22. Lucas

Chapter 22

Lucas

“I’m on PrEP, tested, all negative, and I think I’m vers,” Holly whispered, his voice barely audible but steady enough to send my thoughts spinning. I froze mid-motion, my hand resting on his hip, and blinked at him.

PrEP. Tested. Negative. The words sank in, each one carrying weight, but the last part—I think I’m vers—was what lodged itself in my brain. It was a necessary conversation but wasn’t the kind I’d expected to have today. It was the kind of thing adults who cared about each other needed to talk about, but it also felt strangely out of step with the moment.

“You think you’re vers?” I asked, my voice quieter than intended, though not out of judgment—just surprise. Somehow, that felt like the right question to latch onto, although there were a dozen other things I could’ve said.

Holly laughed, though there was a nervous edge to it, reaching to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, I mean, I’ve never…with a guy… not had a chance to figure that out. So, uh, I think I am? Versatile, I mean. Just the thought of being inside you is so hot, but then you being inside me, fuck, I don’t know which way is up.” His words tumbled out in a rush, his gaze darting away as if he were suddenly very interested in the wall behind me.

“Okay,” I said, and the word felt too simple, too small. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Thanks for not making this weird,” he muttered, his gaze finally meeting mine, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I mean, sex is a little weird in the cold light of day,” I admitted, trying to inject some lightness into the moment. “But not bad, weird. And we’re… new.”

He relaxed a little, his shoulders loosening as he shifted closer. “New is okay, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, holding his arm, steadying both of us. “New is okay. And, for the record, thanks for bringing it up. You didn’t have to, but it means a lot that you did.”

His smile widened, and I could see the relief washing over him. “It’s important. You’re important.”

The honesty in his voice struck me, and I nodded. “Yeah. You are, too.”

And just like that, the air between us shifted, lighter but somehow more solid, more real. It wasn’t only about the words or the details—it was about trust, about showing up for each other in a way that mattered.

“I’m more of a bottom, but I’ve… look…I mean.” What the fuck was I trying to say? “I’ve been with guys, and I can work with whatever you want…” Shit, I was embarrassing myself. “Will you fuck me? Can you…” Was I asking too much? Would this trip his panic response? Was he looking for me to take care of him?

He rested his forehead on mine. “God, the thought of being inside you… fuck… yes.”

“Do we have condoms? Lube?” Why hadn’t I thought this through?

“In my wallet, just one,” Holly said, and we stared at each other. Then he wriggled out, got his wallet, and opened it up, pulling out a condom and then glancing into the bathroom, coming back with lotion. “Best I can do.”

“Is that even safe?” I asked.

Holly was crestfallen. “I don’t know. I know I want inside you, and…”

He wanted to get inside me? Fuck. My cock ached with the thought of it, and I grabbed the condom, “I'm not on PrEP, but I’m negative, and I haven’t been with anyone in so fucking long there’s probably cobwebs.” Then I gestured at the lube. “Give that to me.”

“Can I do it?” he asked, unsure. “I mean, stretch you out and look at you and…”

I rolled on my front.

“Fuck, yes.”

Holly’s hands trembled as he squirted some lotion onto his fingers. His breath quickened, and I felt the heat radiating from his body as he positioned himself behind me. His fingertips grazed my lower back, sending shivers up my spine.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, his voice rough.

I nodded, unable to form words as his slick finger circled my entrance, tentative at first, then with growing confidence. I gasped as he pushed inside.

“God, you’re so pretty here, so tight, your pretty pink hole. God...” Holly murmured, working his finger in and out, filthy praise falling from his lips. “Am I hurting you?”

“No,” I managed to say. “Harder. More. Please.”

He added a second finger, stretching me with care. The initial discomfort gave way to pleasure as he explored, curling his fingers and brushing my prostate. I moaned, clutching the sheets.

“Fuck, the sounds you’re making,” Holly groaned. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait.”

“Then don’t,” I panted, looking over my shoulder at him. His face was flushed, eyes dark with lust. “I’m ready. I want you inside me.”

He handed me the condom, and with shaking hands, I tore open the wrapper and rolled it on him.

“How do you want me?” I asked and hoped he wanted to face me so I could watch his expressions.

He arranged me so I lay on my back, then eased my legs apart, positioning himself between them. For a moment, he paused, took a breath, and closed his eyes. Was he having a panic attack? Was this too much? Then, his eyes locked with mine, and yes, there was nervousness there, but they were dark with raw desire. I could feel the heat of his body, the slight tremor in his hands as he gripped my hips.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, reaching up to cup his face. “I’m sure. I want this. I want you.”

He lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against my entrance. I took a deep breath, trying to relax as he pushed forward. There was a moment of resistance, and then he slid inside, filling me inch by inch.

“Oh, fuck,” Holly gasped, his eyes widening. “You feel amazing.”

I moaned in response, adjusting to the stretch and fullness. Holly held still, giving me time to acclimate, his arms shaking as he braced himself above me. I could see the concentration on his face, the effort it took to restrain himself.

“You can move,” I whispered, running my hands up his arms. “Please.”

He nodded, pulling back before easing in again. We both groaned at the sensation. Holly set a careful rhythm as if he didn’t want to hurt me.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice strained.

“It’s perfect,” I assured him, wrapping my legs around his waist to keep him closer. “You feel so good inside me.”

His pace quickened, confidence growing with each thrust. I arched my back, meeting him halfway, relishing the friction and fullness. Holly’s breathing grew ragged, his fingers digging into my hips, and then his cock brushed my prostate.

“Oh, god,” I gasped, pleasure shooting through me. “Right there.”

Holly’s eyes lit up with understanding. He angled his hips, aiming for that spot again and again. Each thrust sent me higher, and I clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin.

“I’m close,” Holly panted, his rhythm becoming erratic. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

I tried to reach between us, to wrap my hand around my aching cock, and he had to shift so I could get to it, and I nearly saw freaking stars. “Me too,” I moaned, stroking myself in time with his thrusts.

Holly’s movements grew more frantic, uncoordinated, on the edge of release. The sight of him losing control, combined with the dual sensations of his cock hitting my prostate and my hand on my cock, pushed me over the edge.

“Oh, fuck, Holly!” I cried out as my orgasm hit, my body tensing and shuddering beneath him. My release spilled hot between our bodies as waves of pleasure crashed over me.

Holly thrust deep as he came with a strangled moan, his hips jerking erratically, riding out the aftershocks as he collapsed onto me, both of us panting and trembling. He was heavy and hot, sucking marks into my skin and praising me, and it was perfect.

For a long moment, we lay tangled together, catching our breath. Holly’s weight was comforting, grounding me as the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through my body. I ran my fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, savoring the intimacy. Eventually, he lifted his head, meeting my gaze.

“That was…” he trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Yeah,” I agreed, unable to keep the smile off my face. “It really was.”

He pulled out carefully, both of us wincing at the sensation. As he disposed of the condom, I grabbed some tissues from the nightstand to clean us up. When he returned to bed, he hesitated only a moment before lying beside me, our bodies barely touching.

“Are you okay?” I asked, turning on my side to face him. “How do you feel?”

Holly was quiet for a moment. “Strong.” He hugged me, and I held him tight. “So, fucking strong.”

After washing up with limited hot water, we tumbled back into bed, the warmth of the covers wrapping around us like a cocoon against the cold pressing at the windows. Holly’s damp hair stuck up in every direction, and he looked at me with that soft, sleepy smile that had become one of my favorite things about him. I stretched out beside him, one arm under my head, the other resting lightly on his stomach, and we just… talked.

It started small, the aimless chatter that comes naturally when you’re comfortable with someone. I told him about my family’s plans for the parade next year—how Wesley, our newest volunteer, wanted to make it even bigger and how Duncan had already started complaining about the logistics. Holly laughed at that, shaking his head as he said something about Wishing Tree feeling like a Hallmark movie coming to life.

Then, without planning to, I started talking about myself. “I didn’t always think I’d stay here, you know,” I admitted, staring at the ceiling as I spoke. “I went to college, but when it came time to pick a direction—like, what to do with my life—I came home. It just felt… right. Like this is where I belong.”

Holly was quiet, his hand tracing lazy circles on my arm. “That’s… nice,” he said, his voice soft. “Knowing where you belong. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that outside of hockey.”

I turned to look at him, the faint light catching in his eyes. “Do you regret not going to college?” I asked.

He shrugged, his gaze dropping to where his fingers played idly with the edge of the blanket. “Sometimes. Not about hockey—never about that. But, yeah, maybe about not exploring more, figuring myself out earlier. If I could go back… I don’t know. Maybe I’d study sports science. At least that’s what I’d have picked back then.”

“And now?” I asked, nudging him. “If you could study anything?”

He paused, thoughtful, before answering. “Now? Something to work with athletes, I think. Post-career guys, or even mid-career. Psychology, maybe. Helping them figure out the transition or deal with the pressure.”

“That makes sense,” I said, smiling. “You’d be good at that.”

“You think?” he asked, his voice tinged with something close to hope.

“Yeah,” I said, brushing damp hair off his forehead. “You’d be great at it. You get it—you’ve lived it. And you care.”

“Of course, I’ll need to sort my head out first,” he began, and then he stared at me for a beat, something unspoken passing between us, before he smiled again, softer this time. “Thanks,” he murmured, leaning into my touch.

The conversation drifted into something lighter again—nothing substantial, nothing urgent. Just us, wrapped in warmth and ease that felt like home.