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The lavender sunset gradually colored the sky, wet snowdrifts, spreading under people’s feet, sparkled under the rays of the fading sun and stained with their dirty moisture lilac trousers that didn't cover the ankle, which was held from below by black shoes already wet from the snow, paving a winding, tangled, lost somewhere in the courtyards there was a path of footprints right up to the door, against which bony, but strong fingers hit, awakening the neighbors and scaring away the approaching evening twilight, when a warm light burst out of the open door, welcoming and enveloping the late guest with open arms.
Two pairs of lips stretched into a smile, sparkling as the two bodies intertwined in embraces and soft touches, immersing each other in a mixture of smells of warmth, fresh baked goods wafting from the kitchen and mixing with the aroma of lush, fragrant flowers falling on the elegant hands that were glided over much rougher, but gentle palms, pressing closer into an airy embrace and exchanging tender, sensual and barely perceptible, like phantom kisses, kindling a fire around, through which they slid deep into the living room and falling onto the velvet sofa, which greeted them with open arms.
The sun had long since set behind the horizon, plunging the city into dirty gloomy slush, on which rare traces could be read, scattered here and there, mostly interrupted by traces of bare asphalt, from which the snow had been wiped off, leading a path more reminiscent of a smeared labyrinth leading to the door, against which the empty body hit with all its weight.
It fell madly into a careless embrace, desperately saving it from falling when the door was leisurely opened, engulfing both men in the cold of the street and the dead temperature in the house, making everything inside go numb from drunken touches.
Soft, but life-worn fingers scraped along the heavy waist in an attempt to maintain balance, while cold, bony fingers began to dig into the slender body, pressing and denying aggressive resistance, pushing deeper into the house and, tripping over each other’s legs, knocking them onto the sofa with a crash, leaning all his weight on top.
With a blow to the temples, the heavy eyelids lift with all their effort, revealing bottomless, long-dead blue eyes, aimlessly looking somewhere ahead.
The unexpectedly gloomy room, so contrasting with the memories, the dull smell of iron hung in the air, while he himself lay in a clean, comfortable bed, surrounded by a variety of blankets and duvet, his pale skin warmed by a soft sweater, night pants and socks. The night light burned faintly on the nightstand, forcing him to inhale the aroma of warmth and softness, enveloping him from the inside and out.
The blond gets up tiredly, feeling a deafening whistle hitting his head, his body ready to fall apart from a feeling of weakness and nausea. Staggering, his consciousness half-blindly leads him from the room to the living room, which greets him with pale flowers and frost, mercilessly devouring the dreadlocks scattered on the pillow.
Rikiel's body was barely hidden from the dead cold; he was wearing only boxers, and a thin blanket ran along his back in one line, exposing the star on his shoulder.
A light chuckle falls from his thin lips as he drowsily walks closer and freezes in place near the sofa, wiping the smile from his face when his eyes catch dull bruises and abrasions on his dark skin, only then realizing that there is a broken glass coffee table with a couple of fragments standing nearby, drenched in dried blood, glistening under the moonlight and a scattered bouquet, which, miraculously, hadn't yet been completely eaten by diseases and insects.
Everything inside him was shrinking, when everything in the head and chest was screaming not just not to approach, but to move away, to run away as far as possible from here.
Without breathing, he humbly bowed his knee in front of the sleeping bearer of the star on shoulder, cautiously reaching out his hand and removing the disheveled dreadlocks from soft face, hitting his nails on the lovely metal inserts.
He carefully watched how heavy eyelids fluttered periodically, listening to the quiet breathing, the subtle rustling of the blanket fabric, when his chest heaved, now in a deep, now short breath, almost causing a smile, if not for the oppressive atmosphere and not a single memory of what happened in the head.
Empty blue-colored eyes slowly looked at the almost uncovered body, feeling how he himself was getting cold from the mere sight of Rikiel, despite his warm clothes, realizing that this fool had given him all the blankets and duvets in the house, even turned on the damn night light, while he was sleeping in the cold with the only source of light being the dim lighting from the windows.
Pursing his thin lips, he quietly, silently bent down, sliding his scarred fingers along the sofa and, with all the caution in the world, lifting the weight of his slender and well-built body, airily pressing it to himself and regretfully burying his nose in the braided curls that smelled of tobacco and dust, while Maxx himself, he unfortunately noticed, smelled of freshness and flowers, and lips on the forehead, forcing the sleepy eyelids to tremble for a moment with a warming kiss, but then freeze again exhaustedly.
He rose heavily, but surprisingly silently and easily, to his feet, making every effort not to stagger or stumble as they walked back to the bedroom, illuminating the room only with the stern gnashing of teeth, clenched from the curses rushing through his head at himself from the sight of a treacherous an open door releasing all the accumulated heat.
Having entered, the door closed with a fluttering movement when it met a foot, not making a single sound in fear, accompanying the two men in silence to the bed, on which they both gradually lay down. All the duvets, all the blankets and other possible fabrics that could only be found in their house, appeared around the sleeping body, immersing him in the warmth and comfort of which he was so unfairly, cruelly deprived.
Maxx sighed uncontrollably noisily, lying next to him and looking at the softening face, in a silent apology pulling him closer to himself to convey additional temperature, affectionately, velvety fingering the purple curls in reassurance.