26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Christian

Emil’s apartment is quiet when I enter. I lock the door behind me, heading straight for his room. I falter at the doorway.

Emil is on his hands and knees. Or, rather, hand and knees. His chest is bowed toward the bed, cheek against the mattress, one hand in the sheets as his other holds on to the dildo in his ass. He’s moving it almost leisurely, in and out at a slow pace as if savoring the glide. His ass is aimed my way, giving me a perfect view of every stroke and the way his body yields to the toy, welcoming it in.

“Are you going…to just stand there?” he asks around panting breaths. “Or are you going…to touch me?”

“Fuck, Specs,” I mutter, my gaze roaming over every inch of him. He got rid of his shirt, leaving him entirely bare, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more enticing sight than this man waiting for me on his bed in nothing but glasses with a fake dick up his ass. “Thank God for asbestos.”

“What?” he asks, trying to look back at me.

I shake my head quickly, shucking my clothes. “Nothing.”

When I ease onto the mattress, Emil groans. “Thank fuck,” he says, making a tortured sound as he pushes the toy in from tip to base. “Need your hands, Christian. Need them…like air.”

“Jesus, you get mouthy when you’re turned on,” I say, appreciative of that fact.

He lets the dildo go the moment my hand touches his, and I grip the base, pumping it in and out. His moan has my gut clenching.

“Look at you,” I nearly whisper.

“In me,” he rasps, widening his stance, both hands near his head now. “Get in me, Christian.”

“You say my name a lot when you’re turned on, too,” I tell him. “Even in our videos. You beg for Vixen.”

“If you think…” He huffs out a breath as I grind the dildo shallowly. “If you think…I’m going to be ashamed…of asking for what I want, you’re wrong.”

“Never,” I assure him, taking his cock in hand. I give him a slow stroke. “It’s beautiful. Every goddamn thing about you, Specs. Tell me what you want. Ask for it. Beg for it. I want to give it to you.”

“Your dick,” he huffs out indignantly, making me laugh. “Gimme your fucking dick.”

“All yours.”

I pull out the lubed toy and drop it on the bed. I’m up on my knees, the tip of my cock slotting against Emil, when I pause.

“Shit, condom?” I ask.

We’ve never gone without. But neither of us has partners outside of the studio, so if he wants to…

“No,” Emil answers, pushing back against me and enveloping the tip of my cock. “Just you. C’mon.”

Biting my lip— hard —I ease inside Emil’s body. He’s already loose from the dildo, but he still clasps me like a fist, his internal rings gripping as I press forward, those same muscles trying to hold me tight as I ease back out. Emil groans impatiently, but I take my time, in and out, in and out, until, finally , my hips meet his ass.

“Fuck,” I mutter, my entire body rolling in a shiver. “I feel like I already came.”

He huffs out a small laugh, which makes me groan.

“Christ, Specs. The way you feel.”

“My ass loves you,” he says.

This time, it’s me laughing. “Could I stay here forever?”

He wiggles back on me, hips rolling. “Who would get me food while I study?”

“We can move the fridge.”

He chuckles into the bedding before easing up onto his hands. “Sit on your heels,” he tells me.

Curious, I do as he asks. Emil moves with me, not letting my cock leave his ass. As I sit back, he settles in my lap, his knees braced wide outside of mine.

“Hold on to me,” he instructs.

I wrap my arms around his chest, and Emil starts to ride my dick.

I groan, fingers flexing against his skin. “Fuck, Specs.”

His movements are shallow, the position not allowing him more leverage, but when I brace my own hand behind me and punch up on his next downward pass, the both of us moan. We get a rhythm going quickly, the sight of Emil’s ass working my dick sexy as all get-out. I keep one hand over Emil’s heart as he starts babbling, but when he loses purchase, his sounds becoming more frantic, I slide my palm down to his stomach.

“Can I?” I ask.

He nods his head quickly. “Yes, yes, please. Need it.”

I ease forward, and Emil moves onto his hands and knees again, the motion separating us. He understands what I want when I give his side a gentle shove. As soon as he rolls onto his back, I press back inside his body. Emil’s groan mirrors my own, his legs embracing me like a lover as I start to move.

“So good,” Emil mumbles, taking my thrusts with relish, his body shifting with mine as if trying to pull me deeper. “Like air,” he practically breathes, not for the first time.

“What?”

He makes a small sound and reaches for me. “Kiss me. Kiss me, kiss me.”

I do. Of course I do.

Emil’s lips are soft, but he clings to me with urgency, his cock rubbing against my abs, his body warm beneath my own. He feels familiar. Every inch of him feels familiar to me, even though I’m sure I could spend the rest of my life exploring, finding more and more to learn about this man.

When Emil comes, I’m not expecting it. One moment, our lips are fused together, our bodies rolling like two functioning parts of the same whole. And the next, he’s inhaling a shaky breath, and his cum is coating my stomach. My grip on him tightens, my mouth breaking from his as the squeeze of his ass pulls me over the edge faster than I thought possible. I cry out as I unload inside his body. For once, there’s no barrier between us, and my cum coats the both of us, making the glide silky smooth as I pump another few times.

“Oh, fuck,” I stutter out, doing it again, pumping shallowly. “Oh God.”

Emil’s fingers dance through my hair, gently tugging the strands. “You like that,” he says, squeezing around me.

I groan, dropping my face to Emil’s neck. He laughs, hands drifting down to my ass. He digs in, heels and fingers both, making sure there’s no space between us.

“Do it again,” he demands.

Helpless to disobey, I fuck my cum into his body, my dick not yet soft. “Okay?” I ask, not wanting to keep going if he’s oversensitive.

“Mhm,” he says. “Feels good. Again.”

I curse against his skin and pull out further. The glide of my cock inside his ass is effortless, and knowing it’s my cum making him so wet has me wanting to take up camp.

How many times could I fill him? How much could he take?

“Fuck, Christian,” Emil breathes. “Are you getting hard again?”

“Is it too much?” I ask, lifting my head.

“Don’t you dare stop,” Emil says, his back arching.

I groan, bending down to latch on to his nipple. His cock twitches against my stomach.

“Don’t stop,” he mutters again, voice nearly lost. “Don’t ever stop.”

Not ever.

The address Noel texts me to meet him at isn’t his own. “I see things are going well,” I say when he opens Max’s door.

He grins sheepishly. “Guess you could say that. Come on in. Max is at the bar.”

I’d heard Max found a new job. Apparently, he ran out of his shift that night I texted about Noel potentially being in trouble. Luckily, his manager was understanding.

“The bar is open this early?” I ask, following Noel into the bright kitchen.

He nods, pulling tea from the cupboard. “It’s directly across from a hotel, so they open for the lunch crowd. Get a lot of businessmen and such. Want tea?”

“Sure,” I say, sitting at the table as Noel puts a kettle on the stovetop. A smile quirks my lips. “This looks good on you.”

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Contentment.”

He blushes, grabbing a couple mugs from a rack beside the fridge. “It’s, uh…been really nice. Max said I can stay here as long as I want. Which I kind of want to, you know? My place sucks, and his is…” He waves a hand around instead of finishing his sentence. It’s a nice apartment. Small but cozy.

“And you two?” I prod.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “We, uh… We’re good.”

I huff a laugh. “Just good?”

“The man is a god, happy?”

“Very,” I say, grinning. “I’m happy for you , Noel. You’re a good person. You deserve another good person who can see and protect that.”

“Like Emil does for you?” he asks, shutting off the teakettle as it starts to whistle.

I let out a breath, my thoughts turning to Specs and the soft smile he gave me this morning when he woke. “Yeah. Like that.”

Noel’s smirk is knowing. It doesn’t escape me how far we’ve both come in a few short months. Our lives have changed drastically. Hopefully, for the better.

“Tell me about your job search?” I ask.

Noel nods, setting a mug of tea in front of me before taking a seat. We chat for almost an hour, catching up about my sewing and his interview at a coffee shop down the road. It’s good, and if for nothing else, I can thank Knee Highs for bringing Noel into my life.

It’s midafternoon when I leave the apartment, and the sun is shining brightly, warming the otherwise cool air. It doesn’t hit me where in town I am until I turn a corner and come face to face with the diner where my mom works. It’s such a surprise that, for a moment, my steps falter. I stare at the mint-green awning and faded paint on the window, feeling ten again, a young boy who went with his mom to work for the day, excited to sit at a worn booth and watch the world pass by. The adventure faded the older I got, just like my relationship with my mom.

Part of me desperately wants to keep moving. Just pass on by and pretend I was never here. But I don’t. I cross the street and head for the diner’s front door.

The bell jingles as I step through, the establishment mostly empty at this time of day, apart from an older gentleman seated by the front window. He gives me a nod from behind his paper, not even looking twice at the skirt I’m wearing.

Again, part of me whispers to just go. To turn around and leave before anyone else can notice me. Before a particular person can notice me.

But that voice feels a lot like fear. And I’m tired of listening to it.

I walk up to the U-shaped counter at the center of the diner. There are chrome stools all around it, the style reminiscent of the fifties. Some diners replicate the aesthetic. This one is just that old.

It takes a minute before the door to the kitchen swings open. It’s not a shock, exactly, to see my mom walk through, but I still jolt when our eyes connect for the first time in years. She stutters almost to a stop when she sees me but collects herself quickly. She doesn’t bother pasting on a smile, but her expression remains politely distant, if not a little weary.

She looks so tired, and I hate it.

“Christian,” she says simply, stopping on the other side of the counter. Her outfit is light blue, her apron white.

“Hey, Mom.”

She looks me over, this woman with light blonde hair and icy blue eyes that I used to admire. Used to adore. I wonder what she sees. A disappointment? Her son? A man in a skirt she has nothing in common with except a love for eighties music?

She doesn’t say anything about the skirt, but I can tell by the pinch in her brow she doesn’t like it. I didn’t wear it because of her, though, and I think that’s something she’s never fully understood. I wear it for me . No one else. Her opinion never has and never will trump my love for me .

“Have you been well?” she finally asks, just as the silence starts to wear thin.

“Yeah,” I say a little wearily myself. Being around my mother feels like standing under a rain cloud. I’d almost forgotten how oppressive it could be. “I’ve been good. Grandma moved into an assisted living facility at the beginning of the year.”

She hums, retying the apron around her waist. She doesn’t ask for more details, and I let it go.

“Anything new with you?” I ask.

She glances out the window, as if looking for anything that could possibly be new in her life. “I’m fine,” she answers.

It’s not an answer at all.

“Did you come for a reason?” she asks, straightening a plastic container of napkins.

Suddenly, I can’t stand it. This place. The plastic and cracked leather. The remnants of a time long past and the woman standing in it with disinterest in her tone.

“I deserved better,” I tell her.

Her eyes meet mine. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even look surprised. “I did the best I could, Christian. Maybe it wasn’t enough, but…it was all I had.”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I can’t help but think of Specs. Of his demonstration of neural processes on the comforter in his bedroom. Of hope and wanting to change. I think about the brain maps on his living room wall, how different fear is from love. I think about every person seeing the world through their own lens, through their own biases and experiences, and how I’ll never truly know how my mom feels. Where I see beauty, she sees pain.

Maybe I did deserve better. But so does she.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I say sincerely. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in the past. I truly am. I hope, one day, you can be happy again.”

My mom barely blinks, barely acknowledges my words, and with a nod, I turn to go. My heart is heavy as I walk away. As the door jingles overhead. It’s an ache for her. For myself. For the relationship we never had and never will.

There’s no telling what this world will bring with all its chaos, with all its beauty. And I still don’t know whether or not I believe in fate. Destiny. It’s a little hard not to when Emil fell into my life not once or even twice, but time and time again, as if for a reason.

But there’s one thing I’m sure of. I’m not destined to end up like my mother. I’m in charge of this life I’ve been given, and I’m going to make the best of it. I have my grandma. I have songpyeon and sewing. I have nature documentaries and Noel and my new coworkers at Elite 8 Studios.

I have Specs.

I have innumerable things in my life that are good . Things that make me happy, that spark joy.

I’m living. I’m loving . And that, I know with all my heart, is more than enough.