Deathspell - Chapter Four

Interlude with a Lover

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“He doesn’t mean to treat you badly, amico mio. Sometimes family doesn’t know any other way.”

My eyes shut briefly as I felt Paolo kiss the nape of my neck, one of his hands sweeping up my back in a soothing caress. Half undressed – clad in only boots and breeches while stretched out on my stomach – I could feel the fabric of my best friend’s shirt skim across flesh, causing prickles to form where it touched. “Jeffrey is who he has always been,” I murmured. “I neither expect our tenor to change, nor care if it does.”

“So many lies spoken all at once,” Paolo said, clicking his tongue. I could envision him shaking his head while his hands pressed more firmly into the muscle of my shoulders. “If you want to believe that, though, I won’t try to convince you otherwise.”

A moan threatened to crest the threshold of my lips. “Yes, please. Permit me my delusions and I won’t challenge yours.”

“You’re the only one in this room with delusions.”

His weight settled more against me, causing me to lower from my elbows and lie flat against the bed. The sensation of his fingers threatened to be my undoing, coaxing outward more than mere satisfaction, though I remained uncertain of how much I wished carnal desire to grace us with its presence. The next breath I exhaled betrayed me with the amount of tension it bore. It hitched as his hands coasted from my backside up to my shoulders once more “You’re doing it to me again.”

Paolo laughed. “What is it you think I’m doing?” His tone bore a playful amount of mockery to it.

“Tempting me, you scoundrel. Ruining all chance I might have of brooding.” The internal battle continued its skirmish, leaving me to wonder in which direction I should land. I knew I had no desire to discuss my brother any further, but feared saying nothing would force me to succumb far sooner than I felt inclined. “When did you discover the sort of man you are?” I asked, in an effort to continue our conversation.

“You mean the kind that beds other men?” he asked. When I failed to answer, he took it as my assent. “My cousin and I used to sneak away together. When my older brothers and sisters weren’t looking and his parents were busy. We’d run off into the woods and he’d ask to go swimming. That was his signal. ‘Andiamo, Paolo.’” Parting his legs, he straddled my waist, forcing me to shut my eyes again. “One of the times when we swam, he watched me drip dry and I could see where his eyes went. What made me nervous was that I never minded him looking.”

A small grin curled the corners of my mouth. The kneading of his hands into my tense muscles finally coaxed pleasured noises past my lips despite myself. “That isn’t fair,” I said.