Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Never More Lonely - 1. Chapter 1
You are the sunshine
of my dark, lonely nighttime
bright my desire
I snort and glance at the computer. Where is he? I know I'm going a little crazy. Hell, I’m writing poetry, the last thing anyone would expect me to do.
Maybe it's the fact that my inspiration isn't someone I know in real life. My sunshine is someone I've never even met. I scowl. What face to face we do have is late at night for me, early morning for him.
We started talking after I noticed some book reviews he'd written that mirrored my thoughts. We began bonding over books, then movies, then I told him about a local pride event I went to where one of my friends met a man he'd been chatting up online. He turned out to be in his late fifties and totally skeevy.
He laughed and then, with a hesitation I could somehow feel in his written words, he offered his skype information. 'Just so you'll know I'm not skeevy,' he'd said.
He is definitely not skeevy.
He had these geeky little glasses he hides behind but when I gave him a wolf whistle he'd laughed so hard tears came to his eyes. He took off those glasses to wipe them away and then ran his fingers through his hair.
My mouth was too dry to whistle after that. I had a thing for the geeky type but he wasn't geeky, not really. Sleek was the word that came to mind.
I was thankful my computer only showed from the waist up because I was sporting some serious wood.
For some reason he hadn't shown up for our nightly chat for the last two days. I miss his voice yawning over his coffee while I had a nightcap. I have to be up early to get to the job site and need to sleep, but still, I’m waiting.
I log off around midnight. I scrub my hands over my face as I sit on the bed. My shirt falls on the floor when I miss the hamper but I leave it there. Who is going to care? My face hits the pillow and I drag another close, holding it tight. My eyes burn.
Bang.
Bang.
"What the fuck?" I push up to see the alarm clock, groaning when I see it’s after two. "Somebody had better be dying."
I stumble to the front door.
"Who the hell is it?"
"Cooper."
I blink. No way.
"Owen? Are you there?"
It's his voice. I fumble the lock back and open the door. It is him. He looks tired and his clothes are wrinkled.
"Hey." Fuck. I'm an idiot. The first time we actually meet and that's all I come up with?
He smiles shyly. "Hey mate." His voice sounds even better in person. He stares at my bare chest as I devour the sight of his trim body from head to toe, then clears his throat. "Can I come in?"
I’m an idiot. "Of course." I move back, holding the door so he can wheel in his suitcase. "Sorry. I was sleeping."
Cooper laughs and I'm suddenly glad for my loose pajama bottoms. "People usually are at this hour. Sorry for showing up so late, my plane was delayed."
I flip on a light and we sit down on the couch.
"What are you doing here?" I blurt out. I smack myself in the forehead. I need a filter.
His eyes really do twinkle when he laughs hard. I blink and realize my earlier poetry wasn't an aberration, simply another symptom for how gone I am over Cooper.
"Would you believe work? I'm here to organize the newest branch of Bree-bard Unlimited."
We still haven't touched. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"
Cooper rubs his neck. "Well, I wasn't sure …"
I have to know what he isn't saying. "About?"
Well, us. I mean, we've been chatting for a year and we've said how great it would be to meet face to face. But if it was just a visit, could we do it, you know? Could we resist this between us and stay friends, because I don't want to lose that?"
I cock my head. "What made you change your mind?"
"Well, I'm going to be here for a month," he blushes and waves his hand around, "well, not here … necessarily. But here in the city."
Of course he'll stay with me. "So a month is long enough for you?" It isn't for me. If Conner lives here though …
But he doesn't.
"It could be more. If I want, I could stay here."
Silence falls over the room so profound that it's almost like the room is swelling with noise I can't quite hear. It nearly hurts. My heart is racing.
I lick my lips. "You … You would do that?"
Cooper's eyes follow my tongue. "For us. I mean, I don't have to give the company an answer until the office opens. You don't have to commit to," he waves a hand between us, "right this second."
What? I blink. "I haven't gotten off with anyone other than my right hand in eight months because I'm too busy waiting to chat with you to go out. Committing isn't a problem," I say in a rough voice.
I watch his eyes melt behind those ridiculous glasses, turning warm at the idiocy I can't seem to stop spilling from my mouth.
"So that isn't for me?" He glances down. My pants are pulled tight and the stiff bulge is blatantly obvious.
That's it. I've been waiting for so long for him. I slide forward, capture Cooper's face, and pull off his glasses. His lips are as soft as they look and the taste of his mouth makes me moan. I sink one hand in his hair. We kiss until we are both senseless.
Gasping for air, forehead to forehead, we stare into each other's eyes.
"Stay," I tell him.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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