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You hadn’t grown up in the most affectionate family, your parents loved you—you knew that—but you could count the number of hugs you’d received from them on your fingers. You guessed it was for this reason you couldn’t help cringing away from your clingy roommate. Either he had a very different upbringing or he’d just been unaffected by it because he was probably the most physically affectionate person you’d come across in your life. He’d approach you from behind with no warning when you were brushing your teeth, doing the dishes, cooking, whatever it was. His arms would wrap around you, breath tickling your neck as he asked what you were doing, how your day was or announce he was bored. It was never anything important and definitely nothing that needed to be mumbled into your neck. You’d freeze whatever you were doing, waiting for him to let you go. “I’m obviously doing the dishes,” you’d answer prompting him to give a final squeeze before freeing you—wandering away as you recovered. Recently he’d taken to waking you up in the morning by stumbling into your room and collapsing on top of you, the weight of his body pressing you into the mattress. If you were lucky enough to be in a position where he hadn’t pinned your arms under him you’d attempt to shove him off you, often a completely hopeless endeavour. He’d free you when he was ready.
This is where you found yourself now; trapped under him—his face buried in your neck. “I can’t breathe,” you groaned, arms pinned under the covers. One of the unlucky mornings.
“You’re so comfy though, much more than my bed,” his mumbling was barely audible, his voice gruff. It sounded like he’d just woken up and stumbled in here before he’d even fully opened his eyes. You needed a lock on your door. You didn’t know why you hadn’t done that yet. Everytime you found yourself under him like this it seemed like your number one priority in life but then he’d climb off and you’d go about your day, letting the idea slip from your mind every time.
“ Off . Or I’ll scream,” you announced. Often the only way was to yell in his ear. You didn’t particularly like starting your morning with a high pitched scream so you’d use it as a last resort, just the threat was usually enough—thankfully. He rolled off you with a groan.
“Why are you so mean to me?”
“Mean to you ? You just marched in here and crushed me while I was having the best dream.”
“About?”
“Moving out.”
“See? Mean.” He rolled onto his side and grinned at you. “Luckily I know it’s all talk, you’d never leave me—you looovee me.”
“Get out,” you muttered half-heartedly, closing your eyes again. You liked his company. A lot. Despite his clinginess.
You felt the bed move as he sat up. He was silent for a moment before speaking, “I need your help.” You waited for him to elaborate, keeping your eyes closed—still sleepy. “You know more about clothes than me and I’m always wearing the same things so…” He pressed his finger into the middle of your forehead. “Hey, are you listening?”
You sighed and stretched your arms above your head, accepting you weren’t getting back to sleep. You propped yourself up on your elbows before speaking, “I was listening.”
“Outfit. I need you to help me pick out an outfit.”
You rubbed your eyes. “For what?” Your roommate couldn’t care less about clothes, everything he wore was black and he’d often walk around the place with hardly anything on at all. If you hadn’t seen his closet yourself you’d easily believe he owned two outfits total.
“A date,” he muttered, eyes fixed on where he was fiddling with the embroidery on your blanket. A date… he didn’t go on dates. Your mutual friends always teased him about his total lack of dating life. You’d been on two entire dates in the last six months and he made you seem like a total socialite. His hand waved in front of your face after you’d apparently failed to respond in an appropriate window of time.
“You’re going on a date?”
“I am capable of finding someone, believe it or not,” he huffed, looking a little wounded.
“I just…didn’t think you were…looking.”
“I wasn’t really…I guess. She just asked me out when I was getting coffee yesterday morning.”
“And you said yes?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
You threw your blankets off and climbed out of bed—stumbling to your ensuite bathroom to brush your teeth. He was right. He had no reason not to go on a date. You squirted too much toothpaste on your brush and shoved it under the tap. He’d probably said yes because she was pretty, a pretty girl had spotted him in the coffee shop and worked up the courage to ask him out. It made sense. You shoved the toothbrush in your mouth just as Chan appeared in the doorway.
“So you’ll help?”
You met his eyes in the mirror, he looked nervous—like you might actually say no. You nodded. It took one big step for him to wrap himself around you, mouth pressed to your skin. “Thank you,” he said, clinging to you a little longer than usual.
“Get off or I’ll change my mind,” you mumbled around your toothbrush, a little toothpaste dribbling down your chin. He finished with his customary final squeeze and then he was gone. Leaving you to wonder what she looked like, this coffee shop girl.
“Is it alright that it’s all black?” he asked, fiddling with his collar. You’d put him in one of his long sleeve collared dress shirts and made him tuck it into some black pants with a belt. It was much more dressed up than his usual t-shirt and sweats look.
“Yeah, just…” You reached to unbutton the shirt at his sleeves, rolling them up his arms. Your fingers brushed against his skin as you worked. You felt your cheeks warm. “If you roll these up it works for a day date, I think.” He was quiet as you moved to roll his other sleeve, it was rare for you to initiate any physical contact. You should’ve just told him to do this himself but it’d be awkward to stop now. You stood back when you were done, avoiding looking at his face as you inspected your work. He looked…really good. He turned to look in the mirror and fiddled with his sleeves a little before smiling.
“This is really okay?” he asked, meeting your eyes in the mirror.
You gave him a reassuring smile. “Yeah… yeah it’s okay.” His phone vibrated from where he’d tossed it on the bed, startling you. You grabbed the rejected shirts from the bed to hang them back in his closet while he checked it.
“It’s her,” he said as you distracted yourself with his clothes. “She’s leaving home now apparently.”
“You should go then,” you said, hanging one of the shirts back on a hanger. A hand on your shoulder made you jump. Why the hell were you so jumpy? You hung up the shirt and turned to face him, adopting a neutral facial expression.
“Can I have a good luck hug?” he asked, arms open to receive you.
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking?” You couldn’t think of a single time since you’d met when he’d asked you for a hug rather than just attaching himself to you with no warning.
His lips curved up into small smile. “I’m asking.”
“A short one,” you said, unable to resist rewarding him for his unusual behaviour.
He pulled you into his chest, the smell of his cologne overwhelming you. You were used to smelling his body wash when he was draped over you. He never wore cologne. You slowly lifted your arms to pat him lightly on the back. “Good luck then,” you muttered, prompting him to loosen his arms around you. Before you could pull away completely his hand moved up to hold the side of your head and his lips pressed gently to your forehead. You held your breath. He’d never done that before. You took a small step back and gave him a quick smile—failing to meet his eyes. Before he could get another word out you dashed from his room to the safety of your own. You sat on the end of your bed until you heard the front door close, falling back to stare at the ceiling as a heavy silence filled the apartment.
You were struggling to keep your eyes open as you lounged in front of the TV. He’d been gone all afternoon and now it was well past your bedtime. You were working yourself up to accept the fact he probably wasn’t coming home tonight. It must have gone well. You’d been fiddling with your phone all afternoon, contemplating messaging him. What would you say? ‘How’s it going?’ ‘Is she prettier than me?’ ‘Are you going to go back to her place to fuck her?’ ‘When you wrap your arms around her, does she hug you back?’ Hence the phone being buried under the cushion at the other end of the couch, out of your reach. You were delaying going to bed, if you went to bed before he got home, the reality of him sleeping somewhere else— with someone else— would become real. Your eyes were so heavy, it wouldn’t hurt to close them for a little bit…
A warm body pressing you into the couch cushions woke you up, the smell of Chan’s cologne still lingering on his shirt. How long had you been asleep? It was still dark. “What time is it?” you whispered into his ear.
“Just past 12 I think.”
Had he fucked her already? Been to her place and fucked the pretty coffee shop girl before coming back here to press his body onto yours? “Get off,” you said, voice just above a whisper now. He played his usual game, ignoring you. You started squirming. “Chan, get off me ,” you put as much assertiveness into your tone as you could. He pushed himself up so his weight was off you completely, hovering over you still.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just get the fuck off me.”
He sat back on the couch, one leg tucked under him so he could keep his body turned towards you as you sat up against the arm rest. You pulled your knees to your chest.
“Are you alright? What’s wrong?” he asked again.
“Where were you?”
“We ended up seeing a late movie, didn't start till 10. I texted you.”
You looked down to the cushion he was sitting on, the one your phone was buried under.
“I’m going to bed,” you announced, standing up. “Can you get up? You’re sitting on my phone.” He reached under himself, swiping around with his hand. He stood up and flicked the light on before resuming his search.
“It’s not here.”
You reached under the couch cushion, digging your phone out to discover you had 3 messages—all from him and sent around 10pm.
“Why is it under there?” he asked, blocking you from moving past him.
“Move.”
“What are you so cranky for, hm?” He went to grab you, like he usually did whenever he pulled you against his chest. You grabbed his wrist.
“Just—” you sucked in a breath. “Will you just fucking move ?” you snapped.
He frowned, stepping aside so you could escape to your room—shutting the door a little too hard behind you. Why were you so angry? The thought of him touching you like he usually did after touching her . It felt wrong. You climbed into your bed, pulling the blankets up to your shoulders. Guilt started leaking into your anger the longer you sulked, morphing it into anxiety. You hadn’t even asked him how it went, if he had a nice time. It was a big deal for him, going on a date. You stared at your phone on your bedside table for a while before giving in and snatching it. You opened the messages he’d sent earlier.
i think your good luck hugs must have magical properties it’s going very well
she complimented my outfit
gonna be home late we’re catching a movie
You climbed out of bed, throwing your phone down onto the mattress behind you. Fuck it. When you opened your door, the lights were all off—he must’ve gone to bed. You’d have to wake him then. You shut your door behind you, again—a little too hard. You marched to his closed door, hesitating with your hand on the doorknob. This was crazy, you were being crazy. Why were you being crazy? You dropped your hand just as the door swung open. Chan stood on the other side wearing only his sweats. He was silent for a moment—looking you up and down before speaking, “Yes?”
Fuck. Think of something not crazy to say. “I-I wanted to know what movie you saw.” Not great.
“Why?”
Why would you wake him up in the middle of the night to ask that? “Just curious.” Stupid .
“At 2am?”
It was 2am? You’d been stewing in your room for two hours . You’d lost it. “Nevermind.” You turned to leave, his hand catching you around the wrist.
“Why do you wanna know what movie I saw? Do you not believe me?”
“Why wouldn’t I believe you?”
“Because you think I fucked her instead.”
You sucked in a breath, studying his face carefully. “Did you?”
He took a step towards you, hand still wrapped around your wrist. “Are you jealous?”
“No.”
“No?” He studied your face before slowly pulling you into his room and closing the door behind you. You found yourself pushed up against it, chest first. The wood was cold against the warm skin of your stomach, your small tank top riding up. “So it wouldn’t bother you if I touched her like this?” He traced his fingers up from your wrist slowly. They trailed all the way up your arm to your shoulder where he brushed your hair over your shoulder gently.
“No,” you said again, less convincingly this time—voice a little breathy.
He stepped closer, pressing your body further against the door with his. His lips touched the skin he’d revealed on your shoulder. “I think you’re jealous. I think you're angry with me for touching someone else. Hm? I’m right, aren't I?” You shook your head, breathing shallow. “I didn’t fuck her,” he continued. “We watched a movie, I drove her home and I kissed her goodnight.” You frowned.
“Kissed her?”
His chuckle tickled your skin. “On the forehead,” he clarified.
“Like you kissed me…”
“No, not like I kissed you. That was different.”
You wriggled against him, turning yourself so your back was pressed against the door. He gave you no space to manoeuvre, keeping his body where it was right up against yours—your clothed breasts pressed against his bare chest.
“Why was it different?”
“Because when I kissed her I was being polite.”
“And when you kissed me?” you breathed.
He traced his fingers up your neck, palm coming to a rest against your cheek—his thumb brushing back and forth against your skin. “That was because I love you.”
You held your breath, eyes flicking back and forth between his as you attempted to decipher his meaning. Love…love as in his roommate who he loved as a close friend or…
“You love me, too. Don’t you? I wasn’t sure. Not until tonight,” he continued.
“I-“ Did you love him? You wanted to kiss him. You were upset and you wanted to kiss him, that’s what you knew.
“Mm?” he prompted.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling his mouth to yours. He relented, letting you taste his lips on yours for the first time. You imagined how you’d feel if he had gone home with that girl tonight, if he’d come home the next day and announced he was seeing her again, if he started dating her and you missed your chance. You imagined if you couldn’t have him.
He pulled away, leaving your lips wet. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” your voice was breathy as you panted, no hesitation this time. You attempted to pull him back for another kiss but he resisted.
“Say it.”
You leaned in to kiss each corner of his mouth before pressing your moist lips to his. “I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, feeling his lips curve up.
“Yeah? Even when I smother you?”
“Even then.”
“Can I smother you now?”
“You’re asking?”
“I’m asking.”
You detached yourself from him, ducking under his arms where they trapped you against the door. You crawled into his bed, lying back against his pillows as you approached you. “I’ve never had you in my bed before,” he smirked as he covered your body with his. “You’re always making me walk all the way to yours.”
“I didn’t make you do anything.”
“I stubbed my toe on your door frame this morning.”
“Your own fault.”
He took your hands in his and stretched your arms above your head. You’d never held his hand before and now he was holding both as he hovered above you. Your hands were always so cold, his warm palms felt like they were bringing them to life. Sex was never a partcularly intimidate afair for you; you’d never slept with someone you actually cared about—who cared about you. Loved you?
“Do you really?”
“Hm?”
“Love me.”
“You really didn’t know? I didn’t think I could be any more obvious.”
“You-I mean you never said anything…” You wracked your brain for any hints he could have given you. He never said anything, you were sure of it. He would never say anything important when he was draped over you. It was small talk. He was the only one who ever touched you that much but that’s just who he was. You thought that’s just who he was. “You mean all the…physical stuff?” You watched his lips curve up as he hovered over you. You’d had him over you so many times but with your mutual confessions still lingering in the air it felt altogether different.
“Yeah, I mean the ‘physical stuff’.”
“You’re just like that though, you’re… not like me.”
“I’m like that with people I love.”
“Oh…” One of his hands moved to bring your wrists together so he could hold both your hands with one of his. The fingers on his free hand traced your lips, which had fallen open slightly in realisation. “But… you’ve always been like that with me.”
“Mhm.” His fingers traced down your neck to the neckline of your tank top. “You’re not wearing a bra.”
“I was sleeping.”
“No you weren’t. You were stewing over me going on a date.”
You ignored his teasing, focused on his gentle tracing across your chest. “Was she pretty?” you asked, watching his face for any clue about his true feelings.
“Not nearly as pretty as you,” he muttered, sounding distracted as he released your hands from above your head. “Can I take this off?” He was playing with the hem of your top, his eyes fixed on where your nipples showed through the thin material. You placed your hand over his and guided him up under the hem, dragging his hand up your stomach to cup one of your breasts.
“Soft,” he muttered. You couldn’t help laughing a little.
“Yeah, have you never touched one before?”
“Not these ones.”
“Are they different from the others?”
He ignored your question. “Can I see them? Please.”
“Since you asked so nicely.”
You pushed at his chest with your free hand, still feeling a little awkward initiating contact. Ridiculous really considering his hand was cupping one of your tits. He sat back on his heels, hand retreating from under your top at the last possible moment. You took a deep breath before pulling your tank over your head, resisting the urge to cross your arms across your chest the second you tossed it aside. During your previous sexual encounters you’d felt a lot more confident, the knowledge that it was merely a physical exchange; that you didn’t really care what the person thought of you—it made it all much less daunting. You cared what Chan thought of you, a lot. You cared if he thought you were prettier than the coffee shop girl and so sitting there in front of him topless? Terrifying. You watched his eyes take in your bare skin and then just as you were lifting your arms to cover yourself he grabbed your legs, pulling you down the bed until you were flat on your back. He covered your body with his, his chest pressing onto yours. You sucked in a breath at his warm skin against your sensitive nipples.
“Always imagined how it’d feel to have you under me like this…” He had you under him like this most days, the only difference was that you were half naked this time. “Do you remember during that heatwave when you were walking around in that little dress?”
You did remember that day. It was one of the hottest days of the year and the power outage meant you were left to cool down with a cold bath and ice cream you’d saved from the freezer. A strappy nightdress—which honestly would probably be better described as lingerie—was all you could bare having against your sticky skin. You remembered it well because that night he’d fallen asleep in your bed, the first and only time you’d actually slept together. You’d woken up with him wrapped around you, your dress riding up between you. You hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes the rest of the next day. You felt your cheeks warm at the memory.
“You were…more touchy than usual,” you said, avoiding directly referencing the night he’d spent in your bed.
He lifted himself from his elbows to his hands, creating some space between your bare chests so he could see your face. “Was I? I just remember thinking you were the prettiest thing I'd ever seen.”
You tried and failed to hold back a smile, completely unused to compliments from him at all let alone ones like that. His lips curved up at your reaction and then they were on yours. He thought you were pretty, the prettiest. He loved you and he thought you were the prettiest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down onto you again—a groan escaping him as you did. His lips on yours, your arms around his neck, his warm chest pressed into yours—it wasn’t enough. You wanted more of him. You wrapped your legs around him, attempting to pull him closer. He laughed against your lips. “Who’s the clingy one now, hm?”
“More,” you muttered, fingers gripping his hair at the back of his head.
“More?”
“Closer,” you said, desperate now.
“I’m not sure that’s possible, baby.”
You rolled your hips up into him, frustrated by the separation both your shorts and his sweats created. “Take them off. Please .”
“You’ll have to loosen your grip,” he said, giggling a little. He giggled . He giggled while you were desperate for him to take his sweats off and fuck you full. You released him, pulling your shorts down your legs as you watched him take the last of his clothes off. You’d seen his top half plenty, he’d walk around the place shirtless constantly. Anything below the belt? Well, that was new. He stood at the end of the bed, stroking his hard cock as he looked down at you. You still had your underwear on.
“Let me take them off,” he said, walking around to the side of the bed where he dug through his bedside drawer. He fished out an unopened box of condoms, tossing them on the bed before he crawled over to you. “Let me,” he repeated, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down your legs. He moved so slowly you were tempted to reach down and finish the job, his fingers brushing along your skin the entire way. When he finally threw them across the room he moved just as leisurely to grab a condom from the box. His eyes were fixed on your cunt as he slowly worked one down his cock, taking pleasure in drawing it out. You tried to stay quiet, not wanting to rush him but getting more and more impatient by the second. You sucked in a breath when he pressed a kiss to your ankle, the start of a long trail of kisses he made all the way up your legs. By the time he made it to your cunt you were squirming, desperate again. He pressed one kiss just above your clit and you reached down to grip his arm, attempting to pull him up to you.
“Please….Channie…please…need you closer.”
He moved to hover over you, his mouth a breath away from yours. “How close, baby? Inside? You want me inside you?”
“ Please .”
“You’re asking?” he smirked.
You wrapped yourself around him again, arms and legs pulling him down into you. He laughed. “Okay, okay. Just wanted this so long, trying to make it last a little, hm?” He reached down to grip his cock, guiding himself to press the tip against you. “Here? Where do you want me?”
“There…there…” you whined.
He pressed his lips to yours as his tip pushed into you. Closer . You moaned into his mouth. More . When he bottomed out you held him there, legs tightening around him. He was everywhere. He was over you, inside you.
“Don’t let go,” you whispered.