Page 207 of Checking Out the Librarian

Connor felt like a pat of butter on toast, maintaining his shape by surface tension and the memory of once having been cool, while his entire self melted into spreadability.

Jonathan had done all this. Secretly. For him. He shuddered.

Without letting go, Jonathan shifted their bodies until Connor saw them both in the mirror, his own upper body and a half-concealed Jonathan standing behind him.

“Watch us. We’re the only people here.” Jonathan’s right hand crept under Connor’s T-shirt.

Those slender fingers could wrap around the thickest books or around Connor’s hips, could be tender when Connor needed it or paint the walls when Connor needed that instead.

“I’ll take care of you. Like you took care of me last weekend.”

He brushed his hand delicately across Connor’s belly. Back and forth under his shirt, the lightest touch, again and again, until Connor shivered and the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood up. If he was in a field, he’d run for shelter, afraid of the electricity in the air, but his feet couldn’t move while Jonathan trailed fingers over Connor’s stomach.

That simple touch shouldn’t steal his breath. It wasn’t a weight preventing him from inhaling, and yet, it did.

The mirror hung low enough to show flashes of his waist and abs in the moment before Jonathan let the shirt fall into place. Half of Jonathan’s face peeked from behind his right shoulder. Watching their reflections, combined with the feedback of seeing and feeling, made him greedy for more seeing, more feeling, more touching.

He poked a mental finger at the memory of being here with Tony, and nope, nothing bit back.

He only saw Jonathan and the dark blue wall behind him. He only felt Jonathan and the rasp of his shirt over his skin. He smelled Jonathan and the yummy candle. He heard Jonathan’s little hum, both a sound and a feeling at the same time.

All good. Very good.

Jonathan used the hand resting loosely on Connor’s left hip to raise his shirt. His nail polish was blue, midnight at some angles, navy at others. Connor saw the pink flush spread across his own neck and cheeks.

In the mirror, their eyes never left each other.

Too low to be reflected, Jonathan’s other hand traced the edge of Connor’s waist band and stroked through the hair on his stomach. He couldn’t see what Jonathan did, but he could feel the delicate questions asked with fingers and answered by the vibration of his skin. His stomach tensed, trying to follow when the fingers would change course, whether they would go up and down, follow his waistband or strike out in a new direction to trace the path of his hair.

They just went over the same track. Light. Teasing.

Not enough.

Finally, Jonathan pushed his shirt higher, revealing all of his stomach, and spread his fingers as wide as they could go. The heat branded Connor. “I love this. I love your stomach.”

Every sensation felt concentrated in those fingers, because Jonathan had kept his mouth away from Connor. His cheek didn’t press against Connor. He used nothing but his two hands and the support of his chest on Connor’s back.

“It quivers when I touch you. It quivers when you laugh. When you breathe.”

The cotton fabric crept higher, almost on its own, until Connor raised his arms and bent his knees to lower himself. When the shirt was off, Jonathan retreated behind Connor’s body until only his hands and forearms were in view where they wrapped around Connor.

He leaned forward, trying for a fleeting glimpse of dark hair.

“I want you to watch me touch you. Watch my hands, and think of us, just us. We’re the only people here.”

He’d said that twice.

Connor shuddered, an involuntary motion that made his eyes close and that wasn’t what he was supposed to do.

Only them. Connor and Jonathan. Only them.

“Are you watching us?” Jonathan’s question sounded like an accusation and a purr and a command, all in one.

He opened his eyes and watched both of Jonathan’s hands dance and stroke and circle. Around his nipples. Around his bellybutton. Through his chest hair. His head felt too heavy and his legs were thick trunks, but also thin grass, and he had to keep standing here while Jonathan touched him.

Jonathan had told him to watch in the mirror.

This was going to be slow. This was going to be long.