63
I love you
Aleksa
I gazed at the man of my dreams curled up in that armchair which lacked the breadth to support him.
The guys had told me everything he did for me, and I knew there wouldn't be enough space in my chest to contain the emotions Andrey stirred in me.
Since I woke up, I couldn't help but ask about my Russian, yes, I said my Russian, because if there was one thing I was sure of, it was that every time he was within my reach, the possessive article made all the sense in the universe.
He was a part of me, just like an arm, a leg, or in this case, the heart. There was no better organ to represent him—well, that and the cock, because damn, he really got me hard, the bastard.
Piero and Valerio exchanged knowing looks as soon as I asked the question. I had gone too many days without seeing him if I counted the ones I spent unconscious. There was something in their expressions that set off all the alarms. Had something happened to Andrey that they were hiding from me?
“What’s going on? Is the Russian okay?”
“Yes, the boss has him dealing with Irene,” Valerio replied, glancing uncomfortably at Piero.
“Then what?” The younger one's eyes urged Piero to speak.
“Damn it, why does it have to be me when it was your idea,” Piero protested.
“Talk, damn it, or I’ll get out of this bed and it’ll be you two occupying it.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way, we don’t want to offend you, but we’re tired of you not trusting us and we’d appreciate it if you didn’t keep things from us.”
“What things?” I looked at them both, frowning.
“Well, if you prefer Russian cock over Calabrian clam, we don’t care.” I almost choked.
“What the fuck…?” I asked, feeling a stab in my ribs that made me wince.
“Don’t stress,” Piero continued. “I have a cousin who’s also into sausage, if I’d known you weren’t into Andrey and realized it earlier, I would’ve introduced you to him,” Piero said, rubbing his neck.
“Did you just call me a sausage pantry?” The words imprinted themselves in my brain. He blinked a few times, realizing what he had said.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say you were the turkey getting stuffed, maybe you’re the syringe,” he added nervously while Valerio shook his head in embarrassment, “not that I care about that. What I meant to say is that we don’t care who you sleep with. All we want is for you to be alive and kicking. And by that, I don’t mean wagging your tail, or well, maybe I do.” Piero was getting more nervous with each awkward phrase. “Basically, we’d rather you take it up the ass than end up as worm food because you’ve been buried.”
"You have the fucking sensitivity of an elephant," muttered Valerio.
"Well, you could have said it if you think you could have done it better," he grumbled. The fact that they had concluded that they would rather have me be gay than not have me among them made my heart clench.
"Are you calling me a fag?" I wanted to make them nervous. I knew that my furrowed brow and the daring look I was giving them was scaring them.
Their Adam's apples bobbed up and down, dragging their balls with them.
I let out a laugh, or more accurately, a weak attempt at one because the pain when I tried to laugh was intense.
They didn't even blink, fearing what I might say to them.
"Let's see," I insisted. "Is that the gossip of the house? All because I had to share a room with the Russian?" There was something more.
"We reached the conclusion after the tremors that shook the lamp, the bangs against the furniture, and the moans that slipped under your door. Either you were gay, or Caroline had come out of the TV to drag us into the light."
God, how I wanted to laugh out loud.
"Fuck! And I can't even have a laugh! You're right, if my thing with Andrey were a movie, it would be titled Poltergay." They laughed, relieved.
"Or Gay Desserts, since you both like banana with condensed milk."
Did Valerio really just say that? I almost broke three ribs trying to hold back the laughter.
We ended up having a pretty relaxed chat, during which I realized that my men gave much less importance than I imagined to the person I had fallen in love with.
"Aren't you afraid I'll jump you in the shower?" I asked jokingly.
"Thinking a gay guy could go for any guy is like saying a straight guy would settle for any hole, and even I have my limits," Piero confirmed.
"But they say gays are less of men, that they can't be in the mafia," I incited them.
They looked at me like, "What the hell have you smoked?"
"Whoever says that hasn't seen you shoot, or they're afraid of your dick. Don't stray from our side; we'll make sure we don't drop the soap so you don't drill our brains through our asses."
Piero shook his ass, making it rotate with his hands on his knees.
Valerio almost choked on his own saliva. And I had to exercise restraint that rivaled a seminarian's.
A soft knock ended the conversation and brought back the composure.
Valerio opened the door, and there was the object of my desires. Looking somewhat haggard, with deep circles under his eyes, the appearance of not having slept in several days, and a certain something that made me want to kiss him until my lips were raw.
"Are you here to relieve us?" my men asked, trying to be politically correct.
"Yes, you can leave now. I have the boss's permission to guard Aleksa."
The Russian hadn't shifted his gaze an inch. His eyes were so entwined with mine that it was impossible to let them go.
"Okay, if you need anything, let us know. Take care, Aleksa, and you know…" They didn't finish the sentence. They gave me a wink and closed the door.
My whole body tensed with the desire to have my guy in my arms. I didn't give a shit about the wounds or the bandages. The need to feel him was much greater than the pain.
"Hello," he murmured cautiously. He was so adorable that I was dying to caress him all over.
"Slow down, Aleksa, slow down, savor the moment."
"They told me you saved my life," I stated, biting my lip as I watched him advance.
"People exaggerate; I just dealt with a couple of idiots who didn't know who they were messing with."
"Yeah… and you made it clear to them."
"More like, I gave them a one-way ticket to the afterlife." The corners of my lips curled up.
"You look tired."
He had reached the side of my bed.
"It's been a hectic few days. You, on the other hand…"
"You, on the other hand…?" I prompted.
"You look just like always."
"You mean I always look like a mummy freshly pulled from the sarcophagus?"
"I mean so incredible that I forget to breathe when I see you."
I gave him a willing smile. Andrey was earning a lot of points; having me on the brink of death had made him more romantic than usual.
"I really wanted to see you," he continued.
"We're on the same page. That tired face makes me want to lie you down next to me."
"Given your condition, that'll have to wait. Not for lack of desire," he clarified in case I had any doubts. "I brought you a gift," he admitted, embarrassed. I blinked a few times.
"Really? What is it?"
His cheeks took on some color. He reached into his jacket and pulled out an object that he shook. A beautiful Christmas bell adorned with a red ribbon. I couldn't help but laugh, even though it hurt.
"The other one was too broken for you to use again."
"Does that mean you want to get your nurse position back?"
"This means I want to get everything back with you," he replied intensely. I shivered all over. "No matter what happens, I want to be there, in the hollow of your pillow, in your shameless smiles, losing myself in every beat that thunders in your chest."
"That's very nice. Did you copy it from a song?" He frowned, annoyed.
"No! It's what I feel."
"Okay, I believe you. Well, if that's what you feel, why don't you lean in a bit to get the kiss you deserve? I don't want us to miss out on kisses to give, and what I want most is to lose myself in your lips forever."
Andrey leaned in, placed his hands on either side of my face, and sought my mouth tentatively, giving me one of those kisses that are felt more than given. His tongue delighted in mine, igniting the embers of passion that always throbbed in our mouths. He caressed my face, giving meaning to the "I love you" that isn't said, but breathed.
It was impossible for my men not to notice the infinite love we professed for each other, because it was too intense, too palpable.
He rested his forehead against mine, suspended in my gaze, in my breath, in every pore of my skin, which screamed a future together.
"I love you," he whispered against my lips.
"And I love you too."