Page 96 of King of the Crease

I look up. Kevin McAlister is saying a prayer over his macaroni and cheese.

Hank: Home Alone. The first one. A Christmas classic.

Nick: The one without sex workers

Nick: Can I watch with you?

I smile before I can stop myself. Then there’s a knock at the back kitchen door that startles me.

I creep into the kitchen, for a second wondering if I should grab a rolling pin just in case.

Nick peers through the window.

“Nick,” I say. Then correct myself. “I mean—Prince Nicholas⁠—”

“Just Nick,” he says softly. “Tonight.”

He steps inside and kisses me before I can say another word, backing me against the fridge.

“I missed you, Hank,” he murmurs. “So much.”

The past twenty-four hours crash down all at once. We cling to each other, desperate, laughing breathlessly as his coat and my slippers get kicked aside. The distance, the stress, the constant watching—it all melts away when he touches me.

We tumble onto the couch, kissing like we’re trying to make up for lost time.

Being close to him feels right. Like the rest of the world fades into background noise.

“Hank…” He looks at me, scared and vulnerable. He studies my face, as if trying to catalogue it to memory.

Upstairs, we tumble onto my bed, grabbing at each other with desperate urgency.

Clothes come off. I lean over Nick’s trim frame, trying to remember every inch of him as if I’m seconds away from waking up from a dream. My hands dance through his chest hair, over the peaks and valleys of his muscles, to the edge of his neck where his beard begins. Every crease, every curve…I want to remember. Soon, there will be an ocean and centuries of nobility between us.

“My beautiful Nick.” It comes out as a plea.

“My teddy bear Hank,” he says back, resigned. He pulls me down into a softer kiss, our tongues tumbling over each other as we gasp for air.

I lightly thrust against him, wanting us to be as close as physically possible. Our cocks rub together, heat building in my core.

I sink down and slide his throbbing cock into my mouth, savoring his salty taste. I push his legs open and play with his hole. He quivers under my touch, goosebumps forming on his pale thighs. My index finger presses into his warm opening. He tightens around me, pulling me in.

I dip in and out to loosen him up, then I coat my aching cock with lube. I used to treat sex as something to get two people off (or more if that’s your thing). But when it’s with the right person, it’s about connection. It’s a way to share all of yourself, all of your deepest fears and secrets and hopes, with another person.

Moonlight pours in through a sliver of space in my curtains. It’s enough to watch Nick’s pupils blow wide open when I enter him. He licks his lips, their pink sheen glowing in the soft light.

Stay in this moment, I tell myself. Stay here. The impending loneliness of being without him begins to creep in, but I push it away.

Nick’s chest rises and falls with unsteady breath. He wraps his legs and arms around me and pulls me close. His deep, dark eyes bore into me. Titles and responsibilities slip away. The sound of my thighs slapping against his fill the room. He feels so damn good, his hole tight and inviting.

“I’m sorry, Hank.”

Our lips meet in a messy kiss amidst the rocking of our bodies, missing each other at first, then connecting like ships in a storm.

“I love you,” I whisper in his ear.

“I love you so much,” he whispers back, his voice cracking.

My thrusting gets faster, hungrier. Needier. He grips his cock, stuffed between our stomachs, and strokes himself furiously. I pound into his ass, and his legs tense around me. Our chests slicken with sweat. His nipples perk into determined points as I feel him clench, preparing for climax.