"Gimme your keys. I'll go get it," I offer.
She shakes her head. "Nah. That's okay, I'll get by without them. Can you get the light?" she asks.
I'm gonna miss this. Our friendship. The familiarity. She's always been here. With me. We do everything together. Since we were kids every time we've spent the night under the same roof, we had to sleep in the same room together. Whether it was in my room, or in the living room on the sofa, or more recently here in the guest room the past couple of weeks. Always together. Hell, I don't know how I'm gonna fall asleep without her in my arms after tonight.
I flip the light off and take off my shorts and T-shirt. I always sleep in my underwear, but I always wait until the light is off to strip down to them, which is weird because in the morning I'll climb out of bed and she'll see me. Nighttime is always more intimate though. The darkness brings with it a certain longing, and damn, I've loved this girl forever. She doesn't know that though.
I slide into the left side of the bed, because she always sleeps on the right. With the moonlight filtering in through the blinds, I can just make out her silhouette as she slips her shorts down her legs. It's a quick movement, but it's playing out in slow motion for me. When they drop to her ankles I feel the familiar tug of arousal stirring. My gaze is trained on her as her hands disappear behind her back and she slides each bra strap down her arms from under her tank top. With straps free, she reaches up under her tank top and magically her bra appears in her hand. Dropping it on top of her duffle bag with her shorts, she walks toward the bed. With the moonlight on her, I can see her little pink cotton panties. Whoever said cotton panties aren't sexy hasn't seen Bright Side in a pair of them. Shit. I may be in trouble. Full-on boner is taking shape and I've got nowhere to hide. Then I peek at her tank top. It's pale yellow and thin from frequent washings. She's had it for years. Her nipples, dark and so beautiful, strain against the worn material. Closing my eyes, I quietly take a few deep, calming breaths. I'm talking to myself inside my head, "Get your shit together, dude. It's Bright Side. You've seen her in a bikini a million times." But goddamn this is different, so I add, "She doesn't know you can see her, perv. Stop gawking," and then, because my dick is doing most of my thinking for me at the moment, I add, "at her gorgeous fucking body."
As soon as she's under the covers, she scoots over to my side and presses up against me searching for warmth. The cool sheets make her shiver, like they always do, as she drapes her arm across my chest and rests her head on my shoulder. I wrap my arm that's under her around her back and rest my hand on her hip, and when I do, all is right in the world.
Her voice is only a whisper when she speaks. It's quiet, but it tears open the night. "I'm gonna miss you, dude. So much."
Kissing her forehead, I whisper back, "Me too. You have no idea."
"You'll have to buy one of those ginormous pillows or an inflatable doll to snuggle when I'm gone."
I laugh, because of course she would make a joke right now. "Think I can find one that talks and farts in its sleep, just, you know, so it's a realistic stand-in for you?"
She slaps my stomach, but she's laughing. "Shut. Up. I do not. Gracie would've told me."
The logic behind her denial makes me laugh even harder and I confess, "You don't. I was kidding."
With a contented smile playing at her lips, she rolls over to her other side and I follow suit. The beast in my underwear has calmed down, so I pull her into me and spoon her. This is how we always fall asleep. She feels so good in my arms that I would swear God made her just for me. Pressing my forehead against the back of her head, I can't help but feel melancholy. And then it hits me again. She's leaving. Bright Side is leaving. When I kiss the back of her head it feels eerily final. It's intuition; that my heart quickly pushes aside. "I love you, Bright Side."
She rubs her hand over the back of my hand that's pressed against her stomach. It's a loving gesture. Just like everything else she does. "I love you, too, Gus." Bright Side has always known how to make people feel loved. She's so damn good at it.
When her hand stills, I realize that her tank top has shifted up slightly and my pinkie and ring finger are resting against her bare skin, just above the top edge of her panties. I've touched her skin a million times. But not like this.
And dammit, the tug starts in my groin again. It's a rapid ache and it's building fast. To avoid embarrassment and further stimulation, I slide my hips back so I'm not pressed up against her. But I can't help myself and my hand starts moving. It's a bold, but subtle, selfish, but giving gesture meant to sooth us both. Every ounce of concentration I have is laser-focused on that one-inch strip of Bright Side. My fingertips float over her skin, savoring it. She's so soft. After I stroke back and forth a few times, I realize she feels tense in my arms, so I stop. "Sorry," I whisper. But when I lift my hand, she takes it and guides me back, offering permission. Without a moment's thought, I take it. This time I sneak under the hem of her shirt so that my entire hand, fingers and palm, are touching her. Light as a ghost, gliding over her skin but increasing incrementally, driven by spontaneous purpose, until my fingers are spread out in an act of tactile adoration and satisfaction. We're both breathing more heavily now. And though she's relaxed somewhat in my arms, I can feel each inhalation reach her belly. Each breath is slow and measured. Bright Side is only slow and measured when she's concentrating on something.
When I drag my hand across her belly again my thumb traces the underside of her breast. Her breath stutters and my dick hardens instantly. I know she feels it, the tip has breached the waistband and it's straining painfully against the elastic restraint. At the same time I pull my groin back farther, she reaches back over my hip and pulls me into her.
I can't help the deep groan that rushes out of my mouth when I'm pressed up against her ass. It's relief paired with physical stimulation, a need both being met and intensified simultaneously. I feel her sigh under my hand. She's with me. Then, because it feels so damn good, I roll my hips a few times. Jesus Christ, I must've died and gone to heaven.
And I never want to leave.
Her hand slides back until she's palming my ass cheek. My hips are engaged, slow and wanting, grinding against her. When she lifts her tank top over her breasts and directs my hand to her, I don't hesitate. I take her in my hand and stroke her gently before plucking her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. It hardens under my touch and she moans.