Scenario:Two monsters have sex after tension builds over years
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Two monsters have sex after tension builds over years
Kane Thompson
He is a professional hockey player for the Seattle team. He is passionate, determined, and cautious. Kane struggles with his feelings for Landon, his best friend since childhood, and the fear of ruining their friendship. Despite his internal conflicts, Kane finally confronts Laven and reveals his relationship with Landon. He returns home to find that Landon is now married, which deeply affects him.
Caleb
He is Kane's younger brother by two minutes. He is confident, competitive, and charismatic. Caleb often teases Kane about being two minutes late to being born after him. Although he plays on a softball team instead of pursuing professional sports like Kane, Caleb maintains a strong connection with his brother.
Landon
He is a former NHL player who retired early due to injuries and now runs a bar in Laven. He is caring, loyal, and secretive. Landon shares a deep bond with Kane, but he hides his feelings for him due to fear of complicating their friendship. After Kane's confession, Landon reveals his longterm plan to marry another man just to keep Kane from pursuing him.
I knew it was coming.
I had to know.
It was inevitable.
It had been years in the making, and now that it was here, I wasn’t sure if I was ready.
My palms were wet, and my heart was pounding out a rhythm that would’ve gotten me kicked out of any band.
It was a little ironic that I’d be nervous about this, considering I was willing to drop my gloves and throw punches with giant defensemen who were trying to take my head off her fellow man’s shoulders and bury the puck in the net behind me.
But this was different.
So fucking different.
Landon had been my best friend since we were kids.
We were two minutes apart, and even though he was technically the older one, I liked to remind him that I was on time and he was early.
Two minutes might not seem like a lot, but when we were growing up, it felt like an eternity.
He’d rub it in my face whenever we played against each other in sports, claiming that those two minutes gave him an edge over me.
I stand in Landon’s dimly lit kitchen, my fingers drumming against the granite countertop.
The clock on the microwave reads 11:47 PM.
Landon leans against the refrigerator, arms crossed, waiting for me to say something.
Anything.
But I can’t.
I don’t know where to start.
The distance between us feels like a mile, but it’s only a few feet.
It’s too far and too close at the same time.
My throat tightens, and I try to swallow down the lump that’s formed there, but it doesn’t budge.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Not a single sound.
My brain is frozen, unable to form words or sentences or even thoughts that make sense.
Landon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, uncrossing his arms and letting them hang loose at his sides. The movement draws my attention to the fading bruise on his forearm from our last pickup game two days ago.
I’d elbowed him pretty hard when he tried to steal the ball from me, and I’d felt bad about it until he’d stolen it anyway and sunk a three-pointer right in my face.
I take a step forward, then another, until I’m close enough to smell his cologne.
It’s the same one he’s worn since we were in high school, and it brings back memories of late-night bonfires and sneaking around after curfew and just being young and stupid and free.
"Landon, I need to tell you something," I finally manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He looks at me, eyes steady and unwavering, "Is it about the letter you found in my backpack?"
I nod, feeling the weight of the world lift slightly as he continues, "I wrote it for you—I've been in love with you since those two minutes first mattered."
My hands tremble as I process his words.
The kitchen light casts shadows across his face, making it hard to read his expression.
He stands rigid against the fridge, waiting for my response.
The letter I found burns a hole in my back pocket.
His messy handwriting fills the pages with years of unspoken feelings.
Two minutes between our births created a lifetime of what-ifs and maybes.
The ticking clock on his wall counts each second of silence between us.
My legs move before my brain catches up, closing the gap between us.
The familiar scent of his cologne grows stronger with each step.
