The One That Got Away by Madeleine Urban, Rhianne Aile

help but chuckle. “You are such a slug-a-bed,” he teased, attacking Trace’s side with his fingers. “Half the day is gone.”
    Trace squawked and flailed, trying to catch David’s hand. “No no no no no!” he practically squealed, handicapped because of David being so close. Oh, now wasn’t that interesting: Trace was ticklish. David grinned, sat up, and crawled on top of the squirming man to renew his attack.
    “Ack! David! Damn!” Trace yelled as he tried to wriggle away, but he was caught under the other man and conscious of David’s shoulder. “I give! I give! Ack!”
    “To the victor go the spoils,” David announced, looking down at the man beneath him, his eyes melting into liquid pools of blue. “Do you concede that I should be able to claim a favor of my choice?”
    “Okay, anything,” Trace said miserably, still shivering. “Just no more tickling, please,” he begged. He gave David a pitiful look from where he was sprawled under him, hair a mess, face still soft from sleep.
    Planting a hand on either side of Trace’s head, David leaned down, careful to support his weight on his good arm. “I don’t know,” he mused, seeming to think it over. “You look good like this.” He let his eyes take a long lingering sweep over Trace’s flushed face and chest. Mouth hovering dangerously close, David pondered claiming a “real” kiss—a kiss Trace would feel clear down to his toes and hopefully other parts of his anatomy.
    No, he decided. Trace wasn’t ready for where David wanted this to go.
    When they went farther, it would be because Trace was so ready he was begging. Just the thought darkened David’s eyes to the color of the ocean on a stormy day.
    Trace studied David’s face, his breathing and pulse calming. David’s weight felt good, he acknowledged. Solid and squared rather than soft and rounded. He decided he liked it. Trace wondered if David was going to kiss him again. Trace wouldn’t mind it. But…. “David?” he said, tone regretful. David’s weight was right on his bladder, and that was a problem.
    “I think I’ll save my boon, but don’t forget you owe me. I’ll never convince the guys to let a welsher come to the poker game tonight.”
    Grinning, David pushed himself off the bed. “I need coffee. Want some?”
    The other man sighed in relief and climbed off the bed as well. “Yes.
    But not before I go to the bathroom.” Trace scooted around David, but turned and hesitated, then impulsively leaned close to drop a light kiss on David’s mouth before continuing on his way, pushing the bathroom door closed behind him. Once inside he let out a long, slow breath and raised a hand to touch his lips.
    Trace found himself lingering in the bathroom—actually just staring in the mirror at his lips, feeling them buzz with warmth. This was so different from raw sexual attraction. He fucked that out every few weekends. But this? He reached slowly for a washcloth and turned on the water, waiting for it to warm. Trace knew he loved David; there was no question about that. They were best friends, and Trace treasured that. But  he wasn’t “in love” with David…. Trace looked up into the mirror with wide eyes.
    Chill bumps rose on David’s skin at Trace’s casual but intimate gesture. He hadn’t had anyone who stayed around any amount of time in his life for years, and he missed moments like this—lingering in bed, making each other breakfast, casual displays of affection that somehow meant so much more than a fast and furious fuck. Forcing his eyes away from the closed door, he turned in search of coffee. His mind was way too fuzzy to be dealing with the intense thoughts running through it. Thoughts like I’m falling in love with my best friend.
    David lost himself in the familiar routine of pulling the coffee beans out of the freezer, the loud whir of the grinder and the hiss of the first drops of coffee hitting the glass pot. Satisfied with the rich aroma filling the