Chapter 18
Dmitri
My palms slide over my jeans as I walk toward Eric’s apartment.
Everything about today already feels different, because despite the number of days we spent together in college, none of them were dates.
Sweat clings to my skin like a mist, and I kick myself for wearing such thick denim in the middle of summer.
I’d wanted to look good for him, and these pants hug my ass just right.
Sue me for exploiting an asset.
The black shirt will at least hide the inevitable dampness at my armpits, so I count it as a win. I use the window to check my hair once more, but before I can knock, the door swings open. Eric leans nonchalantly on the doorframe, arms crossed and a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.
“Did I just catch you checking yourself out?” he teases.
I roll my eyes before letting them slide down his body.
He looks like a damn snack in khaki shorts and a sage green polo that erases any trace of brown from his irises, every bit the All-American wet dream.
Sandy hair swoops across his forehead, with the sides cut shorter since I saw him two nights ago.
His shorts end a few inches above his knees and put his tree trunk legs on full display.
They’re tight enough to hint at the bulge of his cock tucked against his thigh.
I've changed my mind—he’s not a snack, he’s a four-course meal.
An entire culinary experience.
My fingers twitch at my sides, resisting the urge to throw him against the wall and stay in tonight.
We’ve enjoyed a couple of quiet nights hanging out, content with getting takeout and watching movies.
We haven’t gone beyond making out on the couch since that first night, and I’m dying to get my hands on him.
Hands, mouth…
Dick.
Anything works.
The slower pace has given us time to relearn each other.
It’s letting Eric adjust to being with me in private, and it's allowing him to wrap his head around the new realities of our relationship.
Our tour bus leaves tomorrow, and for the next six weeks, privacy will be nonexistent.
Between the jam-packed show schedule and sharing the close quarters of a cramped bus, it will be the ultimate test of self-control.
A test I’ll likely fail. Restraint is not one of my strong suits.
It’s crystal clear to everyone that there’s something happening between us, and it’s obvious the rest of the band has noticed. There’s been tension between us since that first day, and now Eric punched Dante in my defense after admitting I woke up in his bed.
It’s not my place to out Eric, though, and I promised things would move at his speed and by his rules. For the next six weeks, I'll have to be on my best behavior, but tonight, he’s mine.
“You gonna stare all night, Belikov?” he asks.
My eyes snap up to his to find him smirking deeper, and I cross my arms to keep from reaching for him. “I might,” I counter with a wink. “Are you ready?”
The amusement on his face deepens, and he runs his hand over the top of his hair before he gestures at his bare feet.
“Almost. Come in while I grab my shoes.” We step inside, and I sigh as the cool air hits my skin.
Eric balances on one foot at a time as he slides on his socks and sneakers, then stands tall and rakes his hair off his forehead.
“One more thing,” he says.
I glance at him in question, and he closes the distance with unmistakable intent.
His lips crash into mine, a sweet, hungry noise rumbling from his throat as my arms uncross and band around his waist. My palms slide down to grip his ass, and he chuckles against my mouth, the sound vibrating between us.
His lips are soft but insistent, and painstakingly deliberate as his hands weave into my hair to tilt my head just right. When his tongue glides over mine, my flimsy self-restraint evaporates in a low moan. His hips roll forward, pressing hard against me, and the friction sparks everywhere.
Then he breaks away, lips curving into that infuriating, teasing smile.
“Now I’m ready,” he says, casual as hell, and pretending he didn’t just turn my knees to jelly.
“Ready for what, exactly?” My voice comes out airy, and the sizzling heat under my skin is impossible to hide.
“Ready to go, silly,” he teases as he plants another kiss on my lips. He steps back with an air of perfect innocence, while I take a few deep breaths to cool my overheated body. “You telling me what you’ve got planned yet, Rico Suave?”
I bump his shoulder with mine. “Well, I was, but if you’re going to tease me”—his eyes flare with heat as I tug on his bottom lip with my thumb—“you’ll have to be patient.”
Eric pouts as he tilts his head to look at me through his lashes. It’s absolutely ridiculous, and I grin until my cheeks ache as I hug him to me again.
“Save that face for later,” I murmur as I lean forward and nip at his prominent lip.
“Fuck, Dmitri,” he rasps as he tries to reel me in for a deeper kiss.
I relent for a moment, then grin as I shove him away. “We’ll never leave if we keep doing this.”
“Maybe I’m okay with that?” he says, biting his lip between his teeth.
“You little minx,” I mutter with an affectionate grin. “No, goddamn it, I made plans for us, and we’re going.”
“Yes, sir,” he whispers as he walks past me, and I bite back my groan as I turn and follow him out the door.
Half an hour later, we pull into a parking lot. Eric leans forward in the passenger seat with a wide grin tearing across his face.
“Oh, hell yeah!” he says, jumping out of the truck before it's even in park.
I try not to look too pleased with myself as I walk around to him. “I figured before we’re crammed on a tiny bus for the next month and a half—”
“We could ride sketchy fair rides and eat too much sugar?” he finishes for me.
My smile spreads at his enthusiasm. “Something like that.”
“Let’s go, then!” He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together, guiding me through the maze of cars toward the ticket booth.
The moment feels like a dream—the sun warm on my skin, Eric’s contagious excitement, and his hand solid and sure in mine that makes me feel like the only person in his universe.
It’s perfect.
Until it isn’t.
A man with a graying beard and beer gut passes us, eyes narrowing at our joined hands. “Buncha queers,” he drawls, loud enough to carry.
Eric freezes mid-step, his grip going slack as if someone cut the strings. I can feel the war inside him without even looking. His pulse jumps against my palm, his shoulders stiffen, and the sudden tension radiates off him like heat from pavement.
My heart cracks open at the visible fracture—the way he wants to hold on but can’t quite make his fingers close again, torn between the safety of me and the sting of public judgment.
With one last gentle squeeze, I make the choice for him.
Even though it rips something inside me, I let my fingers slide free. This isn’t about me right now.
“Hey,” I whisper. He turns, eyes already pained and glassy with conflict. “It’s okay. We don’t have to.”
His voice trembles just enough to break me. “Why the hell do people care? What does it matter who I’m with?”
The overwhelming desire to drag him into my arms, shield him from every sharp glance, and hide him from the world is consuming me. Guilt crashes over me like cold water as I realize our relationship just exposed him to this kind of scrutiny.
It's raw, ugly, and unasked for.
This right here… this is a hard, unfortunate part of life he’s never had to face before. All of it is new to him—the slurs mumbled just loud enough to hear, the judgment in strangers’ eyes, and the unnecessary hate that feels personal even when it’s not.
“Because,” I finally say, hating the uneasiness flickering in his eyes, “people suck. We live in a world where a small, loud handful clings to their prejudiced, outdated beliefs.” He swallows hard, throat working visibly.
I grab his wrist and pull his attention back to me.
“Only a small minority actually care, but they’re the ones who make themselves impossible to ignore.
Most people won’t give it a second thought.
Just keep that in mind when it feels like everyone’s watching you, alright? ”
“Okay,” he whispers, eyes dropping to the ground and shoulders curling inward.
Once more, I resist the impulse to embrace him, fighting every instinct that screams to pull him close and shield him from the world. I force my arms to stay at my sides, letting him go even though it feels like tearing something vital inside me.
“Tonight, we don’t have to be anything other than two friends having a good time.”
His guilt is palpable as he steals a quick, uncertain glance at me.
“Eric,” I say, insistent but gentle, and low enough that only he can hear. “Whatever you need me to be, okay? You’re running the show.”
At last, he releases a deep, shuddering sigh and nods. “Alright.”
“Come on,” I say, forcing my tone light as I bump his shoulder with mine. “Ten bucks says I can beat you at the game of your choice.”
A smile slips across his face—tiny, but real. “Game on.”
He relaxes as the evening goes on, and after a few hours, we've lost track of who’s winning. We brave the spinning rides, and Eric holds onto me for balance as we regain our footing. Once he's steady, his eyes light up, and he leads me to a new display of shining lights.
My knees are up to my shoulders in this tiny thing, and my stomach aches with the amount of laughing I’ve done since I shoved myself into it. Colorful bumper cars weave in a tight circle, driven by kids half my age.
A little girl with pigtails whizzes past me, and I stifle a snort.
Okay, maybe a quarter of my age.
“Get back here!” Eric shrieks from behind me, and his burst of laughter makes me push my foot to the pedal harder, like I can make this thing go any faster.
“Not a chance!” I yell in response.
I cut a hard right turn at the last second, glancing over my shoulder as he tries to follow.
He rams into the wall and bounces backward with a comical snap of his head.
His eyes meet mine in steely determination, and I bark out a maniacal cackle as I drive away.
My focus shifts ahead, and my eyes bulge in surprise as a kid no older than six steers a beat-up red bumper car directly at me.
He’s giving me Chucky vibes, and I’m outta here.
“Shit!” I squeak as I search for an exit, but end up crashing head-on into the concrete wall.
Before I can get my bearings, an impact hits me from the rear.
“Yield, motherfucker!” Eric shouts from behind me, before backing up and slamming into me a second time.
Tears of glee blur my vision, and I hold up my hands in surrender.
He rams me once more for good measure as I throw my head back, my entire body shaking as I laugh all the way from the bottom of my belly.
We're still grinning like idiots as we walk through the main alley of the fair, carrying funnel cakes that warm our hands through their thin paper plates. His arm brushes against mine as he looks over at me, happier than I’ve seen him since college.
“Is that wager still on?” he asks as he takes a giant bite of funnel cake. A dusting of powdered sugar sticks to the corner of his lips, and I fight the urge to brush it away.
“Bet your ass it is. I’ll even let you pick your poison.”
Eric grins and shoves the last of his food into his mouth, licking his fingers clean as we walk through the games.
The long pathway is illuminated with chaotic flashing lights and giant stuffed animals with cheap stitching and crossed eyes.
Over-enthusiastic fair workers shout as they try to rip off the unsuspecting chumps that think they can actually win.
Chumps like us.
But Eric keeps walking until his face brightens. “There,” he says, pointing toward the end of the aisle.
A huff of a laugh escapes me as I shake my head. “Really, meathead?”
“Fuck yes, really,” he says as he shoves me forward. The old-school strongman game stands forgotten in front of us, with no line and a bored worker paying more attention to his phone than his job. A giant sledgehammer leans against it as neon lights travel in random paths up and down the tower.
Eric turns to me with his lip pinched thoughtfully between his teeth. “Let’s up the stakes.”
“Color me intrigued. What’s your wager, pretty boy?”
He throws his arm around my shoulder to pull me close. “Loser sucks the winner’s cock.” The words slip out of his mouth so casually that it takes a moment for them to register in my mind.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter as all the blood in my body rushes south.
Eric’s arm slides off me as he steps forward, biceps bulging as he lifts the hammer. “Scared?”
With a competitive glint in his eyes, he glances back at me over his shoulder and flexes. His muscles ripple as he grins, watching my eyes dart around his broad, well-defined upper body.
My smile widens until my cheeks ache. “You wish.”