Something in the Dark

The room was dark, but we weren’t sleeping.

Not in the dream.

Matt was on his side, facing me. His hand was already at my waist, fingers curled lightly in the hem of my shirt like he’d been holding on all night. His voice was low — the kind of whisper you feel more than hear, right up against the shell of your ear.

“You can relax,” he said, his breath warm on my neck. “It’s just me.”

Like that explained everything. Like it was the most natural thing in the world to be this close

.

There wasn’t any rush. No sudden kiss, no awkward fumbling. Just heat — slow and certain — blooming between us in the quiet. His thumb moved in soft circles just beneath the fabric, his knee brushing mine under the covers.

I didn’t pull away.

I didn’t want to.

He leaned in closer, his nose brushing my cheek. My eyes fluttered closed.

“You want this too, right?” he asked, voice barely a thread.

I nodded.

I think I nodded.

And then I leaned in.

But just before our lips met—before I could feel the press of him, the weight of what that would mean—the moment cracked.

Like thin ice underfoot.

I woke with a sharp inhale, heart pounding against my ribs like it was trying to outrun me.

The room was still dark, early morning grey filtering through the blinds. The heater hummed low in the corner. The pillow was damp at the edge where my cheek had pressed too hard against it.

And Matt was still there. Asleep.

His back was to me now, the blanket kicked down to his waist. One arm sprawled over his side of the bed, fingers relaxed, chest rising slow and steady.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to get my breathing under control.

My skin was hot. Too hot. My body still humming from a touch that hadn’t happened. I shifted slightly, careful not to move too much — careful not to wake him.

Because even in the quiet, my body hadn’t caught up to the lie.

I was hard.

And I didn’t know if it was because of the dream, or because I’d finally let myself feel what I’d been holding back for way too long.

I kept my eyes on the ceiling, willing myself to settle. To cool off. To forget.

But the air felt thicker than it had before — like the room had shrunk, like every inch between us had been pulled tight, stretched over something fragile.

Behind me, Matt shifted.

Not much. Just a little.

But it was enough.

His breathing changed. Shallower. Awake.

I didn’t move.

Maybe if I stayed still, he’d drift off again. Maybe he hadn’t noticed anything.

Then, quietly, from behind me—

“You okay?”

His voice was gravel, soft and slurred like it hadn’t fully woken up. But it wasn’t groggy. It was pointed.

I swallowed hard. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

A pause.

Then the mattress dipped behind me as he moved. I could feel him closer now. Not touching, but near enough that I could sense the weight of his gaze at my back.

“You were breathing kinda heavy,” he said.

I felt the heat rise in my face. “Just a weird dream.”

Another pause. This one longer.

“Yeah?” he asked. “What kind of weird?”

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

I was sure he could hear my heart pounding from his side of the bed. It felt loud in my chest, like a warning bell. Or maybe an invitation.

He didn’t press.

Instead, I heard him shift again — back to his side of the bed. The blankets rustled. A sigh, deep and slow.

And then, just as I thought he’d dropped it:

“Was I in it?”

I froze.

He said it like a joke. Like it didn’t matter. But his voice was too careful. Too low.

I couldn’t bring myself to answer.

Didn’t trust what might come out if I tried.

I heard the faintest sound — not quite a laugh. More like breath catching in his throat.

Then he said, “You kicked the blanket off. Figured it had to be intense.”

And just like that, the moment folded back in on itself — ambiguous, teasing, safe.

Except I didn’t feel safe.

I felt seen.

And maybe… maybe that was worse.

He didn’t say anything for a minute. Just let it hang there — the joke that wasn’t really a joke, the question that wasn’t really casual.

I kept my eyes on the ceiling, pretending I didn’t hear it. Pretending I was cool. Chill. Unbothered.

I wasn’t.

I could feel the heat crawling up my neck, settling under my skin like static. My body still hadn’t calmed down from the dream. From the sound of his voice in it. From the way he touched me like it meant something.

He moved again, slower this time. The mattress shifted under his weight, the sheets tightening across my chest. Then I felt it — his knee brushing the back of mine.

Not a hard nudge. Not some accidental toss in his sleep.

Just… there.

Intentional.

“You’re quiet,” he said, softer now. “That dream mess you up or something?”

I laughed. Too quickly. “Not really.”

“Then what’s with the tension, dude? You’re stiff as hell.”

“Maybe because you’re narrating my REM cycle.”

I meant for it to sound snappy. Light. But it came out breathless.

And he noticed.

Because the next thing he said — the way he said it — wasn’t teasing anymore.

“It was about me, wasn’t it?”

Silence.

Heavy. Still.

I could feel him behind me now — the heat of his body close, the air between us charged like a storm was coming.

I wanted to lie. I wanted to say something dismissive. Turn over. Laugh it off.

But the truth was stuck in my throat, thick and raw and real.

He leaned in, voice barely a whisper behind my ear.

“I don’t care if it was.”

I turned my head, just enough to see his outline in the dark. The shape of him. His eyes.

He was serious.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My whole body was too loud.

Then his hand — careful, steady — touched my wrist. Just a brush of fingers.

“You don’t have to be weird about it,” he said. “We’ve known each other forever. You can tell me stuff.”

I looked at him then, really looked. And for a second, the rest of it fell away — the confusion, the fear, the need to protect whatever fragile version of this friendship we were still pretending hadn’t shifted.

I didn’t tell him the dream.

But I didn’t deny it either.

And that felt like something.

After lying there for a moment, when he finally pushed back the covers, he scrubbed a hand over his face and said, “Think I sweat in my sleep. Gonna hop in the shower real quick.”

“Yeah, go for it,” I said, keeping my voice easy.

He swung his legs off the bed, grabbing a towel from the chair on his way to the bathroom. I stayed where I was — half because I wasn’t ready to face him in the full light yet, and half because I knew the mirror on the wall gave me just enough of an angle.

The curtain slid open. Steam drifted out first, then his arm, then the sharp line of his shoulder as he reached for the towel. He ran it over his hair, down his neck, slow and absentminded, like there was no rush to get warm.

I kept my breathing even.

The towel moved lower — over his chest, his stomach. He was turned just enough that every swipe made my pulse jump. And then, instead of wrapping it around his waist like anyone else would, he tossed it aside without looking.

Naked. Unbothered.

He stood there in the fogged light, shifting his weight to one leg. I caught glimpses between curls of steam — the curve of his hip, the dark hair at the base, the way his cock hung thick and heavy, relaxed but far from unimpressive. Each time the air cleared just enough, my eyes flicked there, greedy before I could stop them.

And then — just for a second — he glanced in the mirror. Not long enough to call it staring, but enough that I felt the heat crawl up my neck. His mouth twitched like he’d almost smiled, then he turned away, grabbing clean clothes from the counter.

My own cock twitched against the sheets. I pressed my thighs together, forcing myself to look at the ceiling, but the damage was done. That slow reveal — and the possibility that he’d caught me — was already carved into me. Every thick, heavy inch of him now lived in my head, aching in my body, a heat I knew I’d be carrying for the rest of the day.

By the time we walked into the kitchen, the smell of eggs and burnt toast had already filled the cabin.

Trini was standing in front of the stove, her hair in a messy topknot, holding a spatula like it owed her money. Danny was sitting at the breakfast bar scrolling through his phone with the kind of grim concentration normally reserved for emergency alerts or fantasy football injuries.

Matt grabbed a mug off the counter like he owned the place and poured himself some coffee.

“You’re welcome,” Trini said, nodding at the full pot.

“I didn’t say thank you yet.”

“You weren’t going to.”

He grinned. “True.”

I kept my eyes on the French press, poured my own coffee, and tried to forget the way Matt’s breath had felt on my neck fifteen minutes ago.

“Sleep well?” Trini asked, turning toward us, one eyebrow arched.

Matt looked at me, then back at her. “Like a rock. Tyler talks in his sleep though.”

I didn’t look up. “Do not.”

“Something about a very persuasive snowman.”

Trini smirked. “Knew it. He always had a thing for Frosty.”

Danny cleared his throat. “Well… turns out we’ve got a little change of plans.”

We all turned to him.

“Lifts are closed till at least noon,” he said, holding out his phone. “High wind warning. Some kind of maintenance too. They’ll update again around eleven.”

“Seriously?” Matt groaned. “We got all this gear on for nothing?”

“You could take it off,” Trini said. “Or, I don’t know, enjoy a leisurely breakfast like a human.”

Matt looked at me. “What do you think? Back to the room for a bit?”

My mouth opened, then closed. Because I couldn’t think of a single reason to say no.

“Yeah,” I said. “Sure.”

He clapped Danny on the shoulder and grabbed an extra slice of toast on the way out. “Wake us when the mountain apologizes.”

⸻

The hallway was quieter than I remembered. Or maybe it just felt that way because my heart was too loud in my chest.

Back in the room, Matt dropped his gloves and hat on the dresser, and pulled off his hoodie in one fluid motion.

I pulled off my own gloves and hat and tried to keep my hands steady.

And tried not to think about what would happen if he said the dream hadn’t bothered him because he’d had one too.

The room was colder than I expected when we came back — the kind of cold that sinks under your clothes and stays there.

Matt rubbed his arms. “Guess the heat kicked off.”

“Or Danny turned it down to ‘Arctic Survival Mode.’”

He flopped onto the bed anyway, burrowing under the covers with no hesitation. “We’ve got time. Power nap?”

I hovered near the edge of the bed, half-undressed, half-undecided.

“Come on,” he said, voice muffled by the pillow. “What else are we gonna do, talk about our feelings?”

That made me laugh, which broke the last of my hesitation.

I climbed in beside him — no hesitation in the motion, but maybe too much in the breath I took afterward.

The mattress dipped in the middle, same as it always did, pulling us into that soft valley between too-close and just-close-enough.

Our legs touched. Calf to calf.

Just that.

But the cold made it feel… necessary.

Instinctual.

Neither of us said a word. We didn’t need to.

I shifted slightly, pulling the blanket higher. He adjusted too — shoulder brushing mine as we settled into parallel stillness. A breath passed. Then another.

And that’s when my mind betrayed me — flashing back to the bathroom.

The steam curling around him, the towel hitting the counter, the way he didn’t even glance down before standing there naked like it was nothing. The thick weight of him hanging heavy, relaxed but impossible to ignore. The kind of thing that made my mouth dry and my cock hard in a single heartbeat. I’d stolen more than one look, but now, lying here with him inches away, I couldn’t stop replaying it.

My hand drifted lower under the blanket. Just a small shift at first — a palm against my thigh, a slow press upward. I told myself it was subtle enough not to notice. Just adjusting. Just… there. But soon my fingers brushed the outline straining against my briefs—I was rock hard, and the heat in my chest dropped lower, pooling heavy between my legs.

I risked a glance sideways.

And froze.

Matt’s eyes were already on me.

Not on my face. Not at first. They flicked up only when I caught him, and in that second I realized — his hand was under the blanket too. His shoulder moved slow, rhythmic, in time with a tension I could suddenly feel radiating from him.

Neither of us said anything.

We just kept looking.

My breathing quickened, matching his, the silence between us tightening until it felt like one wrong move would snap it.

Under the covers, my hand curled around myself fully now, and I saw the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth — not a smile, not exactly. More like he knew exactly where this was going, and neither of us was going to stop it.

I didn’t move away.

And neither did he.

TO BE CONTINUED…