Alex~
I don't sleep well after that dream and when I drag myself to class the next morning, the images are still there, Seth's mouth on mine, his fingers inside me, the heat and the way I came so hard I woke up shaking.
It's really ridiculous. The stupid too real dream that clings to me like swear, making my skin prickle, my chest tight and my dick hard.
Jesus.
Jordan is already in his seat when I slide into mine. He's got his laptop open, notebook flipped, pen tapping against the edge of his desk like a metronome.
"Yo," he says, not looking up. "So, for the project… listen, I was thinking we could…"
His voice is moving but my head isn't following. I catch maybe three words before everything blurs into static when the professor shows up his voice blends into Jordan's, then melts into the hum of the overhead lights. I try to focus, I swear I do, but all I can think about is the dream, the sweat in Seth's hair, the way he whispered, his hands… I'm so fucking gone.
"Alex."
I blink. "What?"
Jordan narrows his eyes. "You here or… I dunno, astral projecting?"
"Sorry," I mutter, rubbing at my eyes. "Didn't sleep much."
He watches me a beat longer, then shrugs. "Fine. I'll finish the outline. Just don't screw me over when it's time to present."
I nod, grateful he's letting it drop.
Class time crawls and every word the professor says slips through me. By the time we're dismissed, my head feels stuffed with cotton. I rush out of the class needing quiet and somewhere to breathe without Jordan's curious looks.
I end up in the library, the air is cool and dry, the smell of old paper oddly grounding. I drop into a chair at one of the corner tables, unpack my laptop, open the draft for the media project.
And freeze at the sight.
I don't understand half of what I had written. The analysis is thin, the references scattered. I scroll and scroll, feeling stupid, frustrated, tired.
"Looks like a mental breakdown in progress," a voice says.
I look up, startled. Seth is standing on the other side of the table, a backpack slung over one shoulder, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
My stomach does something traitorous. "What are you doing here?"
Last night dreams comes back to me.
"Needed a charger," he says, pulling one from his bag. I eye his hands, they look exactly as they did in my dream. He glances at my screen. "Project?"
"Yeah." I slam the laptop shut halfway. "Trying to."
"Problem?"
"I don't… get how to connect the theory to the actual media example," I admit, rubbing my temples. "Feels like I'm just bullshitting."
Seth drags out the chair beside me and sits. "What's your media example?"
"Some indie film from last year. I barely remember it."
He raises a brow. "Then maybe rewatch it?"
"I don't have time."
"You're making time to sit here and complain," he says, leaning back. "What's the movie?"
"Stray." His face softens. "That one? Oh, man. That's layered. No wonder you're stuck."
"You've seen it?"
"Twice," he says, tapping the table. "You need to watch it again. Pay attention to the framing, the way it mirrors the character's headspace. It'll click, I promise."
Something in me eases, just a little. "You really think that'll help?"
"I know it will," he says then stands, slinging his bag back over his shoulder. "Watch it tonight. I'll be home early to watch alongside."
I should say no. I should say I'll handle it myself. But what comes out in response is "Okay."
True to his word, he is home early and is sitting cross‑legged on the couch in sweatpants and a worn T‑shirt, scrolling through something on his phone while I set up my laptop and plug it into the small TV we have, one we barely use.
"You're sure this'll help?" I ask.
"You trust me?" he counters.
I don't answer and hit play.
The movie begins slow, soft dialogue and lingering shots of landscapes and cramped rooms. Seth watches with me, occasionally murmuring "See that? Pay attention to the lighting here," and "Watch how she mirrors him in that frame."
I take notes, at first but somewhere around the halfway point, I stop writing. I just… watch.
At some point, my head tips against the couch cushion. My eyes droop and the movie drones on, dialogue melting into a haze I don't want to tell Seth to turn it off because the silence is soothing but I succumb to the sleep.
I wake later to warmth.
A weight.
I don't even remember when exactly I fell asleep, but now I'm curled on the couch, tucked into him. His arm is draped over my waist and his chest is at my back, solid and steady, we're… spooning.
And I don't move simply because I don't want to.
His breath is warm against the back of my neck. I feel him shift slightly, hear a low sigh. My own body betrays me, heat sparking low in my belly, my cock stirs, thickens, pressing against the soft cotton of my sweatpants until it's aching.
I squeeze my eyes shut, mortified, willing it to go away.
It doesn't and all I can think of is last night's dream his fingers, his mouth, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered.
I stay perfectly still, barely breathing, terrified Seth will feel it, will know.
The room is silent except for the soft buzz of the paused movie screen. My heart hammers in my chest sef then the door bursts open.
"Hey…" Tracey's voice cuts off mid‑word.
I jerk upright, dislodging Seth's arm. He stirs, groggy, running a hand through his hair. His T‑shirt is wrinkled, his lips pink like he's been biting them in his sleep.
Tracey stands in the doorway, wide‑eyed. Her gaze flicks from Seth's disheveled state to me sitting there flushed and settle on my unmistakably tented sweatpants.
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Wow."
"It's not…" I start, but my voice cracks.
Seth blinks at her, still waking up, but his mouth curves in something almost amused. "You don't knock?"
Tracey's eyes narrow, her arms folding across her chest. "Didn't think I needed to."
Heat surges to my face. I scramble for words, for anything that makes sense to try and explain things. "We were watching a movie—"
"Mm‑hmm," she says, tone sharp.
The air feels charged, thick. Seth shifts behind me, sitting up straighter, but says nothing, just watches.
Tracey's gaze flicks between us again me still half‑hard, Seth looking like he's just rolled out of bed after something intense and something flashes in her expression.
She steps back toward the hall, voice low. "You know what? We'll talk later."
The door slams shut.
I'm left there, heart pounding, cock still straining against my sweats, Seth breathing steadily beside me, the silence loud as a scream.
I can't look at him.
"For whatever it's worth, I'm sorry man."