1. I will stop staring at Sandburg's ass. I mean, it's just an ass. We all have one. It's not like his is anything special.
It's just the way it's there. Hidden behind jeans and shirts, heh, yeah, he'd like to think so. Then he bends and stretches and fuck, every line, every curve's naked to my eyes. Trained eyes. Sandburg trained eyes. God, you don't think --? Nah. He's not that subtle. But I can still see it and it's like it's waiting for me to…
Kick it. Yeah. That. Because he's aggravating. Really is. And his ass needs a good, solid boot… oh God, it needs my hands on it, my cock deep in it, my -- fuck, what the hell?
2. I will stop drinking that funky green tea of his. It's clearly making me hallucinate.
3. His lasagna's not bad, though. I won't make these resolutions all negative. It's probably bad for my karma. (Did I just think that? Did I just waste ink writing that?). I resolve to eat more of Sandburg's lasagna. There. Kid's packing on a few pounds; making sure there's nothing left over for him to snack on is the act of a friend.
Which I am.
A good friend.
God, I'd like to lick cheese sauce off his -- no, I wouldn't. How much of that tea does it take to send you high as a kite anyway? I only had one cup and I left most of it because he walked out of the freaking shower in the smallest towel I own and by the time I'd remembered how to breathe (in through the nose, out from the mouth…) it'd gone cold.
Shit. Can't blame the tea. Fuck.
4. I will… I won't… I… God, he's humming in his room and it's driving me crazy. It's all I can hear, soaking into me (water beading on his chest, hair flat and dark over the muscles, that incitement to riot ring through his nipple holding a single, perfect droplet that fell when he saw me watching and he -- he --) God, he saw me. He did. And what did he do? Shit, I can't remember --
He smiled. Happy. Sweet, like most of his smiles are.
I will get up from this table and --
I will tell him how I fee --
I will take some showers of my own.
With NO towel!
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