“I thought you might have left,” Elliot says. It takes some focus to make the words come out the way he wants them to.
Blake looks up, his phone screen going dark a second later. “I’m about to, but…” He shrugs. “Charlie left and he gave me permission to go home. I was trying to find you, but I must have missed you in there.”
“And then you decided to hide on the balcony?” Elliot asks. “It’s fucking freezing out here.”
Blake huffs and shrugs off his coat to drape it over Elliot’s shoulders. “It’s not so bad,” he says. “Anyway. Happy New Year, Elliot. If I’m not totally wrong, I’ll see you in three weeks.”
Yes, they’ll see each other in three weeks, but Elliot wants to see him before that and he doesn’t want him to go home either. He’ll stand out here for the rest of the night if he has to, but he wants Blake to stand here with him. And because Elliot’s had too many drinks and has therefore managed to convince himself that he doesn’t care anymore, he reaches out to curl his fingers around Blake’s wrist. Blake’s skin is warm under his fingertips.
Blake doesn’t move, frozen to the spot, eyes on Elliot, clearly asking him what the fuck he’s doing. Elliot doesn’t have an answer to that question. He doesn’t want Blake to leave. There. That’s the answer.
He glances over his shoulder. The two people who are making out are still there, all the way across the balcony, out of earshot. The smokers have gone back inside without Elliot even noticing. It probably looks like they’re having a conversation, maybe standing a little closer than you normally would, but it’s not like anyone would question it. At least Elliot hopes not. Blake hasn’t tugged his arm away yet, but he’s quiet, waiting, like he doesn’t want to make the next move.
Elliot doesn’t know where to go from here either. He started something and never considered how to finish it.
“You wanna stay a little longer?” Elliot asks.
Blake looks down at him, licking his lips. “Elliot…”
There’s so much in that one word, a quiet warning, and longing, too, like Blake can’t fucking stand Elliot’s fingers on his skin but can’t bring himself to tell him to stop, because he wants this, too. Elliot is dying to press closer, get his hands all over Blake, on that soft sweater and then under it, get his thigh between Blake’s legs, wants to feel him shiver, wants to be the reason for it.
Blake lets out an unsteady breath, like he was reading Elliot’s mind.
Elliot squeezes his wrist and drags his thumb over his skin, where a tattoo is peeking out from under Blake’s sweater. Elliot’s never had a chance to really look at them. He has no idea what the hell he’s thinking, just knows he wants Blake’s hands on him, Blake’s lips on his. He leans closer, only a little, so he can keep his voice low when he says, “Come home with me?”
Blake’s breath catches. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, then shakes his head ever so slightly. “You don’t really… Elliot. No.”
“Okay,” Elliot says.
“It’s a terrible idea.”
Elliot knows that. It’s the worst idea. But he’s also drunk and wants to plaster himself against Blake and never let go. “I want you to,” Elliot says.
“I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes,” Blake mumbles and takes back his coat, goes inside without looking back and Elliot stays on the balcony for a moment longer and breathes in the cold night air and tries to wrap his head around what he just did.
His heart is fluttering in his chest, excited, scared, urging him to move, to stop standing here, contemplating what this means.
It means that Blake is coming home with him. That’s all that matters right now.
He doesn’t say goodbye to Adam, because Adam wouldn’t let him leave before midnight, so he goes to grab his coat, which takes a lot longer than he expected it would, because all the coats look the same and Elliot barely even remembers what brand his coat is, but he eventually stumbles across it and confirms that it’s his when he digs through the pockets and finds a receipt from his favorite dumpling place and a Subway ticket.
Elliot is the only one on the elevator, goes down, nods at the doorman as he leaves. No one’s out front. He probably took more than ten minutes to come down here. Maybe Blake thought he changed his mind, thought he wouldn’t come and went home. Maybe Blake changed his mind and left, not even waiting for Elliot to show up.
“Elliot.”
He whips around and finds Blake behind him. “Fuck, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” Blake says, smiling a little.
“Let’s go,” Elliot says and starts towards the street. It takes him forever to flag down a cab and by the time they slide into the backseat of one, his hands are blocks of ice and the tip of his nose is freezing cold.
Blake is quiet on the ride to Elliot’s, and Elliot desperately wants to say something, but all the things he wants to say are things he doesn’t want their cab driver to hear. He reaches out instead and takes Blake’s hand, his fingers warm against Elliot’s. Blake gives them a squeeze and wraps his other hand around them, too.
The ride is too long.
He can’t handle sitting here with Blake holding his hand when all he really wants to do is climb in Blake’s lap and kiss him until they’re both out of breath. Elliot slowly tugs his hand away from Blake’s and puts it on his thigh.
Blake shoots him a look, Elliot can tell, even though he has his eyes on their cab driver, to make sure that he doesn’t get interested in where exactly Elliot’s putting his hand. Elliot squeezes, gently, hears Blake’s breath hitch, the tiniest bit, and Elliot’s fingers give another twitch.
When their cab driver turns into Elliot’s street, he pulls his hand away and gets his wallet to pay, shaking his head at Blake before he can think about offering to pay half. Elliot thanks the driver and nudges Blake out of the car, trying to convince himself that he has to be patient a little while longer, that he can’t put his hands on Blake right here and right now.
He sways a little on his way to the door and Blake reaches for him to steady him, hand gone a second later when Elliot walks on without falling over.
Elliot laughs and finds Blake smiling at him when he ushers him into the building.
#
Blake absolutely isn’t drunk enough to go through with this.
Elliot stays close in the elevator, so close they’re almost touching, so close that all Blake would have to do is move his pinky finger and he’d be touching Elliot’s hand. The hand that was on his thigh no five minutes ago. He can still feel it somehow, the warmth of the palm of Elliot’s hand.
It takes Elliot some jiggling and soft cursing to get his door unlocked, hands unsteady, and Blake can’t tell if it’s nerves or the drinks Elliot had at the party. Blake won’t say he has second thoughts, because he made a choice here, knowing full well how wrong this could go, how much it could screw everything up, but the more he watches Elliot, fiddling with his key, tripping over the threshold, stumbling out of his boots, the less convinced Blake is that this is the right decision.
“Hey,” Elliot says as soon as the door is closed and then he’s right there, hands on Blake’s sides, tipping his head up and Blake meets him halfway, kisses him, a soft whine escaping Elliot’s throat before he kisses him back, pushes, until Blake’s back hits the door.
Elliot gets out of his coat, drops it, his lips still on Blake’s, moving down the side of his neck when his fingers move on to undo the buttons of Blake’s coat. It joins Elliot’s on the floor. His hands are everywhere, running down Blake’s chest, then back up, one curled around the back of his neck, the other one tugging off his hat, getting caught in Blake’s hair, and Blake can barely focus, wraps his arms around Elliot and keeps him close.
There’s nothing careful about the way Elliot is kissing him right now, it’s like he’s been waiting for this, has been starving for it and can’t get enough, teeth grazing Blake’s bottom lip when he pulls away, only to press a kiss to Blake’s throat, hands finding th
eir way under Blake’s sweater, burning hot against his skin.
Blake gets his fingers into Elliot’s hair, tugs, and Elliot moans, lips still on Blake’s throat.
“Come on,” Elliot says, pulls him away from the door and down the hall. He trips over absolutely nothing on the way and laughs.
“Elliot,” Blake says, but can’t finish because Elliot is kissing him again as he guides him into his bedroom.
Elliot doesn’t turn on the lights, so the room’s all shadows, but Blake can see Elliot’s bed, part of it illuminated by the hallway light.
“Elliot, how drunk are you?” Blake asks, because he honestly can’t tell right now.
“Not drunk.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“A little,” Elliot says, fingers digging into Blake’s sides. “I want to… Blake. I don’t just want this because I’m drunk.”
“Okay, but…”
“You don’t want to,” Elliot says.
“We shouldn’t.”
Blake hates this so much. Two minutes ago, he was willing to let Elliot do whatever he wants with him.
Elliot takes a step back and lets out a breath. “I’m not that drunk.”
“I know, I… I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” Elliot says and that’s probably a lie. He looks small, like he wants to hide from Blake, turns his face away when Blake tries to look him in the eyes.
“Elliot.”
“I’m not mad because you don’t want to sleep with me,” Elliot says.
Blake believes him, because Elliot isn’t that kind of guy, but he’s mad about something, and it’s probably Blake’s fault.
“This is so fucked up, I’m so sorry,” Elliot says. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come in the first place.”
“I can go,” Blake says. It’s not that late. He’ll go home and think about his life and his choices and he’ll sleep in his own bed and maybe he’ll let the cats sleep on his bed, because by the time he makes it home, he’ll be miserable.
Elliot frowns. “Do you have to?”
“No, but… It sort of sounded like you wanted me to?”
“Please stay.”
“Okay,” Blake says and Elliot goes in for a hug, face pressed into the crook of Blake’s neck, arms wrapped around him tightly. They stand there like that as the minutes tick by, neither of them letting go.
Elliot eventually tugs himself away, finds Blake a shirt to borrow, disappears in his closet and comes back out in boxers and a shirt, then disappears into the bathroom while Blake pulls on the shirt that Elliot handed to him. Blake dumps his jeans and his sweater on a chair in the corner, then slips into the bathroom when Elliot is done.
Elliot left out a toothbrush for him. He’s already in bed, sitting up, when Blake pads back into the bedroom. He’s over on the left, leaving room for Blake, which means Blake probably isn’t sleeping on the couch. Blake climbs in next to him and it’s less awkward than he thought it would be.
He’s done this before, it’s familiar even though it’s been years.
“Okay?” Elliot asks. It’s an echo of the first time they slept in the same bed, back in Norwalk, where they were supposed to be sharing Blake’s room, Blake on a mattress and Elliot in his bed. It was the same question back then, when Elliot had already settled against Blake, breath tickling his neck.
Blake nods and reaches out, relieved when Elliot flops against him, with very little grace, and tucks himself against Blake, the exact same way he used to. Blake kisses the top of Elliot’s head because he can’t help himself, then scoots down a little to get comfortable.
“Happy New Year,” Blake mumbles. It must be midnight by now.
Elliot hums, curls his finger into Blake’s shirt. “We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”
Blake sees that as what it is, a request for him to not sneak out in the middle of the night. Which, honestly, he hadn’t considered yet, but likely would have considered if he’d woken up before Elliot and had found himself with a choice to make. Now that Elliot said that, though, Blake can’t. As much as he’d rather write tonight off as a slip-up they should forget about quickly, he knows this is more, and they do need to talk about it, even though he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to tell Elliot when tomorrow rolls around.
He does say, “Okay,” and hopes that he’ll miraculously have all the answers in the morning.
Chapter Fifteen
When Elliot wakes up, he’s pleasantly warm, sheets still pulled up to his chin, his knee pressed against more warm skin. He blinks, finds Blake next to him, still asleep, breathing slow and even. Elliot sneaks out of bed to go to the bathroom and is almost surprised when he returns and finds Blake exactly where he left him.
Blake has one arm stuck under his pillow, but the other one is between them, fingers splayed on the mattress. Elliot takes a peek at his tattoos, at the waves that splash across Blake’s arm in ink, the fish scales that belong to some kind of sea monster, the leaves of some kind of underwater plant that look like they’re swaying in the waves, a play of dark and light, ink and skin. Elliot wants to touch, trace all the lines with the tip of his finger. He wonders how much it hurt, if Blake needed someone to hold his hand. Elliot’s far too big of a wimp to get a tattoo, wouldn’t know what to get either, but he loves Blake’s and would stare at them for hours if he could.
Blake shifts, mumbles something. His hair is all over the place and a few strands in his face seem to tickle him. He scrunches up his nose, blinks, and wipes them away. “Hmm,” he says.
“Good morning,” Elliot whispers.
Blake squints at him. “Five more minutes.”
“Yeah,” Elliot says. They both have the day off. Coach told them he didn’t want to see their hungover asses anywhere close to their practice rink, so they have all day and Elliot isn’t in a rush to disturb the peace. “Come closer?” he tries.
Blake does, scoots over until he bumps into Elliot and wraps his arm around him, nose smushed into Elliot’s hair.
The weight in the pit of Elliot’s stomach doesn’t seem quite so heavy now. Last night was a mess, right from the start. He didn’t think this through, didn’t think about what it would mean for them if he asked Blake to come home with him. He wanted this and he was selfish enough to ask for it, but Blake had every right to turn him down in the end. Elliot gets it, he wasn’t exactly sober, but he still wants Blake’s hands on him now, wants to kiss him, see his lips wet and red and bitten again, like they were last night.
“When are we talking?” Blake asks. His hand is splayed on Elliot’s stomach, and it could dip a little lower so easily. Blake is barely touching him and it’s already driving him insane.
Elliot wiggles, pushes back against Blake. “Later.”
Blake shifts, nosing along the back of Elliot’s neck, breath tickling his skin. “You sure?”
“So sure,” Elliot says and Blake’s fingers twitch, hitch up his shirt. Elliot doesn’t remember how to breathe. Blake’s hand gently moves across the plane of his stomach, then down, skimming along the waistband of his briefs, down his thigh, everywhere but where Elliot really wants that hand.
Blake presses a kiss to the back of his neck, then his hand comes up again, fingers just so skimming over the fabric of his briefs and Elliot’s hips jerk against his hand. He wishes he wasn’t embarrassed.
The first time they did this together he lasted for about five seconds.
Blake’s teeth graze Elliot’s skin, but it’s gentle, not enough to leave a mark. A brush of lips follows, hands going up now, blunt fingernails brushing over a nipple, and Elliot shivers, then Blake says, “What do you want?”
Elliot wants everything.
He remembers what Blake likes, but it’s been so long and Elliot is too impatient to make a plan, he just wants to touch and touch and touch.
“I…” Another hint of teeth and Elliot completely loses his train of thought. “Blake.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck.”<
br />
“Hmm…” Blake palms him through his briefs. “So?”
Elliot has an answer on the tip of his tongue and forgets it immediately. He didn’t know he’d missed this. The way they were always so easy together, even if things were awkward. He never felt shy around Blake and it’s the same now, it’s familiar, despite all the years in between then and now.
“Lie back,” Elliot says and Blake goes, obediently, and lies down, blue eyes following Elliot as he sits up and pulls off his shirt. He moves to straddle Blake’s hips and bends down to kiss him, morning breath be damned. Blake clearly doesn’t care and kisses him back, stubble scratchy against Elliot’s face. Elliot wants to find out what that might feel like against his thighs. Later.
Elliot looks down at him, thinks of Blake before they were drafted, already tall, but somehow smaller than this. His cheekbones are sharper now and he has a tiny scar at the base of his throat that he didn’t have before. And the tattoos, of course, those are new, still fascinate Elliot, would hold his attention if there weren’t more pressing issues. He glimpses the outline of Connecticut on Blake’s other arm, feathers that probably go with the bird on his upper arm, more waves, and dark, evergreen trees.
Blake is looking back at him, silent, waiting. He was never in a particular hurry, always took his time, except for the first few times, when everything was new, when everything felt urgent.
Elliot leans back down, nose bumping against Blake’s. He stays there for a moment, not quite kissing him yet. He runs his fingers through Blake’s hair and it’s exactly as soft as it looks, trails his knuckles down the side of his face, his thumb across Blake’s lips. Blake smiles and kisses the pad of his thumb, and Elliot knows that they’ve been here before, but he suddenly feels eighteen again, only for a few seconds, like he did when they did this for the very first time.
Three Is The Luckiest Number Page 22