20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Christian

When Emil returns to the car, he’s practically vibrating. He shuts the door with a bang and pulls his seatbelt into place with jerky movements.

“Okay?” I ask, even though it’s obvious he’s not.

He nods once, swiftly, and backs down the drive.

“Did something happen?” I say carefully. I’ve never seen Emil angry before.

He doesn’t answer me for a good block. “I yelled at my parents.”

My eyes widen. “You yelled? Damn, Specs. I would’ve paid to see that.”

He huffs a laugh, which makes me feel marginally better. His eyes meet mine before he refocuses on the road. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

My gut pinches, but I shrug it off. “He passed before I was born.”

“Still,” Emil says, reaching over like he wants to comfort me. It’s a little clumsy, his hand hovering in the air for a moment, but finally, his palm lands on my thigh, and he squeezes once. “Sorry about your mom, too.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, taking his hand in my own, positive I’m supposed to be the one reassuring him right now, not the other way around.

“I’m sorry she wasn’t what you deserved,” he answers.

My breath punches out of my lungs. How can such a simple statement mean so much?

“Pretty sure tonight isn’t about me,” I say gently.

He huffs. “Deflecting.”

“Thank you, Mr. Psych Major,” I tease. “How about when you start accepting compliments, I’ll accept conversations about my familial baggage?”

“Touché,” he mutters, lips twitching as he takes a turn.

I eye his profile, gaze running over the planes of his face in the dim interior of the car. I want to ask about his parents, but maybe it’s not the best time with Emil driving. So, instead, I point out something else on my mind. “You,” I say seriously, “have the most gorgeous eyebrows.”

“What?” he asks in surprise, head whipping my way for a second.

“They’re perfect,” I say, tracing the one nearest me with my finger. “They give away your mood sometimes. Like when you’re thinking serious versus when you’re being studious serious. Or when you’re embarrassed happy versus excited happy.”

He glances at me again, a befuddled expression on his face.

“There,” I say. “ Embarrassed happy.”

“I…don’t even know what to say.”

“You could say, ‘thank you, I’m so glad you like my eye awnings.’”

Emil barks a laugh, looking at me again. “Thank you, Christian, for being the weirdest, most wonderful boyfriend.”

“Nuh-uh,” I say, tugging his hand up to my mouth and nipping the tip of his finger. “Now you’re deflecting. You wrote off my compliment by calling me weird.”

He puffs a breath through his nose. “I also called you wonderful.”

“ Specs .”

“Fine,” he groans. “Thank you.”

I lean over and smack a kiss against his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

Emil has a little smile on his face for the rest of the drive home. But once we park in the lot behind his building, his tension returns.

“Okay?” I ask.

“Actually, could, uh… Could I come over to your place tonight?”

My heartbeat trips. “Yeah?”

There’s his shy happy smile. “Yeah. If that’s okay?”

“Of course, Specs. Need to grab anything from your place first?”

“Might as well since we’re right here.”

I nod, and Emil and I head up to his apartment. He feeds Arthur and checks on the new hermit crab, who Emil thinks is molting, considering the little fella hasn’t reappeared or eaten in days. I’m not sure how much he can determine with the crab burrowed out of sight as he is, but Emil seems satisfied after looking into his tank.

I follow along as Emil packs a very small bag, consisting of a change of clothes and a few toiletries. With that in hand, we lock up and head the short way down the street to my building. Emil looks around as we climb the stairs, as if he’s wandering into a brand-new world.

“How’s it feel being on the other side of the curtain?” I ask.

Emil huffs. “Let me in, and I’ll tell you.”

Grinning, I unlock my door and throw it open. Emil steps in ahead of me, his head on a swivel.

“Whoa,” he says quietly.

“Pretty great, right?”

Although small, the apartment is beautiful. My grandma picked a bold, bright teal for the walls, and on the far side of the room, she hand-painted a massive cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The building is old, so it has some character you don’t see in most modern apartments around here, like crown molding on the ceilings and gold fixtures in the kitchen and bathroom. Even the light plates are gold.

Emil walks around, taking it all in. I could probably update some of the furniture, like the dated, floral couch, but I haven’t yet been able to bring myself to change a thing.

When Emil reaches my open bedroom door, he looks back at me.

“Go ahead,” I tell him with a chuckle.

He walks inside, glancing at my bed. His eyes sweep over to the closet next, and then he spots the sewing table. He heads that way.

“That’s Bernie,” I tell him.

His eyebrows pop up.

“The sewing machine,” I explain. “She’s a Bernina. Hence, Bernie.”

Emil makes a soft sound, his fingers tracing ever so lightly over her surface. I feel the motion like a caress, and my dick perks, which is just… Huh . I don’t know what that is.

He sits on the chair in front of the table, looking out the window. “There it is. My bed.”

“Looks better with you in it.”

His lips twitch. “Want me to go over there so you can double-check?”

“Nuh-uh,” I say, stepping closer. “Not this time, Specs. Tonight, you’re all mine.”

He meets my gaze, hand lifting to give my skirt a little tug. I step between his legs, and he starts bunching up the fabric.

“What’cha doing, Specs?”

In answer, he lifts the material up to my waist. My dick strains against the front of my underwear as Emil leans forward, skimming his cheek over my hardening cock. I mutter a curse.

His eyes lift to mine, mere millimeters separating the two of us.

“Anything you want, Specs,” I tell him, knowing it’s the truth.

His request is simple. “Watch me.”

“As if I could look away.”

Emil blinks slowly before leaning forward and mouthing my dick, his exhalations hot through the fabric of my underwear. I suck in a breath and reach above his head to swipe the blinds shut, mindful of Emil’s request to keep these sorts of activities private when we’re outside the bounds of the studio. Emil quickly finds the zipper on the side of my skirt, and the fabric falls to my feet. His fingers curl in my skimpy briefs next, and he tugs them down.

“I haven’t had a chance to do this on my own terms,” he says before wrapping a hand around my cock and licking the head.

“I’m at your disposal,” I rasp out.

A smile curls his lips. “So selfless.”

My rebuttal is silenced by his mouth sliding forward. The heat of him surrounds me like an embrace, smooth and wet, the pressure exquisite.

“Would…” I huff out a breath as Emil’s cheeks hollow. “Would I sound like an asshole if I told you you’re the most beautiful cocksucker?”

His laughter is quite possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. Or seen. Because it’s accompanied by his lips wrapped around me tight and a sly gleam in his eye that tells me he knows exactly how good he looks while doing this.

“Gorgeous,” I say again. He deserves to hear it. “Can I fuck your throat, Specs?”

Emil goes still, looking up at me through thick lashes, his answer clear.

I thread my fingers through his hair, punching my hips forward slowly. The sight of my cock sinking between Emil’s lips has my gut tightening alarmingly fast. His hands flex on my hips, thumbs pressing against the sensitive skin near my hip bones. I jerk, seating myself fully inside his throat, and Emil gives me an encouraging moan.

“Fuck,” I mutter, setting a slow, steady pace as I fuck Emil’s mouth. His eyelashes flutter, and the reminder that he can deepthroat for two full minutes floats into my mind. But I don’t want to test the limits of Emil’s breathing. Not right now. Knowing what he’s capable of is heady enough. “You, Specs… You’re breathtaking.”

Brown eyes blink up at me, tear-filled and wanting. He gives my hips a squeeze, and I stop, letting Emil take over again. He grabs the base of my cock as his mouth sets to work, his head bobbing up and down, his tongue flicking over my slit on each pass. I grunt, my stomach clenching beneath his fingertips.

“Fuck, Specs.”

He moans, his eyes never leaving mine. When he starts sucking rhythmically and pressing my balls up against my body, rolling them as if encouraging them to tighten and release, I damn near shout. He sinks down on me again, strong suction as he pulls off, his tongue flicking, his hand squeezing and working my base, and—

“Coming,” I warn him.

He looks victorious, and a second later, I shoot down his throat. He swallows around me, gentling his suction once I’m spent but keeping his lips wrapped around me like the gift they are. As soon as I pull from his mouth, I drop down, taking those lips with my own. Emil’s tongue greets mine, and he shares my taste with me. I suck it down, wanting to imprint it on my memory: the combination of him and me. Us .

Sitting back, I crouch in front of the chair Emil is perched on. He’s still hard.

“Stroke yourself for me, Specs.”

It’s a request, not a demand, but he doesn’t hesitate. He unzips his pants, pulls out his cock, and starts working himself over furiously as I watch. I tug up his shirt and take his nipple into my mouth.

Emil cries out, his hand in my hair holding me in place. I flick his nipple in time to his strokes, and when Emil’s quick breaths let me know he’s about to come, I pop off, twist the bud between my fingers, and bend down to wrap my lips around the head of his cock.

It’s all over from there. Emil spurts into my mouth with a surprised gasp, his groan quickly following. His hips jerk off the chair, and I keep working his nipple between my fingers, my tongue soothing his dick until he slumps.

“Fucking fuck,” he mutters, breathing heavily, his glasses askew on his nose. The sight has something warm tumbling through my chest, and I smile to myself as I set them to rights. “Thanks.”

I huff a laugh. “Mhm. C’mon, Specs. Let’s wash up.”

Emil follows me to the bathroom, where we clean our hands, brush our teeth, and snort-giggle like schoolkids every time we catch each other’s eye in the mirror. There’s a blush on Emil’s cheeks that’s incredibly endearing, considering it wasn’t there while I was fucking his face. In the bedroom, Emil strips down to his briefs while I pull on my favorite silky pajamas. When he climbs onto my bed and sinks down against the rumpled comforter as if letting the weight of the world off his shoulders, I can only stop and stare.

I wouldn’t call Emil a high-strung person. But there’s often a tension lining his frame that seems to be a part of his everyday existence. I didn’t even notice it until after we first had sex, when that tension was entirely absent. But as soon as he got off that bed and wrapped a robe around his body, it returned.

I think there’s a pressure Emil lives with, something he’s maybe used to and doesn’t think much about. It’s a bookbag slung over his shoulder even when nothing is there. It’s the high expectations he’s set for himself and his attempt to always reach a little bit further. It’s the worry he’s falling short, perhaps, which I’m starting to think has to do with his family.

We’re all living with our own weights, measures we’ve set for ourselves or had placed upon us. But seeing Emil so relaxed on my bed, as if he’s able, at least for a little while, to let it all go… It rocks me to my core. I’m not sure what I did to deserve that.

“Hey,” I say softly.

Emil turns his head as I climb in next to him, his eyes remaining closed. I grab his glasses off the pillow, placing them on the nightstand so they won’t get crushed. Emil barely moves as I settle beside him and run my fingers through his hair, but he offers a soft, sleepy smile.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nods, reaching for me. I scoot closer, and he wraps a leg around me, the simple gesture making my heart stutter.

I almost don’t want to open my mouth, but I do. “Your parents?”

Emil sighs ever so slightly, his eyes finally opening. His gaze looks a little unfocused as he finds my face. “They’re not bad people,” he says, and the statement hurts. The fact that he has to preface whatever he’s going to say with that? It makes me think Emil is used to defending them, even inside his own head.

I give him a small nod, and then, in case he can’t see it, add, “Listening.”

“I don’t think they mean to play favorites,” Emil says. “But there are five of us. Julian, Eloise, me, Rebecca, and Henry. Henry and me…we’re the ordinary ones in comparison to everyone else. I don’t… I don’t want my brother to feel like I did growing up. Like I was invisible. Forgotten.”

“Specs,” I say quietly.

He shakes his head, grabbing me and tucking his face against my chest. His words are spoken over my heart. “I know they love me. Henry, too. But it still…”

He swallows, as if saying this aloud is hard for him. I rub his back, my fingers drifting lightly over his skin. He relaxes against me when I scratch the area between his shoulder blades, so I keep it up.

“It still hurts,” he finally says, “when the people who created you, the ones who raised you, don’t seem to see who you are.”

I have to blink my eyes a few times. “Yeah, Specs. I get that.”

He nods against me. He knows.

“Your grandma,” he says, his own question evident in his tone. “You said she’s the most important person in your life.”

“Yeah,” I say, clearing my throat. “She’s always been in my corner, for as long as I can remember.”

“I’m glad you have her.”

“Me, too.”

Emil exhales, and I know it’s late, past midnight at this point. He’ll need to be up early for class. But there’s one last thing I need to say.

“Specs?”

“Mm?”

“You’re far from ordinary.”

He goes still, body and breath both. “You think?”

I squeeze him like my own life-sized pillow. He smells clean, and I don’t know whether or not I’m imagining it, but I swear there’s still a hint of us , too.

“Specs,” I say, amazed this man can’t see what I do. “I know so.”