Page 90 of Back Outside Edge

We’re back in our room, after another bout of very intense, very amazing sex, when he finally lets it go.

“So, I’ve been thinking.” Once again, he’s doing his very best to sound casual, and I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious. All the more after his ambush this afternoon.

“Let me guess. You’ve got another series of contracts all drawn up and ready for me to sign?”

“Nope.” He grins at me, though, letting go of the charade now I’ve seen through it. “Just a hope.”

“Ok, what’s that?” He’s so beautiful, standing in the bathroom, fresh out of the shower, eyes all the more striking with his hair dampened.

“Well, you know how you graduate in a few months?”

“Yes.” Is he nervous? He’s looking down, shuffling his feet a bit.

He nibbles at his lip. Oh my God, he is. What is he thinking? “Well, I was thinking.”

“So you said.” He raises his eyes and flips me off, so I grin back at him. Mission accomplished. “Come on, out with it already.”

“Well, after you graduate, you won’t have a rink anymore, right? Which makes it hard to be, like, a coach.”

“Choreography assistant, I believe, is the title you engineered. Despite the fact that I haven’t talked to a single actual choreographer about this."

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. It’s like a coach.” He’s better, but still nervous. I didn’t manage to tease him back to calm completely.

I take the couple of steps required to be a hair’s breadth away from his body, so close the heat of his shower radiates off of him. He catches his breath, and I smile, soaking in his presence. The smell of the shampoo he never leaves home without now he’s grown his hair out further, the bespoke aftershave a new, queer-friendly line has created with his name on it.

“What were you thinking, baby?” I lower my voice an octave, trying to get under his skin, and when he shivers, I know I’ve succeeded.

His eyes are darkening. After two rounds in the last few hours, he’s already building up another erection. If I’m not careful, I’m going to sex all the energy right out of him.

It’s a good thing we’ve got two days until his short. Well, about one and a half, now.

“Evan.” His voice has changed, too, gained the pleading edge I love so much.

“Tell me.” I wrap my hand in his hair, keeping our mouths a breath apart, holding his head steady when he starts to melt into me. I’m using unfair tactics against him, I know, but it’s so fun.

“You should move in with me,” he breathes. “Use our rink as your home base. Dad wants to add you to the coaching staff. And you can use it for your own clients too. You’ll have to rent it, like anyone else, but that fee is already part of their contracts.”

Stefan’s father still isn’t the biggest fan of our relationship, so that's a surprise. He’s willing to let us work at the same rink, live in the same city, to have me on staff? Yet another boost to my ego. Plus, coaching at one of the premier rinks in the world? It’s so far beyond anything I could have imagined growing up. The longer I know Stefan, the more upside down the world gets.

I reward him with a kiss. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.” It’s a whimper of a response, his mouth trying to chase mine, but I continue to hold him steady, not giving him anything more than I’m ready to. “More than anything.”

“I’ll have to talk to your dad, go over the details and stuff.”

“Ok.” His body is straining toward me, so I take hold of his hip with my spare hand, holding him far enough away that our erections, which are now back to full strength, are millimeters from touching. He could overpower me here, easily, since I’m far from full strength, but he lets my hand control his movement with a sigh.

“Do you really think you’re ready for me to move in with you? We haven’t had much time together in person.” Most of our relationship has been via text and video chat, after all. He’s too busy for anything else, and I’ve been locked in place with physical therapy appointments.

“Yes.” Another whimper, hardly a word; so I give him another kiss.

“Even if you weren’t incredibly turned on right now?”

“Yes.” This time he breathes it, almost a prayer. “I want you in my life. Forever.”

“What are you going to do after this week?” It’s a topic we’ve avoided so far, I think because Stefan doesn’t want to think about it. He's afraid to consider the possibilities of what might happen at these Olympics and what it might mean.

He shakes his head a little, more the hint of a movement than an actual one, since my hand is still firmly holding his hair in place. “I don’t know.”