Twenty Five
Twenty Five
Felix
A va isn’t over the moon about my inviting Nico to come dancing with us, but I’m in that very particular stage of intoxication where I don’t particularly care. Charlie hasn’t said a word, mainly because he’s been distractedly checking his phone most of the night. He’d been the one to organise this whole VIP thing we’re on our way to now, and it’s not a club we usually frequent, so he’s tense.
Savini had gotten in the first taxi with Jacob and Niall. Sun, Ava, Charlie, and I tumbling into the second. I half expect him to have changed his mind, not being a nightclub-type person, but when we pull up outside the club, there he is, looking fucking spectacular in black and silhouetted by the deep midnight blue of the club windows. As our eyes meet, he offers me the gentlest, most secret of smiles; it makes my chest feel a little fluttery.
After Charlie gets us all inside, we’re shown to a booth in the VIP section with several bottles of champagne already on the table.
I look at Charlie, impressed. “How did you meet this guy again?”
“Grindr.”
“Christ, you must have some skills.”
He gives me a look and I immediately regret the statement. “I really do.”
“You should marry him,” I say.
“Marry who?” Ava says, lifting a bottle out of the bucket.
“The guy who owns this place. Chaz met him on Grindr.”
“He’s already married,” Charlie laments.
Niall and Nico are talking, intently now, lots of serious nods and shakes of their heads, and I hate that he hasn’t looked over here once since we’ve sat down. I hate that I hate it.
I watch as he takes a water from the ice bucket on the table, shaking his head when Ava offers him some champagne. Niall is a good-looking twenty-five-year-old from Scotland. He’d been in Glasgow and Paris before settling here about 18 months ago. I’m not sure if he’s into men, but the way he can’t seem to look away from Nico for five fucking seconds makes me think he might be.
Right, well, I can’t sit here all night bloody drooling over him.
“I’m going to dance,” I announce to the table. I drain the champagne Ava just poured and move off without waiting to see if anybody follows.
The dance floor is packed, the music hypnotic, and with my eyes closed and champagne bubbles popping under my skin, I lose myself in the beat of bodies pretty easily. There’s something else popping and swirling under my skin though, which is proving harder to ignore. Impossible actually. And since I rarely, if ever, ignore any desire I have, I slide my phone out of my pocket and bring up our previous conversation.
Fuckface:
I sure hope not given how much you like my dick
The truth is, the trouble actually, is that I like more than his dick. I happen to also like the way he looks at me. The way he kisses me. I like the sound of his voice after he’s just come, and his laugh, and the way his smile reminds me of sixteen-year-old Nico. I like the strange glimpses of vulnerability I see in him now and then; even if it does make me want to do crazy things like protect him. I like that everything I thought I knew about him is being slowly dismantled and rebuilt. So, I’ve decided to let this thing just play out. Let it run its course. Like a cold or a fever. Because trying to stop it or fight it will take too much energy, and it’s energy that I need for other things. Namely, this show.
Me:
meet me in the downstairs toilets. They’re next to the entrance.
There’s no response as I pick my way off the dance floor towards the bathrooms. There’s a queue for the ladies’ but not for the men’s, though when I get inside, there are no free cubicles. I go to the sink, wash my hands, and wait for one to become empty, leaving my phone upturned on the counter to watch for a reply. I see it turn to ‘read’ but no reply comes. When the furthest cubicle becomes free, I wait inside for a couple of moments, temper rising the longer it takes for him to appear. Just when I’m convinced he’s not going to come, the bathroom door opens, and I pop my head out to see him striding in like some kind of cashmere-wearing god. Black looks sinful on him. Unholy. It accentuates dark hair, dark eyes, and a thick red mouth, against the deep golden set of his skin. I’m down really fucking bad here.
His eyes are set with stony determination as he drinks me in head to toe. Then, without a word, he pushes me inside the cubicle and locks the door behind him. I’ve not done this for a while; hook up with someone in a club bathroom. It feels illicit. Seedy. But when he crowds me into the wall and kisses me hard, I’m already over it. He holds my head in place and shoves his tongue so far into my mouth I’m sure he means for me to swallow it. Then he grabs my cock and rubs his fingers over the head, coaxing the precum from it. I groan, turning soft and submissive against him even as my cock goes all the way hard.
“This for me?” he whispers against my lips.
“Yes. All for you.” I moan as he yanks open the button of my trousers and shoves his hand inside. He circles his thumb over the bare, hot, leaking head.
“You’re soaked, princess.” When he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks it, I’m certain I’m going to come right there. Virtually untouched.
“Nico, please…” I beg.
“Please what? What do you want? Want me to fuck you here like a slut, huh?”
“Yes, fuck me here. I need you to fuck me.”
“Did you bring a condom?”
“In my back pocket.”
“Put it on me,” he orders. As I’m doing that, he slides his fingers into my mouth and says, “Suck.”
I do as I’m told, rolling the condom over him as I suck on his fingers. Warm salty skin fucking into my open mouth. My breathing is messy and quick, sharp panting breaths that make me feel lightheaded. When he pulls his fingers out of my mouth and replaces them with his tongue, I moan like a whore. Then his fingers are pushing into my hole, rough and indelicate, spearing me open.
“Fuck,” I gasp, my head dropping back against the bathroom wall. I don’t care if anyone hears me, I’m too far gone, all I care about is his fingers and his dick and that both are inside me. I don’t remember ever wanting anyone as much as this. I feel ensorcelled. Bewitched. Fucking spellbound. When he spins me around a few moments later, my cock is weeping, hard and throbbing as I push my arse backwards toward him. A bitch in heat.
“Hold yourself open for me,” Nico says, and I obey, grabbing both cheeks to spread them apart. I expect him to fuck inside immediately but he doesn’t, he drops low and attacks my hole with his mouth, licking and sucking at my taint and my balls before leaning back to spit on it. “Push it out, let me see that perfect pussy.”
His voice is low and rough, but soothing too. It sends a hot shiver from the base of my spine out through my balls.
“You’re perfect,” he says. I’m standing here, pressed against the dirty wall of a club bathroom, holding my ass open like a slut, and I’ve never felt more prized. He stands, and then he’s pushing into me, one slow deliberate move until I can feel him all the way in my bloody stomach.
“Shit, fuck, shit,” I mutter against the tile.
“In through your nose, out through your mouth, baby. You got this.”
“Don’t tell me how to take a fucking dick,” I hiss. “Just give me a minute.” I do exactly as he said, and he places a soft kiss at the nape of my neck. Then another. Then a third. I’m not sure why he feels so overwhelming this time. Because I’m standing? Because the foreplay consisted of a minute of kissing and fifteen seconds of fingering? Because I haven’t come yet? Unclear. But this time, it feels like he’s rearranging my insides so that no one else is ever going to fit inside me again.
“Okay,” I say at last. “I’m good. Fuck me.”
And he does. Moving slowly at first before his tempo builds at pace. I begin to get louder until he covers my mouth with his hand and fucks me harder. When I come against the wall, entirely untouched, I see bloody stars. The action of my orgasm pushes Nico over the edge, too, and then he’s holding me against the wall and biting my shoulder through the thin fabric of my top as he spills into me. When he kisses the space close to my ear and noses against it like a cat, goosebumps rise over my entire body. When he slips out of me, I stay pressed against the wall, waiting for my breathing to return to normal. When I turn, he’s fastening his belt, watching me with a fond sort of look on his face. He reaches out, possibly to stroke my cheek or my hair, but I turn my head and reach for some toilet paper instead. I wipe the head of my cock, toss the paper, and flush the toilet.
“So… can I buy you a drink?” he says after I’ve cleaned and tucked myself in.
For some reason this makes me laugh. Ignoring the strange alien sparkle in my chest, I nod. “Yeah, alright.”
I bloody love Christmas. I love the lights in Covent Garden, I love the Christmas markets that pop up everywhere selling mulled wine and hot cider, I love giving presents to the people I care about just to see their faces when they open them. I love seeing little kids running around with pinked noses and bobble hats and mittens, their eyes wide with excitement. It’s probably my favourite time of year, to be honest. And though I usually have to spend the day with my father, even that doesn’t tend to dampen my spirits too much. After the shelter, I go there, and I drink champagne mimosas throughout the day in order to maintain a level of drunkenness that gets me through his company. This year, however, he’s going to the Alps with Miranda. Ava is flying back to Dublin for the holidays, and though she’d asked me to come with her, I’d refused, not wanting to crash a family gathering.
Which means I’m alone on Christmas.
I’m determined not to let that bother me though. Not being around my father on Christmas seems like something to celebrate, not mourn, so I’m going to make the most of it.
Ava flies out the day before Christmas Eve, and that night I go for a walk around Covent Garden. I smile at strangers, buy last-minute gifts I don’t need, and buy myself a hot cider from the market. I’m still thinking about Friday. Have been thinking about it all weekend. After our liaison in the bathroom, Nico had bought me a drink, which we’d sipped while talking about our plans for Christmas, even though it was too loud. We’d had to watch each other’s mouths and talk into each other’s ears to hear the minute details.
I’d wanted to us to leave and go somewhere quieter, some cosy little bar with Christmas lights and quiet music where we could talk properly. And if I’d asked him, I’m certain he’d have said yes, but, of course, I didn’t ask him. After his drink, he’d said goodnight, gone upstairs to get his coat, and gone home.
I knew he was going home to Italy for Christmas. I knew he wasn’t particularly looking forward to it, except that he’d get to see his sister and his nephew, who he’d mentioned being close to. I tried to imagine it. Nico in a room full of his family and speaking Italian, being something other than the talented lead principal at LBC or Romasco. Tried to imagine him being a brother and a son and an uncle. It brought that strange feeling back into my chest. The one I was trying (and failing) to ignore.
I’m walking past the large 55ft Christmas tree when my mobile starts ringing. Of course I have no expectations of it being him, but when it’s not, I still deflate a little. Even though it’s someone I should want to speak with. Someone who, until Nico, I would always want to talk to. Someone who, for some reason, I’ve been avoiding recently. We haven’t spoken in a week; highly unusual for us.
I decide to answer it.
“Hi, how are you?”
Christian’s voice is pleasant and warm. “I’m alright, darling, you?”
“I’m in Covent Garden, sorry, it’s loud.”
“A little, yes. You have plans?”
“Not really, I’m just wandering around being merry and bright.”
He laughs a little. “Do you fancy wandering over here?”
“You’re not in Devon?”
“Ah, no. A last-minute change of plan.”
I cannot immediately think of an excuse not to go over, and since I’d already said I had no plans, I say, “Sure! I don’t have your gift with me though. Shall I nip home and get it?”
“No, forget that. Come now.”
The tone of his voice is a little strange. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine, yes. Everything is fine.”
“Right, okay, well, I’ll be forty minutes or so.”
“Perfect, I’ll see you then.”
I hang up, feeling out of sorts in a way I can’t properly name.
After picking up some chocolate covered chestnuts and a bottle of mulled wine from The Petersham Deli, I take the tube to Green Park. Christian opens the door smiling and looking relaxed in a cardigan and soft looking pyjama pants, feet in tweed slippers.
He wraps an arm around me and presses a kiss to my temple.
“God, I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”
“Me too. Sorry, it’s been crazy at the academy. I haven’t even told you the news.”
I set the wine and treats down on the kitchen counter and shuck out of my jacket, scarf, and gloves. “We’re doing a queer ballet.”
“Yes, yes I know.” He’s smiling.
“Fuck, of course you do. When did Ben tell the board?”
“Oh, I think he pitched it for the first time a few years back. But after he signed Savini, it was far easier to convince everyone it was time. Though, you should know, I was all for it from the start.” He lifts the mulled wine and points at it.
I nod. “Yes please. Fuck, I forgot an orange.”
He points at his fruit bowl, laden with oranges.
“I mean it’s sort of genius,” I go on. “He said he and Marcus have been working on it for ten years? Glad it took him that long, because please, it was made for me.”
“Oh, it’s the role you were born for, no doubt. How is Nico feeling about it?”
I stiffen a little. “Yeah, he’s excited about it, I think.”
“Excited about starring in a queer ballet as a straight man?”
This statement causes me to look at him; he’s stirring the mulled wine around in the pot while he watches me. Scrutinises me, in fact.
I need to lie to him because it’s not my place to be discussing Nico’s sexuality with anyone. But I’m already lying to Christian about Savini. I let him fuck me after Nico, without telling him, which breaks every single rule we have. It’s not okay. It’s disrespectful and this has worked between us because we respect each other. I look down at my hands as I pick at a loose sliver of nail on my forefinger.
Quietly, I say, “There’s something I need to tell you.”
He waits for me to go on but I’m not entirely sure where to start.
“Is it that you’re sleeping with him?”
My head snaps up. Christian’s face isn’t filled with anger or disappointment, but there is a crease between his brows.
“I… yeah. Yeah, I am. Have been.”
He nods slowly, still stirring the pot. “It started the night of the gala.”
At this, I frown. “How do you know all this?”
He shrugs. “I’m good at people.”
I’m still picking at my nail. “I’m sorry, I should have told you.”
“Yes. You should have.” When I glance up, he gives me a stern look. “And the fact that you didn’t is… troubling.”
“How could I?” I come around the counter so I’m next to him. “I’ve spent so long telling you how much I hate him and then I… fuck, it’s embarrassing. I’m so embarrassed.”
He arches a brow. “Are you?”
“Mortified, yes.”
Christian chuckles and busies himself with slicing the orange. Eventually, he turns off the hob and I watch quietly as he pours the mulled wine into two large mugs. He drops a slice in each and then we go sit at the dining table.
“You like him,” he says as he sips from his mug.
“I’m actually still pretty sure I hate him.”
He laughs, warm and rounded. “Mmm and I’m certain that just makes the sex all that much better.”
I groan, miserably. “It really does.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says after a moment. “Maybe embarrassment is part of it, but it’s not the whole story, is it?”
I sit up and draw my bottom lip into my mouth. “I don’t know.”
Christian sighs, softly. “Yes, darling, you do.”
“Because I don’t want to lose you. Or this.”
He nods, like I’ve just confirmed something for him. “Felix, you could never lose me. I’ve told you that. I’m going to be here for you no matter what happens after this part ends.”
“But I don’t want it to end.” I can feel tears rushing to the surface, my throat thick from the swell of emotion. “I don’t see why it has to. You know now, so things can go back to normal, back to the way they were. I won’t see him again.” But even as I’m saying the words, I know it’s a lie. Fuck, I want to see him now. I want to leave here and go to him and have him wrap his arms around and comfort me.
What the actual fuck is happening to me?
Christian reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “I know change is hard for you, sweetheart, and that’s why I’m not going anywhere. I’m right at the end of a phone or across from you at dinner, whenever you need me. But I don’t want to get in the middle of something that could be real for you. With someone who can offer you what I can’t. Something that you want and need in your life.”
“I don’t understand why you can’t though. I’ve never asked it of you and maybe I fucking should have. We’re so good together.” I get up from the chair and drop to my knees in front of him. He turns slightly on the seat and opens his legs to let me between them. “Let me remind you how good we are…” I reach for the waistband of his pyjamas, but he stops me, a hand capturing mine as another cups my cheek affectionately.
“Darling, stop,” he whispers. “You know I can’t resist you. And besides, I don’t need a reminder, I am well aware.”
“Then let me.”
“I think this time, I have to say no. I have to be the grown-up.”
He urges my head down, so it’s lying on his lap. Then his hands are in my hair, stroking through the mess of curls.
“You’re not in love with me, Felix,” says Christian confidently. “And you’ve never asked for anything more from me because it’s not what you want. I’m not what you want, not for the rest of your life. Now you’re frightened because you think I’m going to disappear, like other things have in the past, but I’m not. I promise you that I’m not. I’m right here, your biggest supporter, for as long as you want me to be. It’s why I want this for you. I want you to be happy, darling. To experience what it’s like to be fully and completely in love. To be with someone who cherishes you and treats you how you deserve. Someone who shares you with the world and shares the world with you . Not someone who keeps you a secret from it.”
You want me to be your dirty little secret? The way you’re his.
“That person isn’t Nico Savini,” I say miserably. “It can’t be.”
“Why not?”
I don’t have a good reason to give him right then. There would have been lots in my Notes app, right amongst all the reasons I shouldn’t even be fucking him, but I deleted that.