Page 52 of Thin Ice

He wedged a knee between mine, and I took his weight on top of me. All that long muscle bore down on me. I gripped his ass cheeks, pulling him against me until the friction between our cocks was right.

He swore into my mouth and bit my lower lip. I bit back.

Somehow, Elias wedged a hand between us and stroked our cocks together. His was longer and slim like his body, mine thick and rock hard.

"Fuck, Elias—"

"Yeah—it's us, Nolan."

He breathed as if he were running a race as he worked us both in his hand, thumb dragging over my head with each stroke. I opened my eyes to look at his face and watch him come undone.

"There," I said. "Right there, don't—"

He kept us just like that as the orgasm pooled low in my gut and began to climb. I didn't try to stop it.

"Elias, fuck."

He opened his eyes and grinned. That nearly pushed me over the edge. He stroked a little faster, and I came, shooting between us, making our bodies slick.

He was only one stroke behind me. His body seized, and a massive shudder ran through him. Elias pressed his forehead against mine and then feverishly kissed me. I held on tight until he rolled to the side, panting.

As we lay there, a new truth settled into my chest. I loved him. The thought had arrived without permission, and I stared up at the ceiling, hating that it landed as danger instead of joy.

The Cup Final would be over soon, and Elias would return to Minnesota. I'd find out what these nights had meant to him. Did they matter, or were they convenient? Was he just another person who wanted something from a star professional athlete?

I hated myself for thinking that. I kept it inside, smiled, and let him think I was basking in the afterglow.

"Sleep," Elias said into my hair.

***

"Rise and grind, old man." I killed Maddie's voice and lay still for one breath, taking inventory. The hip woke in a surly, but not vicious mood. It was a six on the ten-point pain scale. Beside me, Elias was already awake, scrolling through his phone. We did the floor work on both sides of the bed without talking, his stretching and mine.

We left the Colchester early for morning skate. We were on target to beat Jamie to the arena.

Elias took a different route than he had on any other morning, and I didn't ask. Somebody in an old brick four-flat had hung a bedsheet off the fire escape with the Steamers' wheel painted on it. Underneath, large block letters spelled out: WE'VE WAITED LONG ENOUG.

"They ran out of sheet," Elias said.

"They started too big. Rookie mistake."

We were most of the way downtown when I said, "Take us down through the Landing first."

He glanced over. "We've got time?"

"Sure. We'll land in the middle of the crowd."

I gave the directions, taking us under Eads Bridge and onto Laclede's Landing, where the streets turned to cobblestone. Old brick warehouses stood shoulder-to-shoulder where they had for over a century.

Elias rolled it slow. The tires were loud and uneven under us. The block opened at the bottom, and the river was just there, wide and brown. A working tug pushed a string of barges upstream.

I don't know what I wanted from it. I'd driven past the water many times in the past three and a half years. The morning before Game Five, I wanted to roll past it with Elias in the seat next to me.

"Guys on that tug work twelve-hour days," I said. "Six on, six off, weeks at a time. Hard work."

Elias glanced at me. "Do you like thinking about that?"

"I like that somebody's out there doing it while most of the city's still asleep."