Chapter seven
Seb
I come to a decision, of sorts. I'm bored in my room and frustrated that my body seems to want him so much, even when my mind is telling me no, so I wander down the stairs, into the old-fashioned wood-paneled living room. Ollie is there, head bent over a book, long legs curled up underneath him, trying to read but failing dismally. I watch him for a couple minutes and I can see that his eyes aren't traveling across the page and his beautiful face is devoid of expression, like he's trying to switch his brain off.
He hasn't seen me yet, so I move into the room, unsure if he will be annoyed at my presence. He glances up as I sit on the sofa but doesn't say anything. I wince as I curl my legs up, mirroring his position, my muscles stiff and sore from lack of movement over the last few days.
"Are you hurt?" He sounds worried and his eyes shine with concern. But I mustn't fall for that. They all start out being interested in your wellbeing, until they're just not anymore. I shrug, and I know I'm pouting a little, but I can't help it.
"Just stiff. I'm fine."
He unfurls his long legs and stands, leaving the room without another word. I sigh. So much for trying to have interaction.
He returns only a few moments later, with a bottle in his hand.
"Moisturizer. I'll rub your shoulders." His dark skin flushes with a blush as if something occurred to him and he stammers, "J-just to help your muscles. I won't..."
I shrug again, as ambivalently as I can manage. Despite all sense telling me otherwise, I wish he 'would'. I want his hands on me, and more - and it's a precise feeling, I'm somehow aware that it is his attention I want, no one else's.
I pull my borrowed t-shirt over my head and lay on the couch on my stomach, resting my head on my folded arms. Ollie kneels by my side and I take the opportunity to watch him out of my partially closed eyes. His face is neutral as he squirts out a generous measure of the sweet-smelling moisturizer onto his palm and warms it between his hands, no smile on his plump pink lips, but no frown either. I wish I could see his eyes properly; not just because they're literally the most stunning ones I've ever seen -- large, intense, almond-shaped, clear enough to make me want to whimper every time I get the chance to stare into them -- but because I want to evaluate if they're giving anything more away about how he feels now.
He hesitates before touching me and it's all I can do not to tremble in anticipation. I'm becoming unraveled, more so by the minute, and I'm almost ready to beg when he finally reaches forward to lay his hands on my shoulders. He rubs smoothly, in long swooping motions, using his strong thumbs on the upswing to work my knotted back muscles. I can feel myself melting into the fabric of the couch and want to arch my back like a cat to push against his explorative hands. I can see his face, blurred through my lashes, finally no longer blank, full lips parted and moist where he's licked them, eyes, those stunning gunmetal eyes, heavy with lust.
I almost groan at the sight of it; he is too beautiful. He's close, I imagine myself allowing him to realize I'm watching him, reaching my hand out to pull him to me so I can invade his wet mouth with my probing tongue. I'm becoming almost uncomfortably hard pressed against the rough material under me. I can't give into feelings like that. Nevertheless, when his hands go lower, to the curve in my back, I see my chance, his movements are less smooth, it's an uncomfortable position for him to rub me in.
"Ollie, that feels a bit uneven, could you do it from behind me?" I'm tentative but hopeful.
"Really? Sure, if you're okay with that." More than okay, with that and with the way lust makes his already seductive voice sound like a tiger's growl. I shuffle a little as he straddles my hips, resting himself on the curve of my ass. I still don't know where my destination is with this, I can feel my face flushing with gentle shame at the forward thoughts I'm having, but I know I want to go somewhere, at least. I might not have been able to work out if he actually likes this -- if he likes me -- but he's certainly turned on by the situation, and I'll take that, for now.
He rubs, getting into his rhythm now he's in a better position, and I finally do it, arching my back, just a little, into his roaming hands. He makes a noise, a growl at the base of his throat, that makes me bite my lip hard, just so I don't respond with a matching one. It feels like disarming a bomb, I have to be calm and not make any sudden moves if I want him to continue, and I have to retain some control over my own thoughts and reactions.
As he moves his fingers in firm circles into the arch of my lower back I can feel them brushing lightly against the top of my ass, catching the fabric of the joggers, and I find myself hoping, wishing, his fingers would slip under that stretchy fabric and rub the globes of my ass. As if he's read my mind, on the next rotation I feel his thumbs slide under the band, working in hard mini-circles to plunge into the aching muscles they find.
Now no amount of restraint can stop the groan of pleasure that is pulled from my throat, and he pauses.
"You okay, Seb?"
"Yeah, I'm okay, it just feels really nice," I'm blushing harder now and desperately seek an excuse, "It's easy to forget that those muscles never normally get massaged, and they're really aching at the moment."
I'm trying to sound casual, not sure whether I'm hoping he'll stay chaste, or hoping he'll pick up my desire without forcing me to say the words. He coughs, clearly nervous.
"Uh, I could massage them properly if you want. Only if you're comfortable though?" This is it; his voice, so deep and melodious with that ever-present rumble of desire, unhinges my brain. In that moment I forget my need to not show him my roughness, my aching yearn for what he can give me. I'm going for broke.
"Please. But would you mind taking your jeans off, they're kind of rough rubbing against me."
I'm not breathing, waiting for his response, when he climbs off me. My eyes flick open to see him standing to the side, unbuttoning his dark blue jeans and pushing them off his hips. I lick my lips, still hiding my eyes under my lashes; his body is amazing, lean, with perfect muscle tone from his broad, swimmer's shoulders through his narrow, lithe hips, to his long, strong legs. He's wearing tight black boxers that cup an impressive looking cock, which I want to see, so much, but I suspect even I won't be able to play that request off as legitimately pseudo-innocent.
He climbs back up, straddling me a little lower, across my thighs, and gently lowers my waistband, gasping as he tucks it underneath my ass cheeks.
