My Last Day Without You - 13. The Viking's Lover

Warmth enveloped Ezra as he emerged from the most comfortable sleep of his life. He turned on the soft bed and found Henrik beside him, the morning sun highlighting the sculpted planes of his sleeping face. The motion of their bodies stirred Henrik and he wrapped an arm securely around Ezra's waist. Their naked bodies touched, making Ezra's senses sing.

"Happy Valentine's Day." Henrik's voice escaped in a low, satisfied mumble.

Ezra blinked against sleep, against worry to take in the man's square jaw, soft red lips and dark beard. He put his cheek on Henrik's shoulder, a palm against his hard chest. He didn't quite know what to say - he awoke feeling brand new and feared voicing his rejuvenation would somehow make it all go away.

Henrik squeezed and squeezed him until they both laughed. "Don't think I've heard you say a thing all damn night."

That made Ezra laugh again. Everything that happened after their reuniting kiss in the street was a delicious, red hot rush. He remembered Henrik carrying him back into the hotel like they were newlyweds, passed the bewildered faces of the affluent clientele. He remembered the hurricane of hands on bodies as they stumbled into the elevator - Seriously, what is with the two of us and elevators? - and he remembered Henrik tripping and falling once they reached the entrance of the bedroom. That was Ezra's fault. His lips were the source of distraction, after all. Henrik had tried getting on top of him but Ezra had other ideas - namely, pinning Henrik back to the floor and riding him hard. There was no need for words, apologies or hushed confessions. All Ezra needed was skin. And lips. And the aching, throbbing hardness of Henrik inside him. God, Ezra missed him, his broad chest, sturdy shoulders, those long, hairy legs... he appreciated every last inch of the man and Henrik was quite appreciative in return. So they appreciated each other on the floor, against the wall, on the kitchen bar, in the shower, and then on the bed.

Henrik was certainly right about one thing - they didn't speak much last night.

"Please tell me this is real," Ezra whispered into his shoulder.

"This is real."

"I don't believe you."

Henrik bit the silken curve of Ezra's exposed neck which pulsed an electric shiver through his body. "Believe me now?"

Ezra laughed once more, pleased with how effortless and genuine his joy felt. Henrik rolled over and trapped him in a bear hug of blankets and chest hair. As real and tactile as the embrace was, Ezra still couldn't shake the unreality of the moment. Had he really just survived the most bizarre day of his life? In the arms of a man who was once nothing more than a fantasy? Both of them had taken so many chances the day before. Could it all have actually paid off?

As if to answer his silent doubts, Henrik drew him in for a warm, wet kiss. Ezra was too afraid to identify what he felt, but thought that maybe Henrik could tell, that the entanglement of their bodies communicated what their hearts felt without needing to say it.

When he was calmer, Ezra massaged a palm over one of Henrik's shoulders and looked deep into his cobalt eyes. "I can't believe you did that."

"You're gonna have to narrow 'that' down for me," he replied with a wolf grin. "We had a pretty busy night."

"I mean when you talked to the press..." He was a little hesitant to bring it up. For all the triumph that moment represented, it was difficult to separate it from the hurt and confusion that came before.

Henrik eased himself up and propped his back against the king-sized headboard. The muscles of his barrel chest tightened with effort. "I was the most shocked out of everyone in that damn room. Trust me."

"Why did you do it?"

"Because I care about you. Because I didn't want to be told what to say anymore."

"You could've lost- I mean, didn't you say that you were up for suspension? That sponsors were going to-?"

Henrik calmly kissed Ezra's hand, a mellow smile on his face. The man who was so wound up with anxiety and frustration in Violet's backyard... he was gone. Forgotten like a bad dream. "Don't worry about that."

Ezra sat up too, faintly remembering his nudity as the blanket slipped to his legs. "I loved everything you said. Really. But I- I never wanted you to choose me over your career."

"That's not what I did. Listen, all I've ever done when a mic's been shoved in my face is talk about how hockey is my entire life. That's not true anymore. What I said last night... I was telling the world I don't have to choose between you or the ice because it's not a choice. I'm making room for both." His voice lowered. "I don't want to make playoffs this season without someone to celebrate that with. Even if you don't give a damn about hockey."

Their faces were so close they nearly touched. Ezra smiled. "I could learn."

Henrik touched the back of the younger man's head, urging them closer. "You stuck by me through everything today even when I wasn't making it easy. I'm still learning, Ezra. I want to keep going. I want to be yours."

Ezra's entire body blushed, from his toes all the way up to his reddening face. With a pleasant sigh, he wrapped his arms around his great mountain of a man and held him so close and tight that their bodies threatened to fuse together. "I want to be yours," Ezra whispered back. He meant every word, every syllable.

Fucking hell. Just last morning neither of us could even think about making the first move. The unexpected thought troubled him. Ezra sat straight up. "What time is it?"

Henrik's wolf grin returned. "Got somewhere to be?"

Ezra found the bedside alarm clock. It was almost noon. "Shit! I thought your flight was first thing in the morning? We have to- come on, we have to get up!" He sprang off the mattress and scrambled through the pile of hastily discarded clothes on the floor. It was a strange mishmash of him and Henrik - clothes that were too big and too small all mixed up together. He pulled on his briefs and a t-shirt. When he turned around, he found Henrik gazing at his body with much hunger but no urgency.

"Henrik," his voice hardened, "Why aren't you freaking out right now?" The hockey captain lazily grabbed the hotel's landline phone and dialed a number. "Good," Ezra calmed, "Call the airline and tell them you need a- a- I don't know, I'm not a traveler. I don't know what people do when they miss flights. Can you get another ticket this soon? Does management pay for that? Does the NHL? Xavier said you guys have a game in Portlandtonight, if you just tell the airline you were-"

"Hey, room service," Henrik said casually into the receiver. He winked at Ezra's puzzled face. "Can I get your organic egg white omelet breakfast? My guest here will have-" He cradled the receiver against his neck and spoke directly to Ezra. "You're a pancakes guy, right? Does that sound good?" When Ezra nodded, still as confused as ever, Henrik returned to the call. "Yeah, my guest will have your buttermilk pancakes with maple syrup. Make sure it's that real Canadian stuff you guys have, not the fake stuff we've got in the States. Throw in a side of bacon and eggs with that. He'll be hungry, I've seen him eat. Skillet home fries, too, and don't forget fruit salad. And a pot of coffee, cream and sugar. Two cups. Alright? Aces, man. See you soon."

When Henrik hung up, Ezra took a seat back on the bed. One eyebrow rose to his forehead. "I'm getting the sense that this flight isn't happening."

"Nope."

"But you have a game tonight in Portland."

"Yep."

Ezra's second eyebrow joined the first. "And you're not going to play?" Henrik shook his head. "And you're okay with that?" A tidal wave of dark thoughts crested Ezra's mind. If Henrik really had been suspended for the remainder of the season - or even possibly fired - then it was all his fault.

"Here. Read this." Henrik grabbed his smartphone and brought up a text message from Coach Taggert. The time stamp read 5:05 am.

'Ford. Mgmt & I talked. Up all night w/ them. Season suspension discussed. Me & NHL rep talked them down. Suspension will be for next 3 games only - tonight, Wed, and Fri. Your agent will fax official notice to hotel. U got lucky. No need to thank me, u big idiot.'

Ezra sighed by the time he finished the text, whether from relief or joy, he couldn't tell.

"I was lucky," Henrik said. "I'm not happy about missing one game, let alone three, but I can live with it. Could've been a whole lot worse."

Ezra cradled the phone in his hand, reading and re-reading. "I can't believe Taggert was actually fighting for you."

"He gave me a call after sending that. You were still asleep. Said his anger was reactionary and unfair. He told management that punishing me to the extent that they wanted to would be a detriment to the team, especially in the lead up to playoffs."

"Did he apologize?"

Henrik chuckled. "Sorry isn't in Taggert's vocabulary. But he said he owed me a beer when I got back to Portland."

"Wow. So he was actually cool with you missing the flight?"

"'Cool' might be stretching it. Let's say, he was willing to look the other way."

Ezra scooted closer until he was on Henrik's lap. "When do you go back to Portland?"

"Well." Henrik's hand caressed his lower back. "The next game after my suspension is next Saturday. Which means..."

"...you've got an entire week to kill." Ezra watched Henrik's mouth elongate into a grin. It took everything in his power not to nibble on that delicious lower lip of his. "Am I right? A whole week?"

"A whole week," Henrik confirmed.

The stress that had thundered down on their heads the entire time they were together suddenly disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Ezra had been constantly, uncomfortably aware of their 24 hour time limit but now? Now it was a thing of the past, a bad joke he no longer had to pretend was funny. The future stretched out before him and the possibilities were limitless.

It felt pretty damn fantastic. "Henrik, fucking hell, this is amazing! You have a week!"

"We have a week."

A knock on the door. Henrik got up and pulled on his boxers - not before Ezra allowed himself an eyeful of the man's sculpted but beefy ass - and answered. A bellhop greeted them with a cart full of breakfast and didn't seem all that startled to find the hockey captain in his underwear. Henrik whispered mysteriously and the bellhop nodded, mouthing something Ezra couldn't hear, but it seemed like a confirmation. After being slipped a generous tip, the bellhop left with a smile.

"Hungry?" The sight of Henrik in his boxers next to a cart full of food was nirvana.

"Starving." Ezra joined him. His eyes grazed a collection of silver trays, each covered with a fancy stainless steel lid. He lifted one to reveal a mammoth, loaded egg white omelet. Definitely an athlete's breakfast.

"Ah, that would be mine." Henrik tapped the lid of a tray at the farthest corner of the cart. "I think that one's for you."

Ezra removed the lid expecting to find a stack of fluffy pancakes. What he found instead was a plain envelope. His brow furrowed. "Is this the bill? I mean, I'd be happy to pay for breakfast - you did buy a Zamboni yesterday, but I-"

Henrik laughed. "Just look inside."

Ezra spread the envelope open and picked out a ticket. A plane ticket. "What is...?" He didn't really need to ask, he already had the answer even without giving it a hard look.

Henrik wrapped his big hands around Ezra's waist. "Do you wanna come to Portland with me this week?"

"Really? I... fuck. Wow."

"Not that I don't love Toronto, but I think it'd be a good show of solidarity if I was with the Knights, even if I can't play this week. I would still need to be there at practices and drills. You can come and watch the games with me and meet all the guys! I promise they're not all as bad as Xavier. And I really, really want to show you my city. I want you to see how big and open and weird and lovely it can be. We can do it without the pressure, without having to make any big decisions. After the week is up, we can keep going from there. I come to Toronto, you come to Portland. A few days here, a few days there, whatever you want. As long as it's you and me."

Every part of Ezra heated and fluttered. "I've never been to the west coast before."

"All the chances we took yesterday don't have to stop there."

"I don't want them to stop."

"I was really hoping you'd say that. So what do you think? You and me in Portland? All week?"

Henrik had never looked more handsome to him then in that moment. He had the kind of face Ezra could study for hours, so open and mysterious all at once. His hands twitched with the phantom desire to draw and sketch, to duplicate Henrik's face in ink or charcoal or paint.

Ezra decided that once he had drawn Henrik's face it would become the first page of the portfolio he would send off to a list of comic publishers. He had made a list before, which had been stuffed into a drawer roughly one year ago. That was when he started his job at PopViral. Back then, he'd dismissed his dreams of being an artist as silly - not something he'd ever have the opportunity to pursue.

How delighted he was to be wrong.

"When's the flight?" Ezra finally said.

Henrik couldn't suppress his relieved laughter. He scooped Ezra into his arms - a gesture that was quickly becoming a staple of their time spent together - and knocked him back to the bed. Ezra fell, laughing the entire way, as his outstretched arm accidentally swept back a window curtain. The skies broke open and flooded the hotel room with all the sunlight in the world. Henrik pushed Ezra's t-shirt up and let his beard wander down the smooth, taut trail of his torso. He kissed and worshiped every inch of skin his lips found, savoring Ezra's taste on his tongue.

When Henrik pulled away, Ezra held onto him with a strength that surprised both men. "Don't leave," he whispered, eyes barely open and chest arching into his warmth.

"I'm here," Henrik said. "I'll always be here." He reached to the bedside table and did something Ezra couldn't quite see. A moment later they returned to each other with a deep, hot, ravaging kiss - the kind of kiss that could turn day into night.

"You're beautiful," Henrik said. "I mean it."

Ezra's breath slowed. He stared, wide-eyed, not knowing what to say. Beautiful? "No one's ever called me that before."

"I find that very hard to believe." Henrik's smile softened, his eyes warm as he pressed a kiss of promise against Ezra's lips. "But it wont be the last time I say it."

His mouth found Ezra's neck and then worked back down to his bare chest. Moaning, Ezra fell back to the soft surrender of the blankets and threw a glance at the bedside table. Henrik had turned the alarm clock to the wall and made it impossible to tell the time.

Ezra didn't care. He and his Viking had all the time in the world.