else speaking.

"You need to say it," he repeated insistently and shook me a little by the shoulders.

Or what, I wanted to ask him, because the dark flush along his cheekbones and the boner he was grinding into my lower belly were sufficient evidence that he'd give me what I wanted even if I said nothing at all. I didn't want to make any promises to him, even though he was asking for hardly anything at all. Certainly a hell of a lot less than any of the girls I'd ever been with.

"I want this. And I'll try not to be a dick afterward."

He narrowed his eyes in thought, then shrugged. "Good enough," he muttered, and bent down to kiss me again.

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