Chapter 22 #4
Time slips by like a silk ribbon—gentle, lush, and luxurious.
Despite the electricity crackling in their veins and racing hearts, there is no hurry, not today.
Today, all Caleb wants to do is hold tight to Asher.
His heart, once a hellhound, now wants to curl up next to Asher’s where it is safe and content to just be.
He wants to bask in the reality that there is room for him there, and to finally glance at the long, winding road ahead and know—come hell or high water—that they will face it together.
If last time was a sprint, this one is a marathon.
Caleb makes his way south, leaving a trail of kisses along Asher’s marvel of a body—each line of muscle, the marks on his hips, his straining cock.
Then he surges upward and pulls Asher close to his chest, ribs slotting together seamlessly, like lock and key. Sighing languidly, Asher holds tight to him as they meet.
And it is fucking glorious.
The slick slide, gentle as he takes Asher apart, is everything Caleb’s ever wanted.
Everything he’s ever needed.
The way Asher's heels brush against Caleb's spine, shivering thighs splayed open, Caleb fucking him deep yet so tenderly they could both doze off on this serene, never-ending current.
“Caleb,” Asher whispers, voice hoarse. A whine scrapes out and Caleb feels it tug on the thread between them.
Caleb plants tiny kisses along Asher’s throat, making his way toward his collarbone. “I’m here,” he whispers and presses his cheek against Asher's chest, feeling the rapid thud of his beating heart, the very one Caleb's ready to fight for, an eternity of heaven on earth.
Asher pushes himself onto his forearms, just enough to slide their lips together, soft and slow.
With all their cards on the table, kissing Asher is . . . a revelation. It feels like his world is rearranging as Caleb pours everything he has into it and drinks in Asher in return.
On his knees before Asher, head bowed, hands trembling, Holy Communion comes back to Caleb in flashes.
Asher’s breathy, punched-out moans, his lips slightly parted—the bread placed on Caleb’s tongue.
Asher’s body wracked with little tremors beneath Caleb’s hands, arched ever so slightly with his throat bared and a rosy flush that creeps to the tip of his ears—the wine sipped from the cup cradled in his hands.
Asher’s nails dragging down his spine—palm on a Bible, paper-thin religion beneath his fingertips. Gives a silent nod of thanks. Amen.
The whole time, Asher’s glassy eyes don’t leave Caleb’s, his swollen lips parted, a dark cherry red, holding on to Caleb for dear life.
Caleb takes in the curve of Asher’s neck, the way his pretty lips recite a litany of pleas and curses up to the heavens. A flush predictably blooms beneath the freckles on his cheeks and travels down to his sharp hips—those branded with bruises in the shape of Caleb’s touch.
Draped in a haze from the warm yellow lights of the hotel room, Asher looks otherworldly, and Caleb has the sudden sensation of teetering on the ledge of a cliff.
The love of my fucking life, he thinks. This man.
His fighting heart. Come what may, no one can take this away from Caleb: his own defiant love.
Asher crushes their mouths together in a messy kiss when they barrel over the edge, Caleb licking Asher’s bottom lip, grazing it with just a suggestion of teeth, and Asher whimpers breathlessly. It's a lovely sound Caleb knows he’ll never grow sick of.
“Fuck. I love you,” Asher mumbles, sounding drunk on the feeling.
By the time Caleb returns with a glass of water, Asher is practically asleep. He grins down at Asher, stupidly fond as he climbs into bed and cups Asher’s face.
“Before we left, your dad gave me the contact details of a sports psychologist.”
Asher cracks open a bleary eye. “My dad knows sports?”
“Honestly? I think he just chose the first search result that popped up on Google.”
Asher blinks. “That sounds about right.”
“I’m going to make an appointment tomorrow.”
At this, a soft smile curves into Asher’s lips.
“If only young Caleb could see you now, he’d be so proud.
I’m so proud.” His fingers find their way to both sides of Caleb’s face, and he places a quick, tender kiss to Caleb’s lips.
“But if you talk about any of my parents immediately after sex again, you’re being relegated to the couch. ”
“Deal.” Caleb presses a kiss against Asher’s temple before gathering him in one arm.
Asher gropes blindly behind him, fingers closing around his phone.
He flashes the screen—a group chat—at Caleb, presses it into Caleb’s free hand, and curls back into Caleb’s chest. Caleb’s thumb flies across the keyboard.
An ember flickers beneath the surface. For decades, the company has leeched from them, but no more.
It’s time to take it back. They’re all going to reach out, grime and mud and blood in fistfuls, and stand their ground.
Safe in his arms, Asher’s eyes begin to droop again. A soft, mindless hum emanates from deep in his throat and reaches Caleb’s ears like a hymn.
“Whatever happens tomorrow,” Caleb says, “I had the time of my life with you.”
When the lazy smile on Asher’s face grows, Caleb’s heart spreads itself out in his chest, past the four walls of the room and out into the world.