Break Up Cuddle

It was getting late and hella fun. I've downed more than 10 pitchers of sangria with friends, and I was getting really, really noisy and rowdy. I was about to take another sip from my wine glass when my phone flashed a new message.

"Hey, Ryan. Are you still using this number?" It was from Jon, one of the few who was not able to join us that night. He had dinner with another set of friends in Ortigas, and driving to Greenbelt felt inconvenient.

"Yes, I am. Hello. :-)"

My simple response led from one thing to another. He wanted to check on me as I just broke up with Karl that afternoon, and was curious if I was downing pitchers of alcohol to drown the pain away.

"You must be in stitches now. Hugs, Ryan. Tagal niyo rin, ha."

Another beep, and then: "You can sleep over here if you like. Yun nga lang, wala akong extra bed."

Next thing I knew, I was on his passenger seat. He picked me up in Shaw. As we were driving through the outskirts of the Ortigas Business District, I could feel the mutual understanding that no one should know we were together. I told the gang I would go straight home when we parted.

He pulled in front of an old house. We silently tiptoed our way in so as not to awaken his housemates. Moments later, he was showing me his room.

"Masikip ang bed. You need that," he said with a smile.

He took his side of the bed as I fixed myself before sleep. The moment my body touched the mattress, he grabbed me from behind, locked my legs in his, and placed his head against the back of my neck.

"You had so much to drink," he said after a sniff. "What did you have?"

"Sangria, as always." I loved how his warm breath lightly tickles the hairs on my nape.

"How many pitchers?" I could feel his lips brushing on my ears.

"You ask difficult questions, Jon," I said sleepily. "We don't count. We just drink and stay merry all night."

But sleep was not as merry as the night out with the other boys. We slept light, waking up from time to time, becoming too conscious of how our skins touched and the boners that teased in moonlight. Conversations would punctuate the stillness of the night, while feigning ignorance of the throbbing mass that rubbed against each other as we interlocked into a tight, face-to-face embrace.

"God, Ryan," Jon muttered. "Just how much did you drink? I can still smell the wine."

Oh. He was sniffing me again.

The skin contact continued. In some moments his lips stayed too close to mine that I thought they would touch. Other times, I could feel something hard against my behind. We would talk about Karl, fall asleep, our breakup, fall asleep, the sex, fall asleep. We would later switch the discussion to the men he dated, years younger than him, the sex, the entire experience. It was a never-ending cycle until the sun was high up and it was time to leave.

We got up and dressed, not bothering that we see more of what we would normally conceal to others. After all, the last time we slept beside each other, we fucked hard. Really, really hard.