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Caliste jammed his key into the lock, fingers fumbling and stiff from the cold night air. Though the whole week had been cold, and Caliste liked to think he was fairly well-adjusted to the Berlin climate, this day in particular had been the coldest and windiest in a while. The whole team had bundled up in layers upon layers to make the twenty-minute walk to the office. Caliste always hated the feeling of his arms all bundled up in cloth and down and cotton, the restriction made him irritated. So while the rest of the team detoured on their way back to the house to pick up groceries and dinner, Caliste was making a beeline for the central heating and T-shirt liberation of his room. Canna tagged along, because…well, Caliste couldn’t say exactly why, he couldn’t read Canna’s mind. As much as he wished he could.
“Hurry,” came Canna’s voice from behind him. He was teasing, just trying to make Caliste react, but his nose was tinted with red and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his puffer to retain heat. Caliste muttered a “Shut up” back and turned the key. The door opened, puffing warm air into Caliste’s face, and the two shuffled into the empty apartment. While Caliste kicked his shoes off, Canna had already made his way to the sofa and just about melted himself into it. His long legs hung over the armrest, kicking against the side of the couch, and his eyes followed Caliste as he shed his layers and shook out his arms. Caliste noticed Canna’s stare, the one that usually meant some kind of mischief or lazy playfulness was abound. Approaching the couch, Caliste grinned.
“Hey, Canna, Hanni said no shoes on the couch.” Caliste shook Canna’s leg by the knee, wiggling Canna’s shoed feet for emphasis. This wasn’t a real rule, though it maybe should be, but Caliste wanted to mess with Canna anyhow. “And no coats. Your jacket is dirty. Hanni will get mad.” Canna didn’t react, ignoring the rules of this imaginary scenario in which their manager hoped to keep the couch unstained in a house of twenty-somethings, and kept his eyes fixed on Caliste’s. His eyes were a little crinkled at the corners, amused and still looking to be entertained. Caliste played along like always, pulling Canna’s legs straight and beginning to work at his shoelaces. One shoe hit the ground, then the other. Still garnering no reaction from the older, Caliste leaned forward as far as he could and gripped Canna’s coat lapel with his right hand. Slipping his left index and middle finger into the fabric opening beneath the lapel for leverage, Caliste pulled and popped the metal buttons open one by one from Canna’s collar down to his waist. Meeting Canna’s eyes again, Caliste searched in them for any signal to stop, or pull back.
Usually Canna wasn’t good at verbalizing his thoughts and keeping clear communications; countless review sessions and team meetings had made it clear that he needed to work on that, but Caliste knew he could usually count on reading Canna’s expression for a pretty-okay judgment on how Canna was feeling, thinking. Though, they had always retained some degree of mystery and unattainability, barricading him from the world.
It had taken Caliste months of prying and scratching and gnawing at Canna’s walls for him to begin to grasp any strand of what the older man was thinking at any given moment. He had much to learn, but Caliste desired to figure Canna out and was so far confident in his rudimentary Canna-reading abilities. And, to his knowledge, he was seeing no signs of “Too much,” or “That’s enough.”
Canna’s eyes were still fixed on him, just as dark and concentrated as always. Maybe a bit more concentrated than usual, a bit more intense…What was he seeing in them now? Focus, attention, and something that made Caliste feel like holes were being burned into his own eyes.
Caliste’s stomach twisted a little and he swallowed. He suddenly became very aware of Canna’s legs on either side of his hips, lightly brushing against the fabric of his sweatpants. Caliste’s left hand was still holding Canna’s jacket, and his right hand was resting on the couch cushion, propping up his weight as he leaned forward. Canna’s lips parted.
“Undress me.”
Caliste started. Of all the English words he had heard in his career coming from his teammates, from his friends, from Kim Canna, “undress” had never once entered his lexicon. Where did he even learn that? Canna hadn’t broken eye contact, and as Caliste stared back dumbly, he couldn’t interpret Canna’s eyes any further than a trace of mischievousness.
Still frozen, Caliste looked down as he felt Canna’s fingertips take hold of his own. Canna’s hands were strong, with slender fingers that deceptively hid their nimble strength. This strong hand, with conviction and intent, moved his towards the neckline of Canna’s sweatshirt. Caliste felt the warm skin of Canna’s collarbone brush ever so lightly against his fingertips and a tingle ran through his abdomen like electricity.
He had touched Canna before, held his hands, had wrapped his arms around Canna’s waist and felt his firm body close against his own. But this was different; it was intentional, quiet, … intimate. There was no one else around, no cameras watching. And.. Canna had initiated. Canna’s hand slipped away to rest at his waist and Caliste held his hand in place. Moving in some kind of stupor, or maybe acting just on instinct, Caliste pressed his index finger into the dip in Canna’s clavicle, eyes fixed on the pale skin and defined bone just barely peeking over his collar. The pressure drew a breathy "Ah" from the man below him.
Arousal pooled deep in Caliste’s belly and he raised his eyes to Canna’s face. Canna’s eyes flicked from the hand on his neck to Caliste’s face, blinking languidly in that unperturbed and feline way he always did. Caliste searched in Canna’s expression for any hint of how he should be interpreting this situation before he went too far or did the wrong thing or upset him somehow but all he saw was inky darkness and those eyes as mischievous and secretive as ever.
But still there was that intensity, attention and something he couldn’t name that drove Caliste crazy and he wanted to open his mouth to say something but the words, before they could come stumbling out, caught in his throat and he could only gasp. He lost his footing and almost stumbled over the edge of the couch as if magnetized to the body laying below him, catching his balance with a knee on the armrest.
Caliste's head was now lowered just inches from Canna's chest, and the proximity made his head swim and he breathed hard. Canna didn't move, and after a beat of Caliste attempting to compose himself, Caliste rediscovered his hand still on Canna's neck. Like he was exploring, Caliste dragged his hand down Canna's midsection, tracing the path a droplet of sweat might take down the peaks and valleys of Canna’s chest and abdomen. Caliste could feel the lean muscle beneath his fingertips and what the hell, this was Kim Canna lying perfectly still and pliable beneath him, just letting him touch and Caliste was going to go crazy on this sense of superiority, he was on top of the world.
Canna's body rose and fell gently with his breaths, and when Caliste's thumb brushed just below the navel, Canna exhaled and his waist lifted up, lightly pushing into Caliste's hand. Heat flashed in Caliste's abdomen, mirroring Canna's reaction. Caliste stared at the gap of perfectly smooth and toned flesh exposed above Canna’s waistband. Below it Canna’s hand thumbed at the elastic, pulling the fabric down just so– the tips of a white-text-on-black CALVIN KLEIN logo blinked at him– Caliste swallowed hard again and his heart beat in his ears as he looked up and met Canna’s eyes.
Still watching him, only him, just a little squinted, lips parted, a peek of his tongue between his pearl white teeth, one hand on his forehead– okay, Caliste had seen enough shitty overacted porn vids and whatever he heard from his buddies to know what was coming next, and he was a man too, he knew, but– he wet his lips, but his mouth felt dry, and This was happening? How do people even… and he was the one going down on Kim Canna? The thought alone, thinking that name and imagining that act made Caliste’s breath catch and that sizzle of desire ran again through his lower half. Well, he wasn't one to back down from a challenge. Hell no, he was going to first-time this and he'd figure it out. Exhaling shakily, Caliste slid his knee off the armrest and lowered his head until his nose almost touched the bare skin beneath him. He brought his right hand next to his head, and grasped at Canna’s waistband when–
“YAAAWW..!! So colddd…!”
Caliste flung himself to the farthest point he could manage as fast as possible and ended up leaning against the dining table, chest heaving and both knees rather weak and heart racing. The loudest member of their roster scrambled through the doorway, shivering like a wet dog and gripping plastic takeout bags with "THANK YOU" printed loudly on them in both hands. Following him was the rest of the team, all preoccupied to some degree with brushing snow off their coats and hats. Caliste groaned a "What-the-fuuuuckk" loudly and smothered his face in his hands.
Alan, by far the most perceptive, scanned his eyes between his teammate lounging on the couch and the one disintegrating in real time at the dinner table and furrowed his eyebrows.
“Dude, Caliste, what’s up?” Alan could tell the situation was suspicious; one corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.
“…Nothing..!” Caliste could feel his cheeks burning and covered his mouth with one hand like it could somehow conceal the onslaught of embarrassment and horniness coursing through his veins. They were going to get reported to HR, or something bullshit like that, they probably broke some rule, his career… Putain, his career, …
A gentle laugh rang out, then turned into a heavier and breathier chorus of laughter.
Caliste looked up in disbelief to see Canna, complete joy on his lips and holding his heart like it would leap out if he laughed any harder. Their eyes met and Caliste’s face burned hot with a mix of embarrassment and complete and utter infatuation and he couldn’t care any more that the others were laughing too, confused but laughing, and Caliste knew then and there that he lost, he lost, he was destroyed.