Crown & Collide: Part Six (Extended)
By Anthony Corona
Luke woke with a gentle start, the sun slanting low through his bedroom blinds. His limbs were heavy from sleep, skin warm from the leftover sun filtering in, and Cinnamon’s absence left the space just quiet enough to feel strange. He blinked at the clock—4:07 PM—and reached instinctively for his phone.
He dialed Alyssa.
“You’re alive,” she answered on the second ring.
“Barely,” Luke groaned. “That nap turned into a coma. Hey—just confirming I’ve got a date tonight, so I’ll pick up Cinnamon tomorrow. Late morning? Early afternoon?”
“Take your time,” Alyssa replied. “She’s been a queen all day. Demanded peanut butter on her midday carrot.”
Luke laughed. “Tell her to behave. And if she tries to convince you she needs a foot massage, don’t fall for it.”
“I make no promises,” Alyssa teased. “Have fun tonight, baby brother.”
“Oh, I intend to.”
—
Luke’s getting-ready montage would have made a beauty vlogger weep.
He started with a long, steamy shower that turned his muscles to melted butter. After towel-drying, he layered on his skincare: gentle exfoliant, vitamin C serum, rosewater toner, moisturizer with SPF, and a dab of illuminating primer—because his glow should say flirt, not frazzled.
His hair got the full treatment too. Instead of the typical tousled, off-his-face sweep, he towel-dried, added product, and used his fingers to spike the dark strands up and forward, giving him just the right amount of rebel energy.
He chose white linen clamdiggers cuffed at the calves, a rainbow tie-dye tank top that clung in all the right places, and a salmon pink button-down left open and breezy. He finished the look with a spritz of citrusy cologne and white leather sneakers so clean they practically sparkled.
He checked himself in the mirror and grinned. “Watch out, Crown Prince.”
—
Across town, Noah was in prep mode.
In the middle of his kitchen stood an insulated picnic basket, slowly filling with carefully chosen items: a chicken pesto pasta salad packed in eco-friendly containers, a wedge of creamy brie, a sharp cheddar block, a box of crackers, two bars of dark chocolate with sea salt, and two bottles of a chilled white blend he’d been saving.
He added two elegant plastic wine glasses, biodegradable forks, a pair of cloth napkins, and a roll-up picnic blanket in shades of midnight and navy.
Ten electric, battery-operated flameless candles went into a tote bag for ambiance. He even tucked in a Bluetooth speaker and pre-downloaded a playlist of instrumental jazz and chill acoustic covers.
He paused, ran a hand through his hair, and exhaled. “Okay. Tonight’s not just a date,” he murmured. “It’s a beginning.”
—
The sun was inching toward the horizon when Noah pulled up to Luke’s driveway.
When Luke stepped out, Noah actually blinked. “Whoa.”
Luke grinned. “Too much?”
“You look like a sexy Pride parade threw a luau,” Noah said, getting out of the car to open the door for him. “And I’m obsessed.”
They drove in comfortable silence, Luke’s knee brushing Noah’s every now and then, until they pulled into a quiet dockyard.
Luke’s brows lifted. “We’re boating?”
“Canoeing,” Noah said with a wink. “Your chariot awaits.”
On the dock sat a sleek canoe with two paddles resting against the side. The sky was starting to blush with streaks of coral and amber.
They paddled in rhythm, gliding across the bay toward a tiny tree-dotted island about a quarter-mile away.
As they reached the sandy shoreline, Noah hopped out and pulled the canoe up onto dry land. He offered Luke a hand, and once upright, wrapped him into an embrace from behind.
They stood together, arms linked, watching the sun kiss the edge of the ocean.
“Now,” Noah murmured into Luke’s ear, “open the wine while I set us up.”
Luke popped the cork with a flourish as Noah laid out the blanket, unpacked the food, and placed the flameless candles in a loose semicircle around them. The glow was gentle and golden, like fireflies had gathered to bless the evening.
They lay side by side on the blanket, the waves lapping nearby, soft jazz floating from the speaker.
Luke took a bite of pasta, then glanced toward Noah. “I visited her today. My mom.”
Noah nodded, letting Luke talk.
“She had a moment. A real moment. She knew who I was. Asked if I was eating. Said I looked happy.”
“You do,” Noah said softly.
Luke looked down. “But then… it faded. Like it always does.”
Noah reached over, laced their fingers. “I’m glad you had that moment.”
Luke squeezed his hand. “Me too.”
There was a beat of quiet.
Then Noah said, “I got a phone call today. From my father.”
Luke’s expression shifted instantly. “What did he want?”
“He said he’d be back in two weeks. That he has important things to tell me. And he called you my ‘boy toy,’” Noah added with a snort.
Luke made a face. “Wow. Your dad’s a charmer.”
“He’s a monster,” Noah said, voice low. “But… I think I’m finally ready to tell you why.”
Luke turned fully to face him, giving him his complete attention.
“At first, it was just emotional abuse,” Noah began. “That was bad enough. Everything I did was wrong. I was too soft, too dramatic, too much. He used to mock the way I spoke, the way I walked.”
Luke’s jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet.
“But the first time he actually hit me—really hit me—I was fourteen. Freshman year. We were in the playoffs. I was playing third base, and he’d brought a bunch of people from work. The game was tight, and I missed a catch. A routine pop-up. Two runners scored because of it.”
Luke stayed silent, watching Noah’s every breath.
“But I made three amazing plays later in that same game. We won. But it didn’t matter. On the drive home, he berated me over and over again. How I embarrassed him. Made him look weak. Like his son was a joke.”
Noah paused, breath trembling. “I finally snapped. Said something—I don’t even remember what. And he just turned and punched me. Right below the ear. Knocked me into the wall in the garage.”
He looked away, eyes glassy but not falling. “I didn’t cry. I wouldn’t let him see me cry. But I wanted to. So badly.”
Luke reached out, laced their fingers again, and gave a firm, grounding squeeze.
“Go on,” he said gently.
Noah took a breath.
“My mom? She wasn’t there. Not really. She checked out long before that. She dove into the charity scene—galas, luncheons, committees. I think part of her knew what he was, but it was easier to play the picture-perfect wife than face what was happening under her own roof.”
Luke blinked, a slow, burning fury rising behind his tenderness. But before he could speak, a loud screech filled the air. Seagulls.
They were circling the picnic, floating on wind currents with greedy eyes trained on the cheese and crackers.
Luke stared up at them, then turned to Noah. “They’re plotting.”
“They’re bold little bastards,” Noah said, reaching for the cracker box. “Operation: Distraction.”
They began tossing broken bits toward the water. The gulls dove, squawked, flapped wildly, fighting over crumbs like it was gourmet fare.
Luke snorted. “There. That’s your chaos energy handled.”
As the seagulls spiraled away, Luke turned back to Noah and took a breath.
“You’re an incredible man,” he said quietly. “Not because of what you went through—but because of who you’ve become in spite of it. Nobody—not even him—can break your spirit unless you let him. And from what I’ve seen, that’s never gonna happen.”
Noah didn’t speak, but something in his posture softened.
Luke studied his face for a long moment.
“I may not understand exactly what you’ve been through,” he continued, “but we’re both broken. We’re both navigating through trauma that changed us. Thank you for sharing yours. I knew I could trust you with mine… but I was afraid you might not open up to me at all.”
Noah leaned forward, eyes shining.
Luke met him halfway.
Their kiss wasn’t hungry or rushed. It was slow. Honest. Healing. A moment layered in truth, wrapped in moonlight.
Their kiss deepened beneath the rising moonlight, the sound of waves soft in the background, the last of the seagulls long gone. Noah held Luke close, one hand pressed against the small of his back, the other cradling his jaw like something precious. Luke melted into him, their bodies aligning with practiced ease as if they’d done this a thousand times in dreams.
What began as slow and sweet turned electric—fingers tangling in hair, hips brushing, breath hitching. Piece by piece, they began to undress each other.
First, Luke’s salmon pink button-down was shrugged from his shoulders, fabric sliding over sun-warmed skin. Then Noah’s fitted polo came off, revealing sculpted lines and golden tones that caught the candlelight just right.
Luke hesitated before pulling off his tie-dye tank top, but the way Noah looked at him—no judgment, just awe—gave him the courage to keep going.
They stared at each other, half-naked under the stars.
Noah reached out and ran his hand slowly down Luke’s side.
“Your time… your pace,” he whispered. “I mean it, baby.”
Luke froze, blinked, then smiled.
“That’s the third time you’ve called me ‘baby,’” he said, lifting his left hand and giving it a little Beyoncé-style waggle. “I feel like I should be presented with a ring or a remix.”
Noah laughed. “Okay, okay… do you want something more formal?”
He paused, scratched the back of his calf nervously, then took a breath and started again.
“I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want to go to sleep without hearing your voice or wake up without you pressed against me. I don’t want to spend a minute—or, hell, an hour—pretending this isn’t real. So yeah… I want something formal.”
He reached out, steady and sure.
“Tell me that you’ll be mine.”
Luke didn’t answer.
Instead, he gently pushed Noah back onto the blanket and climbed onto him, straddling his hips. Their pants were still on, but the heat between them pulsed with every shift of Luke’s weight.
He began to move slowly, circling his hips with reverence, teasing friction between them. His hands mapped Noah’s shoulders, firm and steady, then slid up to cradle both sides of his face.
Their foreheads touched.
“I don’t know exactly when it happened,” Luke whispered, breath trembling against Noah’s lips. “But I’ve known for a while now. Maybe even back when I followed you and saw you with those kids… that joy, that light—it’s yours. And it got to me.”
And then he kissed him.
Long, deep, full of everything they hadn’t yet said. The stars blinked overhead like silent witnesses, the sea murmuring nearby, and the warmth between their bodies only grew.
Shirts forgotten, candles flickering, the rest of their clothes came off in an unhurried dance of hands and mouths and laughter.
Soft exploration. Gentle teasing. Whispered curses. Fingers in hair. Kisses trailed along collarbones and backs, thighs and stomachs. They rolled and tangled, laughing and moaning, gasping and groaning, wrapped in each other like a tangle of sea-washed silk.
Thoughts of anything else drifted far—so far they might’ve been those tiny points of light above them, distant and faint.
Eventually, Noah rolled them once more, easing Luke down onto the blanket and covering him with his body.
His elbows planted on either side of Luke’s chest, one hand cupping his face, the other threading into his hair, completely destroying the carefully styled spikes.
Luke gave a half-hearted gasp.
“You ruined my hair,” he said, chuckling softly.
“It was criminally hot,” Noah whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I had to.” Then quieter: “We don’t have to do anything else. You know that, right?”
Luke reached up with curled fingers and dragged his knuckles along Noah’s jawline, down his neck, and back up into his hair from behind.
“I trust you, Noah,” he whispered. “And oh my God, do I need you.”
His voice cracked—full of longing and truth.
“I need you, Noah.”
And everything else fell away.
*** Its not will they or won’t they, lol. They do! If you would like the more explicit version of their evening send a message to SundayEditionAC@gmail.com – Use the Subject line: Crown, intimate installment***