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I sat against his hip in the car because it was too small, touching him through four layers of clothes, touching him at all for the first time in months, and now I'm counting victory as having only half the want come rushing back in. The echo of his warmth is softer and more inviting than that of the stranger on my other side as I close my eyes in memory. I wanted to sink into it - I wanted to feel him, again, I wanted to feel him, again - despite having had so long, despite objective knowledge, despite hating myself, because I keep convincing myself I can one day have

him.

...

and all it does is make me want.

---

Perfectly straight, a different he slipped into my bed behind me and put an arm around me, yanking me roughly against his chest. I yelped and cracked a brief smile, molding myself back against him. "Stop crying," he snorted. "You look androgynous enough as it is."

"I wasn't crying, and I like it that way. A pixie cut suits me."

"Granted, it's the only thing about you that gives me a boner. Other than your perfect ass, of course."

"Don't tease me, dick-wad."

He squeezed me, sincerely. "You're right. I'm sorry." I could feel his warm breath on the back of my neck, and... though I knew how little it meant, it still calmed me down in the way... well, really, only he could. Sometimes, he kissed my neck - would he this t- mmm... yes.

"It's fine. You know I like it. Better than..." I gave my own, lighter snort, and stared blankly ahead of me while one hand curled lightly around his forearm.

"Figured. What is it this time? He brush your thigh? Or... something else...?" I felt the blood rushing to the tip of my- oh god my ears, with his nose on them. I shhhuddered. I could feel him grin. "Good God, you're cute when you blush. How are you not breaking bed frames every night?"

"Ass hat." I grinned back and elbowed his ribs, and blew a wry raspberry at myself. "Bah. It's dumb. All he did was look at me. So stupid." The metallurgist of whom we spoke was my particular weakness, and woefully unavailable... in a has-no-desire-for-men sort of way.

"Eh, it happens. What about that other guy? Or that petite girl, the one with the hipster scarf? She's cute." He gave a little growl and ruffled my chest playfully.

I smiled. "Calm down there, boy - blue jeans don't hide anything when my hips're in your crotch." He smirked out an embarrassed grunt, and I giggled and rubbed my head back against his chin. Then, I sighed again. "She is, but it's too soon after her last break-up and I think she's after that bassist, next, the information sciences guy."

He muttered out a string of "'Information sciences.' Skinny-ass half-bearded poser mamma's boy... You're a step up by half and again. Sing to her. Once. You'll get 'er."

I felt the heat start to go to my ears again. "No, no, I don't wanna... get in the way. And besides, I've listened to his band. They're pretty good, and he and she just sorta... go, y'know?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm'a keep bugging you about it, though. So, the guy?"

"I mean, he's fun to cuddle with..."

"Not as fun as I am. Plus, he's a loser." He was not exactly gentle.

"Hey! That's my boyfr- date."

"He's a theoretical physicist who can't dance and drinks Bud Lite and doesn't know Disney songs: he's a loser. You're better than that."

I looked down at the bedsheets, thought about it a moment, trying to build up the supports I usually could to defend my trailor park-dwelling demi-romance... "He's a loser," I conceded, tiredly. I felt his nose nodding against the back of my neck, and for a little while, we just lay there, with the late afternoon sunlight spilling over us. I concentrated on the feel of his breathing behind me, his broad, semi-toned chest pressing and retreating in slow, steady intervals while a few of his fingers idly stroked my belly.

"It's always weird, like this," he murmured, once again nosing my ear.

"You're telling me," I asserted wryly. He's perhaps my greatest comfort.

"I worry about you, when we do this. Because isn't this... what you want with the blacksmith?" Metallurgist. Whatever.

I wished he hadn't broken the silence. I placed one hand overtop his. It took me a while to formulate an answer. "Yeah... I guess... He's just... hm. Still an uncertainty, preference-wise." No matter how many times he says "no," it's a meaningless word when there's nothing behind it.

"Whereas I...?"

"Once forgot to close your door while those brunette twins were helping you with trig, and you let me grope you on a regular basis; you're confidently on the straight and narrow."

"Narrow my ass! And granted, those were all right angles, but I don't think they were orthogonal..."

I chuckled. "Point being you've made your preferences clear and I don't think we want any part of one another sexually or romantically-"

"I mean, I don't think there's any sexual dimorphism in mouths, but you're the biologist."

"We could make this way more Roman than Pythagorus, bud, but I don't think your ass could handle it."

"You know I have a vested interest in the classics..." He closed his arms around me hungrily and thrust his hips up against mine. I gasped, arched my back for a split second, and writhed out of his grasp.

"Too far."

"Too far. I'm sorry."

We sat up, both Indian style, me panting to catch my breath, and him turning cherry red.

He opened his mouth again, mortified, but before he could talk, I slumped sideways against his shoulder. "It's fine. And I'm sorry I can't handle... I mean I know it's a joke. I just... see... sex... differently."

He nodded, and tentatively put his arm around my shoulder. I scooted in closer, and gave a hidden smile to hear his answering sigh of relief. "I know. I don't know. I... think about it, sometimes. I mean I don't think it could work, 'cuz... yeah. You are somewhat casual about sex, but. The absolute last thing I wanna do is hurt you." He squeezed me tight, and a huge feeling of warmth welled up inside me. We'd talked about it before. We'd... even experimented. But we were honest. Neither of us had the emotional capacity for it. That night, we'd fallen asleep together in a tepid afterglow and woken up confused and alienated. Sure, it had been fun, and sure, we got along fantastically before and after, but... you can feel... when something isn't right. And he and I both knew it would always feel like a night between us was really a night I had nothing else to do and he had no one else to do - and even in 'friendcest,' you need a little romance.

"So, how're you, then? Any notion of going steady with anyone?"

"Ehhhh... nah. I guess I'm just not concentrating. I know you think I'm horrible, and I guess I am, but it's just so much easier when some bimbo'll just fall into my bed for a night, instead of taking my time to treat someone like a woman."

"Afraid no one can stack up to my capacity for coy repartee?" I simpered, grinning and suddenly pressing my teeth against his throat.

He hissed, and exposed it. "You're a woman and a half and you're more pleasantly capricious than any minx I could slink home with." He gave a pleased little growl as I pushed a hand to his chest to guide him onto his back before I straddled his hips. "Next to you, everyone else is boring."

"But seriously," I said, rolling up his shirt to start kneading his abs with my knuckles and failing, hard, to hide a gloating toss of my hair and a beaming smile. "Kate? Henrietta? Xian? Shivanni? Shivanni's hot as hell."

"Yeah and... mmmmmmrmrrrrmmm... is engaged."

"Just 'cuz someone own the house ain't mean you can't move in," I quipped. My nana was awesome.

"Your nana was a home-wrecker."

"And good at it." I spread my palms heavily up the thin layer of fur on his chest, rewarded by his groans of pleasure, and continued. "Henrietta? She's in your field."

"As ballsy and badass as woman mechanics are, there are limits. The last time I tried to ask her out, she was making out with Georgia."

"Aren't you into that?"

He rolled his eyes with a wanderlust sigh. "That's why I chose that moment, but, y'know, even though I'd never been pistol-whipped by a dildo before that night, I get the feeling it means 'no.'"

I laughed and bounced on his hips to tempo as I quoted a song, "'Even the most hard-core dykes like cock. Shaped. Sex. Toooooyyys!'"

"Seriously. It explains why they were in the back of Nat and Nancer's, though."

For a moment, we both just... paused. "...ew."

"I showered twice when I got home that night."

"Thank God. Sucks, though. You'll find someone when you're ready, yada yada."

"Yeah, you, too. Two, if you have to." He winked at me and I giggled wistfully. Again, we fell into a short silence. He rumbled softly now and then as I applied my journeyman's knowledge of massage to his pleasantly-sculpted torso and shoulders, his eyes closed. We'd learned long ago that these were all equivalent exchanges: he got to fondle my perfect rear end and cuddle what amounted to a living teddy bear in exchange for my getting a pretty fantastic spooning experience, and I got to explore his remarkable physique in exchange for his getting a quality massage. At the end of the day, we both felt wanted, and honestly, on the level of friendship, what else do you need?

Eventually, I slid my way down onto him and he draped his arms across my back, sighing hugely over my head while his fingers set about coaxing little moans of pleasure out of me and mine did the same along his neck. I could feel his half erection against my own - again, jeans don't hide much at that close proximity - but more importantly, I could listen to his heartbeat and the flow of air through his lungs, and I could feel the warmth of his body and his breath. We spent long, wonderful minutes like that, now and then exchanging a few lines about work or friends. It never lasted long enough, but it always lasted as long as it needed to, before eventually one of us whacked the other into attempting to be productive for the rest of the day. You need a reprieve, now and then, and this... this was written for that.