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The gentle thunk of a mango being cleaved in half breaks the peaceful afternoon silence, its yellow flesh matching the golden light as it reflects off the windows. You can almost hear the slice of the razor sharp knife.
With deft hands, Gus continues to slice the mango, placing the sticky, perfectly cut pieces onto a plate. He watches the breeze move the curtains ever so slightly, and he lets out a small, peaceful breath. He rinses the knife carefully and washes his hands.
He does everything carefully.
The hallway is quiet and dark, the struggling fan wafting a lukewarm breeze over everything and filling the shadows with a gentle whirring. He knocks softly on a wooden door at the end of the hall.
“Ven,”
[Come in]
Inside is a man, young, hunched over a desk and writing on a sheet already covered in calculations and models of atoms. His brows are furrowed. Sweat beads on his forehead from the oppressive heat, and concentration, his curls slightly damp.
A small smile comes to Gus’s face, and he sets the white porcelain plate down gently on the polished table, putting a hand on the man’s back, running a thumb over his shoulder. He can feel the raised bone through his thin shirt.
“Tienes que comer, Maximino.”
[You need to eat, Maximino.]
Max looks up at him, leaning his head onto his torso and pulling him into a half hug, arm draping over his waist.
“Gracias, cariño.”
[Thank you, dear.]
He sits up and goes back to his calculation for a moment.
Gus raises an eyebrow, smiling.
“Ahora, por favor.”
[Now, please.]
He nudges the plate towards him, and Max shakes his head, laughing. He picks up a mango slice and eats it, the smooth, sweet taste instantly refreshing. He sighs, leaning against Gus again. His partner leans over his shoulder.
“Parece complicado.” He comments. “Por eso soy de negocios, no de ciencia.”
[That looks complicated. That’s why I do business, not science.]
“Es no muy difícil, al final aprendes.” He eats another mango slice, and then hooks his hand behind Gus’s jaw, pulling him down into a kiss. He tastes like mango juice.
[It’s not very hard, you learn eventually.]
Gus laughs softly, running a hand through Max’s hair.
“Eres dulce.”
[You’re sweet.]
He kisses his forehead softly, lingering there and just holding him, enjoying the heat from his skin, somehow so different from the heat blazing outside. He can smell shampoo and faint woodsmoke in his hair.
“¿Pensé que habías dicho que debería comer? Esto no es comer.” Max laughs.
[I thought I was supposed to eat? This isn’t eating.]
Gus just kisses him on the mouth again, cupping his face. His lips are hot and still damp with juice.
“Eres muy bello.” He murmurs, caressing his hair. He doesn’t want to let him go just yet.
[You’re so beautiful.]
Max feels out of breath, clutching to his lover’s sleeve.
“Tú también. Eres…como el sol.”
[You are too. You’re…like the sun.]
“El sol.” Gus repeats, pulling away and wiping the corner of Max’s mouth with his thumb. “Entonces eres la luna?”
[The sun. Then are you the moon?]
Max grabs his hand, pressing a kiss to it.
“Si quieres.”
[If you want.]
“Entonces eres mi luna.” Gus says, smiling. “Y soy tú sol.”
[Then you are my moon. And I’m your sun.]
“Para siempre, Gustavo.”
[Always.]