The first night Devin spent at my house, he crawled up from his blankets on the floor and joined me in bed. We’d spent the day making music out in the forest, so he smelled like tree sap and cheese sandwiches (lunch).
Once he made himself comfortable beneath my covers, he snaked his arms around me. I could feel his hipbones against my ass, his face buried between my shoulder blades. I twitched at the contact. I was fourteen; I’d never had anyone in my bed. Which was weird for my age, living as I did–in the Gut, near a community of half-feral elves.
After he finished rubbing his face against my spine, he squirmed up so his mouth was warm on the soft skin behind my ear.
“You want to have sex?” he asked.
I stopped breathing. Part of me wanted to say yes–the part that liked the heat of his skin and our wild songs, but saying yes didn’t seem right. When I told him this, he just smiled, said okay and turned so we were each facing different walls, but fused at our spines.
I don’t think I’ve ever slept better than I did that night.