Chapter 16: Just like that

Third POV

It was past 10 p.m. Elia lounged on the usual sofa, the glow of the television flickering across his face. He had a duvet pulled tight around him, letting out a pitiful cough every few minutes. To anyone watching, he was the perfect picture of a miserable, sick victim of a cold.

As his eyes started to droop, they suddenly snapped open. He remained still for a split second before a wicked, calculating smirk curled his lips. Kicking the duvet aside, he snatched his phone from the table and quickly dialed. If anyone had been in the room, they would have smelled the unadulterated bullshit radiating off him.

The second the line connected, Elia broke into a delicate, rattling cough.

"Orso," he breathed. His voice was low, raspy, and so deceptively fragile that Satan himself would have bent the knee. "I’m not feeling... cough... very well. I’m fucking starving... cough... and I can barely stand up without falling over. I feel dizzy. Weak. Could you... come over?"

That last "come over" spilled out in a breathy, pathetic whisper that made even Elia cringe internally. His face twisted in disgust for a split second before snapping right back to a soft, pleading pout, as if Orso could see him through the screen.

He waited for a reply. Five seconds. Seven. Ten. Just as he pulled the phone away to look at the screen, a dead dial tone pierced his ear. Orso had hung up on him, crushing every last shred of his nonexistent dignity.

The phone slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. Elia just sat there, utterly stupefied. He blinked once, twice, until reality finally slapped him in the face, burning away the embarrassment and replacing it with pure, molten rage.

"Have I been too soft on that old bastard?" Elia asked the empty room, his voice dripping with disbelief. "Just because I slipped up and caught some feelings for him, he thinks he’s a god?"

He scoffed, thoroughly pissed off, but there was nothing to do except plant his ass back on the sofa and suffer through the boring TV dramas.

For a solid twenty minutes, the place was dead quiet. Elia was genuinely starting to doze off when a firm knock at the door startled him awake. He groaned, stubbornly refusing to move, until a second and third knock followed.

"I swear if that’s you, Marco, I’m going to chop you into pieces and grill your bitter ass," Elia yelled, marching to the door. "Don’t ruin my already shitty..."

The words died in his throat the second he yanked the door open. In a fraction of a second, his aggressive scowl melted into a picture of helpless misery.

"Orso," he murmured, his tone dropping into a soft, surprised lull. "You came?"

Orso stared down at him. His face was a blank canvas, no affection, no coldness, just pure calm.

"Mm," Orso grunted, stepping past him into the apartment. "Marco’s not home?"

Elia locked the door behind him, deliberately letting his eyelids droop to sell the weak, sickly act. "Don’t expect to see him... cough... until tomorrow," Elia replied, forcing the hoarseness back into his throat.

Orso hummed again. He carried a small bag in one hand, dropping it onto the table before heading straight into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a glass of water. By then, Elia had curled himself into a pathetic ball on the sofa, the duvet cocooning him completely so that only his pale face peeked out.

"I brought you medicine," Orso said flatly. "Take it, then get some rest."

Orso held out the water and a pill. Instead of taking them, Elia parted his lips slightly, gazing up at the older man with big, pleading eyes that could have brought a hardened killer to his knees.

Orso did not even blink. Unfazed, he stepped closer and fed the pill directly into Elia’s mouth, tipping the glass for him to drink.

"Thank you," Elia whispered, offering a fragile, sweet smile.

Orso gave a single, curt nod. "If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave."

Panic flared in Elia. He shoved the heavy covers aside and snatched Orso’s wrist, his fingers curling tight. "Could you just... stay until I fall asleep?" Elia batted his eyelashes, pouring every ounce of desperation into his voice. "Please."

Ten minutes later...

The living room was pitched in darkness, bathed only in the flickering glow of the television screen. Elia had his arms firmly wrapped around Orso, clinging to the man beside him as a slasher flick played on the screen.

On the TV, a blood-soaked guy was cowering inside a bedroom closet, peering out through the slats. He was shaking uncontrollably. The movie’s audio dropped into a dead, suspenseful silence. After a few agonizing seconds, the man pushed the closet doors open and stepped out. He scanned the empty bedroom. There was nothing.

Then, a thick, dark drop of blood splattered directly onto his forehead. The man looked up with agonizing slowness. Clinging to the ceiling was a grotesque, mangled creature, its jaw unhinged right before it launched itself at the camera.

"Ahh!" Elia shrieked, burying his face directly into the crook of Orso’s neck and clutching the man’s solid frame like a lifeline.

Orso sat there like a stone statue.

Hidden against Orso’s skin, Elia’s face morphed. He was not scared in the slightest. His eyes gleamed with dark amusement as he exhaled hot, shallow breaths right against Orso’s pulse point.

Still, Orso did not react.

Elia grew bolder. Slowly, deliberately, the wet tip of his tongue slipped out and swiped a slow lick up Orso’s skin. He braced himself, fully expecting to be shoved away. When nothing happened, Elia lifted his head to study Orso’s side profile. Orso’s eyes were locked on the TV screen. It was as if having a boy licking his neck did not register on his radar at all.

Elia swallowed hard. Emboldened, he shifted his weight, pushing Orso’s broad shoulders back against the cushions before swinging a leg over and completely straddling his lap.

Silence settled over the room as their eyes locked. Elia’s gaze was burning with raw, naked need. Orso’s remained as unreadable as ever. Elia leaned down, hovering just an inch above Orso’s face, close enough that their breath intermingled.

Even then, Orso didn’t lift a finger to push him off. Taking the non-resistance as a green light, Elia dipped his head to claim Orso’s lips.

At the last possible second, Orso tilted his head just a fraction, causing Elia’s mouth to land on the corner of his lips instead. Elia didn’t retreat. Closing his eyes, he tangled his hands into Orso’s shirt and adapted. He pressed open-mouthed kisses across Orso’s cheek, trailing slowly down his sharp jawline, and sinking his mouth into the column of his neck.

The room was utterly quiet, but the sexual tension was screaming. Elia ground his hips down, pressing himself flush against the man beneath him, letting their groins lock together. As he sucked and bit at Orso’s skin, Elia began to roll his hips, grinding down in a slow, torturous rhythm. He was rock hard, and there was absolutely no fucking mistaking it- he could feel Orso’s hardened dick pushing right back up against him through their clothes.

A triumphant smirk pulled at Elia’s mouth. He pulled back just enough to aim for a proper kiss again, but this time, Orso’s large hand snapped up. His fingers gripped Elia’s jaw in a vice, locking the boy firmly in place.

"That’s enough," Orso rumbled, his voice as steady and composed as if they were discussing the weather.

Elia flinched. He shoved his weight forward, desperately trying to force his lips onto Orso’s, but the older man’s grip was firm.

"Why?" Elia demanded, his eyes darting frantically over Orso’s stoic features. "I’ve told you a hundred fucking times I like and want you. Why can’t we?"

"I don’t... feel that way about you," Orso replied without missing a beat.

Elia’s eyes narrowed into slits. He deliberately looked down at where their hips were still pressed together. "You’re just as hard as I am, and you’re still sitting here denying it."

The body never lied. That was the one fact Elia had learnt. How the hell could Orso try to deny it now?

But Orso just stared back, his eyes ice-cold. "It’s a normal reaction to friction. Even if it were anyone else in my lap, my body would react the exact same way."

That hit a nerve. Letting out a bitter, ugly chuckle, Elia climbed off Orso’s lap and stormed straight into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stepped right under the spray, clothes and all, letting the freezing water blast over him while he strained his ears to hear if Orso had walked out. But there was no sound of the front door unlocking.

The freezing water should have killed his arousal, but it did jack shit. He was still hard enough to ache. The fact that the man he craved was sitting mere steps away- close enough to hear him breathe- was driving him insane.

Elia twisted the shower off but stayed exactly where he was, dripping wet in the quiet bathroom. He leaned his forehead against the cold tiles, deciding to just give into the filthy urge. His hand went down to his soaked shorts, untying the string and pushing them down. His throbbing, swollen cock sprang free, begging for friction.

He wrapped his hand around his length, stroking himself slowly at first. He parted his lips and let out a loud, deliberate moan.

"Fuck," he groaned out, pitching his voice so he knew damn well the man in the living room could hear him.

He tightened his grip and picked up the pace. The wet, slapping sounds of his frantic strokes and his breathless, dirty moans echoed off the bathroom walls. It was pure, shameless provocation.

Elia slammed his eyes shut, letting Orso’s image completely hijack his brain. He pictured an Orso who finally snapped. An Orso without restraint. Pinning him down, grabbing him, whispering the dirtiest, most degrading shit into his ear with those sweet lips. He imagined Orso’s massive hands wrapping around his cock, jerking him off until he couldn’t think straight.

"Orso," Elia whimpered, the name slipping out on a pant. "Fuck... just like that."

It didn’t take long before Elia completely unraveled. He came hard, hot semen spilling over his fist as Orso’s name was torn from his throat in a loud, messy climax.

Elia leaned against the wall, chest heaving as he chased his breath. As the intense high finally started to fade, the distinct click of the front door opening and shutting echoed through.

Orso had left.

Elia smiled. Then, the smile stretched into a wicked, triumphant grin. No sane man could just walk away unchanged after hearing someone jerk off and scream their name like that.

Tonight, Elia had finally scored a point.