Chapter 8 #11
A whole secret language that means I see you, I want you, I'm here, without us ever saying it.
This is how I have to learn to give and receive affection, through hints and pressure points and accidental-on-purpose touches, while other people just walk outside, hold hands, kiss in public, say "this is my boyfriend" and call it a day.
Because the world is cruel.
Because it's stuck in this bubble of what it thinks is right and wrong.
Because we grow up breathing that air until it sticks to us, too, and we start feeling guilty for things that were never wrong in the first place.
"Am I allowed to send nudes back then?" I ask, laughing. "If you don't send them," he says, "I swear I'll show up myself, strip you, take the pictures and send them to me."
I throw my head back, laughing.
"Do you really think we'll pull this off?" I ask. "With so many people around? My family, your family, work, the hotel... all of it?"
I'm not even sure what answer I want.
A promise? A lie? Something to hold onto when I'm stuck. "Of course we will," he says, like it's obvious.
"I dodge cops and criminals every day, baby. Charles is not gonna be the one who stops me."
I don't know why that hits so hard. Maybe because he says it like a fact. Like us trying is non-negotiable.
Before I can overthink it, I lean in and kiss him. Just because I can. Because we're still alone. Because this might be one of the last times I get to do it without looking over my shoulder.
His hand is in my hair immediately, and he pulls me in again, harder.
He kisses me with everything he's got.
Suddenly... my phone rings.
I freeze. That ringtone.
His ringtone.
My father.
Gio pauses too. Pulls back slightly. He glances at the screen, then at me. And grins.
"No," I hiss, half-laughing, already trying to sit up. "No, Gio, don't—"
He kisses the corner of my jaw. "Answer it."
"I can't."
"You will."
My brain scrambles as my traitorous finger hits accept.
"...Dad?" I say, voice way too high.
"Ah, finally," his voice crackles through the speaker. "How are you? Did you pack your bags, or are you leaving it for the last minute again?"
How am I...
I'm lying on a hotel bed with Gio on top of me, his mouth on my neck, and his hand under my shirt, brushing over my stomach.
I'm actually fantastic. Just not in the way my dad means.
"I'm fine," I say. Gio smirks against my throat.
His other hand slides up my ribs, and I have to tighten my grip on the phone so I don't fling it across the room. I clamp my legs together, praying my dad can't hear how not-okay I am.
"Uh... did I pack my bags? Yes. Almost. Everything's good." Gio lets out this low hum right against my throat, and then he grinds down on me.
Yeah. That's his boner. I slap my hand over my mouth before the noise escapes. Because I will make a noise.
Something embarrassing.
Something he'll never let me forget.
"How's everything been? I heard there was more work than expected."
Gio drags his hand over my dick, through the thin fabric of my sweats. His fingers trail lower, and then they creep up to the waistband.
Right on the edge. Like he's asking without asking.
"I-it was. Yeah. We worked a lot," I say, nearly choking.
"And Gio? Everything alright with him? Do you keep… distance?"
This should be a fucking crime. I'm horny and anxious at the exact same time. It's like my body is split in half-one side aching to cum, the other seconds away from a nervous breakdown.
The biggest source of stress is in my ear.
The biggest source of desire is right in front of me.
Gio takes one slow step back. Like he's giving me space. He locks eyes with me, pulling his pants down.
Then wraps his hand around his dick, and starts jerking off slowly.
"Keeping my distance," he whispers, smirking.
I want to scream.
"Rava?"
"YES!" I shout. "Yes! Everything's great with Gio. By that I mean terrible. He barely looks at me!"
He strokes himself harder, staring at me.
Jesus Christ. He's actually touching himself.
While I'm on the phone with my dad.
I swear these people will get me killed one day. "You're being careful, right? I don't want to hear any nonsense when you're back. I'll kill him if he touches you. You know how I feel about this guy."
Oh I do. Loud and clear. "Of course," I say.
Gio comes closer again. His tongue drags across my abs, and I grab his hair without thinking.
"I'll be at the airport tomorrow. Don't be late."
"We won't! We'll be on time, I swear!"
His hands grab at my chest, and I almost let out a whimper. Barely bite it back.
"What was that?"
"What was what? The soap just fell on me. Not now. Earlier. Everything's fine. Okay. We'll talk tomorrow! Bye!" I hang up. Then I throw the phone to the other side of the bed.
Gio leans in and kisses my fucking forehead. "You just lied to your scary dad," he whispers. "You're so bad. You're kind of a criminal now. Should I be scared? Should he be?"
I laugh at the whole mess we just made.
That was easily one of the most terrifying phone calls of my life, and somehow, I'm fucking horny now.
But I mean, who wouldn't be after the view I just had? Gio Fontana jerking himself off, mouthing shit at me while my dad is on the phone asking if I've been behaving.
My life's a joke. A really hot joke.
If little me saw this shit? He would pass out. Straight up fainting on the floor.
"Shut up," I mutter. I pull him in and kiss him.
He melts into it immediately. His tongue slips into my mouth with zero hesitation, and both his hands come up to smooth my hair back, like he doesn't want anything in the way.
The kiss slows.
He pulls back just a little, his lips still brushing mine, and looks at me.
Something shifts in his whole body.
Like suddenly he's more... careful.
Like he's not just touching me, he's holding me. That sets my whole body on fire even more.
Careful Gio is dangerous.
Because that means he's feeling something. I kiss him again, slower this time, just like he does. Like I'm answering a question he never asked out loud.
His hand presses against my waist, and I tug his neck closer, just enough to lean in and whisper against his ear.
"I want you."
He stills. His eyes change, like I've cracked something open in him he didn't know was there.
And then he leans in. Mouth grazing my throat. "Then let me take care of you."
Bonus Scene!
(Gio’s thoughts before they have sex for the first time)
Gio
Rava wants to have sex with me.
I feel the panic already. Not loud kind. Not the kind where you jump up and pace and yell. This type of pain is loud, but silent.
I’m gonna be his first. Not just his first time with a guy.
His first this.
His first "I decided this for myself and not for what my parents told me" moment.
I’ve done a couple firsts before.
First time someone does something they swore they’d never ever do.
First time sneaking out.
First cigarette.
But this is so much different. He’s giving me a memory.
He’s basically putting it in my palms, like saying, here. Take this part of my life. Try not to smash it.
And me? I’m the guy who breaks shit. All the shit I’ve been telling myself since we met just starts screaming at once.
You don’t do this.
You don’t do boyfriends.
You don’t do forever.
You don’t do important.
You definitely don’t do firsts that matter. I’ve had so many nights that meant nothing, I don’t even remember half the faces. Drunk people. Dark rooms. Boredom. Ego.
I know how to be good at sex.
I know how to make someone’s eyes roll for a while. But this isn’t about that. This is him waking up in ten years and thinking, "my first time with a guy was with Gio."
My name is gonna live in his head like a tattoo he can’t laser off. Fuck.
I’m suddenly very aware of every scar on me. Every bad decision. Every time I’ve bailed on someone before they had the chance to bail on me.
What if I hurt him? Not physically.
I can be gentle, I can learn, I can ask a thousand times if he’s okay.
But what if I ruin sex for him?
What if I make it too intense or not enough?
What if I go too fast?
What if I make a joke at the wrong time?
What if he looks at me after and realizes he made a mistake? This is dangerous as hell. Every time I look at him, my brain runs headlines.
‘Local golden boy ruins future over neighborhood fuck-up.’
‘Teacher-to-be never makes it to the classroom, because he was too busy taking it from behind, from someone his father wants to kill.’
My body’s already decided. That part’s easy. My body saw him with bare chest and a flushed throat and went yeah, okay, we’re done for, just climb on top and don’t overthink it.
My head’s like: absolutely the fuck not.
My jaw tightens. Fuck. What am I even doing. He doesn’t belong here.
He doesn’t belong in half shadows with the blinds half closed because I’m scared of who can see in.
He deserves something open. The disgusting image hits me out of nowhere.
Him on some normal-ass street in broad daylight, holding hands with some normal-looking guy whose biggest crime is parking wrong.
Some dude who can kiss his cheek in front of a café without checking for witnesses.
It literally makes me sick. And yeah, part of it is jealousy, I’m not gonna lie. But under that there’s this deeper thing gnawing at me. This… wrongness.
Because what am I gonna offer him exactly?
"Come over only when it’s dark, sneak in through the side entrance."
"Don’t tell your parents, your friends, anyone who knows your last name."
"Pretend we’re just working if somebody texts."
"Hide your smile when I accidentally brush your hand in public."
"Don’t exist with me in the sun."
Only when the door’s locked and the curtains are half drawn and I’ve checked my phone three times to make sure nobody needs me to go handle some shit.
I stare at my hands, covered in scars and ink, and the guilt just builds. He trusts these hands too much.
Even though he knows I’m a problem with legs. I’m twenty different secrets wrapped in a nice body.