Chapter 5: The Threshold
"Yeah," Stefan said. "I'm ready."
He got out of the truck before his nerve could fail, and Diego was beside him in seconds, keys jingling in his pocket, close enough that their shoulders bumped on the walk to the building. The hallway smelled like old coffee and someone's cigarettes from last night. Stefan took the stairs, and Diego followed, and with every step Stefan felt something loosen in him. He was leading. He was choosing this.
He unlocked the door and stepped in. Diego came through behind him, and before Stefan could say a word about the mess or the light or anything, the door clicked shut and Diego's body was against his back, warm through the cotton of his shirt. Two muscular arms surrounded him, big hands, one on his belly, one sliding lower to the bulge in his own gym shorts. Diego's breath moved over the nape of his neck.
"Still okay?" Diego murmured.
"Fuck yeah."
Stefan turned, and Diego's hand came up to cup his jaw, slow this time, no horn coming, no rush. His thumb brushed Stefan's cheek. Then Stefan leaned in himself, and their mouths met.
It was clumsy for half a second, but Diego kissed the way he trained: deliberate, steady, with strength held in reserve. His lips were soft and a little chapped, and he tasted faintly of coffee. His hands slid, one up Stefan's spine, the other on his butt. He pulled him in, chest to chest, groin to groin. The body heat, part from the work out, part from the passion, made them both all the more eager to be skin to skin.
Diego broke it just long enough to breathe, forehead pressed to Stefan's forehead.
"Been wanting that since the bar," he said.
Stefan's hand pulled Diago's bulge onto his own. "That's what I want."
Diego grinned. "Show the way."