Sunday was the official day off, and most players who lived nearby had vanished home for the weekend by Saturday afternoon. Caleb Weston should've been one of them. Should've been out in the city, drowning himself in noise and beer and forgetfulness like every other Saturday night. Instead, he found himself pacing his condo living room, staring at his phone like it was about to bite him.
Just do it, he muttered under his breath. It's not a big deal. You're just inviting him over. Casual. Chill.
Liar.
His hand was sweating around his phone. Before he could overthink it again, Caleb thumbed out a text to Christian.
CALEB:
Dinner, games, sleepover? My place. You in?
He threw the phone down on the couch like it was on fire, heart thundering.
When it buzzed, he almost tripped, grabbing it.
CHRISTIAN:
Are you sure?
I don't want to bother you.
Caleb's chest twisted. Jesus. He typed back fast, no hesitation this time.
CALEB:
I wouldn't ask if I didn't want you here, Evans. Come on.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Came back. Then, finally:
CHRISTIAN:
Okay. I'll come.
Caleb let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, sinking onto the couch, raking a hand through his hair. This was stupid. It wasn't a date. It wasn't. So why the hell did it feel like his heart was trying to punch its way out of his chest?
Christian showed up an hour later, looking painfully out of place in the upscale condo lobby, wearing his usual worn sneakers and pulling nervously at the sleeves of Caleb's hoodie — the same one Caleb borrowed him. Caleb's heart squeezed tight at the sight.
He buzzed him up and opened the door just as Christian hesitated outside, one knuckle poised to knock.
"Hey," Caleb said, a little too rough, stepping aside. "Come in."
Christian slipped inside, blinking around. The condo was clean, airy — minimalist black leather furniture, open kitchen, big windows showing the Minneapolis skyline in the fading sunset. Somehow, it felt way too intimate.
"You live nice," Christian said quietly, pulling at the hem of the hoodie.
Caleb chuckled, locking the door behind him. "Perks of an unlimited bank account powered by my parents. Picked the first condo they showed me."
Christian gave him a small, uncertain smile. Caleb's stomach flipped.
Don't stare, idiot.
"Uh, you hungry?" Caleb asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I was thinking pasta. Unless you're allergic to gluten or something."
Christian blinked. "You're cooking?"
"What, you don't trust me?" Caleb said, mock-offended.
Christian flushed. "No, I just— I didn't know you could cook."
Caleb shrugged, heading to the kitchen to hide his stupid grin. "Learned by accident. TV's always on Sports or Food Network. Picked up a few things."
He didn't add "you're the first person I've ever cooked for." That sounded way too much like a confession.
Christian hovered awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen island, hands shoved deep into the hoodie pocket, watching him.
Caleb boiled water, cut ingredients, moved around the kitchen with easy, practiced efficiency. He stole glances at Christian — how he leaned slightly forward, how his hair fell into his eyes, how he kept worrying the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth like he was trying not to say something.
The tension between them buzzed, thick and invisible. Caleb pretended not to notice. Christian pretended not to notice. They both noticed.
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, plates balanced on their knees, eating spaghetti carbonara Caleb had managed not to burn.
Christian twirled a forkful of pasta, still studying him like he couldn't believe he was real.
"This is good," Christian said finally, voice a little rough. He always found easy eating near Caleb.
Caleb fought the insane urge to preen. "Told you I'm not completely useless."
Christian smiled — a real, shy one — and something cracked wide open in Caleb's chest.
They ate in comfortable near-silence, the only sounds the clink of forks and the low music playing from the Bluetooth speaker. Caleb kept sneaking looks at Christian, memorizing the way he twirled pasta, the way he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, the faint pink tint high on his cheeks.
After dinner, they moved to the couch. Sort of. Caleb dropped onto one end. Christian sat carefully on the other, leaving a gaping stretch of empty leather between them like it was dangerous.
Maybe it was.
Caleb tossed him a controller. "You game, Evans?"
Christian caught it, grinning. "I'll destroy you."
"In your dreams."
They picked a racing game — safe, mindless — and launched into it, cursing and laughing and throwing insults. The distance between them closed without either of them meaning to, bodies leaning closer, knees almost brushing.
Caleb's fingers twitched on the controller. He wanted—God, he wanted to touch him. But he did not know if Christian was ready for more than a casual dinner and games.
Don't scare him.
They kept playing, tension coiling tighter with every passing minute.
Finally, on a particularly dramatic loss, Christian groaned and shoved Caleb's shoulder lightly.
"You cheated!" he accused.
"I did not," Caleb laughed, grabbing Christian's wrist in retaliation.
Christian shoved back, laughing too — and somehow, in the scramble, Caleb tackled him, pinning him to the couch cushions.
For a split second, they both froze. Chest to chest. Breath mixing. Eyes locked. Christian's laugh died on his lips. Caleb's heart pounded like it was trying to tear through his ribs. He pulled back immediately, hands jerking away like Christian was made of fire.
"I'm sorry," Caleb rasped. "It's harder not to touch you than I thought."
Christian's eyes widened. His voice, when it came, was a whisper: "I know the feeling."
Silence stretched between them — electric, shattering. And then, like two magnets snapping together, they surged forward at the same time, mouths colliding.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't slow. It was desperate, teeth clashing, hands grabbing, breathless noise as Caleb kissed him like he was starving, like he was drowning and Christian was the only thing keeping him alive.
Christian kissed back just as fiercely, fisting Caleb's shirt, pulling him closer, closer—
Somehow, they stumbled down the hall, bumping into walls, laughing breathlessly between kisses. Caleb managed to shove open his bedroom door. They fell onto the bed, dragging each other down, mouths still locked, hands everywhere — Caleb's hoodie being tugged off, shirts pulled up, skin meeting skin, warm and electric.
Christian moaned softly into Caleb's mouth as Caleb rolled on top of him, caging him in with his arms, their bodies grinding together in slow, desperate friction.
But then — between kisses, Christian gasped against Caleb's lips, threading trembling fingers into his hair to still him.
"Wait—" Christian whispered, breathing hard. His voice was wrecked, shaking with emotion. "I'm not ready... not ready for more than this."
Caleb froze immediately. His heart pounded, but not from frustration — from the weight of Christian's trust. He pulled back just enough to see him — really see him — flushed and wide-eyed and scared but still here.
"Hey," Caleb murmured, cupping his face gently, thumbs brushing over Christian's burning cheeks. "Christian. It's already perfect."
Christian blinked at him, the tension in his shoulders loosening by degrees. Caleb smiled, soft and a little crooked, lowering his forehead to rest against Christian's.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered. "We go at your pace. Always."
Christian made a small, broken sound — part relief, part something deeper, rawer — and pulled him back down into another kiss. And this time, it was even hungrier. Because Christian knew he was safe. Because Caleb wasn't asking for anything Christian wasn't ready to give.
They kissed like they were making up for every second they'd lost. Slow, messy, greedy kisses that stole their breath, that made the air spark around them. Caleb's hands roamed with reverence — skimming over Christian's ribs, his waist, his hips, feeling every shiver, every sharp intake of breath.
Christian clutched at him too, grabbing fistfuls of Caleb's t-shirt, dragging him closer, arching into every touch with a helplessness that set Caleb on fire. When Caleb slid his hand under the hem of Christian's pants, palming him through thin fabric, Christian gasped, hips bucking up involuntarily.
"Fuck," Christian whispered against his mouth, forehead pressed to Caleb's, eyes fluttering shut.
Caleb swallowed the sound with another kiss, slower now, deeper, grinding the heel of his hand just right until Christian whimpered.
"I got you," Caleb murmured against his lips. "Just feel. Let go."
Christian nodded shakily, trusting him, surrendering. Caleb kissed a trail down Christian's jaw, his throat, his collarbone — taking his time, savoring every inch, every tiny hitch of breath.
When Caleb's mouth reached the waistband of Christian's pants, he looked up — giving him a chance to stop it. Christian stared down at him, dazed and wrecked, biting his lip hard. Then he nodded, small but sure. Caleb exhaled a shaky breath, pressing a kiss just above the waistband in thanks before tugging the pants down.
Christian's cock was flushed and leaking, heavy against his stomach. Caleb's mouth watered. Carefully — almost reverently — he wrapped a hand around the base, lowering his head to lick a slow, teasing stripe from base to tip. Christian choked on a gasp, fingers flying into Caleb's hair, clutching tight but not pushing, just anchoring himself.
Caleb smiled against him and closed his mouth over the head, sucking gently. Christian's entire body jerked, a broken sound escaping him.
Caleb worked him slowly at first — soft sucks, lazy flicks of his tongue — letting Christian fall apart one trembling breath at a time. Christian writhed under him, breath hitching, thighs trembling, whispering broken versions of Caleb's name like prayers.
"Caleb... oh God... please—"
Caleb moaned around him, sending vibrations straight through him, and Christian bucked helplessly. He hollowed his cheeks, taking him deeper, hand stroking what he couldn't fit, relentless and tender all at once.
It didn't take long. Christian came with a sharp cry, spilling into Caleb's mouth, hips jerking erratically. Caleb swallowed him down without hesitation, riding out every twitch, every shudder, until Christian collapsed bonelessly onto the bed.
Caleb pulled back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, heart thundering with something far too big to name. Christian's reactions drove him so close to the edge that with just a few strokes, Caleb made himself come too.
Christian stared at him — glassy-eyed, wrecked, beautiful — like Caleb had just shattered every wall he'd ever built. And maybe he had. Carefully, Caleb crawled back up, gathering Christian into his arms without a word. Christian came willingly, burying his face in Caleb's shoulder, clinging like he never wanted to let go.
Caleb pressed his lips to Christian's hair, breathing him in, feeling the fierce throb of something dangerous and precious blooming in his chest. This wasn't just sex. It wasn't just touching. It was Christian letting him in. And Caleb would rather burn alive than break that trust.
He held him tighter, whispering against his temple, too soft for the world to hear:
"Stay close, Evans. Stay with me."
Caleb stayed awake long after Christian drifted off, staring at the ceiling, heart hammering too hard.
This. This was better than any high he'd ever chased. Better than any party, any hookup, any drunken haze. Christian, breathing slow and even against his chest. Christian, wearing his shirt, sleeping in his bed. Caleb tightened his arm around him, pulling him closer without waking him.
Morning crept into the room like a shy intruder, casting soft golden light over tangled limbs and rumpled sheets.
Caleb stirred first. He blinked against the light, disoriented for a heartbeat — and then the weight on his chest shifted slightly, the warmth pressed against his side breathing slowly and even.
Christian.
Reality slammed back into him with dizzying force. Last night wasn't a dream. The kiss. The heat. The way Christian had clung to him, gasped for him, trusted him.
Caleb tilted his head slightly, careful not to disturb him. Christian was tucked into his side, half on top of him, one arm curled around Caleb's ribs, face buried near his throat. His hair was a messy halo against the pillow, his features softened with sleep — peaceful, open in a way Caleb had never seen before.
Caleb's heart clenched so hard it almost hurt. He'd had a lot of people in his bed before. Loud, reckless, temporary. But this— Waking up with Christian tangled around him, wearing Caleb's hoodie, still carrying the faint smell of pasta sauce and sweat and sex—This was something else entirely.
Caleb tightened his arm around him instinctively, pressing a light kiss to Christian's hair before he even thought about it. Christian shifted, making a sleepy noise low in his throat, burrowing closer.
Caleb froze, breath caught.
Christian's hand fisted the fabric of Caleb's t-shirt, like even asleep he was afraid Caleb would slip away.
You idiot, Caleb thought, pressing his forehead to the top of Christian's head, You're already gone for him.
He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling — the weight, the warmth, the silent trust of being held like he mattered. He never wanted to move. Never wanted to leave this bed. Never wanted Christian to look at him the way he looked at everyone else — distant, polite, reserved.
He wanted this. All of it. Even if he was terrified of what it meant.
It was almost noon when Christian finally stirred awake.
Caleb felt it before he saw it — the slow stiffening of the body pressed against his, the hitch of breath, the way Christian's hand clenched tighter for a second before cautiously letting go.
"Morning," Caleb said, voice rough with sleep.
Christian lifted his head, blinking at him, hair sticking up wildly on one side. His face flushed a deep red as memories clearly came flooding back. Caleb grinned lazily, tightening his arm a little to keep him there.
"Relax," he murmured. "You're not dreaming."
Christian gave a shaky laugh, ducking his head into Caleb's chest to hide his face. Caleb's chest rumbled with quiet laughter. He rubbed a slow, soothing hand up and down Christian's back, feeling the way his breathing gradually calmed. They stayed like that for a while — tangled together under the covers, sunlight warming the room, no rush, no words needed.
Finally, Christian mumbled against his shirt, "Aren't you hungry?"
Caleb smirked. "Starving. But not enough to move yet."
Christian laughed again, small and sweet, the tension easing out of him.
"Food first," he insisted, sitting up reluctantly, hair even more chaotic now. He looked ridiculously cute. Caleb bit back the urge to drag him down again and kiss him stupid.
"Alright, alright," Caleb said, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. "You win. What's your poison? Pancakes? Burgers? Sushi?"
Christian blinked. "At noon?"
"Hey, Sunday rules. No judgment."
Christian hesitated, then said shyly, "Burgers sound good."
Caleb shot him a wink. "Two big, fat burgers with a mountain of fries, coming right up. Delivery style."
He ordered quickly, tossing the phone aside, then caught Christian still sitting cross-legged in bed, fidgeting with the edge of the comforter.
"You okay?" Caleb asked softly.
Christian nodded — too fast, too forced. Caleb shifted, bumping their knees together under the covers.
"Christian," he said, serious now, "Last night... you know you can say anything, right?"
Christian's throat bobbed as he swallowed. He looked up, eyes wide and vulnerable and fierce all at once.
"I wanted it," he whispered. "I wanted you."
Caleb exhaled, tension bleeding out of him. He reached out, brushing his fingers against Christian's cheek — light, barely-there, but enough to make Christian lean into the touch instinctively.
"I wanted you too," Caleb said, voice low, rough, honest. "Still do."
Christian's mouth parted like he was about to say something — then shut again, overwhelmed.
Caleb smiled crookedly. "No pressure. We'll take it slow. Whatever you need."
Christian stared at him, something soft and sharp and aching crossing his face. Then he moved, crawling forward across the mattress and pressing a quick, clumsy kiss to Caleb's mouth — almost missing, almost falling into him.
Caleb caught him, arms wrapping around his waist, pulling him close. The kiss deepened — slow, sleepy, unhurried, full of things neither of them could say yet. They broke apart when the doorbell rang, announcing the arrival of their food.
Christian laughed breathlessly against Caleb's mouth. "Saved by the burgers."
Caleb kissed the tip of his nose before letting him go. "For now."