Chapter 19 Stefan
Stefan
After acquiring some food and our second wind, Evan and I play tourist. I take him across the bay bridge—with which he's rightfully impressed—and into the city. His eyes light up every time we approach the water or some historic landmark. It’s enough to make me see my home town in a whole new light.
It's beautiful. Though nothing compares to Evan's face whenever he whirls around from some new sight to glow at me in excitement.
It's a casual, easy, fun day. Exactly what we both need, I think.
The only downside is how often I'm recognized, how many pictures are taken, with or without my consent. We convince my fans that the two of us are just friends. That this is just a training trip. But I have to keep my hands off Evan the whole time.
Pictures of the two of us holding hands in public would mean something. Something that I'm not ready for, may not ever be ready for, and I don't think he is, either.
This thing between us is fun, and it makes me crave things I've never wanted before, but we're public figures. As amazing as touching him is, I'm not going to do it around other people.
In a way, it's a relief to return to my car.
The sun is setting behind us when we cross the bay bridge back to Oakland, and Evan turns to watch the silhouette of the city. For so long that I offer to find a place to park on the opposite shore. He just laughs, shaking his head, but he keeps looking back.
It’s sweet, how entranced he is, and I can’t keep my hands off him anymore. I managed all day, but we’re in private now. So I set my hand on his thigh, pinning his beneath it.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch his eyes snap to me, then his hand turns over. Acceptance of the small gesture. And for the rest of the trip home, I hold Evan's hand. Just the movement of his thumb, running in small circles over my wrist, is almost enough to make me crash the car.
It’s nighttime by the time we get back to my house.
Only the solar lights alongside the walk up to my front door break the darkness.
It should seem a little foreboding, the hulk of my house a black contrast to the stars overhead, but instead it feels intimate.
Like it’s only Evan and me in the world.
In the garage, we sit for a minute, silent. The car ticks its way back to cool. An owl hoots somewhere in the distance.
I glance at Evan, and he's staring forward out the windshield, as if the bare garage wall is somehow interesting. His profile glows in the reflected shine of the headlights.
And for some reason, I’m feeling all kinds of awkward again. Why doesn’t he say something? But he stays silent. "I guess we should go in," I say, not sure what to do with my hands. My feet. Any other part of my body.
He nods, still unmoving. Still not looking at me. Is something wrong? Did I do something? What? What could it have been? What's changed in the last ten seconds? "Evan, are you ok?"
Another nod before he finally, finally looks over at me.
It's a brief glance, but it's enough to quell my nerves a little.
He's not glaring at me, but he doesn't look angry or upset.
Without a word, he opens the door and slides out of the car.
By the time I follow suit, he's already opened the rear hatch, shuffling through it for our bags.
When he glances up at me again, hand hovering over my rink bags, I point toward my backpack. "That's the only one I need. Everything else can stay in here.” Evan nods, then picks up his own backpack as well.
He's so quiet. Why is he so quiet? What am I missing? There has to be something. I pick up the few things we bought over the course of the afternoon out of the backseat. A few tourist trinkets, a shirt that he fell in love with. Pastries for breakfast.
Inside, he sets our travel bags on the living room floor and watches me. So I set down our purchases on the kitchen table, weaving around the cats.
Since they won’t stop wrapping around my legs in ecstatic greeting, I take a few minutes to celebrate being home with them. Evan follows suit, until they’re lumps of writhing bliss on the floor. Because my cats think they’re dogs.
He still doesn’t say anything, though.
"Ok, what is it?" I turn away from Georgia, and back toward him, except that he's not where he was when I looked away. He's advanced a couple steps closer, leaving only an arm's length between us. That's a good sign, right?
He still doesn't say anything, but he holds out a hand toward me, waiting for me to take it.
When I do, tentatively, a half smile starts to light up his features.
It's still nothing like his usual sunny smile, but it's something. I try to search his features in the dim light. Fuck past me for deciding that mood lighting is better than overhead. It was a terrible decision. He’s just a silhouette against the darkness of the rest of the living room.
Using our clasped hands, he draws me toward him slowly.
So, so slowly. As if he's giving me as much time to back up, back away as he possibly can.
Or as if he's doing his best to make me deranged.
Maybe he's fighting himself? Maybe it's a seduction attempt?
If I weren't so nervous, the strong and silent commanding thing would probably be hot as fuck.
"Evan, talk to me. I'm getting worried."
The pressure on my hand increases, just a hint.
Pulling me in a bit more. I follow it, taking a full step until we're nose to nose.
His free hand lifts, coming to my cheek, then slides through my hair until he's cupping the back of my head.
Shivers rake through my body. At the feel of his hands on me.
At pleasure from his hand in my hair. At lingering doubt.
Why is he being so quiet?
My eyes dart from his eyes, down to his mouth, and back to his eyes.
He's still in the dark, still impossible to read, all the harder because he's a heartbeat away from me now, but I'm pretty sure there's a smile on his full, perfect lips.
He's enjoying this, isn't he? Making me sweat.
The asshole. He's not upset; he's teasing me.
Fine, if he's going to play it like that, I'm skipping the rest of the game.
I lean in the last few inches, using our joined hands to pull him to me at the same time, and kiss him.
A little harder than I expected, given he bumps into me, but that's fine.
His lips are on mine, and they're everything I remember.
He tastes faintly of peppermint and his breath smells sweet when it rushes out of him in surprise. The mint from after dinner.
Nothing is gentle about this kiss. His tongue licks against the seam of my lips, and I open for him. The hand holding the back of my head pushes me in hard, until our teeth crash against each other. He lets out a breathless little hum of laughter, and we ease up a bit.
The ship rights itself, and in an instant, the kiss shifts from awkward to perfect. His tongue tangles with mine, the friction shooting pure desire through me. I can't breathe through the sparks. The lightning his touch creates. It flashes through my body, and I'm already so aroused it's painful.
The first time we kissed, I wondered why I'd never felt that intensity before. This time I thought I was prepared for it. I'm not. We've been kissing for maybe ten seconds, and I'm already going to explode.
Fine, maybe all that brooding silence confusing shit worked for me. I'm still going to kill him.
After this, obviously.
Since one of my hands is still in his, I use my free one to follow his lead, pushing it through his hair. It's so much shorter than mine I can't grasp it. Instead, I pull on the back of his head, controlling his movements. The same way he is mine.
In theory. In reality, I'm just holding on for dear life.
It doesn't take Evan long to take control of the kiss.
I surrender without complaint. With relief, even.
Why does it feel so good to let myself fall under his spell?
I've never been this person, this—submissive?
I suppose that's the word for it. I've never wanted to be.
But with Evan, I can trust him to take care of me.
To do exactly what I need him to do. To let me relax into him and enjoy. It's heady.
He's pulling my hair, and I like that too. I sway into him, and he lets go of my hand to wrap his arm around my waist, holding me in place. Holding me up. A rock, steady against my tumultuous life.
The angle of his kiss shifts, and I moan into his mouth as it sends a new barrage of arousal through me. The lightning has started a fire, rushing through my veins until every cell burns through. I’m a trembling, quivering husk of myself. There's nothing left of me but desire for Evan.
I want more. I need more. I need him inside me in every way. "Evan," I manage to gasp through the torrent of sensations, from just having his mouth on mine. His hand in my hair. His strong arm wrapped around my waist. "I need you."
"I know, baby." The words are a light murmur as he lets his mouth leave mine. He trails kisses across my jawline and down my neck. He’s the only thing holding me up as I arch back against his arm, giving him full access to my throat. "You're perfect."
It sends another bolt of lightning through me, and I shiver. He rewards me by nipping at my neck. Tiny stings that send me even higher. Yet another thing I never knew about myself before Evan.
I should be reciprocating, shouldn't I? Doing something to give him even half of what I'm feeling?
But I can't think, can't do anything but feel.
He pulls my waist closer, even as his mouth continues to move down my neck, to my shoulder.
He nuzzles my shirt away and bites at the jut of my collarbone, hard, as our cocks find each other through our pants.
Another moan. From me? From him? No separation is left between us anymore, no sense of which of us is which. I'm nothing but pleasure, soaring in his arms. "What do you want?" His words are muffled against the skin of my throat as he works his way back toward my lips.
How can I answer? Him. I want him. He's all I've ever wanted, all I'll ever want.
His lips scorch me everywhere he touches, and I want them to brand me.
Mark me. Make me his. "Evan, please." It's a gasp, a last ditch effort to find words, even if they're not the right ones.
I manage to push my hips into his harder, give both of us more friction, more pressure.
I'm rutting against him like a cat in heat, and I don't care.
Not if it means I can keep feeling like this.
A light laugh against my throat, even the huff of air enough to send tremors raking through me. "Use your words, baby."
"Oh, shut up." It takes everything in me to growl at him, but I'm rewarded by another laugh as I manage to assert some control over my body. Using the hand still clasping his head to pull him back to my mouth.
It's like coming home. The sun after rain. I could drown in him. I want to drown in him. Nothing matters but his body against mine, his mouth on mine, the glide of his tongue over mine lightning shooting straight to my cock, burning in my groin.
He rewards, or punishes, me by drawing the kiss out, slowing it down.
We're moving through honey, every movement a languid dance.
He's as graceful as ever as he moves me, positions me, backing me slowly up against my couch.
Then I go down, until I'm lying with him on top of me, our mouths still joined.
He's exploring my mouth, almost lazily, lulling the fire blazing through me to a simmer.
Something manageable, even as our positions demand more.
When he raises his head, his eyes are almost black, pupils blown wide, lips red and kiss bruised, a rash of pink against his chin and cheeks from my stubble.
I'm probably bright red, rubbed half raw against my much paler complexion, but it doesn't matter.
I want it. Want everything and anything his body can do to mine.
Evan has somehow, miraculously, cooled both of us down to something resembling sense.
But the sight of my marks on him, the knowledge that his are on me, are almost enough to send me straight back into the frenzy of lust I'd been in—How long ago?
Minutes? Hours? Time has no meaning when Evan is kissing me.
His finger traces across my lower lip, and I groan against it, tilting my head, trying to catch it in my mouth. He pulls away with a light chuckle. "Should we take this upstairs?"
"Yes," I moan. It's almost a prayer, it's so fervent, and he laughs again.
"And—" He pauses, then leans down to kiss me again. Lightly, this time, not letting me fan the fire back to full heat. Just a brush of lips. "I do need you to use your words, Stefan. We need to decide what we want. Set limits."
"Anything." I arch myself up into him, trying to prove that I mean it. It's his turn to groan, pressing back into me, increasing the pressure that we both desperately want. "I want you to do everything to me."
"Have you ever done this before?" The words aren't harsh or anything, but they're a small glass of ice water, pouring over my head. Reality. I hate reality.