17. Daniil
Daniil
My bottom lip catches between my teeth as we make our way toward the elevator, heading up to our apartment from the parking garage. His hand brushes against mine while we wait, and even that barely-there contact sends electricity up my arm.
The ride up is torture. All I want is to pull him close and lace my fingers with his, but the cameras in here keep me frozen in place.
The second we make it into the apartment, he grips me tight and presses a kiss into my hair before taking my hand and leading me into the kitchen. I hop up on the counter while he starts pulling food out of the fridge and making us sandwiches.
“I know what we have is complicated. Every memory I have, you’re in it. But I’m surprised it took this long for something to happen between us,” he says, meeting my eyes. “Tell me what you want.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “I want you. Whatever you’ll give me, I want it.”
“I’ll give you everything.”
The words hit me hard. Everything.
“You mean that?”
“Yeah, Danya. I mean it.”
He steps between my legs and kisses me, slow and deep, his hands coming up to cup my face. I kiss him back until my lungs burn and I have to pull away to breathe. The second our lips part, I wrap my arms around him and pull him close, needing him pressed against me.
He holds me tight, one hand sliding up to the back of my neck. We stay like that for a long moment, just breathing each other in, before he pulls back and grabs the sandwiches he made.
He hands me one and hops up onto the counter beside me, shoving half of his into his mouth in one bite. He groans around it, then pops open a soda and hands it to me before grabbing a bottle of water for himself.
“How would this even work?” I ask, needing to understand before my brain spirals.
“No one can know about us. They wouldn’t understand because it crosses too many lines. They’d say we’re sick, that growing up together fucked us up.” He pauses. “Maybe they’re right. But I don’t care anymore.”
“I know,” I say, hating that it’s true.
“What do you want in a relationship?” he asks suddenly. He turns his head to look at me. “We know everything about each other, right? But not that.”
My throat tightens. “I just want you. That’s all I want.”
He’s quiet for a second, processing that, then his mouth quirks into this small smirk. “Same here. Would you ever want to go on dates?”
“Dates?”
“Da. I want to take you out someday. Properly.”
Nodding, I bite my lip as heat crawls up my neck. “We’d have to go somewhere no one knows us.”
He hums. “I don’t get it. I’ve never been attracted to guys before, but then there’s you, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I don’t think I’m gay or bisexual. I’m still straight. You’re just some weird exception to the rule.”
I raise my eyebrows, but he waves me off.
I’m pretty sure fucking another guy and liking it means he’s not entirely straight, but whatever.
I’m not making a big deal out of this when I finally have him, so I keep the grin threatening to spread across my face under control. He can have his denial if he needs it.
“I’m not,” he says, taking another bite. “I don’t get turned on by any other guy. Only you.”
“Same,” I admit, because it’s true. I’ve only ever wanted him. “I really like having sex with you.”
“Me too.”
“I feel terrible, Misha. I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’re the only person I never want to hurt.”
“Stop,” he says firmly. “Look at the situation we’re in. I get why you freaked out. We’ve lived as brothers our whole lives. Shared a room, shared a family, shared everything. Of course this feels wrong even when it’s not.”
It still hurts that I’m the one who hurt him. The look on his face when I said what I said replays in my head constantly.
How do I tell him what I actually meant without revealing the whole truth?
Without admitting that I’ve been in love with him since I was fifteen?
I’m not ready to say that out loud yet. If I do, he might panic and shut me out completely.
He might run, and I can’t risk losing him when I just got him back.
“It doesn’t mean nothing to me,” I say, glancing over at him. “I only said it because I was terrified you were going to freak out. This means everything to me. I just wanted you to know.”
His blue eyes lock onto mine, and he nods. “Apology accepted.”
I take another bite of my sandwich. He finishes his first, then jumps off the counter and stops in front of me. His hands push my legs apart, and he grips my jaw tight, tilting my face up to meet his eyes. “No more pushing me away, okay?”
“I promise.”
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, then helps me down from the counter. He takes my arm and leads me toward the bathroom. We strip down and step into the shower, the hot water washing away the tension from both of us.
I catch him picking up my watermelon shampoo and sniffing it before pouring way too much into his hand and lathering himself with it.
“I’m exhausted. I have to be at the club tomorrow for some of the final touches. Can you come with me? I need moral support because our mother is going to be there, and I swear if I have to hear one more thing about flower arrangements, I might lose it.”
I huff out a laugh. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” He leans down and kisses me softly, his lips warm and gentle against mine.
When I pull back, he chases my lips so I give him one final kiss.
“Does it feel weird?” I ask. “Doing things like this with me?”
He tilts his head, thinking about it, then shakes it. “No. I mean, I never thought about you this way before. Not really. But now…” His hands slide down to grip my waist. “Now I can’t stop wanting you.”
“You’re so hot,” I mumble.
“Am I?” His grin is cocky, pleased, then shifts into something more curious. “Wait. Did you think that before? Like, before we hooked up?”
A strangled sound escapes my throat, and I feel heat flood my face. “What?”
“Before this. Did you ever think I was hot?” His eyes search mine, intense and focused.
“Yes,” I admit. “I’ve known you were hot our entire lives, Mikhail. It’s not exactly a secret.”
His breath catches, and his grip on my waist tightens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” He bends down and grabs me under my thighs, lifting me up before I can say anything else. My back hits the shower wall, and I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms going around his neck. He holds me there easily, his grip firm under my legs. “You’ve been thinking I’m hot this whole time?”
“Obviously.”
“And you never said anything.” He rolls his hips into me, and I groan, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
“What did you want me to do? Make it weird?”
“Fair point,” he says with a laugh. “Did you ever look though? Like when I was getting dressed or walking around naked?”
Oh my god. He’s fishing, and I cannot tell him the truth, or he’s going to know I’ve been perving on him for years.
“Maybe,” I mumble and immediately bury my face against his neck, my arms wrapping tighter around him.
“Maybe.” His voice drops lower, and I can hear the grin in it. “So that’s a yes.”
“Please stop asking questions.”
“No way.” He presses a kiss to the side of my head, and his grip on my thighs tightens. “You were checking me out this whole time.”
“Misha, please.”
“That’s kind of fucked up, Danya,” he says, but he doesn’t sound upset. He sounds entertained by the whole thing. “We are brothers, and you were sneaking looks at me.”
This has to be the most mortifying conversation of my life. “I know. Can we please stop talking about this?”
“Not yet.” He pulls back enough to look at me, and I force myself to meet his eyes. His grin is wicked, and his eyes are dark with amusement. “How often?”
“What?”
“How often were you looking?”
“I’m not answering that.”
“Come on.” He rolls his hips into me again, and I bite back a moan, my resolve crumbling. “Tell me.”
“All the time,” I admit, miserable. “Happy now?”
“I like that.” He leans in, watching my reaction. “One day you’re going to admit if you ever got yourself off thinking about me. I’m getting that confession out of you.”
Oh fuck. My face burns so hot I might combust, and I want to sink through the floor and disappear. He cannot find out about that. I will die first. I’ve done it more times than I can count, and that secret is staying buried forever. This is as close to the truth as he’s getting for now.
He kisses me hard, his tongue sliding into my mouth and flicking against mine.
I kiss him back desperately, trying to pour everything I can’t say into it.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, and I’m reminded again.
His pupils are blown wide, dark pools swallowing up the blue.
He’s wasted. Who knows what he’s been taking for the past few days.
My stomach twists, but I don’t say anything.
What’s the point? He already knows I know.
I’ll spend everyday making sure he knows someone puts him first, that he has someone who will stand by him no matter what.
He already knows he has that in me though.
Knowing doesn’t stop him from destroying himself.
I can’t fix this for him. Can’t be enough to fill whatever void keeps pulling him back to the drugs. He has to want to stop. All I can do is stay, hold on when he spirals, and make sure he knows I’m not going anywhere.
My gaze shifts to Mikhail again for the five hundredth time in five minutes, and I can’t help myself.
He’s just standing there doing nothing, and I’m staring at him like an idiot.
I need to stop before someone catches me looking at him like this because I couldn’t make it more obvious if I tried.
Might as well announce to everyone that we’re fucking, because he’s got me reacting like some Victorian guy who just caught a glimpse of an ankle.