Page 3 of Lace

Once alone in the dorm room, he could remind Levi of some of the things that made them a smoking couple, none of which had anything to do with basketball.

“Soon, babe,” Levi whispered for his ears only when the squirming became obvious.

“You’re going to make this up to me,” Caleb informed him.

Levi grinned wide. “Hope so.”

“No hoping about it. It’s happening. You’re going to put out.”

The chaste kiss next to Caleb’s ear masked the whispered, filthy “Promise” that sent a shiver down Caleb’s spine.

The promise held firm as they manoeuvred through the exiting crowd after the game. Levi had laced their fingers together and they stuck close, shoulder-to-shoulder through the crush. Not that it stopped people jostling them. Caleb told himself it wasn’t personal. They were all eager to get out of the overheated gymnasium.

Then a hand slammed him firmly in the back, right between his shoulder blades, and he stumbled face first nearly into the post between the gym’s double doors. Only his quick reaction, and a hand to brace himself stopped his face impacting the metal.

Not an accident. Deliberate, under cover of the milling crowd. Caleb pursed his lips, dropped his shoulder to get around the post, and brought it up under the perpetrator’s chin without stopping. The guy was one of Shank’s buddies, and he shouted at the impact, stopping traffic as he clutched his jaw.

Levi frowned at Caleb. He hated physical altercations.

“Oops,” Caleb growled.

“Hey!” Shank shouted, a hard grip on Caleb’s shoulder yanking him back.

Caleb twisted away freeing his hand from Levi’s. “Fuck off, Shank,” he snarled, willing Levi not to turn around.

“Got a problem?” Shank’s voice barked challenge, and his face was set in a mask of righteous anger.

Caleb wished with every bone in his body that he could let it go. The guy sounded like a fifth grader and it shouldn’t matter. But it did, and Caleb hated that it did.

“Keep walking, pussy-boy,” Shank said.

Caleb tensed. “Or what?” And now who sounded like a fifth grader?

Shank pointed to his friend, still poking at his jaw tenderly. The guy was shorter than Caleb by a full head, though built heavier, muscle covered by a layer of flab. “How do you feel about picking on someone your own size?” Shank asked.

“Give it your best shot, asshole.” Caleb peeled lips off clenched teeth, tightened his fingers into fists and faced the bigger man. “Back that shit up or get out of my face.”

“Caleb.” Levi’s hand curled around his tight fist. “Let’s go.”

“He started it.”

“Walk away,” Levi said, prying one fist open and inserting his own hand there.

The jerk facing them glanced at their clasped hands and Caleb shifted, uncomfortably aware of the lace peeking from the bottom of Levi’s borrowed hoodie. He stepped sideways, hiding his connection to Levi, but unwilling to give it up.

“Not anyone’s business,” Levi said, keeping his voice low and his gaze on Caleb’s face. “Let’s just go.”

Shank’s lips curled, but he said nothing.

Reluctant to turn his back on the bully, Caleb still flexed the hand Levi had in his and tightened his grip. “Not worth it,” he managed through clenched teeth, and almost could have meant it, if only for the sake of not fighting in front of Levi.

“No,” Levi agreed. “He’s not.”

Being dragged off by his lover to where the crowd was thinner and Shank had been left behind didn’t sit well with Caleb. He fought his own battles. Always had. But Levi wasn’t loosening his grip and Caleb didn’t want to pull away.

“Why do you let them get to you?” Levi asked. Exasperation bled through his words.

The small hairs on the back of Caleb’s neck rose. “I know you don’t understand.”

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