Once a Nerd Ch. 11 - Sex Stories

Once a Nerd Ch. 11

... were...so amazing, Dean, and I'm—"

He pulls a quick, hard breath, looking away for a beat. He's trying not to fucking cry, and I can't breathe. More than sprinting, tackling, and being tackled for almost two straight hours, Sam tightens my chest up. Sam steals my ability to function without even trying.

"I'mso proud of you." He breathes, looking up at me like I hung the moon outside his bedroom window. "I know I don't say it a lot, it's hard to say kind things when I'm not sure if it's...actually okay. But, I really do...love you—"

I pull him into my chest, because I might collapse without the contact. He said it. He said iton his own. Sam loves me, and I feel like I could explode. My body's not big enough for the rapid expansion of emotion, and ithurts. It's so goddamn good, it hurts. Nothing, no one, has ever touched this place inside of me. Where the world was taped over with a gray film, now there's a spectrum of brilliant vivids I never knew existed. I didn't used to think there was anything wrong with me or my life, but in hindsight, it's strange and sad to be so dispassionate.Bored.

Sam's given me a gift he'll probably never understand, but I'll be sure to give it back for the rest of my fucking life. His thin hands are curled in the back of my sweatshirt, and he presses his face against the racket of my heart. The scent of his shampoo is thick in my nose as I bury it against the crown of his head. My eyes burn from the back, and I can't tell you the ...

... last time I cried. Infancy, maybe.

"I love you, Sam, and you'll never fucking know how much." I rasp.

I don'twant him to know, because any sane person would run far, far away. I'm even frightened by the ferocity of my own feelings. Now that I've got it, Sam isn't just someone I want. He's aneed.

"Lift your face, please." I murmur.

He does, and he's the prettiest thing I've ever seen. Nose shiny where it curves from his face, a little string of snot connecting to my sweater. Thick, black lashes stuck together with tears, the whites of his eyes bloodshot and reflective.

He's fuckingperfect.

"Don't kiss me, I'm gross." He huffs, sensing the intent.

"I'll die if I don't, so open your mouth."

His face contorts with embarrassment, but his lips creak apart as requested. Smoothing my palm underneath the back of his shirt, gently catching the nape of his neck, I lick into his mouth reverently. He tastes like wasabi and whiskey, andany combination would taste good out of Sam's mouth. Our lips mash together at an angle that makes a perfect, slick seal, interrupted only by frantic bites and a struggle formore. His hands slide against my jaw, behind my ears, into my hair. Sparks fly down my spine as he rakes his short nails across my scalp softly, a tease of sensation.

I'm not sure we've ever kissed like this before. I know I can be aggressive. I'm usually attacking, and Sam lets himself be attacked. This isn't that. It's filthy in its own way, but also sweet and ...