“They can look all they want, but there’s only one who gets to touch me.” Daniël keeps moving

against his clenched hand, gaining speed, but not yet going for the final lap.

“Thrust your cock against the palm of your hand. Show me how you’re going to fuck me on our

wedding night. Don’t hold back. Keep your eyes open. Keep them wide open.”

The head is now wet with pre-come, peeking out from Dan’s fist when he moves downwards

and pulls the foreskin back. “Like this?”

Steve places his hand over Daniël’s moving fist, but doesn’t direct it. “Come for me.”

All the muscles in Daniël’s body seem to contract, his throat vulnerably exposed, his mouth

open in a near silent moan. His come warm and sticky on Steve’s body. But the way he crawls blindly

against his lover, exhausted and spent, trusting him for safety, is perhaps an even greater gift.

*

Sunday moves slowly and gently for them. They have a long shower, brunch with all the

trappings, take a short walk through the neighbourhood to get a bit of fresh air and talk about

everything and nothing. There are a few people who do look at them with a hint of recognition in their

eyes, but hardly anyone bothers them. There’s a complimentary remark about Daniël’s return to the

game, a shy request for an autograph from two wide-eyed teenage girls, but that’s the extent of it.

Daniël gets a call from his family about yesterday’s match. That reminds him he promised a

few friends to let them know how it went. He even takes time to update his blog.

“Want to read it? I specially used a bigger font. I’ll make dinner in the meantime.”

Steve looks at the screen.

“It looks good to read? Oh, and there’s a video of the short interview I gave after the match,

too.” Daniël kisses him on the cheek.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He reads, soon discovering Daniël not only adjusted the size of the characters, but also tried to

use short sentences with familiar words, without sounding childish or too simple. This is like the arm

his lover offered when they took their walk in the neighbourhood. How big is a heart when it’s capable

of such small and gentle acts of kindness?But that, at least, is a question Steve has known the answer

to for a long time.

He reads the entry, smiles.

I did a lot of running up and down the pitch. I also did a lot of stretching. Because it was cold.

Because the gaffer told me to. And because Steve thinks it looks sexy.

He tells about how it feels to enter the pitch, the mixed emotions, about the knowledge that

while the game was still the game, for him everything had changed.

I felt so proud because the man I love could see me play football. I felt so alone because the

man I love will never play football again.

Daniël enters the room with a bowl of salad. “The potatoes and baked salmon will be done in a

few minutes. I’m afraid the sauce won’t be home-made.”

He puts the bowl on the table and looks over Steve’s shoulder. “You like what I wrote?”

Steve nods. “Strange, how we had no idea when we played our last match together. But how

could we have known?”

“Everything could have been a last, but it wasn’t.” Daniël kisses him. “I’ll be sad for a while

longer about you not being there with me on the pitch. Even if we perhaps would have played for

different clubs against each other next season.”

Perhaps…

“You watch the video while I get the rest of our dinner ready?”

Why does he get butterflies in his belly seeing Daniël, in jeans and sweater, hair still wet from

the shower, on the screen of the laptop, when the same Daniël is busy in the kitchen, half a dozen steps

away?

What was going through your mind when you entered the game?

“It felt great being allowed to play again. I miss Steve terribly. He should have been with me

on the pitch, defending our half, but at least he was watching the match from the stands. That’s what

counts more than anything.”

You had expected this welcome from the Kinbridge Town fans? There was even some applause

from the Bolton supporters.

“I didn’t know what to expect. Of course, they lost count at the club of how many letters and

emails of support they received, so I hoped for the best. This was even better.”

What are your expectations for the future? As a Kinbridge Town defender, that is.

“You’ll have to ask Degaré about that. I hope I can stay for a while longer, proof I’m worth the

trust and support the club and the fans have put in me during the past months. I think I already showed

some of that today.”

He feels Daniël standing behind him, his fingers playing with his hair.

“I still have a fat Dutch accent.”

“I know. Sexy as anything.”

Daniël closes the laptop. “Care for some food?”

Steve’s actually famished. Over the last couple of weeks, his appetite has been returning.

Being active most of the day and rebuilding at least some of his muscles might have something to do

with that. Daniël hadn’t said much about it, but the admiring touches and looks that shamelessly speak

of lust are obvious enough.

But it’s more than that, more than a body, if not returning to normal, then at least functioning

better; healthier than it had been for a long time. It’s also that he’s looking forward to their marriage

and moving to the place that’s going to be their first home. It’s the joy of seeing his beloved boy

active as a professional sportsman once more. It’s finding his place in the world again, even if he has

no idea yet what he will do once there’s nothing left to practise, to fix or to heal. But he remembers

Death being his companion all too well to be worried about what to do with his life. He’s aware of the

huge difference between him and Daniël in just about every aspect of their lives, but they both have to

fight their own battles, even if they stand shoulder to shoulder like those warriors from ancient times.

“How’s your level of energy? You need to rest?” Daniël casually asks while he takes the plates

to the kitchen.

“Are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“I might be.”

Steve is positively certain Daniël’s shaking his jeans clad booty on purpose when he leaves the

room.

“I have to admit, you did look edible during that interview.” Steve follows Daniël, still

luxuriating in the feeling that, with a bit of support from whatever is strong and stable enough to

provide support, he’s able to get around the apartment without his crutches. When Dan stoops to put

the dishes in the machine, he just has to cop a feel.

“Sometimes I miss the times you pushed my jeans down and then yours and you fucked me

against the kitchen sink with the help of a splash of olive oil. No planning, no talking, just two guys

fucking.” Daniël turns towards Steve and takes him in his arms. “Sorry I said that. I’m just being

stupid. Makes me sound like I’m not grateful for what we have.”

Should he be grateful? Should they?

“What about we take this to the bedroom? I know where I want your perky little arse.” Steve

grabs a handful of said arse, while he pushes himself suggestively against his lover.

Daniël is as close to giggling as he’ll ever be. “You didn’t say that ... perky little ...”

Steve just has to kiss him on the nose. “I didn’t. You just imagined it. Now, shoo, there’s a big

soft bed waiting for us.”

Daniël rides them to a sweet, glorious orgasm, leaving them sated and so drenched in love it

fills the very heart of them.

“So perfect,” Daniël mumbles, already half asleep when he finally allows Steve’s now soft

cock to slip out of him.