Page 107 of Puck the Coach's Son
“Kid.”
“I mean it.”
He tips my chin up off his sternum.
“Now?”
“Before we have to go back.”
His eyes go dark.
“You want again?”
“Yeah.”
He rolls me onto my back in the needles and he covers me with his body and takes his time. He fingers me slow. He watches my face. He waits. When he slides inside me this time, it's with his eyes on mine and our fingers laced over my head in the dirt. There is nothing between us and we are going slow, so slow, and it is different from anything he has done before because we have time and we are alone and no one is coming for us. When I come it is with his mouth on mine and I barely make a sound. He comes right after, buried deep inside me.
We stay there. In the clearing. In the cold.
The raven complains again.
“Theo.”
“Yeah.”
He lifts my chin off his ribs.
“We have to go back.”
“I know.”
He smooths a thumb under my eye.
“You're going to have to walk back into that house.”
“I know.”
His thumb presses into the hinge of my jaw.
“I'll be five minutes from you.”
“Okay.”
He kisses me. One more. Long and slow. Then he helps me up. He helps me dress. He shakes pine needles out of my hood with careful fingers. He walks me back to the trail.
At the trailhead we stop. He pulls me in one more time. He presses his lips to the top of my head.
“You run home.”
“Yeah.”
He grips my shoulders.
“You walk in that door.”
“Yeah.”
His fingers tighten on my arms.
