My Brother's Boyfriend ✓

Twenty-Eight

The next time I wake up, I wake up in my boyfriend's arms.

Holy shit that's new.

Facing him, I slip my arm underneath my pillow, and have my other one on top of the blanket that's covering both of us. Though it's covering more of me than it is him, which gives me a perfect view of his bare chest. I can't help but admire the perfect, tanned, incredibly muscled chest.

Wow.

That's a sight I don't think I will ever get tired of seeing. Watching his chest move up and down with his even breathing, I can't help but think about how much I've always wanted this. How much I have always wanted him. It's almost surreal to know that he is in my bed, holding me, rather than my brother. I mean, never in my wildest dreams would this have happened, but it did.

Maybe real life can sometimes be better than dreams?

Watching his eyes move underneath his eyelids, I can't help but wonder what's going through his head as he sleeps. Is he having a dream? If so, what is he dreaming of? My eyes fall back down to his lips, unable to pull them away. I have always fancied looking at his lips, to better imagine what it may feel like to have them pressed against my own, but now that I have actually had them on mine, I know exactly how it feels.

And boy does it feel significantly better than I ever imagined it would.

My eyes slip back down to his chest, watching it rise and fall gently, the two sparrows sticking out at me. I can see the top part of the butterfly, which is usually the tattoo that my eyes draw to, but for once, the sparrows have caught my attention. I wonder what the significance behind them is; why he chose them specifically; why he decided on sparrows, and having them mirroring one another; and just how much they hurt.

My hand, with a mind of its own, apparently, slowly makes its way to the inked lines, permanently on his skin, and my fingers lightly trail across them. I feel the slight ridges and bumps from where the ink is set, imagining just how much they must have hurt to get. Granted, I have a feeling that my pain tolerance may be way lower than his, because I feel like I would completely cry if I were to get a tattoo, nevertheless on my chest.

I feel his breathing alter a bit and decide to stop, as I don't want to wake him up, but as soon as I set my arm back down on top of the blanket that covers us, he speaks.

"Don't stop," he whispers, his voice deep and slow and gravelly from sleep as his accent is significantly more pronounced, and I can't help but smile at the fact that I get to see and hear him like this. I bring my fingers back up and continue to lightly dance my fingers over all of the tattoos I can see, admiring them as I go.

"D-did they hurt?" I ask quietly, so as to not wake Nick who is most likely still asleep.

"Eh, nothing I can't handle," he says and smiles sleepily, obviously proud of himself. I can't help but smile at him, knowing just how brave he is. Even if they hurt terribly, I have a feeling he still would have gotten it, just to prove to himself that he could - not to mention the fact that he probably quite likes them. He is most definitely the strongest person I know.

"Th-they look like they h-hurt," I say as I trace my fingers across the butterfly, wincing a bit as I imagine the pain on such a sensitive spot.

He wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me closer, forcing me to stop running my fingers across his skin and trapping my arm against his chest as he presses a kiss to my forehead.

"But you like looking at them don't you," he says with a light laugh in his voice, leaving me flushing red. So what if I like looking at them? He doesn't need to know that.