Addicted [BoyxBoy]

My House

I opened the door swiftly, cautious about it hitting the wall of the walkway.

"Home sweet home," I mumbled, shoving my keys back into my bag.

Bobby immediately kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable on my white leather couch, which faced the television on the wall.

I stared at him incredulously. "You think you can just do anything, don't you?" I scolded him, eyes narrowed.

"I can," he beamed.

"Yeah, well tell that to the 30-year-old cab driver who shot you down. She didn't seem to think so."

"Hey," he put up his hands, "Some ladies just can't handle it."

I rolled my eyes and locked the door. He patted the space next to him. "Come on, let's binge watch a show or something."

"Let me just go change real quick," I said, leaving my messenger bag under the small marble table by the door. My mom had an eye for decoration (like me), so we had a few pointless furniture pieces. The only item on the table was a vase with gorgeous yellow tulips in it.

I ran upstairs, rushing to my closet.

I started changing into something more comfortable--sweatpants and a tank top--but I wanted my black fuzzy socks. I knew they were somewhere on my closet floor, so I bent over and dug through the pile of clothes in front of me.

Shirts, pants, belts, beanies. . .

I was preparing to give up before I heard Bobby's voice right behind me: "Man to man, you have a nice ass."

My body snapped back up and I faced the bedroom door, my hands instinctively covering my bottom. "Get out," I whispered with flushed cheeks.

He chuckled and further irritated me by taking a step in and looking around. "Nice," he said, "You aren't as uptight about your room as you are everything else."

I was embarrassed. I had clothes, paintings, shoes and papers thrown everywhere. My room, though spacious, was an absolute mess. "Please get out." I grabbed his arm and pulled him out of my room, abandoning my quest for the socks.

We went back to the living room, settling into the couch he sat on when we got in. I didn't get too close to him, but we were just on the verge of touching. He was reclining, his arm over the back and his breathing deep. We were watching Fairy Tail like good little nerds, on our massive flat screen. The open space of the living room made the silence echo around us. I shifted uncomfortably, wanting a word to be spoken.

I could feel the heat coming off his body. It was magnetizing. I glanced his way, and my breathing stopped at just how beautiful he looked in the soft lighting of the living room.

His eyes caught the light perfectly, making them shine like blue diamonds; his strawberry blonde hair looked golden in the same light; and his pink lips glistened, visibly wet after he flicked his tongue over them. His navy blue V-neck hugged his chest perfectly, showing off just how much he worked out (he mentioned it constantly).

He watched the show intently and his chest rose and fell, but mine stayed still. I couldn't breathe, and my heart was pounding.

He was in my house, on my couch, mere inches away.

I wanted to cuddle.

The urge to cuddle was ridiculous.

I sat back, cursing myself for staring. I couldn't do that, it was not okay.

I found myself looking around my own living room. The white theme that I worked really hard on looked nice, but next to Bobby everything just looked generic. The white couches, the white coffee table in front of us, the white lamp in the corner by the window. It all looked dull next to the beacon of color and light next to me.