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The hotel had that kind of silence that bothers more than it soothes. Everything was too clean, too neutral, as if someone had erased every trace of life from the hallways, the rooms, the windows. Danya walked slowly, headphones around his neck and a light jacket draped over his arms. In the elevator, the digital display slowly counted the floors, and he saw himself there, standing still, his back slightly bent, as if exhaustion had leaked through his spine.
The truth was he didn’t want to go back to the room.
He didn’t want to face another night of tossing and turning, thinking about what could go wrong. The nervousness wasn’t just about Eurovision, it was about everything: the rehearsed routine, the fear of disappointing Valya, his brother’s face so full of certainty and desire, so different from his own. He was tired of looking whole on the outside.
He was alone; Valya had gone to have fun with the people from Portugal and Latvia. And as always, Danya had declined. He wasn’t in the mood to socialize or smile.
He just wanted to go upstairs, close the door, and breathe alone. But something made him stop.
Lucio was there, casually leaning against the wall next to the elevator. One hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding a pack of cigarettes. His long hair fell over his shoulders. Danya didn’t know what he expected, but seeing Lucio there, as if he had stepped out of an unfinished dream, made him hesitate.
Lucio looked up and smiled. Not too wide. Just enough.
“Are you Danya?” he asked in a dragged English, but with a light, almost teasing tone.
Danya opened his mouth but took a second to answer. The accent was too beautiful, the way he spoke too calm.
“Yes… it’s me,” he replied, feeling his face warm up. What a stupid answer.
“It’s slow, isn’t it?” Lucio said, looking at the digital elevator display as if it were a universal, tragic, and inevitable fact.
Danya chuckled softly, uncomfortable. He ran a hand through the back of his neck.
“Do you smoke in the hotel?”
Lucio shrugged.
“Only upstairs. Sometimes at the window. Depends on who’s watching me”
Lucio looked at him again, sideways, as if analyzing a melody he hadn’t quite understood yet.
“You sing well, you know?” he said, almost like throwing the phrase into the air.
Danya blinked. “...Thank you.”
“Your face changes on stage. You look more… alive.”
The elevator beeped. The doors opened.
Danya got in too fast, as if running away. Lucio didn’t follow, he just raised a hand in a slow, unhurried goodbye while smiling.
When Danya reached his floor, the first thing he did was go to the window of his room. The night was clear, still. And below he saw Lucio.
Leaning against the wall. Smoking slowly, looking down. His hair shone under the dim light, and the smoke rose as if it were part of him. For a moment, Danya thought he had been seen. But no, or maybe yes. Lucio brought the cigarette to his lips, then looked straight ahead.
The smoke vanished. Danya closed the curtain.
The night seemed to stretch in circles inside the room. The bedside lamp cast a warm light, too weak to keep company, too strong to disappear. Danya was curled up against the headboard with his phone in his hands but wasn’t reading anything. His fingers swiped the screen by reflex. His mind was far away; on rehearsals, on the jury’s eyes, on the echo of his own voice singing.
That’s when Valya came in, the exact midnight glowing on the screen. He didn’t knock.
“They’re doing something downstairs,” he said, leaning the door with his elbow. “Music, wine… You should come.”
“Now?” Danya blinked. He was wearing socks and a big jacket over his pajamas.
“Now. Come on. You never go with us. You just sleep and disappear.”
“Because I like sleeping.”
“But today you’re not sleeping, right?”
Danya pressed his lips.
“I just wanted… to be alone a bit.”
“Then come not to be alone downstairs. It’s good for you. And there’s a strange Italian there you might like. The one with the long hair. He was looking at you the other day.”
Danya looked away, feeling his chest tighten, not from fear, but from something like good anxiety.
“Maybe just for a while.”
Valya smiled satisfied.
“That’s it. And wear something better. At least put on shoes.”
The hotel lobby felt almost like a different place at night. Low light, no staff around, only music coming from a portable speaker and a group scattered on sofas and chairs with cheap bottles and plastic cups.
Danya followed Valya inside and stayed close to the wall, his black coat covering his body like armor. The others laughed, talked in various languages.
Danya was there and wasn’t. Until he saw Lucio.
Leaning on the side counter, sideways to the group. A glass in hand, hair loose. A bit messy, a bit charming. Alone but not out of place. As if the noise around was just background music for him.
Lucio noticed Danya and smiled, small. A contained, intimate gesture. Then he walked towards him.
“Good evening” he said with a light accent and a smile.
“Good evening” Danya replied, quieter than he wanted.
“I haven’t seen you here before. Or have I?”
“I just came now. My brother practically dragged me.”
“I should thank him then.”
Danya looked down, not knowing what to say. Lucio extended his glass.
“Try it. It’s bad white wine, but it’s the only one.”
Danya took a sip and made a slight face. “Terrible.”
Lucio laughed. “See? I don’t lie.”
“Are you always alone?” Danya asked, trying to break the silence.
“No, most of the time I’m with my music partner, Tommaso, but sometimes it’s easier to be alone, especially at this hour. But not today” and he looked straight at Danya.
Danya felt his stomach twist.
“Do you always speak so well?” Danya laughed nervously.
“Only when I’m sure.”
Lucio leaned against the pillar nearby and let his shoulder brush Danya’s slowly, without pressure. It was a light touch, as if testing the space between them. Danya didn’t move. He stayed there, heart pounding but calm on the outside.
“I like your accent,” Lucio said suddenly.
“You have an accent too,” Danya said, trying to smile.
“Then we’re even.”
They stayed like that for a few minutes. Low conversation. The warmth of the body coming in calm waves. And Danya, for the first time in days, didn’t feel guilty for forgetting everything else.
The music in the hall had quieted. Someone sat on the floor, another disappeared with food, and the muffled sound of the street outside made it seem like they were in a smaller world; a world just theirs, cut out from a festival of voices and judgments out there.
Lucio came back with two glasses, a little sweaty from the brief walk to the makeshift drinks table.
“This one tastes less horrible,” he said, handing a glass to Danya. “Still white, but… sweeter. Like you.”
Danya lowered his eyes, feeling warmth on his face. He took a sip. Sweet indeed. The kind that deceives.
“I don’t know if I should drink more,” he murmured. “I have rehearsal tomorrow.”
“Me too. But it’s only a problem if you remember that.”
Danya let out a weak laugh, almost surprised he could laugh. He felt strange. Floating. A little looser in his shoulders. His tongue less tied.
The glass emptied quickly. The conversation no longer made sense. They talked about silly things; backstage, the clothes Lucio lost at the hotel laundry, the fact that Danya was more confident on stage than casually. They laughed at jokes that maybe weren’t so funny. And they were silent when there was nothing to say.
Lucio leaned against him again, closer now. Their knees lightly touching. Danya didn’t pull away. He didn’t immediately notice that his left hand slid next to Lucio’s, fingers almost brushing.
It was Lucio who turned his palm up.
And Danya, not quite knowing why, let his fingers fall over his.
“That doesn’t bother you?” Lucio murmured, almost too quietly.
Danya shook his head. “I think… not.”
Lucio smiled, and their thumbs met.
Danya leaned his head lightly on Lucio’s shoulder, feeling the now softer smell of cigarette mixed with wine and something indefinable, maybe perfume or just clean skin. He closed his eyes for a second. He no longer thought about the rehearsal. He didn’t even remember that alcohol usually didn’t agree with him. He had gotten used to avoiding parties, excesses, and stepping out of line. But there, with Lucio, the excesses felt calm.
"My room is just upstairs..." Lucio said, without changing his tone.
Danya turned his face toward him.
"I know. I saw you in the window the other day."
"You looked at me?"
"A little."
Lucio laughed.
"I looked too. But I thought it was your brother." Lucio said sarcastically.
"No. That was me." Danya replied, slightly offended.
They stared at each other for a moment.
Lucio didn’t push anything. He just stayed there, holding Danya’s hand, eyes soft, inviting without saying more.
And Danya whispered almost inaudibly:
"If you want... I can come with you now."
Lucio tilted his head, a half smile on his lips.
"Please."
They got up together. None of the other participants seemed to notice. Or maybe they did, but they were too busy with their own laughter and bottles.
They went up the stairs in silence, Danya a bit unsteady, but more from nerves than from the wine. The carpet muffled their steps in the upstairs corridor. Lucio opened the door with a key card, pushing it gently.
The room was almost dark, with only a faint light coming from the bedside lamp. The smell of tobacco mixed with the remnants of wine lingered in the air, creating a strangely cozy atmosphere.
Danya stayed near the door, hands slightly trembling, heart racing; not just from the alcohol, but from the mix of nervousness and curiosity he couldn’t contain.
Lucio watched him calmly, without rushing, as if trying to understand this moment too.
"If you want..." Lucio began softly "you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to."
Danya nodded, but words wouldn’t come. He sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the texture of the fabric under his fingers. Lucio settled beside him, without touching, respecting the invisible space that still separated them.
The silence between them was comfortable, almost sacred.
Danya felt he could relax a bit, but there was still something too new to fully give in.
After a long moment, Lucio slowly extended his hand as if asking for permission. Danya’s fingers hesitated, hovering in the air until, with a slight movement, they touched Lucio’s finger; a light, shy touch, a simultaneous invitation and answer.
Lucio’s eyes sought Danya’s, and he saw a mix of doubt and desire there.
"It’s okay" Lucio murmured, holding his gaze.
Danya took a deep breath and answered with an almost invisible smile. The sensation of that simple contact seemed to carry a universe of possibilities.
They continued like that, fingers intertwined, without hurry, discovering each other’s skin little by little, a touch on the hand, another on the shoulder, fingertips sliding slowly over the arm.
Then Lucio moved a little closer, carefully, allowing Danya to decide how far he wanted to go.
Lucio’s face touched his for a brief moment, almost a whisper of closeness, and Danya felt a spark he didn’t know could exist between two almost strangers.
Still shy, they exchanged looks full of silence and contained intentions.
No gesture was rushed. Every touch was a gentle question, every answer a silent confirmation.
Danya realized that although he wanted to go further, there was something precious in that slowness; a mutual respect, a space to recognize themselves beyond nervousness.
He closed his eyes for a moment and, when he opened them, found Lucio smiling with a tenderness that made him want to trust more.
"If you want, we can just stay like this" Lucio said "we don’t even have to go any further tonight."
Danya nodded, feeling the weight of the decision as light as a feather. Deep down, he knew that beginning, silent and full of delicate touches, was more than he could hope for.
They stayed there, almost still, the light drawing soft shadows on their faces.
Lucio gently slid his hand from Danya’s arm to his hand, squeezing lightly, without hurry. Danya felt a warmth rising through his body, mixed with a shyness he didn’t quite know how to handle.
"It’s strange, isn’t it?" Danya murmured, voice barely a whisper, as if afraid the silence would be broken by something too invasive.
"What?" Lucio asked without taking his eyes off him.
"This. We barely know each other... and we’re already like this." He gave a small awkward smile, looking away.
"I don’t think you need to know everything right away" Lucio replied, a soft gleam in his eyes. "What matters is now."
Danya swallowed hard, trying to understand that calm Lucio exuded. Something inside him wanted to surrender, but another part, still insecure, pulled him back.
Lucio sensed the conflict and held Danya’s fingers more firmly, without squeezing too much.
"If you want to stop at any moment, just say" he said. "Nobody here will pressure you."
Those words made Danya breathe deeper, almost like he could finally let go of some of the weight he carried.
Carefully, Lucio slid his hand to Danya’s face, tracing the jawline as if drawing an invisible sketch. Danya closed his eyes, letting himself be carried away by the delicate touch.
His heart was pounding, the mix of nervousness and desire like a silent dance between them.
Lucio moved his face closer to Danya’s neck, blowing warm air that made shivers run along the skin. His scent, a mix of tobacco and something sweet, blended with Danya’s own perfume, creating a feeling of intimacy almost too close to explain.
They exchanged glances again, and in that moment, no words were needed.
Danya’s body relaxed against Lucio’s, who wrapped his arms around him carefully, as if afraid to break something fragile.
Danya thought of nothing else, only that comfortable warmth, in a space that seemed to float outside of time.
Danya felt Lucio’s presence like a sweet tension between them; a vibration between shoulders, between knees that occasionally brushed. Now they lay on their sides, talking less, not because there was nothing to say; but because silence began to say more.
Danya let his eyes wander slowly, from Lucio’s eyes to his exposed clavicle.
He didn’t know if it was the wine, or the heat under the blanket, but there was a strange tingling in his fingers. A desire to touch more. To understand with his hands what his eyes couldn’t decipher.
Lucio noticed. Maybe not with his eyes, but with the way Danya breathed, deeper, more anxious, closer. With a delicacy that seemed habitual, he ran his hand along Danya’s side, over the thin shirt, just with his fingers.
"You’re trembling a little" he whispered, almost smiling.
Lucio then moved a little closer. Their foreheads nearly touched. His body’s heat now pressed against Danya’s in small points. When Lucio’s fingers sought Danya’s face again, it was as if every centimeter touched gained new weight.
The kiss was not fast.
It was hesitant, light, almost a mistake that turned into intention. Lips touched, paused, returned.
Danya moaned softly, not pulling away, just leaving his lips parted. His hand went to Lucio’s hair, pulling with more firmness, but still trembling.
When the kiss deepened, it was like crossing a very thin door: the desire that had been suspended became body. Lucio laid partly on top of Danya, careful not to scare him. Their mouths met again, now wetter, more open, mixed.
Danya’s shirt was slowly unbuttoned, button by button, while he felt his own breath falter. His heart beat in his ears. He felt exposed, but not threatened.
"Is this okay?" Lucio murmured between kisses, his warm hands still on Danya’s chest.
"It is. Just... go slow" he asked.
Lucio nodded, smiling against his neck, and started kissing there very slowly, his body still somewhat apart, as if drawing a path before allowing himself to continue. His hands followed the same rhythm: descending along the ribs, tracing the waist, exploring skin with hunger and gentleness at once.
Danya gasped softly, more sensitive and submissive than he expected. Lucio’s touch felt more intimate than any kiss. He closed his eyes, letting himself go, letting himself open.
Lucio had already taken off Danya’s shirt and now looked at him as if time had stopped. His fingers lightly brushed the pale skin of the Ukrainian, drawing invisible lines along the ribs, down to the abdomen.
"You’re beautiful like this" he murmured, and Danya shivered.
There was something unbearably vulnerable in that whispered compliment. He didn’t answer, just bit his lip, feeling his legs tense under the sheet.
Lucio moved closer, kissing slowly the base of Danya’s throat, then his chest, then lower. His warm mouth left wet trails, alternating kisses and soft sighs.
Danya closed his eyes and let out a husky moan, almost without meaning to.
"Don’t stop" he whispered, gasping. "Please..."
Lucio’s hand descended slowly, as if every centimeter of Danya’s skin was new territory to discover. His eyes stayed fixed on Danya’s, calm but with something more behind; a patient, steady heat. He didn’t ask anything. He just looked, waiting for a refusal that never came.
Danya barely breathed.
He felt his whole body too sensitive, the hairs on his arms standing on end, his chest rising and falling in an irregular rhythm. When Lucio’s hand reached his hip, he gave a small startle. His fingers were warm, firm, but gentle, exploring first the contour of the bone, the line of the thigh… until they reached between his legs.
The touch was soft at first, almost experimental. The palm brushed lightly over Danya’s cock through the clothes, pressing just a little, enough to make him gasp, his hips reacting reflexively. Lucio smiled, but a contained smile, it seemed more enchanted than provocative.
"Like this?" he murmured, his voice too deep in the silence of the room.
Danya couldn’t answer with words. A low sound came from his throat, closer to a moan than any phrase. His whole body was tense, anxious, but open, receptive. He wanted it. Wanted it so much it hurt.
Lucio slid his fingers with more intention, undoing the zipper of Danya’s pants carefully, like untying a delicate bow. When he finally exposed him, he made a point of looking; not out of crude curiosity, but with real attention, as if this were part of their story. As if he wanted to keep it in memory.
The fingers closed slowly around his cock.
Danya swallowed hard, his head tilting back a little, lips parted. The first caress was slow, from bottom to top, the thumb pressing lightly on the wet tip, spreading the liquid with calm. The second was a bit firmer. The third… more rhythmic.
"You’re so beautiful" Lucio whispered, as if saying it only to himself.
Danya moaned quietly, his hands gripping the sheet beneath him. He didn’t rush; he wanted to feel every reaction, every sigh, every tremor of the body beneath his touch.
"Please..." escaped from Danya’s mouth without him thinking. He didn’t even know what he was asking for. He only knew he wanted more. Wanted to stay there, being touched like that, for as long as it took.
Lucio answered with his mouth, pressing a wet kiss on Danya’s neck while his hand kept moving, slow, intimate, careful. The sound of the touches mixed with Danya’s broken breathing. He only knew he was being touched like never before. And that it was dismantling him inside; piece by piece.
"Aaah... Lucio..." Danya arched his hips, pushing against Lucio’s hand, his whole body tense and pleading. "Like this... this... this..." His voice came out broken but fearless. It was pure desire.
Lucio leaned closer, and his mouth replaced the hand with gentle precision, the warm lips closing around the tip of Danya’s cock, sucking slowly, with intention. His tongue slid underneath, wet, teasing, savoring every part as if it were something sacred.
Danya gasped loudly, the sound escaping freely, involuntarily. His head thrown back, eyes closed from pure pleasure. One hand grabbed the sheets tightly but soon slid into Lucio’s long hair, sinking his fingers there, pulling lightly, as if to say 'stay' without having the courage to say it aloud.
The sensation was warm, raw, intimate. The contrast of the soft mouth with the firmness of the suction made Danya squirm slowly, his hips moving in a small, contained rhythm, impossible to hold back.
"Oh... my God, Lucio..." His voice was high, desperate, out of control. "So good..."
He had never been like this with anyone; not so surrendered, not so open. It was as if every part of him said yes. As if his body was finally free to be touched the right way.
Lucio moaned against him, low, like someone who likes to tease. But what he did was with care: every movement of his mouth was slow, careful, with pauses to look up, at Danya, just to see his face fully open in pleasure while tears formed.
"I like hearing your voice like that" Lucio said, pulling away for a second, lips still wet. "Don’t stop talking."
Danya bit his lip, embarrassed but too aroused to hold back.
"I... I can’t control myself." He was breathless, his trembling fingers caressing Lucio’s face and hair.
Lucio climbed up again, kissing him with appetite now, hips pressing against his. Both were hard, their bodies fitting with heat and friction. Their moans blended.
"Do you want me to...?" Lucio asked, his voice hoarse, eyes attentive.
Danya answered with a nearly whispered please, turning slightly to his side, exposing the curve of his back, legs parted in a silent invitation.
Lucio stopped, breathed deeply, and caressed his back with affection.
"It will be slow" Lucio said, laughing with his hair almost hiding his own face.
"Mhm..." Danya responded, moaning softly, already squirming in expectation.
Lucio grabbed the lubricant from the hotel bedside table; probably part of the generic hotel kit and warmed it a little in his hands before starting to prepare Danya with the same care as before. His fingers entered slowly, surrounded by kisses on the back, the nape, and whispered words in Italian that Danya didn’t understand but felt like music.
Lucio leaned forward, pressing their bodies together. His hand held tight on Danya’s waist, and with a slow movement, his rigid member brushed between Danya. The glans found the narrow entrance, sensitive and wet. Carefully, Lucio began to press, pushing slowly, centimeter by centimeter, feeling the tight warmth enveloping him with effort and hunger.
Danya moaned loudly, sharp, fingers clutching the pillow as if seeking an anchor. His body instinctively arched against the Italian, offering himself even though the tension in his thighs trembled with a mix of nervousness and pleasure.
Lucio let himself sink all the way in, patiently, hips advancing until the base of his cock met Danya’s soft skin. The heat, the pressure, the feeling of being inside him was almost too much.
"So tight..." he murmured against his neck, voice hoarse, controlled with effort. His hands slid over Danya’s trembling belly, rising to his chest, feeling the rapid beats beneath the skin.
Danya gasped loudly, face buried in the pillow, moaning with each breath. He was completely exposed, carefully invaded, and still surrendered as if this was exactly what he needed and didn’t know it.
"Mmmhh... yes... yes, like this..."
The penetration was slow, full of pauses, moans, and deep breaths. Lucio’s hips moved in gentle circles, keeping Danya on the edge of ecstasy, both wet, sweaty, lost in each other.
"You’re so submisse and beautiful..." Lucio murmured against his ear while fucking him tenderly, firmly. "So surrendered..."
"I’m all yours..." Danya answered, voice broken. "Stay... with me... more..."
They continued in slow, deep movements, as if making love was breathing with another person inside their chest.
The bed creaked softly. The sheets tangled around their legs looked like a nest, a shelter where the world stopped, where everything was reduced to skin, scent, and the sounds that escaped even unintentionally.
Lucio moved behind Danya with precise delicacy. Their hips met in a rhythm that felt like a long embrace, sweaty bodies sliding against each other.
"..Is this good?" he whispered, warm breath at the curve of Danya’s neck.
"Mhm..." Danya moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, face pressed into the pillow. "So deep... so good..."
Lucio smiled against his skin and bit lightly his bare shoulder just to feel the reaction. Danya’s whole body shuddered, a sound escaping his throat, something between pleasure and pure surrender.
"I like hearing you..." he murmured again. "Every sound of yours."
And Danya kept vocalizing. His moans weren’t loud, but constant, like a thread of sound vibrating with the rhythm of the sex, and other times just gasping, mouth open, eyes wet, hands searching for something to hold on to.
Lucio intertwined his fingers with Danya’s, holding his hand tenderly. Their movements stayed slow, full, almost reverent. Their breathing merged, bodies learning each other inside.
Danya squeezed his fingers back, as if that were the only anchor in the middle of that hot sea that was taking him whole. There was something more there. More than sex.
"I..." Danya tried to speak, but his voice broke into a deep moan when Lucio penetrated him deeper, at a more intimate, more exposed angle. "Lucio... hold me..."
And Lucio held him. Wrapped his body with his arms, pressing his chest against Danya’s back, without stopping his movement. Each thrust was slow, measured, but strong enough to make Danya shiver and writhe beneath him, his whole body begging for more.
"You’re with me... I’m here" Lucio said, his mouth near Danya’s ear, who moaned in response, completely surrendered.
For a while, they stayed like that: fitted together, moaning softly, breathing deeply, rocked by the muffled sound of the bed and broken murmurs of pleasure. The world outside the room seemed to have disappeared. There was only the two of them there.
Danya wanted to last longer. He wanted to keep every second of that feeling.
They just wanted to hear each other, feel each other, open up.
And Danya, with flushed cheeks, trembling body, and parted lips, already knew he didn’t want to forget any of it.
He no longer knew how many times he had moaned Lucio’s name. Sometimes dragged out, sometimes in a sob, other times like a hoarse whisper that almost sounded like a prayer.
"Lucio…" he gasped between a sigh and a moan that escaped louder. "Oh… I’m gonna… it’s… coming…"
"Wait a bit..." Lucio murmured, his hips still moving against him with torturous slowness. "Let me feel more… you’re so hot..."
Danya moaned loudly, uncontrollable, his hips bucking against the movement, eyes tightly shut. He felt exposed, open in an almost unbearable way, as if the pleasure was coming not only from his body, but from something deeper, older, inside his chest.
"Kiss me..." he asked suddenly, almost crying. "Please..."
Lucio stopped just enough to lie on top of him, the weight pressing Danya against the mattress, and kissed his nape, then his cheek, then his mouth. Their teeth touched in the kiss. It was hot, awkward, wet. Danya moaned against Lucio’s tongue, and when they parted, both were gasping as if they had just run.
Lucio started moving again, now faster but still controlled. His body fit Danya’s as if it knew exactly where to touch, where to press. Each thrust pulled a sound out of Danya.
"Don’t stop..."he repeated between moans, his hands now on Lucio’s back. "Please, don’t stop, don’t stop..."
Lucio moaned low and bit Danya’s shoulder again, hips accelerating. They were so close the sweat ran between their bodies, mixed with the heat building between them, hot and pulsing.
And then Danya came.
His whole body tensed, fingers digging into Lucio’s back, a muffled scream into the pillow. It was like an endless wave, pleasure running down his spine, fingers, mouth, eyes watering.
Lucio was still moving, now less controlled, more breathless, until he moaned loudly against Danya’s neck and his body trembled as he spilled inside.
The room grew quiet. Only the sound of uneven breathing, hearts pounding loud, the heavy silence of those who didn’t know what to say, and maybe didn’t need to.
Danya kept his eyes closed, mouth slightly open, muscles still trembling under Lucio’s weight. He felt invaded by pleasure, but also by something stranger, deeper. A warmth in his throat, almost like wanting to cry, but it was just... too much to hold inside.
Lucio ran his hand through the sweat-damp hair on the back of his neck and kissed there slowly.
"Is everything okay?"
Danya nodded with a low sound.
"...Yes"
Lucio lay down beside him, pulling him close, saying nothing more.
And Danya rested his face on Lucio’s chest, listening to the heartbeat. It wasn’t like they knew each other. Not yet. But there was something there. And he knew, somehow he knew, that that night, in that plain room, something was beginning to grow.
Something that might hurt later.
But for now, it just warmed him.
An hour had passed in the stuffy room, with the lights off and only the muffled sound of Danya’s breathing filling the space. Lucio had woken up first. His body still felt heavy, but his mind was slowly beginning to function; accompanied by the warm weight of Danya’s body against his. The Ukrainian was sleeping on his side, mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed, and breathing a bit louder than before. As if he were still dreaming of everything that had just happened. As if his body were still digesting the pleasure and the alcohol.
Lucio got up carefully. He didn’t want to wake him just yet. He pulled on his underwear, went to the bathroom, then returned with a towel soaked in hot water. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked down at Danya’s half-dressed body and gently wiped him; starting with his stomach, where traces of dried cum remained, then moving lower, over his thighs.
He dressed him slowly. First the underwear, then the jeans, which he pulled up gently over Danya’s limp legs. The shirt came last, and Lucio eased it down over his arms with an affection that felt almost too soft for someone he’d just met.
As he knelt to put on Danya’s sneakers, the boy stirred, murmuring something incomprehensible. Lucio paused.
“Shhh… it’s okay,” he whispered, leaning toward his face. “I’m gonna take you to your room, alright?”
Danya didn’t answer, but gave him a faint smile, his eyes half-lidded like he was seeing Lucio underwater. It was a tired smile, quiet. One of trust, even without full awareness.
Lucio slid an arm around his waist and lifted him gently, almost carrying his weight against his own chest. Danya’s warm breath spilled over Lucio’s neck, and he mumbled low sounds, almost like a child fighting sleep or a dream.
He stepped out into the hallway with Danya half-draped over him. The corridor was quiet, muffled sounds in the distance. And then someone appeared walking toward them; dark hair, slightly wavy, a slow, tired gait, red-rimmed eyes, and a look of quiet surprise. It was Valya.
He stopped a few steps away, frowning as he saw his brother like that.
“Danya?” he murmured, his gaze shifting quickly to Lucio. “What happened?”
“Nothing serious. He just… got tired,” Lucio said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Drank a bit. I brought him back. He was with me.”
Valya stepped closer, inspecting his brother from head to toe. Danya let out a small sound and leaned harder against Lucio’s shoulder without opening his eyes. Valya sighed, but not in judgment; just concern.
“He’s always had a low tolerance for drinking,” he muttered. “Didn’t even seem like he drank that much tonight, but… he never stays up late. Never goes out. It must’ve been too much.”
Lucio nodded.
“I didn’t push anything. He just… stayed close.”
Valya looked him in the eye for a moment, assessing him. Then gave a short, tired laugh.
“Typical. He’s more sensitive than he looks. But also more stubborn.”
They stood in front of the door. Valya pulled a key card from his back pocket and slid it through the lock, opening the door gently.
“You can lay him down there, the bed on the right,” he said, stepping aside to let Lucio in.
Lucio entered, still holding Danya, sensing the disarray of the room;clothes draped over a chair, an open suitcase at the foot of a bed. Valya followed him in, turning on only the dim hallway light.
Lucio lowered Danya onto the bed carefully. The boy mumbled something, shifting slightly, and Valya came closer.
“Did he say anything?”
“A few things… but I couldn’t understand."
Valya looked at his brother. His face was peaceful now, but his cheeks still flushed, lips slightly swollen with sleep.
“He’s going to hate remembering this tomorrow,” Valya murmured.
Lucio hesitated.
“I want to… stay in touch with him. If that’s not weird.”
Valya looked at him more intently. Then shrugged.
“I think he’ll want that too. Here.” He pulled out his phone and showed Danya’s contact. “Don’t text him now. Wait till he’s awake… or at least remembers his own name.”
Lucio saved the number and tucked his phone away.
Valya leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Thanks for bringing him back. Really. You could’ve left him anywhere… a lot of people would’ve.”
Lucio shook his head, still gazing at Danya’s relaxed form in the bed “I couldn’t.”
Danya blinked slowly, the room blurry around him, his body warm under the covers. There was a heaviness in his limbs, a vague ache in his thighs, and something quiet lingering in his chest; like the echo of being held.
He sat up slowly, the sheets rustling. His head wasn’t hurting, but there was a fog in his thoughts. A flush crept up his neck as pieces of the night returned: Lucio’s mouth, the weight of him, the slow movements, the warmth, the voices. The way Lucio had touched his hair afterward.
But then… a blank. He didn’t remember returning to the room. Or dressing.
He reached for his phone on the nightstand and turned it on. The screen lit up in the dim light.
One new message.
(unknown number):
Hey Danya. It’s Lucio. I took you back to your room last night with help from your brother and he gave me your number.
Hope you’re feeling okay this morning.
Danya stared at the screen. A slow heat bloomed in his cheeks. He didn't answer. Just looked at the message again, holding the phone loosely in his hand like it might reveal more than it did.
On the other bed, Valya was lying on his side, back turned, scrolling on his phone like it was just another morning. Danya thought for a second he could stay quiet, maybe go to the bathroom and pretend he’d just woken up with nothing to say.
But Valya turned his head, smirking before Danya even moved.
“Well, well,” he said, voice still low from sleep. “Sleeping beauty rises.”
Danya sighed and sank back against the headboard. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything,” Valya said, stretching like a cat. “You just look… freshly ruined.”
“Valya…”
“Don’t act like I don’t know. You barely drink. I’ve never seen you like that. I thought maybe you’d just flirt a bit, touch hands. Next thing I know, I’m opening the door and you’re half-unconscious with Lucio carrying you like a bride.”
Danya covered his face with the blanket, groaning. “Please.”
Valya laughed, throwing a pillow lightly at him. “I didn’t say anything bad. I’m happy for you. Really. Italian boys are charming.”
“Stop.”
Valya leaned on his elbow, eyeing him. “He was gentle, right?”
Danya peeked from the blanket, cheeks burning.
“He was,” he mumbled.
Valya softened a bit, then grinned again. “You know, for someone who always rolls his eyes when I disappear, you’re not that different.”
Danya shot him a glare, but there wasn’t much venom in it. “I am different.”
“Sure. Except that you fell into bed with the first boy who looked at you twice.”
“He didn’t— it wasn’t—” Danya trailed off, his voice small.
Valya just smiled. “You don’t have to explain. I just like teasing you because I know it makes you all pink and serious.”
Danya looked away, his fingers tightening slightly around the phone still lit with Lucio’s message. “I didn’t even reply to him…”
Valya stretched again, turning back to his screen. “You will. When you’re ready.”
Danya sat there quietly, staring at Lucio’s name glowing on the display, his heart beating a little too fast for morning.
Danya lay still for a few more minutes, eyes fixed on Lucio’s message, as if it might change if he stared long enough. The words were simple, but there was something behind them, something in “hope you’re feeling okay this morning” that made his stomach turn softly.
He turned to the side, still clutching his phone like it was something fragile. Valya was still on his own bed, earphones in, scrolling through TikTok or texting someone smiling quietly to himself. Danya watched him for a moment. There was a natural ease in the way Valya handled things; desire, freedom, like the world had never made him question whether he was allowed to be loved.
Danya felt like he was standing on the other side of a thin line. Still dizzy from the alcohol, but more dizzy from the touch. From being touched like that.
He took a deep breath. Then, with trembling fingers, he typed out a reply.
Danya:
Hi Lucio. I’m okay, I think.
Thank you for taking care of me.
And sorry for anything.
He stared at the words. Deleted the “sorry.” Wrote something else.
Danya;
Hi Lucio. I’m okay, I think.
Thank you for taking care of me last night.
Did you sleep at all?
He hit send. And immediately regretted it; though the regret felt soft, almost sweet. Almost like a kind of thrill, a quiet waiting. As if the world had paused in this small moment: the soft hum from Valya’s headphones, the rumpled sheet, and the glowing bubble of a conversation that might be the beginning of something.
Lucio didn’t reply right away. Danya put the phone down, face down on the mattress, as if that would protect him from anything it might say.
He got up, went to the bathroom, looked at himself in the mirror.
His hair was a mess. There was a faint red mark on his neck he didn’t remember. His t-shirt was inside out. He smiled to himself.
When he came back into the room, Valya was watching him with a sly grin. "You like him."
Danya rolled his eyes. “You’re exhausting.” Valya raised his eyebrows. “I just said the truth.”
Danya flopped back into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chest, pretending to sleep.
His phone buzzed softly on the mattress.
He waited three seconds before flipping it over.
Lucio:
I did sleep. A little.
Couldn’t stop thinking about you, though.
Do you want to see me today?
Danya felt his heartbeat quicken. His lips curved into a tiny smile, one he didn’t mean to make.
He looked sideways and saw Valya pretending not to peek. "You gonna text back?"
Danya pulled the blanket over his face, voice muffled:
"Maybe."