Chapter 12The morning brought icicle-thin sunbeams and crisp air, along with a knock at the bedroom door. Arthur, who had not ever slept in a bed—much less a sort of metaphorical proving-one’s-worth mountain—with someone else, woke with Alan’s head on his shoulder and golden hair tickling his mouth.
That was new. This was all new. He lay without moving, and simply felt the immensity of it, for a moment. Heaped-up mattresses. Smooth sheets. Naked skin. Alan’s weight against him. The thrill of early-morning desire and sleepy pleasure.
He could do this again. He could do this forever. He wanted this.
The knock bounced off the door a second time.
Alan was still asleep, doing a very good impression of a solid and beautiful anchor. Arthur couldn’t bear to wake him, but was starting to wonder
