Nothing has felt like this before. I place my arms around his body, and he is there, not a figment of my never-that-capable imagination. He is not hovering over me, beautiful and perfect, and separated from me by millions of particles of oxygen.
Now he is smashed against me, and my whole body celebrates. I tighten my grip around his waist, and he emits a delighted gasp, as if he needs his back to be reminded that we are touching even when he is lying on top of me.
My hands explore his bottom, and the way it curves out and is firm and is fascinating.
His cock grinds against me, hard and pulsing.I want him inside me. I have inserted other objects inside me: brightly colored items I got from pages of the internet that I only accessed with VPNs and browsers set to private, blushing each time I happened upon someone in my Mannheim apartment building, in case my protections had failed and they’d been able to track everything I did.
The experience had always been imperfect. It had never lived up to the advertised promise. I’d stared at the silicon and pondered the potential for bad things to form inside of me, double-checking, then triple-checking that each product was 100% medical grade and would not disintegrate inside me.
But Mateo is real. He was not constructed in a factory. He was not packaged by someone sending disapproving glances at him.
I tighten my grip on Mateo, because I only want to think of him. I run my hands over the interesting, rounded shape of his bottom. His stubble brushes against my cheeks and chin.
Our cocks continue to grind against each other, and my cells continue to celebrate.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR
Mateo
Florian and I make out and touch each other every chance we get, and since the team has put us in a room together, those chances are frequent and last for hours.
We are teenagers. Not that I acted this way in high school. I was the only person in my grade who was out. The gay-straight alliance was filled with girls my age. Some called themselves bisexual. Most had boyfriends.
I would pass them on my way to class. Their boyfriends would press them against their lockers, so the metal would clang. And then they would be kissing, their bodies pressed together for minutes upon minutes as I knelt in my locker beside them and grabbed my books. Then they would hastily grab their things and hurry to class, glassy-eyed and happy.
But now Florian is leaning me against every door we enter. Now we are making out in the room as long as we can until we need to hurry for the bus. Now we sit side by side on the bus or plane, and though we do not kiss there, he is beside me. Our knees press together, and sometimes, whenthe plane is dim, and when I can’t stand how much I desire him, our hands tangle together too.
We are excellent at being in a fake relationship. We are champions at it. The Blizzards might be obtaining points at each game, but we are perfecting our acting skills.
Because the thing is… this is not real. That is the thing I do not want to remind myself of. The thing that I cannot help thinking about all the time, until I can press my lips against Florian’s and touch his body with my hands. Only then is it possible to forget that we are nothing to each other.
Of course, I know Florian is fond of me.
Of course, I know Florian enjoys this. This is his first time in life doing anything with another person.
But we are accidentally together. Accidentally proclaiming love and affection for each other in front of others. Fondness is not the same as reality, even though it feels the same when we kiss. Maybe that’s why I like doing it so much.
Florian’s teammates think everything is real. When they save a seat for Florian at breakfast or lunch or dinner, they also save one for me.
I am part of the team in a way I wasn’t before.
Florian of course is recovering. He visits with the team doctor and has virtual check-ups with Dr. Davis and the experts Dr. Davis has found to assist.
Florian will not be cleared to play on the ice until a full six weeks after his memory returned. The Blizzards aren’t playing as well as they were at the beginning of the season. His loss is noted, and it is something Florian is embarrassed by. He blames himself for his injury, even though injuries are accidents. He could not have calculated the aggression shown by the player who pushed him into the boards.
Finally, we arrive back in Boston.
Florian glances at me. “You could visit me. If you like.”
“I would like that very much,” I say.
“Good.”
And that’s how we find ourselves at Florian’s apartment once again. This time, there is no awkwardness. This time, we order takeout, and this time we curl up together to watch a game. Florian’s arm is around me the whole time, even though no one is observing us.
I relax into his arms.
