Another Spring Break with Ben and John at Mines! If you’re enjoying this story, please reach out to me at [email protected] I reply to every email!
Colorado’s Steel City
Ben and John stayed two more nights in Moraine Park. John’s second REI Lumen sleeping bag never got used.
By the third morning, the wind had dropped, the meadow had gone pale gold instead of gray, and packing up felt less like departure and more like proof. The Cat’s Meow went back into its stuff sack warm and broken in differently than before.
When they got back to Golden, Ben waited until John was in the shower before he executed his plan.
He pulled the beaver onesie from the red bag, still absurdly soft, and slid it into the REI Lumen and its stuff sack in the closet. Deep. Under their winter jackets and spare towels. Somewhere John would never think to look.
He stood there listening to John, still in the shower, then shut the closet door.
The weekend before classes started back up came too fast.
By then, everyone was back in Golden.
Caleb returned first, dragging his duffel up the stairs and sporting a sharp sunglasses tan across his face like he’d been cut out of lighter skin. He claimed Arizona had been “transformative” and then immediately complained about Colorado being cold again.
JP was back from Fort Collins with a box of leftover brigadeiros his mother had insisted he bring “for the boys.” Joey came to visit him directly from Longmont not long after, sliding into the kitchen as if they’d never left town.
Caleb waited until they were all in the living room late Saturday morning before dropping it.
“You fuckers said you’d come visit Pueblo,” he said, pointing at each of them in turn. “My parents are gone. We’ve got a free house and spare beds. Now or never.”
Ben glanced at John.
John just shrugged. “Road trip.”
So they all packed a night bag and left.
The drive south in the Q4 flattened slowly, the Front Range receding behind them, the land widening into open fields and low industrial stretches of the Denver exurbia before tightening again near town. Caleb directed from the driver's seat like he’d been promoted to tour guide.
By the time they had dinner at Texas Roadhouse and pulled into his dad’s driveway, the sun was low and warm in a way Golden never quite managed in March.
An hour later, the five of them were spread across the back patio.
Pool cover on, outdoor heater glowing orange. A small metal table crowded with six-packs of Prost and a half-open bag of kettle chips Joey had bought at Maverik just in case JP didn’t have anything else gluten-free.
Caleb leaned back in a patio chair like he was at an all-inclusive resort. JP sat cross-legged on one of the loungers. Joey hovered near the heater, palms extended toward it like he could pull the warmth directly into his chest. John and Ben shared the edge of a bench, knees touching.
“To a spring break well done,” Caleb declared, lifting his can.
They all clinked aluminum.
“So,” Caleb said, settling back deeper into the patio chair. “I’ll go first. Arizona was elite.”
“Elite,” JP repeated flatly.
“It was,” Caleb insisted. “Sun every single day. Pool at the Airbnb. Eight guys from the detachment, zero responsibilities. We golfed. We grilled. We ran sprints at six a.m. because no one can get out of PT mode apparently.”
“That sounds terrible,” Ben said.
“It builds character,” Caleb replied.
“You were on break,” John pointed out.
“Disciplined officers don’t take breaks.”
JP snorted.
“We also had a very serious cornhole tournament,” Caleb continued. “Double elimination. There were brackets. There was a seeding controversy.”
“You’re such a sports nerd,” JP rolled his eyes.
“I won,” Caleb said, flexing his non-existent muscle.
“Of course you did,” Ben muttered.
“And I now have a sunglasses tan that makes me look like a raccoon in reverse,” Caleb added, gesturing to his face. “So yes. Transformative.”
JP lifted his can. “Meanwhile, some of us embraced culture.”
“By culture, you mean... ESPN? March Madness?” John asked.
“La Liga,” JP said. “Every match. Real Madrid is inevitable.”
“Bet you didn’t leave the couch,” Caleb teased.
“I left,” JP replied calmly. “For food and to shower.”
Joey nudged him with his knee. “I drove up like three times.”
“You did,” JP said, softer.
“Bet you didn’t stay over, though,” Caleb remarked.
Joey shrugged, eyes on the heater’s glow. “Didn’t need to.”
Ben felt John’s knee still pressed against his. Easy. Familiar.
Caleb tipped his can toward them. “And you two,” he said. “How was Rocky Mountain National Park?”
A nod toward Ben and John. “Cold?”
“Reclaimed Meow National Park,” Ben muttered under his breath.
John choked on his drink, coughing into his fist, shoulders shaking.
“What?” Caleb squinted at them, decided he didn't want to know, and moved on. JP and Joey just grinned at each other, missing the subtext entirely.
“We saw elk,” Ben offered.
“Nice,” JP said. “Bull or cow?”
“Cow. A couple of them. Down in the meadow by our site. We stopped at Buc-ee’s on the way up, got some souvenirs, including Caleb’s commissioning present.”
Caleb nodded, satisfied with this level of detail. Joey asked if there were proper bathrooms and showers. JP wanted to know how they survived on freeze-dried food for 4 days. Normal questions. Normal answers.
The laughter lingered. Easy. Comfortable. The kind that left warmth behind even after it faded.
The wind shifted slightly. Caleb leaned closer to the heater without thinking.
Ben watched the movement.
Then, like Ben had been holding the thought for a while, he said, “So… my parents finalized the cruise booking for us.”
John’s gaze darted to him. There it was.
Caleb looked up. “The week-long Caribbean one with John?”
“Yeah. Leaves the first week of June.”
“Must be rough,” Caleb said lightly. “Waterslides. On board casino. Your mom asking if you’re eating enough.”
John snorted.
Ben smiled, but it didn’t quite settle. “There’s space for one more.”
The heater hummed.
JP turned to Joey. Caleb’s expression didn’t change right away. He just looked at Ben. Then at John.
“With your parents?” Caleb asked.
“Yeah,” John said, steady. “They already cleared it. We have a cabin all to oursleves. You’d just have to cover the extra person. I ordered a 36-pack of Dramamine for this from Target.”
Ben nodded. “They’d actually like to meet you one day.”
The night pressed in around the circle of light. Caleb let out a slow breath through his nose.
“That’s… really a generous offer.”
“It’s not generosity,” Ben said. “We want you there if you can make it.”
No reply.
Caleb looked down at his hands. Flexed his fingers once against the cool metal of the chair arm.
"My dad's taking the family to Disney World the week before field training," he said. "We're flying out of Denver together, then I'll hop over to Alabama from Orlando."
“That’s not a no,” John said gently.
Caleb huffed a quiet laugh. “It kind of is.”
Silence again. Not sharp. Not hostile. Just honest.
Caleb met Ben’s eyes this time.
“I don’t think that’s my place,” he said, less of a challenge now. “A family cruise. I’d just be… extra.”
Ben’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“You’re not extra.”
Caleb’s smile came back, but it didn’t reach as far as before.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s your thing. And my thing for this summer is those two weeks in Alabama.”
The heater clicked as it cycled, flame dipping then flaring again.
John studied Caleb for a second longer than usual, like he was trying to see past what was being said.
“You’d have fun, lots of sun,” John offered.
Caleb shrugged. “Lots of sun in Montgomery, Alabama, too.”
That got a small laugh out of Ben.
Another stretch of quiet settled between them, not broken, just shifted.
Finally, Caleb nudged Ben’s foot with his own.
“Bring me back something obnoxious,” he said. “Like one of those colorful Jimmy Buffett Margaritaville shirts.”
John smirked. “We don’t drink Margaritas.”
“Size Large, I need the length. Figure it out.”
Ben hesitated, then nodded once. “Okay.”
The heater had started to feel less like warmth and more like memory. Joey's palms had finally dropped from their hover. JP was on his third beer, moving slowly.
Caleb stretched, cracked his neck, and looked at the house.
"Alright. Anyone actually want to see the rest of this place, or are we just gonna sit here and let JP finish the entire six-pack?"
JP raised his can. "I'm pacing myself."
"You're literally nursing one beer," John said.
"Pacing."
Caleb stood, gesturing vaguely toward the sliding door. "Come on. I'll give you the world's fastest tour.”
When they were inside, he gestured vaguely down the hall. "Guest room's at the end. JP, you and Joey can take that: queen bed, clean sheets, five pillows, my mom's weird about hospitality."
JP opened his mouth, maybe to protest, maybe to clarify. Nothing came out. Joey just nodded, easy, like it was already settled.
"You two, " Caleb pointed at Ben and John. "You're in my old room, cause I know Ben. Hope you like dusty middle school wrestling medals, F-35 posters, and a distinct lack of floor space."
"And you?" John asked.
Caleb shrugged. "My old folks' room. King bed, blackout curtains, zero childhood trauma. I'm winning this arrangement."
"Your step-sisters' rooms?" Ben asked.
"Off-limits," Caleb said. No further explanation. No one asked.
The house was clean in that way parents' houses are when they are on vacation. Staged. No clutter. A faint smell of lemon polish.
Caleb moved through it with the efficient boredom of someone who'd grown up here. Half-bath. Laundry room. His dad’s study, door closed, do not enter.
"Basement," he said, pushing open the door by the kitchen. "Nothing exciting. Storage. My step-sister’s drum set. Pool table."
JP stopped. "Pool table?"
Caleb glanced back. "Yeah. Why?"
"I didn't see a pool table."
"Because you weren't listening to the tour. You were canoodling."
JP ignored that, already heading down the stairs. Joey followed, amused.
Caleb looked at Ben and John, shrugged, and went after them.
The basement was fully furnished. A main room with a small bathroom and a door that probably led to the mechanical room. In the center of it all, under a low ceiling light, a pool table.
It was a nice setup, one you’d expect to find in a million-dollar home like this. JP was already circling it like he'd been waiting for this his entire life.
"You play?" Joey asked.
"No," JP said. "But I'm going to win."
Caleb laughed. "Against who?"
"Everyone."
Ben leaned against the wall near the stairs. John settled beside him, shoulder against shoulder.
Caleb racked the balls. JP picked out a cue and tested its weight. Joey sat on the arm of the sectional, watching.
"You want in?" Caleb asked, glancing at Ben and John.
Ben shook his head. "We'll watch."
"Suit yourselves."
The first break was sloppy. Balls scattered, nothing dropped. JP frowned at the table like it was a midterm accounting for 30% of his grade.
Caleb circled, lined up his shot, and sank a solid.
"That's how it's done," he said.
"One ball," JP said. "Very impressive."
"One more than you."
Joey laughed. Quiet, easily now, between the back and forth with JP and his roommate.
John's thumb traced slow circles on Ben's knuckle. Neither of them said anything.
The game stretched. JP got worse before he got better. Caleb talked trash constantly. Joey, it turned out, was quietly competent, sinking shots with no celebration, just a small nod to himself.
Ben watched them all: Caleb's theatrical competitiveness, JP's determined fumbling, Joey's calm precision, and felt something settle in his chest.
This, he thought. This is what it was like to be with people you care about.
Not the big moments. The tent, the river, the word ours. Those were the landmarks.
But this, a basement, a pool table, five people who kept ending up in the same room, this was the territory.
John's thumb kept moving. Ben let him.
The game stretched. JP had finally sunk something, a striped ball, accidentally, while aiming for something else entirely. Caleb was still winning.
Caleb lined up his shot. Paused. Didn't take it.
"So," he said, casual in a way that wasn't casual at all. "Junior year."
Ben looked up.
Caleb was studying the cue ball like it was one of the Magic 8-Balls you got at Spencer’s. "I've been looking at places. For the fall."
The table settled. JP lowered his cue. Joey stopped mid-sway on the sectional arm.
"Lakewood," Caleb said. "There's a townhouse complex in Oak Park. Two or three bedrooms. Garage. Patio." He paused. "My dad's willing to help with the lease."
No one spoke. The furnace in the mechanical room was a distant hum.
"Why Lakewood?" John asked.
Caleb shrugged. "Hard to get anything decent in Golden. It’s a 15-minute drive or a 30-minute bus ride for Ben. More space than the apartment. And you two," He gestured with his cue at Ben and John. "You're basically a package deal at this point. Might as well have a place with a grown-up bed and your own laundry room.
Ben didn't know what to say. John's thumb had stopped moving.
"I'm not asking for an answer now," Caleb said, finally taking his shot. He sank it, clean. "Just... think about it. You could move all your shit from the apartment here into my garage for the summer, then we move in together there in August."
He straightened, chalked his cue, and moved on to his next ball.
The game resumed. JP missed again. Joey offered quiet commentary. Caleb kept sinking shots like nothing had happened.
But something had.
Ben looked at John. John looked back.
Lakewood.
Not Golden. Not the Jackson St within walking distance to campus. Somewhere new. Somewhere with a backyard and lawn. All of them, together, choosing each other again.
Ben didn't say anything. Neither did John.
But their fingers laced together under the pool table's low light.
JP was chalking his cue with excessive concentration. He'd missed his last three shots and was pretending it was strategy. "So," he said, not looking up. "I probably won't need a room."
Caleb's cue paused mid-air.
JP kept chalking. "I already applied for an upper-class spot in Elm Hall. Closer to Joey."
Joey didn't move. Didn't speak. But his hand, resting on his own thigh, curled slightly inward.
"Oh," Caleb said flatly. Careful.
"Yeah." JP finally looked up. Not at Caleb. At Joey. "It just makes more sense. For next year."
The silence stretched. Ben could hear the furnace kick on.
Caleb set his cue down. Picked it up again. "Okay," he said. "Yeah. That makes sense."
It was the right thing to say. JP nodded. Joey's hand uncurled.
The game resumed. Someone sank a ball. Someone else missed. The conversation moved on to class schedules, annoying profs, and whether the Broncos had a prayer next season.
But something had shifted.
Ben watched Caleb line up his next shot. Watched him miss, just barely, for the first time all night.
He didn't comment on it. Neither did anyone else.
Later, when the game ended and Caleb turned off the pool table light, the basement went dark below them.
"Think about it," Caleb said. "The townhouse. Lakewood."
His voice was steady, like it didn't matter. Like he hadn't just asked them to keep choosing him, the way he'd always chosen them.
Ben and John didn't answer.
But on the way up the lighted stairs, Ben's hand found John's beside him.
They all peeled off from the basement door slowly, like they weren’t quite ready for the night to end but didn’t know how to extend it without forcing it.
Joey disappeared into the guest room at the end of the hall. JP followed after a beat, murmuring something about brushing his teeth. Caleb clapped John once on the shoulder, then Ben, a little firmer, like punctuation.
“Don’t steal anything my folks would notice,” he said.
“No promises,” Ben replied.
Caleb’s childhood bedroom was exactly what Ben expected and not at all.
The walls were still a muted gray-blue. A double bed pushed against one wall. A dresser with a slightly crooked top drawer. A corkboard with old JROTC schedules and rosters pinned in uneven rows.
Ben moved instinctively into inventory mode.
Closet first.
Wrestling singlets, three of them, hanging from mismatched plastic hangers. All men’s size small. Navy. Red. One black with faint silver piping. The fabric had that matte stretch sheen, thin as breath.
“Jackpot,” Ben muttered.
“What?” John asked from behind him.
“Nothing.”
Below them, a pair of battered headgear straps looped together. A wrestling club gym bag slumped on the floor.
Ben slid the closet door wider.
To the right: stacked shoeboxes. Under Armour. Nike. A pair of cleats he doubted had touched grass in years.
On the back wall: football jerseys.
Two navy and orange ones from the Denver Broncos, one clearly older, the numbers slightly cracked. A high school practice pinnie. A hoodie from a regional wrestling tournament.
John was already halfway out of his jeans, stepping into the navy blue Pressure shorts he’d packed. They clung low on his hips, familiar.
Ben turned back to the closet, pretending not to stare.
That’s when he saw them. Folded on the top shelf, slightly apart from everything else: Plain black basketball shorts. Shiny. Lightweight. No logo.
He reached up and pulled them down.
Size medium. Ben held them up between his hands. The fabric caught the overhead light, slick and quiet.
John glanced over.
“You found some treasure?”
Ben checked the tag again, though he didn’t need to.
100% Polyester.
He knew Caleb was slightly thinner than John, and if these were from high school, that made sense. He’d seen Caleb naked or just in briefs enough times.
Ben let his thumb drag over the elastic waistband.
“You think he wore these,” Ben said lightly, “to bed?”
John raised an eyebrow. “To sleep in?”
“Back in high school.”
John snorted. “You’re insufferable.”
Ben grinned and stepped out of his pants and underwear.
He slid the black ones on.
They fit. Not tight. Not loose. Just right enough to feel like he was going back in time. The fabric whispered against his thighs when he moved.
John watched the whole process without blinking.
“You’re gonna wear those instead of your favs?” he asked.
Ben adjusted the waistband, glancing at himself in the mirror nailed to the back of the door.
“Just for tonight.”
John leaned back against the bedframe, arms crossed. The navy shorts rode up and made his legs look longer than they had any right to.
“Don’t get all sentimental on me over high school crushes again,” John said.
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Ben rolled his eyes but grabbed his toothbrush from his toiletry bag. “I’m brushing my teeth. That’s it.”
“In Caleb’s shiny shorts.”
Ben pointed the toothbrush at him. “Don’t make this weird.”
John smiled. “You’re the one who went through his underwear.”
The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft yellow nightlight near the stairs. The house had settled into that suburban quiet that made every footstep sound louder than it was.
Ben padded into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and caught his reflection again in the mirror over the sink.
The black shorts looked… natural on him.
He rinsed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then hesitated.
JP and Joey’s door was cracked.
Ben knocked lightly with his knuckles before pushing it open.
“Anyone alive in here?” he asked.
They were already in bed. Joey was propped against the headboard in a bright yellow Brazil kit, unmistakable, even in low light. JP was stretched beside him in a deep maroon and blue Barcelona kit, the colors muted but obvious.
Ben smirked. “Hey lovebirds,”
JP didn’t even look embarrassed. He was already half-curled toward Joey, one hand lazily tracing beneath the hem of Joey’s jersey.
Joey glanced up. “You’re haunting the halls in the Pueblo house now?”
Ben leaned against the doorframe. “Just checking in.”
JP’s fingers disappeared a little further under the fabric, slow and absentminded.
“You guys good?” Ben asked.
JP met his eyes then, more seriously.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“You really,” Ben added, “not gonna be living with us anymore?”
It came out more casual than it felt. JP shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. Joey’s hand found his thigh automatically.
“It’s not like we’re not gonna see each other,” JP said. “It’s a school of what, eight thousand people?”
“Eight thousand two hundred,” Ben said reflexively.
JP smiled. “See? You’ll be fine.”
Ben exhaled.
“You guys shouldn’t feel guilty if you’re thinking about moving in with Caleb,” JP added. “I’m gonna be fine.”
There wasn’t any edge to it. No resentment. Just the clarity of being with people you were meant to be with.
Joey nodded in agreement, thumb brushing absently along JP’s hip where the Barcelona kit bunched.
“We’ll still do Woody’s on Wednesday night sometimes,” JP said. “Caleb says you’re only a 15-minute drive from school if we wanna hang out.”
Ben felt a knot loosen in his stomach. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Good.”
He lingered there a second longer than necessary, eyes drifting.
The yellow Brazil kit. The Barcelona stripes. The way JP’s hand rested possessively, casually, inside the space he’d already claimed.
JP caught him looking.
“What?” JP said.
Ben shrugged. “Nothing.”
JP smirked. “You wanna sit in the cuck chair?”
Ben barked a laugh before he could stop himself.
“That’s not a cuck chair.”
“It’s a chair,” JP said.
Joey groaned. “Ignore him.”
Ben shook his head, backing toward the hall.
“I’m good.”
“You sure?” JP called lightly.
Ben snorted. “Very.”
He pulled the door mostly shut behind him, the sound of their muffled laughter following him down the hallway.
Back toward Caleb’s old room.
Back toward John.
The long black shorts whispered against his legs as he walked.
He eased the bedroom door shut behind him, the latch clicking softly and finally.
John was exactly where he'd left him. Propped against the headboard, legs stretched out, navy shorts catching the low light from the single lamp. His phone was in his hand, but his eyes weren't on it.
"Find everything you needed for tonight?" John asked.
Ben glanced down at the black shorts. At himself, wearing them. "Maybe."
John set his phone aside. Pat the space beside him. "Come here, babe."
Ben crossed the room and climbed onto the bed. The double was just enough for the two of them, but they'd made it work in smaller spaces. John shifted, made room, and Ben settled against him, shoulder to shoulder, knees bumping.
"Everything okay?" John asked.
"Yeah." Ben meant it. "Just... checking on them."
"The lovebirds?"
Ben huffed a laugh. "They're sleeping in JP’s jerseys. JP's got his hand inside Joey's jersey like it's the most normal thing in the world."
"It is normal. For them."
"Yeah." Ben paused. "I know."
John didn't ask what that meant. He just reached down and let his fingers brush the waistband of the black shorts.
"These fit you."
"Apparently."
"You gonna take them back to Golden?"
Ben considered it. "Maybe. Think Caleb would notice?"
"Caleb notices everything." John's fingers traced the ridges in the elastic. "But he also doesn't care. About old shorts."
Ben watched John's hand move. Slowly. Intentionally. Not quite touching skin, just... there.
"You gonna brush your teeth?" Ben asked.
"Later."
John's fingers slid lower, following the line of the shorts down Ben's thigh. The fabric glistened under his touch.
Ben's breath caught.
"You know," John murmured, "you've been wearing these around Caleb’s house. Checking on people."
"They're just Caleb’s old shorts."
"They're not." John's hand found the inside of Ben's thigh. "I know, to you they're not."
Ben did know. He knew exactly what the fabric meant, what it had always meant, what it meant to wear someone else's clothes in someone else's house with John's hand moving slow and sure against his skin.
John's palm pressed flat against him through the shorts. Ben was already half hard, had been since he pulled them on, since he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror.
"These are Caleb's," John said quietly. "From his high school days."
"Probably." Ben nodded.
"You thought about him wearing them.” John breathed. “Playing in them. Sweating in PE wearing them."
John knew him down to his cellular structure.
"That's okay." John's voice was low, steady, close to his ear. "That's always been okay."
Ben's hips shifted, pressing into John's palm. The fabric was slick now, warm, the friction just right. John worked him through it, slow and deliberate, the way he knew Ben liked, though athletic shorts.
"These are yours now," John said. "For tonight. You're wearing them. I'm touching you in them. That's what's happening."
Ben's breath came faster. John's hand didn't stop, only grew more insistent.
"Cum for me," John said. "In Caleb's shorts. In his bed. With me next to you in the Navy Pressures."
That was all it took.
Ben came with a choked exhale, his whole body tensing and releasing against John's hand, against the borrowed fabric, against the warm dark of someone else's childhood bedroom.
In the silence after, there was nothing but breathing.
Then John pulled his hand back, looked at the damp patch on the black shorts, and laughed quietly.
"Sorry," he said. "I made you mess up Caleb's shorts before you even slept in them."
Ben's laugh was breathless, destroyed. "It's fine."
"They're gonna be crusty by morning."
"Then I'll wear them crusty." Ben echoed.
John shook his head, still smiling. "You're disgusting."
"You're the one who made me do it," Ben said with a wicked smile.
John didn't argue. He just reached for the waistband of the navy shorts he was wearing, hooked his thumbs under the elastic, and pulled them down just far enough.
"Your turn," he said.
Ben didn't need telling twice.
He rolled toward John, one hand sliding under the waistband of the navy Pressure shorts, fingers finding the warm weight of him. John was already hard, already waiting, his cock twitching against Ben's palm like it had been expecting this all night. Ben's thumb traced the underside, the familiar ridge of him, the spot that made John's breath catch every time. He worked him slowly at first, a lazy rhythm, watching John's face: the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes fluttered half-closed, the way his hand fisted in the sheets like he needed something to hold onto.
John's hips rolled up into Ben's grip, seeking more, and Ben gave it to him. Faster now, his hand moving in the way he'd learned over two years, the rhythm John craved, the pressure that made his thighs tremble. John's breath came in short gasps, his head pressing back into the pillow, his hand leaving the sheets to grip Ben's wrist, not stopping him, just holding on. The navy shorts bunched around John's thighs, the nylon fabric soft and familiar against Ben's arms.
Ben watched John come undone. Watched the tension build in his stomach, the way his hips started moving without rhythm, the way his mouth fell open. He was close. Ben could feel it in the way John's cock pulsed against his palm, in the way his grip on Ben's wrist turned bruising.
"Benji," John gasped. "Benji, I'm…."
John came with a low groan, his whole body arching off the bed. His release spilled across his stomach in hot stripes, just below his UA Steph Curry shirt, across Ben's fingers still wrapped around him. Ben worked him through it, steady and sure, not letting go until John's body went slack beneath him.
For a second, John just lay there, chest heaving, the navy shorts still bunched around his thighs, his release cooling on his skin. His hand found Ben's, still wet, and held it.
They pressed together, breathing, tangled, the room smelling like salt and skin and the particular intimacy of two people who'd stopped pretending they were anything other than exactly what they were.
Ben looked down at himself again. The black shorts were definitely ruined for the night.
John followed his gaze. "Worth it?"
Ben thought about it. The closet. The shorts. John's hand. The way the fabric had felt against his skin, the way John had known exactly what he needed without being told.
"Yeah," he said. "It was."
John smiled, slow and satisfied, and pulled Ben closer.
Around 30 minutes later, a knock at the door. Soft. Hesitant.
Ben and John exchanged a glance. It was past midnight. The house had been quiet for over an hour.
Another knock. Slightly louder.
"Yeah?" Ben called.
The door cracked open. Caleb stood in the hallway, backlit by the dim nightlight, wearing an orange Broncos jersey and his orange Broncos pajama pants.
"Can't sleep," he said.
Ben blinked. "You okay?"
Caleb shifted his weight. "Forgot my night guard in Golden. Can't sleep without it. My jaw's all," He made a vague gesture at his face.
John was already sitting up, making space. "Come in."
Caleb stepped inside, then stopped. His eyes landed on Ben.
On the black shorts.
Ben followed his gaze, then looked back up. "Sorry," he said. "I, uh. I kinda messed them up."
Caleb looked at him for a long second. Then he shook his head, almost smiling. "Whatever. Scoot over. He crossed the room and hopped onto the bed beside John. The double bed groaned in protest. Three grown men. This was absurd.
"You're gonna sleep here?" Ben asked.
"It is my room, you gotta better idea?"
Ben didn't.
John shifted, making more room. Caleb was wedged between them now, shoulder to shoulder, the orange jersey soft and silky against Ben's arm.
"You sleep in that thing?" Ben said. "Isn’t it too big for you?"
Caleb shrugged. "I'll manage."
Ben reached below him, fumbling in his bag. His hand found what he was looking for, the royal blue Under Armour pressure shorts he'd packed. He held them out.
"Here. Wear these to bed. Comfy. Soft."
Caleb looked at them. Then at Ben. "Your favorite shorts?"
"They're just shorts."
John snorted. "They're absolutely not just shorts."
Ben ignored John. "Put them on. Maybe you'll sleep better."
Caleb hesitated. Then he took them by the waistband.
John reached for the hem of Caleb's jersey. "Arms up."
Caleb raised his arms. John pulled the XL Broncos jersey over his head and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. Caleb sat there in just his pajama pants, looking suddenly smaller, younger.
"The pants too," John said. "If you're gonna wear the shorts."
Caleb glanced at Ben. Ben just shrugged.
Caleb lifted himself off the bed long enough to push the pajama pants down, kicking them off. Then he pulled the royal blue shorts up over his hips. They fit. Not tight, not loose. Just right with a slight adjustment to the drawstring.
He looked at Ben. "Happy?"
Ben nodded. "Yeah." The mattress dipped as Ben pulled the covers back over them. His soft palm started skimming up Caleb's bare ribcage.
Caleb just leaned back and put his hands on Ben and John’s thighs on either side of him. “You know,” he started. “You two don’t get to be in trouble without me anymore.”
He didn’t move away after he said it.
None of them did.
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