I glanced at my phone.

Elliot didn't text or call like anyone else would. He had emailed me.

'Hello. I am sending this email to schedule a rendezvous with you.'

Below it was a date and a time. And an RSVP.

Accept / Reject

So at 19:45, 15 minutes before Elliot's given time— I was bouncing on my feet in my elevator, on the way to my apartment.

The elevator dinged on the tenth floor. My penthouse was located above, two more flights of stairs. Just as I made my way to the stairwell, however, I spotted an unfamiliar figure at apartment 110, Chiara's.

Or rather, the one I had gifted her after signing my first big contract.

It was a guy in a suave leather jacket and black jeans, slicked-back black hair, leaning against the door as he scrolled through his phone. I walked up to him.

"Hey, you looking for someone?"

I wanted to make sure he knew Chiara and wasn't some crazy stalker. He looked up, his hazel eyes widening when he saw me, traveling not-too-subtly down my frame. He gave a low whistle. "Luca Moretti?"

"Yep," I said. "You?"

He stretched out a hand and shook mine enthusiastically, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of my hand. "Wow... I mean, Chiara told me about this neighbourhood, and I figured it was well off. But she never told me the biggest Italian star was living here."

"Ah, flattery," I grinned at him. "Never gets old, does it? So you do know her? From work or—?"

"Blind date," he said, tilting his head to the side and studying me again, unabashedly. "You look hotter in person."

I blinked, taken aback by his forwardness. "Uh, thanks. Ditto?"

He laughed, a little too loud, before leaning close to me until I could smell his smoky, aquatic cologne. "Well, actually, I don't know when she's coming back. But I have to admit, spending some... quality time with Luca Moretti upstairs sounds infinitely more interesting."

"Something tells me you and I do not have the same definition of—quality time," I smirked at him. "Nice try, though."

"Ah well," he smiled sheepishly, patting the top of his glossy hair. "A man's gotta shoot his shot."

"Ain't that the truth?" I flashed him a tight smile, hoping the conversation would end.

"Actually, how come you're here?" he asked suddenly, glancing at my empty hands. "Figured you'd be at the national camp, you know. Training really... hard."

I chuckled. "Touché. But no, just here to grab some stuff."

"Mhm," he nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Offer's open, though. My place is, like, ten minutes from here if you're not comfortable in yours."

I rolled my eyes. "Give Chiara a good-luck kiss from me, will ya?"

I turned to leave, taking my phone out of my pocket and glancing at the time when he called again from behind me.

"Reserved for your British twink, eh?"

I froze, turning slowly to face him.

Act normal. Act normal. ACT. NORMAL.

I grimaced, furrowing my eyebrows in theatrical confusion even as my heart pounded near my throat. "Not sure what you're getting at, mate."

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck and shrugging. "It's fine, I know what Serie A is like," he winked at me, making my blood turn cold. "I used to play semi-pro back in youth Lombardia," he nodded at Chiara's door. "Guess she has a type."

"Ah," I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. "Nosy motherfuckers, you mean?"

He chuckled, not seeming offended by my insult whatsoever as he leaned against the doorway, eye-fucking me without shame. "Guess you like more difficult things. Would make sense." He fixed his gaze on his shoes before speaking, "You gotta dig into Bellini's past."

I started. "What?"

"Riccardo Bellini, the guy who keeps spearheading all that shit," he stated, walking over to look up at me. "Just a... friendly piece of advice. He threatens you, you blackmail him back. As a last resort, of course. You can't get by playing clean here, Moretti."

"You're the most realistic-looking Disney villain I've ever seen," I said, trying not to get swayed by his words as he let out another laugh, pulling his keys from his pocket and fiddling with them between his fingers. "I don't need to do that supervillain shit. Once I win Euros, he's gonna shut up for good." 

"I understand I'm coming off weird. Blatant flirting, unrequited advice—" he shrugged, completely ignoring what I had said. "I guess you could call me a fan. You should consider it."

"Bellini has no blackmail on me," I said, emphasising each word. "Whatever you think it is."

He opened his mouth to say something, but the loud elevator ding sounded in the corridor. I turned, my stomach twisting when I saw Elliot stepping out, a backpack slung over his shoulders. I turned back to look at the weird guy, who was now stifling a laugh, shoving his fist into his mouth.

"Chiara needs to reconsider her taste in men," I said to him before stepping away and making my way towards Elliot.

"Yeah, right, like you weren't one of them!" he called after me.

I ignored him, grabbing Elliot's bag off him and taking his hand as I led him upstairs. Blood pounded in my ears. What the fuck was that guy on about? Blatantly flirting with me because he saw those shit articles about Elliot and me?

It was true that Bellini had no blackmail on me. Nothing that I hadn't presented myself. And we had been careful. For two weeks, ever since training with the national team started, we had done nothing but calls and texts. Away from the media, away from the public eye.

"Who was that?" Elliot asked as we stood in front of the door to my penthouse.

"Nobody," I said, shaking my head. "Some weirdo Chiara's dating. Was coming on to me like crazy."

"So he was trying to cheat on your friend?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.

"I guess. I'll talk to her about it, don't worry. She... she needs to be careful with these weirdos." I reached for my phone and typed a quick text out to her:

met ur guy. gay as shit. tried to get in my pants. sort urself out like yesterday

I paused before typing another one:

ur welcome

I shoved my phone back into my pocket and pulled Elliot inside, shutting the door behind us. "Fuck that." I pulled him into me, kissing him hard, everything that had pent up with those late video calls finally spilling out. I placed one hand under his thighs, another on his waist, and lifted him into my arms. He let out a breathless giggle and a yelp, his eyes sparkling.

I nuzzled his nose and carried him to the bedroom, placing him on the mattress and getting on top of him. I trailed kisses down his jaw, onto the crook of his neck, breathing in his vanilla sandalwood scent that made my stomach do a flip. "God, I missed your taste," I murmured into his hot skin, pulling his sweatshirt off him and discarding it to the floor.

He placed one hand on my face, bringing me up to kiss him slowly, savoring it. He cupped my face, leaning back to just gaze at me. His eyes were dark, his breathing ragged, his hair already a mess.

"What?" I asked, my voice hoarse and faltering under his intense gaze.

"I am... very happy," he said simply, as if that answered my question.

"That... is very good," I said lamely.

He giggled again, a pink flush creeping up his cheeks, his eyes bright—like he was drunk. "You look drunk," I remarked, nipping his earlobe playfully as he let out another breathless laugh.

"Sorry..." he said, his smile faltering as his gaze fell to my lips. "I... I think being away from you for two weeks made me realise something."

I wanted to say something funny. Something crude. Something that would break the suddenly solid air between us. Something that didn't include how torturous it had been to be away from him, how I had counted every single day, how I had spent an ungodly and embarrassing amount of time imagining the way his breath would hitch when I had him in my arms next. 

"Less talking, more kissing," I said instead as I shut him up with another kiss. I pulled off my sweatshirt as his eyes immediately roved over my torso.

"You have been training hard," he said. And I knew he meant it as an observation, a clinical one, rather than something meant to be flirty. His eyes traveled down my torso, his breath hitching when they landed on my straining waistband.

"Oh yeah," I grinned at him. "I've been hard alright."

"You never told me about...these," he said, his fingertips trailing over the tattoo on my neck. "What is their story?"

"It's a rose branch," I answered, holding his hand and in mine against my neck. "Thorns."

His eyes widened, and he nodded once, placing his hand on my forearm. "A serpent."

"Meant to show rebirth," I said as his hands stroked the dark ink gently.

"And that one?" his fingers entangled with mine, turning so the tattoos between my index and forefinger was facing him. He placed my hand against his lips in a soft kiss.

"The butterfly," I began, surprised he had even noticed it. "It's for my mom. She had...she was an entomologist. Developed skin cancer, but...she never stopped doing what she loved."

"Oh." He placed his hand against my chest. "She sounds inspiring."

"Yeah, she was," I said, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat before leaning in to kiss him. "We need to work on your dirty talk, though," I added as he giggled.  I could feel the familiar swelling in my chest and quickly pushed it down, focusing on him instead.

I reached for his jeans, unbuttoning them and taking them off him in one fluid motion. "Turn around for me," I said to him. He gazed at me for a few seconds before nodding.

He turned slowly, his eyes fixed on the full-length closet mirror. I followed his gaze. 

I gripped his chin to turn him to face me sideways. "You seem distracted."

"I am not," he said. "Apologies. I just... I am very happy to be here with you."

"You don't have to apologize. You sure you wanna do this?" I stopped trying to take my jeans off, lying on top of him and planting kisses down the back of his neck instead. He shivered, sighing softly as he buried his face in the pillow. I stroked his bare thighs, licking the shell of his ear before his gaze found mine in the mirror. "You okay?" I mouthed quietly. "Need to stop? We can hang out, watch something? Make some dinner?"

He shook his head immediately, one hand gripping the belt loop of my jeans and pulling me flush against him. "God no."

"Actually—" I grinned wolfishly at him, spotting his gaze in the mirror and propping his hips up. "Come here—" I guided him so he was on his knees in front of me, facing the large mirror, his chest and neck flushing deeply as he looked at us. "I could get used to this view," I whispered in his ear, unsure if he was able to make it out, but it not being important at that moment. I reached for the bedstand, prepping him thoroughly with two, three fingers as he collapsed back onto the mattress, shivering at my touch. I kissed a hot trail down his spine, crouching and burying my face between his hips. One of his hands stretched out to tangle in my hair, moaning softly, in tandem with my tongue.

I straightened back up once he was ready, pulling him against me and glancing at him in the mirror. He wasn't looking at me, his face planted sideways on the mattress, his knuckles white where he gripped the bedsheet on either side of his head. His ass propped up invitingly against me as I ground into him.

I placed one hand into his soft hair, tangling my fingers into it and pulling gently. He straightened up, propping himself onto his arms as he looked at me in the mirror. "Is this okay?" I mouthed, tugging at his hair again to demonstrate. His breath hitched, but he nodded eagerly, pressing up against me and moving his hips in a delicious grind.

I rolled the condom on with shaking fingers, each second stretching too long into desperation. I placed my hands firmly on his waist, rubbing circles on his clammy skin with my thumbs on either side. Slowly, I sank into him, studying his reactions in the mirror. His eyelids snapped shut, his mouth dropping open in a gasp, his arms straining as he held still. I leaned over him, placing one arm on his chin and making him look at the mirror again.

"You look so beautiful taking my cock like that," I rasped to him. "So tight and eager for me."

His chest heaved, his eyes on my mouth in our reflection as I murmured praises at him.

Somehow, even though it had only been two weeks—it felt like a lifetime. The scorching heat of him even more intoxicating than last time. The sight of him on his knees like that made being slow and patient impossible as I started thrusting into him, gripping his hair and yanking his head back to reveal his bobbing throat. I sucked gently on his neck, soothing his skin with my tongue. He didn't ask me to stop, didn't tap out, simply knelt there and took me eagerly.

His moans got frantic, his whimpers breaking more and more with each thrust. The flesh of his ass rippled against the snap of my hips, his muscles on his chest and arms pulled taut with the effort of holding himself up. "It's okay, baby, I got you," I muttered into his ear, keeping my gaze fixed on the mirror as I increased my pace.

God, he was the sexiest fucking thing in the world.

He looked so gone, completely undone. His lips swollen, glistening, his hips grinding back into me with desperate little whimpers, bite marks already blooming on his neck. His arms buckled, and I held him close, his back against my chest. He placed one arm around my neck and kissed me. "Luca—" he whispered, his eyes shut as I held him against me, my hands splayed across his tight stomach. "Luca—"

"Right here, baby," I kissed him deeply, fucking him through his orgasm as his body stiffened up for a second before spasming helplessly. He kissed me hungrily, his moans muffled against my mouth as he tightened imperceptibly around my straining cock. "Back on your knees," I told him with another open-mouthed kiss, pushing him gently onto the mattress as he nodded eagerly. He settled back on the mattress, his face buried in his arm as he rested them on the bed. I gripped his waist, watching him writhe and squirm in the mirror as I increased my pace. 

Mio Dio. He was unbelievably beautiful. It was hard to believe I had him, like this. On his knees, his eyes glassy, his mouth open, pink patches rising up his face and chest as he cried into the mattress, his legs quivering with the effort of holding himself up. And even then he kept pushing into me, kept pulling me against him, like he couldn't stop, like he needed me as I needed him. I needed to get drunk on his moans, needed to feel his body mould just for me, needed to see him get ruined, needed to build him back up, needed to fuck him like I was punishing him for staying apart for so long.

I bit hard onto the base of his neck as he let out a startled cry, my orgasm ripping through me like an intoxicating electric shock I couldn't get enough of, the hot knot in my stomach dissolving with a brutal intensity as I threw back my head, holding him with a death grip, afraid if I stopped, afraid if he left— I would simply pass out.

We collapsed on top of each other, breathing hard, our slick bodies seeking each other out in desperation. I pulled him against my chest, rubbing his back and kissing the top of his hair. "You okay?" I asked, cupping his face and making him look at me as coherent thoughts started rushing in.

He remained quiet, gazing silently at me. I placed one hand on his hair, soothing it down as I frowned at him. "Eli?"

And I wasn't sure if I was imagining it, but his eyes glistened for a second before he blinked and they were back to normal. It could have been a trick of light; maybe he was overwhelmed.

"El?" I said, my heart seizing. "Are you okay? What... what happened? Was it... too much?"

He bit his lip and shook his head. "No. I... I'll be fine."

"Hey, hey, hey—" My throat closed up, my stomach turning despite my brain barely being normal just yet. "What's going on? Tell me? Did I hurt you?"

He shook his head again, burying his face in the crook of my neck, his voice muffled when he spoke. "S—sorry. I am okay. Just... need a minute."

"Elliot—"

"Can you hold me, please?" he whispered, his voice breaking in a way that made my chest hollow.

I didn't speak, holding him close, kissing his head, rubbing his back. "Hey, you can tell me..." I murmured. I cupped his face, kissing his forehead. "Talk to me."

"I'm exhausted," he murmured, burying his face in my chest again. "Don't leave the bed before I wake up."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me, and held him close, hoping that through his chest, he could feel the way my heart beat for him.