6. Power Play
POWER PLAY
Maya drove him to the lake, as she needed the truck most of the day.
She spent the whole ride on a hands-free call with someone, talking about the youth center.
It made conversation impossible, which Caleb did not mind.
It was easier without the questions. As far as she was concerned, he was going to skate and practice on the lake.
He would call her for a ride or make his own way home.
So the drive out was quiet except for Maya’s one-sided conversation about projected operating costs and volunteer shortfalls, while Caleb sat in the passenger seat with his skates at his feet and watched the town fall away behind them. At the turnoff, she was still talking.
Here? she mouthed without sound, slowing near the place he usually parked.
Caleb nodded. Maya pulled over. He grabbed his skates from the floor and his stick from the truck bed, stepping into the cold and shutting the door carefully behind him.
She gave him a quick wave through the window, already answering another question from the call, and then the truck pulled away, tires crunching over the packed snow.
Caleb stood there for a moment, listening until the sound of the engine faded.
The lake stretched away beneath the morning sky, silver-white in the winter light.
Smoke drifted from the cabin chimney somewhere beyond the trees.
The pines on the far shore stood dark and still against the snow.
A few weeks ago this road had been a wrong turn.
Now the bend through the trees and the ruts in the snow felt familiar enough that he recognized them before the cabin itself came into view.
He stopped at the edge of the lake and took in the ice, the trees, and the thin line of smoke against a sky that had finally begun to hint at spring.
He tried to dismiss the thought, but it followed him to the cabin.
In a gesture that felt strangely formal in the moment, Caleb knocked on the door. Connor opened the door almost immediately, and Caleb had the distinct impression that he had been listening for the sound.
“Hey,” Connor said.
“Hi.”
Connor stepped outside, already dressed for the cold, skates and stick in hand. The warmth of the cabin drifted with him, carrying the smell of woodsmoke and coffee. With every visit this place felt more like their place.
They worked the crossover drill until Caleb had it clean three times in a row. After that Connor showed him a pivot off the left edge that opened up a different angle of attack, and Caleb worked at it until the cold started finding its way through his gloves.
They talked occasionally, mostly about developing new habits and skills on the ice. Connor adjusted Caleb’s stance once with a hand on his shoulder and demonstrated the movement again. Caleb copied him. The second attempt was better.
When Connor called it, the sun had moved far across the winter sky.
“Let’s head inside,” he said. They skated to shore, pulled off their skates, and carried them up to the cabin. Inside, the stove held only embers. Connor knelt in front of it and fed it another log while Caleb peeled off his jacket and dropped onto the couch.
Watching Connor move around the cabin should not have been as distracting as it was. Caleb sat back and tried very hard to breathe normally.
Connor stood and turned.
Firelight moved across Connor’s face. His shirt was damp from skating and his curls loose where he’d pushed a hand through them. His attention held Caleb still.
Caleb didn’t move either.
“Okay?” Connor asked quietly.
“Okay,” Caleb said.
Connor crossed the room and sat close enough for Caleb to feel his heat. Neither moved at first. Then Connor lifted a hand and touched his face with the same care he brought to things that mattered.
Caleb leaned into it.
The kiss started gently but only for a few seconds.
Connor’s hand slid into his hair. Caleb reached for him without thinking and felt Connor move closer in answer. After that, thinking became much less important. He put his hand on Connor’s chest. Felt his heart. Beating slightly faster than normal.
Connor pulled back. “You tell me if I start deciding for you.”
“I do,” Caleb said.
“I mean it.”
Caleb kept his hand on Connor’s chest, over his heart. “I know you do. You have to trust me. I want this.”
Caleb pushed him back against the couch before Connor could answer.
He climbed into his lap, knees bracketing Connor’s hips, and kissed him hard, tongue sliding against Connor’s.
Connor’s hands settled on his waist, gripping, but Caleb was already tugging at his shirt, pulling it up and off.
He dropped it aside and ran both palms over Connor’s bare chest, learning the breadth of him, the dark hair beneath his hands, and the heat gathering under his skin.
Connor’s breath hitched when Caleb dragged his thumbs across his nipples.
Caleb rocked against the hard line of Connor’s cock through his jeans, deliberate, and Connor’s grip tightened.
He worked Connor’s jeans open, freed his cock, and wrapped a hand around the thick length of him, then stroked him slowly, savouring each small thrust of Connor’s hips as he pressed deeper into Caleb’s fist. He straightened long enough to pull his own shirt over his head and drop it aside, then slid down between Connor’s thighs, knees on the rug, and took Connor’s cock in his mouth.
The now-familiar taste of him carried an intimacy hands and eyes could never match.
Connor’s hips shifted above him, and Caleb stopped thinking about anything else.
He sucked him deep, tongue working the underside, one hand stroking from the base.
Connor’s fingers curled against the edge of the couch cushion, not guiding, just holding on.
His thighs tensed on either side of Caleb’s shoulders.
When Caleb took him deeper and pressed his tongue firm against the sensitive spot beneath the head, Connor’s breath fractured into a low groan.
“Caleb,” Connor said, voice rough. His hips jerked once before he caught himself.
Caleb pulled off, breathing hard, and stripped the rest of his own clothes.
Connor watched him, eyes dark, chest rising fast. Caleb climbed back into his lap, their cocks sliding together, hot and slick.
He wrapped a hand around both of them and stroked, slow at first, then faster.
Connor’s hands moved over his back and down to his ass, holding him close enough that each stroke dragged them together.
Beloved. The word rose in Caleb without warning, old and familiar, yet changed by the heat of this man under him. No judgment or expectation. It came, instead, as recognition, plain and startling. The recognition of pure desire and being desired in return. Pure.
They moved to the rug, the blanket from the couch pulled down beneath them.
Caleb rolled Connor onto his back and straddled him again, kissing his way down Connor’s chest and stomach, feeling the way Connor’s body went taut beneath him.
The careful man was still there, but not in control of everything now.
When Caleb’s mouth reached the line of hair below his navel, Connor caught his jaw gently and drew him back up. “My turn,” he said, voice rough.
Connor turned them again, settling Caleb on his back.
Sliding down, he took Caleb into his mouth, slow and deliberate, one hand stroking his thigh.
Caleb’s hips lifted, a groan tearing out of him.
Connor worked him patiently, tongue and lips and the faint scrape of beard against sensitive skin.
Caleb braced one palm against the blanket, fingers pressing into the weave of the rug beneath as pleasure built.
When Connor lifted and reached for the lube, Caleb took it from him. Connor watched as Caleb slicked his own fingers, then reached back to open himself while still stroking Connor’s cock. Connor was transfixed, eyes dark, one hand anchored on Caleb’s thigh.
“You good?” Connor asked, voice thin with restraint.
Caleb nodded, eyes on him.
Connor reached for the condom, but Caleb took that too.
His hands shook slightly, and Connor watched him with the same dark, undone attention as Caleb rolled it on him.
Then Caleb positioned himself above Connor and eased down onto his cock.
The stretch pulled a groan from both of them.
He settled there, breathing until his body adjusted.
And then he moved, rolling his hips and finding the angle that made his own pleasure spark bright and sharp while still reading the gratification on Connor’s face.
Connor met him thrust for thrust, hands on Caleb’s waist, but Caleb kept control, slowing when he wanted to draw it out, speeding up when Connor’s grip tightened and his breath turned ragged.
Their bodies moved together, sweat slick where skin pressed tight, the blanket rubbing to heat beneath Caleb’s knees.
Connor’s hands spanned his waist, thumbs stroking his stomach, but he didn’t try to take over.
Caleb leaned down, kissing him messily, and Connor’s hips stuttered hard.
A low, broken sound escaped him. Caleb straightened then leaned back, arching his back, head tilted to the ceiling, riding him faster, one hand braced on Connor’s thigh, the other stroking his own cock.
Connor’s rhythm faltered, his grip tightening almost painfully on Caleb’s hips as he tried to hold back.
“Don’t,” Caleb said, voice husky, reading his thoughts. “Don’t hold back.”
Connor groaned, the sound raw, and thrust up harder.
Caleb met him, leaning into him, thighs burning, pleasure coiling tight.
He came first, a raw sound tearing out of him as it hit hard, wrecking across Connor’s stomach before he could catch his breath.
The sight alone dragged Connor’s control apart.
He came right behind him, a rough curse breaking against Caleb’s shoulder as his hips stuttered, helpless, gripping Caleb’s hips as he shook through it.