Majorca Flats -- 363

Luigi put his phone back on the bedside table.  Cody had barely stirred from a deep sleep.  He didn’t want to wake him, yet he was afraid to let him sleep too long because if he woke late at night he didn’t want him to be alone.  Night was the worst, he’d found, after he’d broken up with Cody.  At two or three am, the city was mostly asleep, and if there were sounds of revellers on the streets, that had just made him feel more lonely, more lost.  Now he’d achieved what he’d longed for: Cody next to him in bed, Cody in his house, Cody sharing his life.  Yet it couldn’t have happened in a worse way.  Cody was horribly damaged.  Luigi’s thoughts paralleled Jason’s, a few kilometres away.  He will need my help and support, he thought.  After what happened, he may never be right again.  But I love him.  And if I walk away he won’t survive.  I know that.  So I have a duty to help him recover, to keep him safe.  Whatever happens afterwards.

He leaned over and kissed Cody on his cheek.  “Hey, handsome.  Would you like some tea?�?  Luigi wasn’t very Italian when it came to tea and coffee.  In one sense he was: he insisted on excellent coffee, but since he couldn’t make it to his exacting standards at home, he only ever drank coffee at restaurants or cafés.  At home he always made tea.  He’d been taught how to by Richard, his cello player lover, and the process of making tea always reminded him of learning how to do it in Richard’s beautiful art deco flat.

“Hmm?�? muttered Cody.

“Coads love, how about some tea?�?  Luigi kissed Cody again, more a brother’s or a friend’s kiss than a lover’s. 

.�?Mphn.�?

Luigi took that as a yes, and got up.

Cody turned over and watched through half-closed eyes as Luigi walked through to the kitchen, his slim, almost too thin body moving with feline grace, his thong setting off the beautiful curves of his bum and the satisfying sweet swellings of his thighs.  Yet to Cody this body, which he had held close as he emptied himself into it, which he’d watched glistening with sweat as he’d fucked it, which he’d seen arch in pleasure as it climaxed; this body seemed to him unreal and unattainable, as far away and hard to reach as happiness or joy.  Tea!   style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">he thought bitterly.  How will that help?

First Majorca Flats post       Previous MF post (#362)       Next MF post(#364)

Episodes 1 to 260 (without pictures, 10 episodes per chapter