Page 1 of Lifeline

1

AIDAN

Warmth.

The kind that made it impossible to think, or at least, think too hard. Well, it wasn’t that I couldn’t think. I just didn’t want to.

“Hey,” he muttered, and his hands slid through my hair, cupping the back of my neck. “You’re not sleeping, nice try.”

“You don’t know that,” I muttered into his stomach. I was, after all, technically facing away from him, and I hadn’t moved for several minutes.

“I do.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You weren’t snoring loud enough to wake the dead; ergo, you weren’t sleeping.”

“Fuck off,” I muttered against his skin.

“Don’t think I’ll be doing that,” he said with a laugh that shook me. I always loved how he laughed; it was as if he was trying to hold it in, and yet every time, he failed miserably. It made me feel special, like he wasn’t able to control himself around me.

Dignity and self-control were ruined the moment I pressed my mouth against his stomach and blew hard, making him squeal as it tickled him. With a snicker from the depths of my evil soul, I blew even harder, latching my mouth onto his side and making him flail and shove me.

“Quit!” he protested with a gasp, slapping the back of my head, his desperation growing.

I knew I was pushing my luck, but I couldn’t help but give his sides another blow and then dig my finger up under his ribs. Carefully, of course, I didn’t want to hurt him, but I wanted to torture him.

It was overkill, and I should have known it. I suppose I did, which is why I wasn’t surprised when his attempts to push me off turned wild. The result was his ‘push’ was more like a slap to the side of my head and sent me tumbling with a cry of surprise, followed by a laugh. It hurt, but I knew damn well he hadn’t meant it, and even if he had, I had earned a good slap anyway.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not,” he grumbled, and I laughed again, making him swat me, and I pounced on him. “Get off me.”

“Nope,” I told him brightly, laughing again when I kissed him and he kept his lips pressed tightly together. “Childish.”

“Says the one who tickled me,” he grumbled.

“You’re just mad because you can’t return the favor.”

“It is a cruel joke that the universe gave someone like me someone like you.”

“Oh, you mean, why do you, a headstrong, stubborn, irritating, overly precise pain in the ass, get to have someone like me, a wonderful, delightfully funny, caring, loving person, as your boyfriend?”

“No, the fact that you can’t be tickled is criminal when I’m overly sensitive,” he said with a frown.

“Maybe,” I said and smiled into the next kiss, feeling his stubborn refusal to part his lips ease a little. “I love you, though. You know that, right?”

“You love torturing me,” he said, but I could see the glint of humor in his eyes.

“Say it,” I prompted, poking his cheek.

“I love you, happy?” he asked, but he was smiling because I knew how much he loved saying those words to me, almost as much as he enjoyed hearing them from me.

“I am happy,” I said, nuzzling into his neck and breathing deep. “Very happy.”

“Me too,” he said, his arm wrapping around my shoulders and squeezing.

Happy enough that it felt illegal. It felt…doomed. Then again, a sense of foreboding when you were feeling amazing was probably about as normal as it was useless. There might be an end to the happiness; there might be a time when I thought back to that moment and felt only pain.

But it wasn’t that time, and it wasn’t a time that was guaranteed either.