Sleepyhead (Cryle)

Sleepyhead

When Kyle suddenly jerks awake in the middle of the night just hours before he has to start getting ready for work, it's not because he'd had a bad dream. Rather, it had been quite the opposite.

Kyle stares up at the ceiling as he lies there in bed, panting. His body is on fire, legs tangled uncomfortably in the blanket as he tries his best to ignore the damp, rough drag of the fabric of his boxers over his erection whenever he tries to move them, but his boyfriend's dog, Ginger, is currently serving as a very much unwanted twenty-two pound Corgi-shaped space heater at his feet and is making things difficult. Next to Kyle is his boyfriend, Craig, who is fast asleep.

"Craig, are you awake?"

Craig only stirs and sighs softly in response. Kyle turns to look at him, getting an eyeful of nothing but a mess of tousled, black hair and the bare skin of Craig's back that—at least to Kyle right now—might just be the most tantalizing thing he's ever seen.

"Craig?"

It's hard to tell whether or not Craig is just ignoring him and pretending to be asleep. Craig is notorious for doing that, especially after a bad argument when Kyle tries to talk to him after crawling into bed without making up first, but Kyle doubts that's the case when the two of them haven't had a serious fight in months. Besides, Craig had stayed up late last night to finish an assignment for his early afternoon figure drawing class at the community college, so he probably is actually sleeping.

Kyle worries his lip as he watches the muscles of Craig's back shift when stirs some more, shrugging the blanket lower down his side. Kyle is hard. He's so painfully hard that he's seriously considering reaching over and shaking Craig awake to demand that he pays him some goddamn attention, or at least maybe pulling up PornHub on his phone and rubbing one out. But Craig is a light sleeper, and even with the brightness turned almost all the way down there's no doubt it'd probably still manage to bother him if he happens to turn around—and God forbid Kyle's fingers slip and unmute the volume. That'd just be embarrassing.

It's kind of hard to masturbate inconspicuously on a cramped double mattress that bounces with even the slightest movement, so Kyle ultimately decides against it. He's never been good at keeping quiet, anyway. It's not that he's got anything to hide—Kyle's not a blushing, virginal saint by any means, and Craig knows this better than anyone—but there's sort of a generally accepted and unspoken rule against jacking off to random guys on the internet while your boyfriend of nine years sleeps next to you in the bed you'd both gone half on from IKEA.

The alarm clock on the bedside table blares the time in bright red: 4:42 AM. Outside, a light, early morning drizzle has just begun. Kyle closes his eyes as he listens to it, attempting to disregard his wildly thumping heart that's rattling his rib cage. In another two hours the both of them will be waking up to start their day; Kyle getting dressed for another day at his father's law firm while Craig walks the dog and makes breakfast before most likely sneaking in a couple more hours of sleep until he has to head off to his summer class. Kyle knows he should really just try and go back to sleep, but right now it's nearly impossible for him to relax and think about anything else besides Craig's dick.

Kyle groans and buries his face in the crook of his arm while he tugs at the waistband of his boxers, lifting them to peel the wet cotton from his erection and reveling in the feeling of that alone with a quiet sigh. It feels like it's been forever since Craig's touched him last, even though it was just six nights ago that Craig had fucked him senseless in the communal laundry room of their apartment complex. For the rest of that evening, he could still feel the last of Craig's leftover cum leak out whenever he shifted a certain way. Kyle had insisted that they use a condom, but Craig hadn't given him much of a choice.