“Youwere the best decision I made all year, Caleb.”
Fuck, he sounds like he really means it.
By the time we finish unpacking, the world outside’s gone white. Afternoon light fades early up here, the cabin glows gold in contrast. I crouch by the fireplace, stacking logs until the first flames catch, and when I stand, Miguel’s already sprawled on the couch, arm draped along the backrest like he owns the place.
I grab a blanket from the basket and join him. The fire pops, and Christmas music plays low from the speaker—some soft guitar version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”
Miguel pulls me close without a word, my back fitting against his chest, his breath warm against my neck. For a while, we just sit there. And we’re enveloped in the quiet that doesn’t feel heavy but lets you breathe.
“I’m happy you asked me to come with you,” I say finally.
He hums, lips brushing my hair. “There’s nobody else I’d rather be with, pretty boy.”
The nickname still gets me every time, there’s something in the way he says it, like he’s claiming it.
Me.
I’m his pretty boy.
When I turn to look at him, he meets me halfway. The kiss starts soft, just a press of lips, but it deepens quickly, like always. His hand slides up my jaw, tilts my face to his, and teases my tongue until my breath catches.
I end up half in his lap, the blanket sliding off, his fingers tracing the edge of my shirt, just enough to make me shiver. The rhythm of it slows, then builds again, unhurried but charged. My hips roll before I can think about it, friction catching through the denim.
He groans into my mouth, low and wrecked.
That sound undoes me.
The fire crackles louder, heat rising, our breath fogging between kisses. I feel him press closer, the weight of him against me making it impossible to think straight. His hands aren’t gentle; they’re claiming, teasing, urgent, and I melt against him, letting go of all the tension I’ve carried for weeks.Exams, therapy sessions, and basketball. Gone.The couch is warm, the fire spilling light across his face, and I can’t stop staring at the way his lips move, the little smirk when he pulls back just enough to whisper, “You like that, huh?”
“Mhmm,” I murmur, my voice thick, almost a whine.
He laughs softly against my ear, and it makes something coil tight in my stomach. One hand slides under my shirt, cold fingertips brushing the ridges of my ribs, teasing over the sensitive skin just above my hip. I arch into it, and the friction makes my jeans feel suddenly too tight.
His other hand drifts lower, pressing against the front of my jeans, fingers curling over the waistband. “God, you’re so warm,” he breathes. “I bet you’re ready for me, aren’t you, pretty boy?”
I can’t stop the shiver that runs through me, the heat spreading down between my legs. My hands grip his shoulders, trying to ground myself, but he tilts his hips, grinding just enough to make my thighs tighten. The feeling is unbearable in the best way, every press and roll of his hips making me ache.
Miguel kisses me again, this time harder, teeth grazing my bottom lip, tongue sliding in, and I moan straight into his mouth. The blanket has slid to the floor somewhere behind us, and the firelight makes his skin glow against mine. I can feel every inch of him through his jeans. The hard weight of him pressing, teasing, daring me to react.
I roll against him, letting my hands explore the line of his back and the firm curve of his ass, and he groans, a deep, low sound that vibrates through my chest. His fingers tighten over my hips, guiding me against him, and I feel his hard cock pressing through the denim, hot and insistent.
“God, Caleb,” he huffs, pulling back just enough to look at me.“Me estás volviendo loco.”
“Good, I like it,” I stammer, heart racing, body on fire. “I like knowing I do that to you.”
His grin is all teeth and mischief, and he dives back in, capturing my mouth with his again. My hands wander higher under his shirt, nails grazing his back as he grinds against me in slow, deliberate circles. Every motion is electric, each touch igniting something wild and desperate inside me.
He shifts, pressing harder, and I realize with a sharp inhale that we’re both fully aware of what we’re doing, but neither of us wants to stop. The mix of teasing, restraint, and hunger makes it dizzying—the warmth of the fire, the cold snow outside, thesoft music fading into the background, just us and the tension spiraling higher.
Finally, he tilts me back into his chest, lips brushing my neck, teeth grazing my skin lightly as he whispers, “You feel so good against me. So fucking mine.”
I can’t stop the whimper that escapes me, rocking against him, pressing into every touch, every grind. My hands clutch at him, pulling him impossibly close, and he hums, deep and low, letting the rhythm carry us both higher.
It’s messy.
It’s heated.
It’s exactly the kind of desperate, urgent, playful intimacy I didn’t know I needed until now. And as the fire crackles before us, I can’t imagine being anywhere else.
