Page 53 of Out of Bounds

So it was a quite a surprise when he opened his eyes the next morning to rays of sunlight pouring in through the large windows of Brennan’s loft. Brennan’s muscular arms were like Tylenol PM, as their embrace lulled him into a deep sleep.

I am sleeping in another man’s arms, he thought to himself as they fell asleep.There is another man’s breath on my neck.

His body was a study in contradiction: awake and exhausted, craving and content.

A bird squawked outside the window, reminding him over and over it was morning. His lips were sore. He didn’t know lips could be sore. Then he remembered why.

His ass was also sore, and he remembered why, too.

Speaking of...where was Brennan?

His half of the bed was empty, though Cliff could smell him on the sheets.

Before he could search the loft for his missing sleep buddy, he found Brennan sitting at the edge of the bed, naked except for thick-framed glasses, sketching away in his notepad.

He was a sight for sore eyes, sore lips, and a sore hole.

“Should I find this creepy?” Cliff asked with a yawning smile.

“Only if you want.”

Cliff wiped sleep from his eyes. “What are you drawing?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“I think you’re my muse, Cliff.”

Cliff blushed at the compliment. The only thing he’d inspired in his life up to this point were defense chants.

“I feel like I’m in Florence. Michelangelo sketching the David or one of his kept boys.”

“Michelangelo was gay?”

“Big time.” Brennan brushed a hair away from his face, leaving a smudge of pencil on his forehead.

He fell into what seemed like a trance, completely focused on drawing. Cliff knew the feeling from his time on the basketball court. The whole world faded away. His lips pouted with curiosity, and now Cliff knew what they felt like against his own. Last night was amazing on multiple levels, but Brennan pulling him into a kiss had catapulted Cliff into the stratosphere.

“What?” Cliff asked. Brennan stared at him in pensive confusion.

“I think my hand would fall off trying to accurately record all of you. You’re beautiful, Cliff.” Brennan closed his sketchpad. “Sorry. Now it is getting creepy.”

“Can I see?”

Brennan looked at his sketchpad then back at Cliff.

“Please? I won’t offer any opinions. I just want to see.”

Brennan reluctantly handed it over.

Cliff saw himself through the wisps of pencil lines, asleep and at peace. He noticed the shading of the bed and the shape of his face were A-plus, from a purely technical standpoint. It was rare to get a subjective view of yourself from someone else’s point of view. How did others see us? Cliff had proof. The Cliff in this sketch was at peace. No worry. No pressure. No shame.

Cliff handed him back his sketchbook. Without it, Brennan was completely naked and exposed, cock resting against his leg. God, he was gorgeous. “Do you need a pillow to cover up?”

“No.” Brennan tossed the sketchbook onto a kitchen chair. It was a nice shot, Cliff thought. “Last night was…wow.”

Brennan raised his mouth into a goofy smile.