Once a Nerd Ch. 11 - Sex Stories

Once a Nerd Ch. 11

... the end-all-be-all, y'know? When I was stuck in PT after surgery, I thought to myself: 'am I about to go back out there, just to wind up right back here?' I want to run around with my kids one day, go hiking, stand in lines at the theme park."

"I totally get that." I say honestly, basking in Sam's warmth against my side.

Throughout the meal, he's unconsciously softened to my presence. He leans into me, or bickers in a way he'd only do when we're alone. Feeling emboldened, I reach for his thigh under the table. He's close enough to the edge that it shouldn't be noticed by the pair on the opposite side. Sliding my hand between his legs, I grip the inside of his upper thigh gently. He twitches a little, butthat's it. He doesn't stiffen up, nor does he shoot me a panicked, caustic glare from the side of his eye. He keeps eating and talking like it's the most natural thing in the world. Then, he opens his legs a little wider, before clenching his thighs around my hand.

It's a fuckingrush, and I'm struggling to keep it together. This is...exactly what I wanted, what I was hoping for. Sam and I, in public, sharing company with people who know our history and are unbothered by it. I want him to be comfortable with me in front of others. I want him to understand I can make that happen. He doesn't deserve to be constantly whittled down by guilt and worry, deprived of normalcy. He should be shown off, not hidden away.

As the one who put him in this position, it's my ...

... responsibility to make it a position worth being in.Happy.

Speaking of: "Oh myGod, this is so good."

He groans a little too erotically around brown, saucy yakisoba noodles pinched between his chopsticks. Repeatedly, his glasses slump to the very tip of his nose, and he nudges them back in place with his knuckles. I like watching him eat. I like anything that gives him the smallest sliver of contentment. But, I could do without the noises. My dick feels like it'll snap off in my shorts any minute.

"Sammy, Christ." I laugh, plucking the glasses from his face. He turns to scowl at me, but there's no genuine scorn in the expression. Plus, it's belied by the unserious act of slurping a noodle.

"I'm blind, you prick."

"The bowl's six inches from your face, you'll manage." I tuck them in the pouch of my sweatshirt, lest they be forgotten on the table.

"Dean, hey." Casey calls my attention. He's rattling a carton of cigarettes, nodding towards the exit. It's less an invitation to smoke, more alet's talk, and I give an aborted nod of understanding. Thankfully, these shorts are pretty loose. We stand and shimmy around the chairs, headed for the door. There's a silver bell that clatters obnoxiously as we step out. Words aren't had right away. Instead, thoughts are gathered and organized as we go through the motions of plucking those thin, white sticks from their carton and lighting them against our lips.

Out of respect, I won't say anything until he does. He was the one ...