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“Want one?” Romeo offered.
It was Friday night and Carlo, lost deep in thoughts, was looking absent-mindedly out the window of the dorm room, still catching his breath. They should have been studying but that, of course, had never been an option. Sex had been their top priority from the get-go.
Tonight had been... what? The seventh time? Tenth time? Something like that, anyway. He thought it would be a little weird to keep count, and so didn't. He hoped Romeo wasn't keeping count either.
“No, thank you,” he said.
Romeo gave him a sideways look. He was lying in bed next to him, one arm slipped under his head to support it, and was smoking. Save for the bedsheets pulled up to his waist, he wore nothing, and all the bare skin Carlo could see was smooth, immaculate, no beauty marks and no birthmarks, alive with inconspicuous muscles. It fascinated him, although he would never admit it. The sight made the tip of his ears flush red. Romeo held out the pack of cigarettes a moment longer, then put it down.
“Trying to quit already?” he teased, smiling.
“It's not that.”
“What's it then?”
Carlo sighed. In the aftermath where the fireworks of pleasure had subsided, his thoughts – the rational ones, the no-fun ones – were coming back. Outside, the wind hissed lowly, and the night pressed dark against the window. Snow had piled up on the sill.
“You know I'm going home for Christmas,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“And I can't go home smelling like I've smoked all the cigarettes I've had.”
Romeo quirked an eyebrow at that. Carlo heard him taking a long drag, then breathe out slowly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw smoke billow out towards the ceiling.
“You think your old man can tell if you've had a smoke three days ago? What is he, a sniffer dog?”
“I'd rather not risk it. Really.”
Romeo shrugged. Some people would say he was a bad influence on him, but he had not once pressured him to do anything. The very first cigarette had been nothing but a casual invitation... one that Carlo had accepted almost too eagerly.
“Your loss. More for me then. I don't suppose you want a drink either, in case your dad can smell it too.”
That made Carlo turn his head. Romeo was smiling.
“What do you mean, a drink?”
“What do you think I mean?”
“Romeo, you haven't sneaked booze in my room, have you?”
“And what if I have?”
The amused glint in his eyes told Carlo that he most definitely had. The worst part wasn't even that there was currently one, or possibly more bottles of alcohol hidden in a drawer somewhere, but that Carlo was not even surprised about that prospect. It sounded just like Romeo to do such a thing.
He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Look, no one would even think about looking for booze in your room,” Romeo explained. His tone of voice sounded reasonable enough. The same couldn't be said about his smile. “But in mine? They'd find it immediately. The only reason why I get away with even just the cigs is because I have them with me all the time.”
“Cigarettes, alcohol... You think this is Pleasure Island here or something?”
“I'll show you Pleasure Island,” Romeo smiled, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray.
He lunged, and Carlo laughed as he pushed him down onto his back and moved on top of him. He didn't know exactly what he felt for Romeo – if it was love or infatuation or something else he could not begin to name – but whatever that was, it was there, it was warm and, more importantly, it was real. He was still laughing when they kissed, muffled giggles pushing in the infinitesimal space between their mouths. He heard himself say he didn't want any hickeys this time. Not long after, the laughter devolved into sighs and breathy moans as they pressed together until it felt like their bodies might merge into a single one, the same delicious friction as all the other times going up and up, harder every time. Carlo's breath came apart in short, shuddering gasps that burnt his throat on their way out, and when the pleasure culminated into a powerful eruption of ecstasy that engulfed everything like the eye of a black hole, he bit down on his bottom lip to keep himself from screaming and held onto Romeo's back, vulnerable, frantic, sweating, the rational no-fun thoughts washed down the drain, every square centimeter of his body filled with hot sunlight, flutters in the back of his head that only went away minutes after it was over.
In the wake of his afterglow, the world felt distant, soft, cloudy. He lied in bed for who knows how long, listening to the wind outside, listening to Romeo's steady breathing next to him. He dozed off, but not quite completely. The Monad Charity House was quiet as a burial ground at this hour. At some point, he felt Romeo's hand on his head, gently carding his fingers through his hair, from his forehead all the way to the nape of his neck, repeatedly. The gesture, so simple, was so loving, so tender it brought a salty taste of tears to the back of his throat. It also made him shudder.
“You like that?” Romeo whispered.
With some difficulty, Carlo forced his eyes open just enough to look at him. Romeo pressed close to him, his head resting against his free hand and his elbow digging in the mattress, probably not aware of just how soft his gaze was. His fingertips trailed down the back of his neck, causing another shiver to run down his spine, then came back to the front and went through his hair once more. Carlo let his eyes slip shut.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Want me to continue?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright. You know, if you stay here for Christmas, I can do it more...”
He smiled.
“I already filled in that paper saying I was going home.”
“Say you've changed your mind. No one needs to know I blackmailed you.”
“Mmh...”
He made a thoughtful noise and pretended to think about it, even though in his content and drowsy state, he had already made up his mind. He could go home and spend the holidays ignored by his father, the house empty around him, every silence telling him how unwanted he was, counting the days until he'd go back. Or he could stay here. This had to be the easiest decision he ever made.
“Fine, you win,” he sighed, so close to falling asleep he was not sure if he was saying it or thinking it. “I'll stay.”
“That's the ticket.” Romeo's fingers brushed through his hair again. “I'll make sure you have a good Christmas.”
“Mmh?”
“Nothing. Let's get some sleep.”
Carlo didn't need to be told twice; he fell asleep before Romeo's words could totally sink in, unwittingly smiling.
They both had a simple but wonderful Christmas.