Your Cup Of Absinthe (M X M)

CHAPTER 5

I stretched my limbs and nuzzled into Loukas' body. His fingers played in my dark hair, twirling a curl now and then. It could have been morning, but with the windows covered by the curtains, I was not sure. Not that I cared when I could spend that morning with the comfort and massive dick of the man next to me.

He yawned and said, "M-Maybe we should get up about now."

"Any reason for me to leave?" I asked as I kissed his cheek.

The boy shook his head. "Hm, no. Not one. I . . . I just want to spend my day with you."

He held me even closer and buried his face in my hair.

"Well, I would enjoy it more without that shirt on," I smirked.

He had this faraway look in his eyes at the request, holding it on the curtain-covered window as if there was something there.

"If it's about your scars, it's okay," I said, pulling away from his grasp.

He looked away, fingers gripping the bed sheets. "You're too nice about that. You don't have to lie," he said in a low whisper.

"I'm not lying. Why would I? If you were ugly, I would have said so," I said, propping on my elbows and tilting my head to meet his gaze. "Loulou, I know your secrets."

Another silence.

Maybe this all made sense. This young aristocrat invited older men to his place for companionship. Alex threatened me earlier, so once they eventually had their fill and Alex . . .

Killed them.

He seemed like the jealous protective type if that eyeball gift was an indication.

Makhi . . .

What have you got yourself into?

"Y-You're—you don't hate me?" he asked, mouth agape.

Then after what felt like ages, that unreadable gaze felt even more intense, almost as if he wanted to dig into me.

"Of course not! Just tell me everything. I don't care. I don't like how the staff talks about you, and I don't like how they look at you." I paused. "I . . . I don't like how you talk about yourself, either."

His lips suddenly quivered and his hand raised to his face trying to stop the inevitable tears . "Okay, you . . . You don't hate me?"

I held his chin and managed a stern voice. "No, I don't. I just want you to be happy and not beat yourself up."

The boy's breath was rapid as he said, "Why? You . . .You wouldn't like everything about me. You would just hate me and-"

I grinned with my usual jovial air and said, "Try me. I want to see everything about you."

"So you w-want to see, right? Want to know how sick I am?"

Pardon?

Although it was not where I thought this was going, I played smart and replied, "Yes, I want to see it."

He bit on his thumb, his lips curling into a frown. His every feature seemed to be in a debate at whatever decision roamed in his head. Finally, after what felt like ages, he stammered, "We have to get dressed first."

I practically tumbled off the bed as the boy rushed to his side of the room to find his discarded trousers and then to his wardrobe for even more proper attire. He already had kept that shirt on, which was more than enough clothing. I could not understand going through all that. My next duty would involve stopping him from being so shy about it, maybe even proud of his body for once.