Chapter 17
Eric
Whoever delivered the pizza earned their tip. The box was left outside the door, and it was already room temperature by the time we realized that someone got an ear full of indecency. Right now, I can't bring myself to care.
We ate and then curled up on the couch, and we haven't moved in the hours since we crashed here. It’s getting late, but neither of us has mentioned it.
I’m clinging to the moment, not wanting it to end in case it all turns out to be a dream.
Instead, I'm lying here like a lovesick puppy, treasuring every word of conversation.
“Is Christmas still your favorite holiday?” Dmitri asks as he traces my hand with his fingertip.
I roll my eyes at his question. “Isn’t it everyone’s favorite holiday?”
“Right,” he drawls. “Americans and their Christmas traditions. Couldn’t possibly be anything else.”
My eyes roll again, harder this time, and I hope he notices the extra effort I put into the sass. “Oh, give me a break. Your parents are Russian, but that means nothing when you were born in Atlanta. It doesn't get any more American than that. Stop living in denial and buy a pair of cowboy boots.”
He’s appalled as he lifts a brow at me. “Under no circumstances will I ever be caught wearing cowboy boots.”
I give him a sideways glance. “What if I asked you really nicely? Or… what if I wanted you to wear the boots and nothing else?”
“Fuck,” he grunts as he shifts his hips, and the telltale pressure of his cock digs into my thigh. “You aren’t playing fair.”
“Is that a yes on the boots?”
He laughs and pulls me in for a kiss that’s probably meant to shut me up more than anything, but the distraction proves effective. A quick peck on the lips turns into a full-blown make-out session, but instead of hot and heavy, it’s sweet and patient.
When we finally break apart, he guides me back to lie on his chest, and Dmitri hesitates for a moment before he says, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
He pauses again, and I glance up at him in question.
“You were engaged?” he finally asks.
“I was,” I say in a measured tone, waiting for him to lead the conversation.
“What happened?”
This time it’s me who stays quiet for a moment, deciding how to answer that very complicated question.
“It was a couple of years after we graduated from UNC. Back then, I was working at a larger tech company doing support, and Chelsea was a programmer. She was a few years older than me, and we hit it off quickly. She was…” I grapple with my words, picturing the smiling face of the girl who was once my future.
“She was what you’d expect out of a guy like me.
Southern Belle mixed with a dash of emo.
Sweet and smart, with a hell of a mean streak if you pushed her buttons. ”
“Hmm, sounds familiar,” he murmurs.
I swat his arm, then settle back in. “We were together for almost a year, and I proposed because I thought it was the socially expected thing to do. The next logical step, you know?”
“Did you love her?” he asks. Jealousy weaves through his voice, so sharp I can't pretend it isn't there, but I’m not about to start lying to him after we just found this fragile footing.
“Yeah,” I answer, “I did. It may not have been with the intensity I should've, but I loved her.”
“Obviously something changed.”
My stomach dips like it always does when this part of the story comes to mind.
“Her family was strict Southern Baptist, with very conservative ways of thinking. Her baby brother was still in high school and had a hard time finding himself. He came out to his family on Thanksgiving, and they…” Memories flash through my mind of the look on her parents’ faces—the horror and shame that they didn’t even attempt to hide. “They didn’t take it well.”
He hums to let me know he's listening, and I take a deep breath to tamp down the lingering guilt.
“I didn’t even defend him,” I admit. “They ganged up on him and made him feel so small, and I just fucking sat there. I didn’t do a goddamned thing to help him, or to show him that someone was in his corner…
that he wasn’t alone. He was only sixteen.
Afterwards, the regret was eating me alive.
It gutted me to realize I was that much of a coward.
Later that evening when Chelsea and I were back at her apartment, I brought it up. She seemed surprised.”
“Surprised?” he repeats.
I nod against his chest. “That I would be okay with his ‘sinful lifestyle,’ although that was unbelievably hypocritical. She was cherry picking what she viewed as sin, because all that premarital sex we were having certainly didn’t raise any objections—”
Dmitri grips my hair, drawing a surprised gasp from me as he guides me to look at him. “Eric, I don’t need details about your sex life before me. I don't normally struggle with this, but hearing about you with someone else makes me twitchy.”
“Noted,” I say, a little too smugly, as I drop a gentle kiss on his lips and curl back in. “We got into a huge argument, and I was so worked up that it all just slipped out. My past, and the way I felt about you… what happened between us…”
His chin digs into my scalp as he hugs me closer. “How’d she take it?”
Echoes of old pain ring through my chest at the memory.
My voice is barely more than a whisper as I say, “She said that she’d have to reconsider my proposal, and that she didn’t want to have to spend the rest of her life hiding my ‘queerness’ from her family.
The fucking shame almost put me through the floor. ”
Dmitri's hand makes a comforting pass through my hair, patient and steadfast. He doesn’t push me, only lets me know that he’s here as I gather my thoughts.
“Two days of silence later, she asked me to come over. We sat down, and she told me…” A choked, sarcastic laugh leaves me as I picture the scene. “She told me she forgave me for what I’d done.”
“Forgave you?”
My laugh is deeper, more genuine this time at his righteous indignation. “Right? Because my soul was headed for eternal damnation, apparently.”
“So, what’d you do?”
I shrug. “Told her the truth—that I couldn’t be with someone with that level of prejudice. What I felt for you was intense and confusing, but it wasn’t wrong. Nothing about us could’ve ever been wrong.”
“Bet she took that well.”
“About as well as you'd imagine,” I mutter.
My lungs fill with a long breath before I finish the story.
“She took her ring off and threw it at me, and told me that my secret was safe with her because she would never admit to being engaged to someone like me.
She called me a few choice names that don't bear repeating, then asked me to leave and told me she never wanted to see me again.”
Dmitri’s inhale is sharp in my ear. “Baby…”
Ignoring the phantom ache that still stings from her words, I shake my head. “It’s over and done. I never saw her after that day. But honestly, I should thank her for showing her true colors before we got married. If she hadn’t, who knows where we’d be right now?”
“I know where I’d be,” he mumbles against my temple.
“Where’s that?”
His kisses travel down my jaw and over my cheek. “Somewhere missing you.”
“Fuck, when did you get so sweet?” I murmur as he lands on my smiling lips.
“I have always been sweet.”
“Right.” I stretch the word out, not hiding my sarcasm. He opens his mouth to argue, but instead, his jaw stretches wide into an exaggerated yawn. He rubs his eyes and arches his back, and I can't help but smile.
Sleepy Dmitri is fucking adorable.
“You’re exhausted,” I finally say softly. “I should let you get some sleep.”
Why does it feel so impossible to detach myself from him, even though I'd managed without him for so long? And why does it sting so deeply to think about all those missed opportunities? There's so much time we can never get back.
Where does this leave us?
Where does it leave me?
The confusion over my identity has always been there, trapped in the recesses of my mind.
I struggled with it after college, and all those fears resurfaced after Chelsea and I broke up.
But I refused to give it the light of day, and the questions withered into manageable weeds.
After this, that stress is flourishing, alive and climbing my thoughts like vines.
Am I gay?
Bi?
Does the label even fucking matter?
Dmitri drags my hand to his mouth, planting a kiss on my palm. “Hey,” he whispers. “Where’d you go?”
“Just in my head.”
“Care to share?”
I hesitate as I nestle into his neck, letting my lips trail across his skin. “It’s a scary place sometimes.”
Dmitri pulls back, looking down at me with serious eyes. “I can handle it.”
A vulnerability I’ve never felt before tightens my throat as I try to find the right words. “I don’t know what to do now,” I admit after a long pause.
He shifts to sit up and positions my head so it rests on his thigh. “Explain.”
I stare up at his strong profile, choosing my words carefully. “I’ve never had to think about what to tell people. It’s never been a big deal to introduce someone as my date or my girlfriend. But…”
“But now you’re with a guy and it’s different,” he finishes for me. “And after your ex reacted so harshly to your past, it makes you nervous.”
“That makes me such an asshole, doesn’t it?” I roll onto my side, burying my face in his stomach as his fingers rake through my hair.
He’s quiet for a few breaths, and I worry I’ve offended him. “No, Eric, it doesn’t make you an asshole,” he finally says. “It makes you human. You’re experiencing something for the first time, and it’s natural to be scared of it.”
“You don’t think I’m a terrible person?”
His fingers tighten in my hair, drawing me back so I’m forced to look at him.
“I know you aren’t. We’ll do this on your schedule.
If you’re not ready for anything public yet, that’s fine.
There doesn't have to be a label on us, and we’ll go as fast or as slow as you're comfortable with, alright?” He leans over and drops a sweet, chaste kiss on my temple. “I just have one rule.”
“What’s that?” I ask, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.
“If we’re together, you belong to me and only me. I will not compromise on this, and I won’t share—not with anyone.”
Did I say Sleepy Dmitri was the best? Because Possessive Dmitri is definitely fighting for a top spot in the ranks.
I sit up and rest my head on his shoulder. “I don't want anyone else, Dmitri. Just… please be patient with me?”
“Done,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on my neck that trails to my jaw, and before I know it, time becomes irrelevant as we become consumed by each other all over again.