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“What are you hungry for?” I ask, because the best I can do right now is show him I love him.
“Surprise me.”
“Is there anything youdon’tlike?” I tease. Whenever I ask him what he wants me to make, it’s always the same answer.
“Meatloaf.” He responds, immediately.
“Noted. Have a seat, I’ll make something quick.”
If I could have nothing but a lifetime of nights like this, I would die happy. We chat, idly, while I put together a meal. I wonder if across town Troy is down on one knee. As I look up at Nigel, I let the dream cement itself in my mind. That could be us, one day, if we came out to the team. If we stopped hiding, and let the world catch up. What would three queer players do for the league?
“What are you thinking about?” Nigel asks, bringing me back to the present.
“Troy. He’s remained under the radar, but that won’t be possible if he marries Sam.Whenhe marries Sam.” I correct.
“He’s going to become the poster boy for gay hockey players, whether he wants to be or not.” Nigel agrees. “But I have a feeling that one out player is going to change a lot of things.”
“Snowball effect.”
“Exactly. It still blows my mind that I’d never even heard rumors about him being gay.” He shakes his head, incredulously.
“We’re a close crew, and as for everyone else on staff, Mr. Frank keeps the gossip under control. I doubt he’d be happy if the world knew his team’s star player is gay.” I share a wry look with Nigel. “I’m more surprised that nobody Troy played with in juniors has spilled the beans. He’s never exactly hidden who he is.”
“Well, we’ll be here to back him up, no matter what the fallout is.” Nigel says, firmly, folding his arms and leaning forward on the island.
“Are you going to be my date to the wedding?” I ask, jokingly, though the words are anything but a joke.
“Yes.” He says, brown eyes warm with love and affection. “I certainly am.”
We fall into bed that night, kissing lazily. We didn’t bother with the light, so the room is dark and we are operating on touch alone. Nigel is below me, long fingers in my hair as he tilts my head to the side to kiss the underside of my jaw. When his lips find mine again, it’s with languid care that he kisses me, tongue brushing mine. Gently, after sliding one arm down to my waist and cradling my head with the other hand, Nigel flips us so that my back is on the mattress.
He doesn’t travel downwards, like he often does, kissing every inch of exposed skin like he’s trying to memorize the way I feel against his mouth. Tonight, he stays, breath coasting over my face as he peppers my cheekbones with minute kisses. The room is silent, but for the sound of our breathing; he doesn’t ask if I’m okay, no longer needing verbal confirmation for something he can feel through his fingertips, as they coast down over my chest.
His face is tucked into the crook of my neck when he slides the first cool, lubed finger inside me. Eyes closing, I let out a deep exhale and relax. He goes slow, first one and then two fingers pressed inside, curling slowly to brush gently against my prostate. Minutes pass before he adds a third, fingers passing in and out of me in unhurried strokes. His mouth trails over my collarbone; hooking a thumb under Nigel’s jaw, I direct him back to where I can reach him. He tastes so familiar to me at this point, I wonder how I could have gone so long without it.
He has to pull away to slip on a condom, but it’s not long before his warm, heavy body lowers back to mine. I run my hands up his forearms and biceps, cupping his shoulders. Nigel enters me with one smooth slide, bottoming out on the first stroke. He remains still, both of us panting quietly as we adjust. When he begins rolling his hips, I moan deep in my throat, Nigel catching the sound as his mouth meets mine once more.
In direct contrast to the lazy way he’s making love to me, both of us are breathing hard and dotted with perspiration. He’s murmuring in French, the words musical and seductive when spoken in a dark room over bare skin, regardless of what he’s actually saying. When I begin to rock my hips upward to meet his, he groans so deeply in his chest that I can feel it where my fingers are splayed over his back.
The tingling in my feet has reached its peak, and I can feel my release building in the base of my spine. Nigel’s smooth motion hasn’t changed, though his breathing has become erratic and his kisses deeper. The only word I’m able to speak is his name, whispered into the space between our mouths. Every time I do, he moans and kisses me harder, like the sound of his name on my tongue is going to send him over the edge.
When we eventually come, we do it together. Neither of us stop moving, hips still in sync as our bodies blindly continue to rock against one another. When he slows, Nigel’s chest is stuttering with the effort of evening his breathing; my cum is sticky between us, but when he tucks his face back into my neck and rests on top of me, I decide I don’t really care about the mess. Cupping a hand over the nape of his neck, I hold him to me, cognizant of little else beyond how much I adore him.
Neither of us speak for a few minutes, content to bask in the post-sex haze. Eventually, he pushes back up onto his elbows and kisses the corner of my mouth before climbing off the bed to dispose of the condom in the bathroom. He’s turned on the bathroom light, leaving the door open, so I turn my head on the mattress and watch the doorway—greedy for a glimpse of him. When he comes back into the room with a washcloth, the sight of all that olive skin dappled in shadows nearly has me ready to go for round two.
“I can do that.” I offer, when he kneels beside me and wipes the cloth gingerly across my abdomen. I reach for it, but he holds me back with his other hand, fingers wrapped around my wrist.
“Non, mon amour, laisse-moi.”
I settle back down, able to understand this without his assistance. Arm behind my head, I prop my face up so I can see him better. When he finishes cleaning my stomach, he leans down and kisses it, sending shivers skittering across my belly. Instead of tossing the washcloth onto the bathroom floor, he gets up and puts it in the laundry hamper, shutting off the bathroom light as he does and plunging the room back into darkness. He pads back across the room softly, climbing over me to get to his side of the bed.
“Don’t go far.” I whisper, before he can get settled. Turning on my side to face him, he lays down close enough that I can sling an arm over his waist and feel his breath on my cheek.
“Do you want to get dressed?” Nigel asks, fingertips coasting over the side of my bare upper thigh and hip.
“I’m alright.” And surprisingly, I am. I inch closer. “But you’ll have to keep me warm.”
He huffs a soft laugh, sliding his face closer to mine on the pillow. His fingers are still tracing over my side, the touch featherlight. Eventually, he wraps the arm more firmly around me, and drifts off. I stay awake for longer, listening to the cadence of his breathing as it shallows.
