11. Daniil
Daniil
Imake my way to the edge of the pool and sit down, dangling my feet into the water while wearing Mikhail’s t-shirt over my swim shorts because I don’t really like taking it off.
The sun beats down mercilessly, and there isn’t a single cloud in the sky.
I’m probably blinding passing airplanes with how pale I am.
He tortured me last night and made me sleep on top of him again.
I mean, I love it, but it’s the kind of torture that feels good and makes me want to die at the same time.
I was still draped across his chest this morning and had to extract myself before he woke up, because the last thing either of us needed was him waking up to something hard poking into his leg. That would’ve been a fun conversation.
Mikhail spots me from the deep end and grins, cutting through the water toward me with powerful strokes.
Oh no.
“Don’t you dare.”
He grabs my waist before I can pull away and throws me straight into the pool. My head goes under immediately, bubbles rushing past my face as I sink. The water closes over me, muffling everything. I kick off the bottom hard and break the surface, gasping for air.
“Seriously, Misha?” I say, wiping water from my eyes.
He blinks at the nickname, something shifting in his expression before his grin widens. “You never call me that.”
“Maybe I should start.”
“I like that.” His eyes light up. “Want to smoke and play Uno?”
“Sure.”
His hand comes up to my jaw, forcing me to look up at him while his other hand pulls me in closer. My legs wrap around his waist, and he sinks lower in the water until we’re face to face, so close our noses almost brush.
His blue eyes stare into mine, and my cock instantly starts to swell. I curse myself internally. Is it possible to die from having too many boners? Because if so, that’s going to be the cause of my death thanks to him.
His tongue darts out and runs over his bottom lip, and my gaze drops to watch.
I can’t look away from his mouth, can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like against mine again.
When I drag my eyes back up, his are locked on my lips with the same intensity.
He inches closer and his nose brushes against mine, making my breath hitch.
His grip on my jaw tightens in response, thumb pressing into my skin. It feels like the air won’t go in or out of my lungs, like I’m suffocating and drowning at the same time.
He inches forward again until his nose rubs against mine and our lips are barely an inch apart. I can feel his breath on my mouth, warm and unsteady.
His hand tightens around my waist, fingers digging into my skin through the wet fabric, and I shift without meaning to. My hard cock brushes against him, and the contact sends heat racing through my entire body. I bite back the sound threatening to escape.
His eyes darken, pupils blown wide, and his grip falters for half a second before tightening again. He felt it and knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
The water laps quietly around us, but all I can hear is my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. All I can focus on is the way he’s staring at my mouth like he’s about to close the distance.
Then a branch breaks somewhere in the trees, cutting through the moment like a knife. We both freeze and pull apart at the same time.
Clearing my throat, I swim toward the edge and haul myself out of the pool before adjusting quickly. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I can feel him watching every move I make.
The wet t-shirt clings to my skin, suffocating and uncomfortable, and I peel the soaked fabric over my head and toss it onto the concrete. Water streams off me, running down my skin.
When I glance back at him, his gaze is locked on my torso. His jaw is tight, and his eyes are tracking over every inch of exposed skin. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough I can see the indent and looks away fast.
This is exactly why I don’t like to take my clothes off around other people.
Scars cover every inch of me, thick raised lines crossing my ribs alongside thin deliberate cuts someone made on purpose.
Cigarette burns dot the inside of my elbows and wrists in perfectly spaced intervals, and small puncture marks cluster in the crook of my arms.
My back is worse, cuts overlapping so deep that some left permanent raised tissue that never smoothed out. Burns trail down my sides to my hips and thighs in patterns. I don’t remember what happened because I was too young.
I turn and head inside before Mikhail can say anything, water dripping as I go straight to the bedroom, grab clothes, then lock myself in the bathroom to dry off roughly and get dressed. When I finally come out he’s changed into black boxers and nothing else.
He’s holding my phone, staring at the screen with his brow furrowed in confusion. “Who’s DaddyIssues69 and why is he asking if you’re into twinks?”
My eyes go wide. I forgot about the dating app. Rushing toward him, I reach for my phone, but he yanks it out of my reach, holding it above his head.
“Who the fuck is this?”
“Nobody.”
“Bullshit. You said you weren’t dating anyone. Why would you lie to me?”
“I didn’t—”
“Okay, then why is this asshole messaging you?” He waves the phone at me, furious. “Do you know how risky this is? You can’t send messages on dating apps for men, Danya. Father won’t tolerate it. He still doesn’t speak to Alexei. What do you think he’ll do to you?”
“I know. I was just hoping to talk to someone. Maybe make some kind of connection.”
He curses under his breath in Russian and paces back and forth. When he looks at me again, anger burns across his face. “Delete that profile right fucking now before I track down whoever sent you that message and murder them.”
He shoves my phone into my hands, and I fumble with it, fingers shaking as I navigate to the app. He watches as I delete the profile, then the entire app. When it’s gone, he exhales hard.
“Blyat.” He bites his lip and stares at me, something complicated twisting in his expression. “What were you going to do? Go hook up with some random guy?”
“I don’t know. I just… I need connection for that, I think.”
“What?”
“I need to know someone first. Form a real connection with them before I can feel sexually attracted to them. It’s called being demisexual. I realized it when I was younger. I can’t just hook up with strangers. It doesn’t work for me.”
His brow furrows, and he stares down at me, surprised. I walk over to the edge of the bed and sit down heavily. He follows and stops in front of me, standing between my knees, looking down at me.
I refuse to look up at his face.
“So you were on that app trying to find someone you could connect with? Someone you could develop feelings for?”
I nod, still staring at the floor.
“Why?” He shifts his weight, still standing over me. “What made you think you needed to do that?”
“I just wanted to meet someone. That’s it.”
“But why now? You’ve never done anything like this before, so what changed?”
My chest goes tight. “Nothing changed.”
“Bullshit.” He sits down beside me on the bed, close enough that our thighs press together. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Danya.” His hand grabs my chin and forces my head up, making me look at him. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“I just wanted to feel like I had options, okay? Like maybe there’s someone out there who could actually want me.”
His expression shifts. “What the fuck are you talking about? Why wouldn’t someone want you?”
I pull my face away from his grip. “Forget it.”
“No. Explain that to me right now.”
“It doesn’t matter, Mikhail. Can you just drop it?”
“Like fuck I will. You’re out here looking for strangers on the internet because you think nobody wants you and you won’t tell me why?”
“Because it’s none of your business!”
“None of my business? You’re my brother, Danya. Everything about you is my business.”
“That’s the problem!” I push up from the bed, needing distance, but he stands with me and blocks my path. “You can’t just control every aspect of my life, Mikhail. I wanted to meet someone. That’s all.”
“Some random asshole who doesn’t know you? You were going to let some stranger touch you just because you’re desperate?”
“At least then they’d want me!” The words rip out of me before I can stop them.
His expression goes deadly still. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it.” I try to move past him, but he catches my arm and spins me back around.
“No. Say it again. Who doesn’t want you?”
“Let go of me.”
“Danya—”
“I said let go!” I shove him, but he doesn’t budge. “You don’t get it. You never fucking get it.”
“You want to know who wants you?” His eyes lock on mine. “I do.”
He grips my shoulders and throws me into the mattress, diving in after me and landing on top of me so hard the air punches out of my lungs. His mouth crashes into mine, and my brain shuts down completely, every coherent thought evaporating the second his lips move against mine.
My hands slide up his back, trembling and clumsy, tracing every ridge of muscle until I reach his buzzed head.
The texture grounds me for half a second before he bites down on my bottom lip hard enough that I gasp, and the second my mouth opens, he takes it as permission. His tongue pushes past my lips and claims every inch of me, licking into my mouth.
He fists his hand in my hair and tilts my head to the side, angling me exactly where he wants me, and kisses me harder. Deeper. Trying to devour me whole.
My cock goes hard so fast it’s painful, straining against my boxers and throbbing with every roll of his hips. When he grinds down against me, I feel him, thick and hard.
He’s hard for me? What is happening?
We should pull back and talk about this, think it through, be rational people, but thinking means stopping, and I’m not ruining this moment with my overthinking.
Not when his tongue is stroking against mine, and his weight is pinning me into the mattress and everything I’ve wanted for years is finally, finally happening.