‘The M’ on Mt Zion is a Golden Landmark and a part of the experience at Mines. If you are an Oredigger or are enjoying reading about Ben and John’s story, please feel free to email me at [email protected]. I reply to everyone!
Chapter 32: The M
By March of Ben’s sophomore year, Golden was trading its heavy winter coat for muddy boots and meltwater. The town smelled faintly of asphalt and thawing earth, and Lookout Mountain’s slopes still wore streaks of dirty snow, like chalk smudges on green felt. Inside the Jackson Street apartment, life had settled into a new pattern: Caleb disappearing at dawn for PT, Ben buried in APO projects, and John dodging TikTok distractions while studying. The sharp edge of that January afternoon in the kitchen had dulled, not disappeared, leaving a quiet, humming awareness between them.
For Caleb, the spring semester stretch had been dominated by his new leadership responsibilities in the detachment. He knew his standout AFOQT score had set him apart when he scored that higher-ranked NCO billet. That confidence was vindicated when his Cadre called him in. He’d been accepted into the Professional Officer’s Course. It was a huge achievement, the first major hurdle officially cleared, solidifying his path into the Air Force and granting him a quiet, hard-won confidence that felt separate from the tangled mess of his personal life.
It was Ben, ever the peacemaker and celebrator of milestones, who suggested a hike to the M on Mt. Zion to mark the occasion. “We should do something,” he said, shrugging on his Mines hoodie. “All of us. It’s a big deal.” And so, on a bright Saturday morning that looked like May, but the air still felt like February, a group of six found themselves lacing up their boots at the trailhead.
The Mt. Zion parking lot was already crowded, a patchwork of Subarus and lifted trucks. Two smaller cars squeezed into adjacent spots a few spaces apart: JP’s faded silver Honda Fit and a gleaming dark blue Audi Q4, with a dusty Outback parked between them. Caleb had swapped the Beamer with his dad's Audi SUV, not because he had to, but because it made more sense with the commutes and the widening circle of friends.
Doors slammed, boots hit asphalt. Ben hopped out of the Q4’s passenger seat, tugging his Mines hoodie tighter against the breeze. John rounded the back of the SUV, the hood of his black The North Face puffer pulled low, then stopped to eye Caleb’s hiking boots.
“Seriously?” John bent to flick a finger against the perfectly clean toe. “They’re spotless. Did you not do outdoor leadership or have any outdoor labs in electrical engineering?”
Caleb smirked, shouldering a small daypack. “I keep my gear clean. Air Force has standards… especially its future officers.”
John gave Caleb’s shoulder a mock shove as he reached to close the door. “Please. Chair Force boots don’t even touch dirt. Meanwhile, Ben and I will be out there building bridges and highways.”
Connor popped the hatch of JP’s Fit and started handing out bottles. “Everyone got water? Trail’s short, but the sun’s no joke.”
Joey accepted a bottle with a quick, polite nod. “Thanks. Good call, I didn’t think to bring a spare.”
Connor grinned. “Eagle Scout habits: hydrate before you dehydrate.”
JP rolled his eyes, though a tiny smile formed at his mouth. “He’s been waiting all morning to say that.”
Joey glanced between them, an amused huff slipping out. The familiarity wasn’t with the group yet; it was with JP, but the seed of comfort was there, the beginnings of a vibe between them without jumping straight to inside jokes.
Ben noticed the exchange and raised an eyebrow at John, who returned a small, knowing smirk. Six people, two vehicles, a spring hike, and a few unspoken undercurrents.
All of them crossed the cracked asphalt to the trailhead, boots crunching on the first patches of gravel. A faint wind came down from Lookout Mountain, cool enough to bite fingers but threaded with the promise of spring.
Caleb took the lead without announcing it, long strides eating the incline, the blue Air Force windbreaker stretched across his shoulders. His navy hiking pants still looked like they belonged on a recruitment poster: clean lines, no stains. John matched him step for step, his light puffer zipped halfway over a faded Culver’s T-shirt, khaki outdoor pants already dusted with old mud stains from helping Joel with the pressure washing business back in Wisconsin. Every few feet, one of them would surge a little ahead, just enough to provoke the other.
Ben followed close behind, dressed like the cover of an REI catalog: olive soft-shell pants, a rust-colored fleece over his Mines hoodie, and a knit beanie pulled low. His pack was light but perfectly organized, a Nalgene clipped to the side. Connor trailed him by a step or two, his look nearly identical: gray trekking pants, a green puffer vest over a thermal shirt, and a battered BSA Adventure Base cap. He adjusted the straps on his daypack like it was second nature, scanning the group automatically like he couldn’t stop being an Eagle Scout even two years after aging out.
A good ten yards back, JP and Joey brought up the rear. JP wore black joggers and a windbreaker with the hood up, hands buried in the pockets. Joey had on slim hiking pants and a quarter-zip fleece, his cheeks pink from the cold. The two of them weren’t quite touching but drifted close enough that their elbows brushed every few steps, comfortable in a way that was already easy.
The trail began to slope upward, and the group naturally started to spread out along the switchbacks. Connor, ever the social coordinator, let JP and Joey fall into step beside him.
“So,” Connor started, upbeat and easy. “I realize we haven’t really been introduced. I’m Connor. I was John’s freshman roommate in Elm Hall.”
Joey nodded, a little shy but engaged. “Yeah, JP’s mentioned you. I’m Joey.”
“It’s good to finally put a face to the name.” Connor adjusted the strap of his hydration pack. “So, you’re navigating the whole…” he gestured vaguely at the group ahead of them, “Freshman among the Jackson Street roommates.”
Joey chuckled softly, but it was a little tighter this time. “Something like that. It’s a lot to keep straight.” He paused, his gaze flicking toward Caleb’s back ahead of them before returning to Connor. A more serious curiosity was on his face. “So, you and John were roommates. What was that dynamic like? I mean… after what I walked into, I’m still figuring out how all that works.”
Connor’s cheerful expression softened into one of understanding. “Oh. Right. That.” He assumed Joey was referring to the general chaos of when Caleb walked in on him giving JP a blowjob on Caleb’s bed last year, a story Connor gleefully enjoyed listening to every time he went over.
JP’s steps slowed slightly, his own guard coming up at the memory, a faint flush creeping up his neck. He stayed silent, letting Joey talk.
Joey continued, his voice lower, more confessional. “That day Caleb walked in on us, freaked out, then calmed down, he blurted out something about him, John, and Ben fooling around together. I wasn’t sure what world I’d stepped into. That’s… part of the reason I kinda ghosted JP for a while, even when it wasn’t him.”
Connor’s steps faltered. His cheerful, recruiting-focused expression melted into one of pure, unguarded shock. "Wait. What?" He blinked, looking from Joey to JP, as if seeking confirmation. "Caleb said that? About... all three of them?" This was a completely new layer to the story he thought he knew. The chaos of the interrupted hookup was one thing; this was a tectonic shift in his understanding of the apartment's dynamics.
He let out a slow breath, a mix of awe and dawning understanding. “Wow. Okay.” Connor shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. “Well, for the record, and to be crystal clear… that never included me. John and I were just two guys driving each other crazy in a 200-square-foot box. Johnny didn’t even come out to me until after he met Ben. I thought he was still with Allison for weeks after they broke up.”
“So,” Connor said, seamlessly pivoting back to his default setting, though his mind was clearly whirring with the new information. He tapped the APO logo on his water bottle. “What’s your major? I’m on the recruitment board for Alpha Phi Omega, and I’m always scouting talent.”
“Metallurgical and Materials Engineering,” Joey replied, seeming grateful for the pivot.
Connor’s eyes lit up. “No way! That’s perfect. We need more hard scientists…”
JP, who had been listening quietly, slid an arm around Joey’s shoulders with a playful groan of relief, the tension breaking. “Here we go. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Joey just smiled, looking between Connor’s earnest enthusiasm and JP’s affectionate exasperation. “I’ll… think about it.”
As they walked on, Connor’s gaze drifted ahead to where Caleb, John, and Ben were hiking together. He watched them with a new, fascinated curiosity, seeing the trio in a completely different light.
The switchbacks tightened near the top, the wind sharper now, tugging at hats and fleeces. The M, brilliant white even against the patchy snow, came into view between the scraggly pines. The incline eased, and suddenly they were on the broad, rocky platform where generations of Freshman Mines students had left their marks in limestone.
Ben’s boots crunched over loose gravel as he came up beside John. Without ceremony, he reached for John’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. It was small, almost casual, but the look John shot him was quick and startled, like a spark.
Ben nodded toward the right leg of the letter. “See that upward V? Bottom of the right side? My rock’s down there. Took me forever to wedge it in.”
John blinked, then broke into a laugh of disbelief. “No way. You’re kidding. Mine’s practically right there, dead center of the bottom. We were neighbors and didn’t even know it.”
Ben grinned, a little shy. “Wild to think we were that close, same mountain, same day, before we’d even met.” His voice dropped a notch. “Guess I didn’t notice you back then. Maybe because you weren’t in your usual UA gear. All that lime coloring flying around from O-Day, you’d have ruined them.”
John groaned good-naturedly. “Yeah, I was in some cargo shorts and a basketball camp tee I didn’t care about. Not exactly my best look.”
Ben’s hand lingered in his, just for a heartbeat longer, then he let go and faced the view. Golden and the Mines campus sprawled below them, sunlight glinting off the rooftops and the highway winding west toward the mountains.
Behind them, Connor was already snapping photos on his phone. “Okay, sentimental reveal time: where’d everyone get their rocks?” he called.
Ben raised his hand. “Mine’s from Camp Fire Mountain. My last OA service weekend before I left for here. Dad thought I was crazy when I put it in the truck on the move here Freshman year.”
Connor groaned theatrically. “Aw, man, you’re making me look bad. I grabbed one from a park near my house. Zero sentiment, just… a rock.”
“Eagle Scout fail,” John teased. “Even mine came from my high school parking lot by the gym.”
“Hey, I was too busy packing, I almost forgot!” Connor protested, laughing.
A few feet away, JP and Joey arrived, slightly out of breath. JP slung an arm over Joey’s shoulders while they took in the panorama. Caleb stood a little apart from them, the March sun catching the lettering on his windbreaker, his expression indecipherable for a moment before he smirked and snapped a photo of the group.
Ben looked back at the M, tracing the white stones with his eyes, and felt the quiet hum of connection, their separate histories converging on this mountainside, in this moment, under the same wide Colorado sky.
Behind them, JP shrugged off his jacket and spread it across a flat boulder, then dropped onto it with a dramatic sigh. Joey followed, their shoulders pressed close as JP opened a 3-pack of cheese and crackers. They leaned into each other, laughing quietly over some private joke, the kind of closeness that made the others politely look away without really looking away.
Connor settled onto another rock, unslung his pack, and dug around until he came up with a sealed Nutella-and-stick snack. He waved it at John. “Trade you for one of those trail mix bars you hoard?”
John smirked and handed one over. Connor dipped a breadstick, then offered the next one toward him. “You know, Johnny,” he said, tone easy but mischievous, “I set a pretty high bar as your first college roommate. Introduced you to Mitski and all. So…” He nodded toward Caleb with mock solemnity. “Upgrade or downgrade?”
John nearly choked on his breadstick, coughing out a laugh. Caleb just rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at his mouth. “You’re really asking me to compare APO and the Air Force?” John asked.
“Hey, a man deserves to know his legacy,” Connor shot back. “What’s his premium feature? Waking you up at 4:30 a.m. singing Lee Greenwood?”
Caleb finally played along. “My premium feature is not putting up with Johnny’s crap. Something you clearly failed at.”
“See!” Connor exclaimed, pointing at Caleb. “Downgrade on patience, confirmed.”
John balled up a dirty snowball and lobbed it at Caleb, grinning. “Nah, just a different model. You were the quirky, high-efficiency compact. He’s the high-performance, all-terrain edition, with afterburners.”
Caleb shook his head, but the grin stayed. “Keep boasting, Johnny. It’s your only skill.”
Ben chuckled quietly from where he sat, cheeks a little pink from more than the cold.
The group’s laughter mingled with the wind whistling off the ridge, a small, perfect moment suspended above Golden. Connor took a sip of water, his eyes still glinting. “Alright, upgrade stands. But if you ever need some space, we’ve got a decent couch at the townhouse.”
Caleb clapped his hands once, loud enough to cut through the breeze. “OK, before we head down, photo time. Proof we actually made it up here.”
JP groaned from his spot on the jacket. “Ugh, do we have to? We’re perfectly horizontal and cozy.”
“Up,” Caleb ordered, brandishing his phone like a drill sergeant. “You’re not getting out of this, love birds.”
Joey laughed and tugged JP to his feet by the sleeve. “C’mon, it’ll take two seconds.”
They bunched together near the edge of a rock cropping, the white M bright behind them. Caleb balanced his phone on a flat stone, set the timer, and jogged back into the group. Just as the shutter clicked, a sharp gust barreled up the slope and snatched Connor’s Adventure Base cap clean off his head.
“Hat overboard!” Connor yelped, lunging after it. The group erupted in laughter as the cap cartwheeled toward a clump of sagebrush a few yards down the trail. He skidded after it, finally snagging it against a rock with one gloved hand. When he trudged back up, cheeks pink from wind and embarrassment, John and Ben were still doubled over laughing.
“Nature’s revenge for such an ugly hat,” John said, grinning.
“Pfft,” Connor muttered, jamming the cap back on. “My only souvenir from spending 10 days in Northern Ontario in a canoe.”
They collected their packs, stuffed wrappers and bottles away, and began the descent. The trail was easier going down, but the wind had teeth now, slithering through layers and biting at exposed skin. Ben adjusted his fleece collar and pulled his beanie lower, but a visible shiver betrayed him as another gust swept past.
Caleb, a few steps ahead, glanced over his shoulder. “Cold already?” he called back, his tone more teasing than critical.
Ben huffed out a laugh through chattering teeth. “Guess I should have worn a winter jacket.”
Caleb slowed until they were side by side, “The back seats in the Q4 stay warm even when the car’s off,” he said casually. “Audi magic. You can thaw out on the ride.”
Ben shot him a grateful look, and John, walking just behind, caught the exchange and smirked quietly to himself. The promise of warm leather seats and privacy hung unspoken between them as they followed the trail toward the parking lot, the white M shrinking behind them against the blue Colorado sky.
The hike back was quick: gravity and a cold wind pushed them along, boots crunching over cold gravel and patches of old snow. Caleb, John, and Ben naturally stretched ahead, their pace brisk. By the time they reached the parking lot, the sun was higher, streaks of gold catching on windshields. The lot was crowded with parked cars, but quiet; no hikers lingered outside.
Caleb clicked the Q4’s remote, the blink of hazard lights flashing like a signal. “Back, finally,” he said, his breath visible in the chilly air. He swung open the driver’s door but paused when Ben and John exchanged a glance.
Ben tugged on John’s sleeve and nodded toward the back door. “Warm seats, remember?”
John gave him a faint grin. “Europeans and their comfy bums.”
They slid into the backseat together, leather creaking softly under them, and the sudden warmth rising from the seats was immediate: a cocoon against the cold. Caleb caught the look they shared, then closed his driver’s door without getting in. He circled to the front of the SUV, pulling his windbreaker tighter, and leaned casually against the fender, scanning the otherwise quiet lot.
Farther up the trail, Connor stopped at the trailhead sign, arms crossed against the wind. JP and Joey were still picking their way down the last switchback, their voices carrying faintly on the breeze. When everyone finally reached Caleb in the parking lot Caleb motioned toward the back of the Audi that they couldn’t see behind the Outback. “Ben said he wants to check out one of the other viewpoints,” he said lightly. “Don’t wait up for us.”
JP arched an eyebrow but didn’t question it. “Works for me. I’m starving.” He opened the Fit’s door for Joey, and after Connor got in, their hatchback was easing out of the lot, tail lights fading down the mountain road.
The parking lot settled into silence again. Caleb kept his casual lookout, pretending to scroll his phone while the wind whispered over the cars. Inside the Q4, the world was warm European leather and muffled quiet. The faint hum of residual heat wrapped around Ben and John, their breaths fogging the windows slightly. The closeness of the mountains and the empty lot outside made everything feel suspended: like a world apart where, for a heartbeat, it was just the two of them.
Ben shifted a little closer to John on the seat, their knees touching, the faint creak of the leather loud in the stillness. Outside, Caleb stood sentinel, the March sky wide and pale over the ridge, keeping watch without looking back. The moment stretched, full of unspoken things, the kind of quiet that held its own charge. Ben turned his face toward John, their eyes locking in the dim, fogged light.
The kiss started slowly, a soft press of lips that was more breath than pressure. But it sparked something instantly, a familiar current that cut through the quiet. John’s hand came up to cup Ben’s jaw, his thumb stroking the cold, wind-roughened skin.
He broke the kiss with a soft, breathless laugh. “Christ, your cheeks are freezing,” he muttered, his own lips brushing Ben’s as he spoke.
“Warm me up, then,” Ben whispered back, the words swallowed as he leaned in again.
This kiss was more intense, hungrier. It tasted of cold mountain air, sweat, and the faint, familiar cherry of John’s lip balm. Ben’s hands, clumsy with cold at first, found their way to the zipper of John’s puffer and slowly raked the zipper the rest of the way down. John shivered, but not from the temperature, from the scrape of Ben’s fingernails against the thin fabric of his t-shirt, from the deliberate way Ben’s body pressed into his, pinning him gently against the door.
The leather sighed beneath them as they moved. Ben’s mouth traveled to John’s jaw, his throat, leaving hot, damp patches on his skin. His hands slid lower, from John’s defined abs to his hips, fingers hooking into the waistband of his hiking pants.
John’s breath caught, a sharp intake that fogged the window beside his head. “Benji…” he breathed, “You’re gonna make me cream my pants, right here on the back seat.”
“Let’s do it then,” Ben muttered against his neck. “I think Caleb wants us to.”
His fingers were cold against John’s stomach as he slipped them under the hem of his shirt, skating up the tense, warm plane of his abdomen. John arched into the touch, a low groan escaping him. Ben took that as all the permission he needed.
With a deft, practiced motion, Ben’s other hand went to the button of John’s fly. The snick of it coming undone was obscenely loud in the muffled quiet of the car. The zipper’s rasp was even louder, a slow, deliberate descent. John’s head fell back against the window with a soft thud, his eyes fluttering shut.
Outside, Caleb hadn’t moved. He was a statue against the hood of the Q4, his back to them, a silent guardian facing the empty trailhead. The wind ruffled his hair, but he didn’t seem to feel it. His very stillness was a pact, a wall between them and the world.
Inside, the world had narrowed to touch and breath and the scent of warm leather and clean sweat. Ben’s hand slipped inside John’s open fly, past the band of his black Nike boxer-briefs. John jolted, a full-body shudder, his own hands fisting in the fabric of Ben’s fleece.
“God, your hands are like ice,” John gasped, but he was pushing his hips forward, seeking more contact, not less.
Ben’s fingers were cold, clumsy with the lingering chill from the hike, and the contrast with John’s heat made them both shiver. A breathy laugh ghosted against John’s neck. Ben flexed his stiff fingers, the memory of cold granite and wind still clinging to his skin. “Okay, okay. Don’t complain,” he whispered, pulling his hand back.
For a second, John whined at the loss of contact, but Ben already had a plan. “I’ll use this, then,” Ben breathed, his voice rough with intent. “Since you don’t like my cold hands, it’ll be just like the Cat’s Meow.”
He bunched a handful of the glossy black The North Face puffer, the nylon shell cool and slick against his knuckles, the downy insulation beneath giving way like a breath. He wrapped it around John’s cock, the lining smooth and frictionless against his skin, the whole jacket feeling both insubstantial and intimate in his grip.
John’s reaction was immediate. A choked-off whimper burst from his throat, his hips bucking involuntarily. The sensation was strange and intense: not the direct pressure of Ben’s palm, but a slippery, relentless pressure, amplified by the rustling whisper of the fabric with every stroke.
“Fuck, Benji….” John gasped, his head knocking back against the fogged glass.
Ben worked him fast, his wrist twisting in the cocoon of the puffer, the nylon gliding easily. He could feel the heat building through the layers, the jacket growing damp and warm in his clenched fist. He watched John’s face, eyes dark with focus, his own breath coming quick. The jacket whispered and sighed with each movement, a rhythmic counterpoint to John’s ragged breathing.
It didn’t take long. The cold, the risk, the sheer sensory overload of it, John tensed, a sharp cry bitten back behind his teeth, and came hard into the dark nylon at the bottom of his jacket bundled in Ben’s fist.
For a moment, the only sounds were their heavy breaths and the faint, sticky rustle of the fabric. Ben slowly loosened his grip, the puffer falling open like a spent flower, a warm, damp mess between John’s t-shirt and the black nylon interior lining.
John’s eyes opened, dazed, meeting Ben’s. A slow, shaky grin spread across his face. “That was great, Benji,” he breathed.
Ben leaned in and gave the mess inside the jacket a few licks of his tongue, salt and sweat and John. Outside, Caleb finally shifted, turning just enough to glance toward the car, not inside, but at it, before resuming his watch. The message was clear: Take your time. I’m here.
John’s hand came up, fingers tangling in Ben’s hair, holding him there for a few seconds. His other hand slid down, fumbling with the button of Ben’s hiking pants.
“My turn to warm you up,” John murmured, his voice still rough.
Ben nodded, swallowing hard as John worked the zipper down, as well as the waistband of his Columbia boxer briefs. The cold air hit his skin for just a second before John’s warm mouth replaced it. Ben’s head fell back against the seat, a low groan catching in his throat.
And then: tap tap tap.
Three sharp raps on the hood of the Q4.
John flinched, ducking low instantly, pulling away. Ben froze, his heart stuttering, and tucked his hoodie over his crotch. Through the fogged window, he saw Caleb straighten up, turning toward the lot’s entrance. The crunch of gravel under tires, then the sound of doors opening just a few feet away on the other side of the parked Outback. Voices, a couple, maybe a family: laughing, gathering packs.
Ben held his breath, one hand still buried in John’s hair. John stayed down, his forehead pressed against Ben’s thigh.
They both heard a male voice shout over the hood of the Outback. “How’s the trail looking? Any snow left?”
Caleb’s voice, calm and casual, floated through the glass. “Just some patches, not enough to make a snowman, it’s the wind that’ll get ya.”
“Thanks!” The other voice replied.
Car doors slammed. Silence returned, thicker now, charged with adrenaline.
A moment later, two more knocks came, softer this time, deliberate taps on the front passenger panel. Knock knock.
It’s clear. Continue.
Ben let out the breath he’d been holding. John lifted his head slowly, eyes wide, a wild, breathless smile spreading across his face.
“Close,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Ben breathed, his heart still pounding. “Now finish.”
The signal didn’t need an explanation. John bent back down, but this time, there was no hurry. He moved with a slow, deliberate focus that made Ben’s breath stutter. It wasn’t just about reciprocating; it was about claiming the moment, the safety, the heat they’d been granted.
Outside, Caleb resumed his post, a statue against the fading afternoon light, guarding their secret in the wind-swept parking lot.
First, John just breathed against Ben’s skin, warm air ghosting over him, a soft contrast to the lingering chill. Then, a slow, wet lick from the base of his uncut cock to the tip, a savoring drag of his tongue that made Ben shudder. John took him into his mouth gradually, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed in wet heat.
And then he just… stayed there. Not moving, just holding him, letting the pressure and the warmth build. Ben groaned, low and ragged, his head tipping back against the seat. He could feel the faint pulse of his own heartbeat against John’s tongue.
When John finally began to move, it was with a lazy, hypnotic rhythm. Up and down, slow and deep, his lips tight, his hand working in tandem at the base. Every few passes, he’d pull off entirely, swirling his tongue around the head before plunging back down, swallowing him whole again.
Time blurred. The world outside the fogged windows, the wind, the distant mountains, even Caleb’s silent vigil, faded into a soft, muffled periphery. There was only the slick, hot pull of John’s mouth, the creak of leather beneath them, the smell of lingering sweat and damp nylon.
Ben’s breathing grew ragged, his hips making tiny, involuntary thrusts. His fingers tightened in John’s hair, not guiding, just holding on. “Johnny…” he whispered, a request for even more.
John hummed in response, the vibration shooting straight through Ben’s core. He picked up the pace, just slightly, his free hand sliding up to press against the small happy trail under Ben’s hoodie, holding him down, keeping him from thrusting too deep.
That touch, possessive, grounding, was what undid him. The coil in Ben’s gut tightened, then snapped. Pleasure tore through him, sharp and bright and endless, and he came with a choked-off cry, hips jerking up into that wet, willing heat.
John took it all, swallowing steadily, not pulling back until the last tremor had left Ben’s body. Only then did he slowly release him, pressing one last, soft kiss to his oversensitive flesh before resting his forehead against Ben’s thigh, breathing heavily.
Ben floated, flushed and exhausted, for what felt like hours. The world seeped back in slowly: the sound of the wind, the feel of the heated seat, the sight of John slowly sitting up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
John leaned in and kissed him, deep and thorough, and Ben could taste himself on John’s tongue: savory, intimate, theirs.
“Okay, time to go home?” John muttered against his lips, his own voice raspy.
Ben nodded, words still beyond him. He managed to fumble for John’s hand, lacing their fingers together before zipping himself up. Outside, Caleb hadn’t moved. The sun was even higher now, melting what was left of the dirty snow on the mountain top.
Caleb turned then, finally meeting Ben’s gaze through the windshield. He gave a single, small nod, not a smile, but an acknowledgment. A job done. A secret kept. Then Caleb came back around the driver’s side, opened the door, and slid into his seat without a word. Caleb didn’t look back before he started the engine and turned the heat up full blast.
As the Q4 pulled out of the lot, the warm air washing over them, Ben leaned his head against John’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The M was behind them now, the mountain quiet and keeping its secrets. But here, in the warmth of the car, with John’s pulse steady under his cheek and Caleb’s quiet presence in the driver’s seat, Ben felt something settle deep in his chest: a sense of safety, of belonging, that no amount of cold wind or unexpected strangers could shake.
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