Stargazing - proof that my karma points are still in the black

Captain Starlight is curled on the bed like a big cat, at rest, the honed muscle and sinew a still tension under his skin, drowsing in the cool morning light filtering through the blinds. I run my hand down his hip, and it's like stroking a sculpture. Without opening his eyes, he gives me a small, sweet half-smile.

I have to go, I say. It's the fifth time I'm saying that.
Not yet, he says. Come have a little snooze with me. Snuggle with me.
Nooooo, I say, wanting to be persuaded but knowing I shouldn't be. I'm already late. I was supposed to have left half an hour ago.
Ssshh, he says, and in a quick movement, somehow manages to scoop me up and curl me up so I'm almost upside-down, head dangling off his back, legs dangling off the side of the bed.
This isn't snuggling! I squeak, squirming to right myself like a turtle on its back.
Oh, you're right. Sorry, he says, and instead of putting me in a or comfortable position, moves his head about two inches closer to mine. There, he says, and heaves a big sigh of contentment. I start turning red from being upside down.

I am an hour late for work.

It is hard to concentrate and remember that I can only afford an hour when I show up and he answers the door without a shirt on. He puts on a shirt, but the way the large muscles of his back bunch and his deltoids flex under the soft cotton is utterly distracting. I try to resist the urge to poke him. It seems a little rude to go around prodding people you've technically only known for two weeks. But I can't help myself. That is why I am there instead of studiously navigating the tricky waters of oncology.

Want to watch a movie? he said.
Can't. I’ve got an hour, I tell him in an attempt to resist temptation.
One hour! That’s all you've given yourself? He's visibly dismayed. Okay, want to watch half a movie?
Nah. I've got… I check my watch .. less than an hour now.
Why didn't you bring your books and study here? I could have done my own thing and tidied up and unpacked.
No, that wouldn't have worked.
Why not? he says, genuinely puzzled. I would have left you alone.
Yes, but I would have followed you around like a puppy, trying to take your clothes off.
And he gives me that smile, the one that I suspect would have gotten him out of all sorts of trouble in his younger days.

I leave an hour later than I intended, He stands in the doorway shirtless, framed like a goddamned Playgirl centrefold brought to life, deliberately giving me big wistful eyes to guilt me into staying even as I leave reluctantly so I can read up on cruciate disease.

Argh.