Page 53 of Try Line Hearts
He didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare shift. Even blinking felt dangerous.
Eli’s breathing stayed slow for a few seconds longer—a soft, sleep-warm rhythm against Lucas’s arm.
Then, with the unthinking entitlement of someone absolutely comfortable in another person’s space, he gave a tiny, drowsy roll of his hips backwards.
It was nothing, objectively. A lazy little grind, just him resettling.
It felt like being struck by lightning.
Pressure slid along Lucas’s length, teased by the give of Eli’s body and the drag of fabric. Heat exploded up his spine. His fingers spasmed on Eli’s waist, gripping his T-shirt before he forced them to relax.
Eli hummed in his sleep—quiet, pleased.
And did it again.
Another slow, unconscious push back, the kind people made when their body found something that felt good and, for one unguarded moment, chased it. His arse rocked gently into Lucas’s lap, once, twice, thighs tightening.
Lucas’s eyes slammed shut. His heart thundered in his throat. Every bit of discipline he’d ever developed condensed into one frantic thought: don’t move.
Eli’s breathing hitched.
Awareness arrived all at once. Lucas felt it in the way Eli’s spine straightened, the way the muscles under Lucas’s arm went still. One heartbeat of stunned, frozen quiet, like they were both waiting to see which of them would detonate first.
Then Eli drew in a careful breath.
“Fuck,” he said softly—very awake now. “Sorry. That’s… definitely my fault.”
His voice was low and rough with sleep, apology threaded through it, but there was no flinch. No recoil. No disgust. Just a rueful exhale and a hand flattening briefly over Lucas’s forearm in something that felt suspiciously like reassurance.
Lucas tried to speak. What came out was a strangled, “It’s—”
“Hey,” Eli cut in gently. “It’s fine. Morning happens.”
He eased forward, out of Lucas’s arms, slow and deliberate, giving him time to adjust himself or flee or die of shame—dealer’s choice. The duvet slipped with him, still covering his hips as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
It didn’t hide much.
The tent in his briefs was obvious. Painfully obvious.
Eli grabbed the nearest towel off the chair, holding it haphazardly in front of himself as he stood.
“Gonna, uh—shower,” he muttered, voice scratchy from sleep.
Lucas didn’t trust himself to answer.
Eli paused at the bathroom door, hand on the frame, head tilted slightly as if he were about to say something else.
He didn’t.
He just looked back—briefly, with an expression Lucas couldn’t decode.
Heat. A little embarrassment. A thread of something else that made Lucas’s breath catch hard in his chest.
Then Eli disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Water started running moments later.
Lucas let out a slow, shaky breath and covered his face with both hands.
