Enamour [boyxboy]

Chapter 8 - "I Might Be."

Chapter 8

•Ethan's POV•

I knocked on the hard wood front door of America's white two-story house. A few seconds passed and there were thumping feet on a wooden staircase, then floor; the sound growing closer and closer to the door.

The door opened quickly, with a whoosh of air, revealing a slightly disheveled America. Her blond hair was tied up into a lazy, quick, messy bun on top of her head, and she was dressed in high socks, short pajama pants, and a loose t-shirt.

"Hi," she said, leaning against the door, puffing a bit. "Jesus, I need to work out more." I laughed and she made her way through the house. I followed behind her, and closed the door. We went straight past the kitchen and living room, and straight up the staircase.

America led me right down the hallway at the end of the staircase, to a door at the end of the hallway. The door was opened, and America led me straight in.

This was obviously America's room.

There was a fair amount of mess. There were clothes and baby toys thrown in various places, posters of cute boys and independent, kick-ass women on one wall, a double four-poster bed in one corner, a set of drawers opposite the bed, and another next to the bed, a crib at the end of the bed, and a built-in wardrobe along the wall of the door.

And a baby sleeping in the bed.

I smile at the sight of Noah.

America says, "sorry, we were having a power nap before you came over." She begins to pick a few pieces of clothing up and chuck them in a draw or clothing bin.

"You don't have to clean up," I said to her. She finished putting the handful of stuff away and sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"Just pretend that the mess isn't there." She chuckles pathetically at this. I laugh along with her and go and sit next to her on the bed. My eyes are trained on Noah as America lifts his fragile body off the bed and cradles him in her arms.

I can't help but smile at this.

America notices me smiling down at Noah and she holds him out to me. "Wanna hold him?" She asks.

I hesitate, but hold my arms out towards her. "I don't want to break the precious little thing," I said, knowing I probably wouldn't anyway.

America gently lowered Noah's small body onto my arms. His skin was warm, smooth like a baby's bum, and perfect. He had a thin cap of soft brown hair set atop his head. And he was wrapped up in a baby blue blanket, only his arms exposed.

Then his eyes opened - a beautiful hazel brown, almost identical to America's eyes. But then something else happened, something I didn't expect.

He farted. A sloppy, loud, gurgling fart, that was more likely to be a poop. And then little Noah started crying, his brown eyes squinting. I start to freak a bit, immediately thrusting him back to America. America chuckles, but takes him from me.

She takes him over to a little nappy-changing station that she has set up on one of the set of drawers. She quickly changes his nappy, discarding the dirty one in a little bin and wrapping him back up in the blanket.

She picks him up and holds him close to her. "Wanna come downstairs? I've gotta make him a bottle." With that I follow her silently down the stairs and into the small kitchen. She sets Noah down in a highchair and I sit in a normal chair next to him.

"So," I ask, "why don't you breast feed." I slightly eye her breasts - what? I was just checking if she had milk in there or not (she so does!) - but America catches me. I avert my eyes quickly and fain innocence, but it's useless.