57. PROMISE TO MYSELF

/Max/

“- Do you like her? Are you okay with her? - I'm surprised by this question, which he asks after a while, still holding my hand.
I honestly didn't think he'd want to investigate. I think he was shocked and worried at first because he'd realized I was having trouble; he cared to know how I was and to help me. But this is different. This is jealousy, even if his tone is still a whisper.
- I like her; she's beautiful, brilliant and I'm okay with her. She's very understanding, she knows how to deal with me. You know, I have a shitty personality and that's not for everyone.
I don't know why I'm overdoing the praise and descriptions. Okay, I know.
He immediately squeezes my hand but then relaxes without letting go, as if it were his by now. I fucking like being his. If you want, everything else can be yours, not just my hand.
You can take it.
- I think she's older than you, right
Oh, so you've done your homework!
- Yes, eight years.
Come on, please, don't stop.
- So you've been looking for a real relationship. - he says, continuing his investigation. I bite my lip, struggling to stay still and calm.
- Yes, I told you, I was looking for something that made me feel normal. Something everyone has. A woman nearby to settle down with...
One day, maybe a family, but that's not really what I was aiming for with Kelly. I don't rule it out, but based on my own example I still believe no relationship lasts forever, so I don't think I would ever get married and maybe I wouldn't have kids, to risk being as much of an asshole to them as my father.
Charles squeezes my hand again, but pulls it toward his mouth, which is just a short distance away. I let him curious, not understanding where he's going with this.
He turns my hand toward his lips.
- Why not a boyfriend? I thought that was more your thing.
It’s right to think it after the rather long—and I might even say serious—relationship with Daniel and the intense courtship that I did it to him at some point in 2019.
Of course, if I like someone, they'll notice it right away. Thinking about it, I smile.
- I wouldn't have felt normal enough.
My answer is logical, but I feel it's not true and I'm certainly not deceiving him.
- She's not a facade like Charlotte. She protects me from the world, from intruders, from busybodies and from pains in the ass. You said Kelly was an attempt at normality, but is not very true, or am I wrong?
And indeed. He perfectly understood the meaning I meant. Not only is he sharp and intelligent, but he's also very keen on dotting the i's. I adore him for that too. Some things never change.
His lips continue to play with the back of my hand and my cock is now hot and hard, but if I move, I lose. It's a game I can't lose now.
- No, but it's also true that if I feel different and alone and I get together with a guy, I might feel Even more different.
- But wouldn't you feel lonely if the relationship became serious and beautiful.
Why the hell is he pushing this so hard? What the fuck is he thinking, is he going to tell me? I get irritated easily and want to pull away, but at this point he opens his lips and starts licking my skin.
Oh come on. What the hell is he doing? Either he's trying with me or he's not. What the fuck is this? I'm going to cum now! Well, the important thing is that he doesn't notice.
Pretend to be impassive. For once in your fucking life, Max, don't be spontaneous.
- And what else is Kelly supposed to be, then? - I ask, trying to sound annoyed.
- Because she's a woman. You couldn't handle it anymore with a man. You're afraid of ending up devastated because men involve you too much, because they are your true gender. While with women, yes, you like them and you get along well, but there's always a limit you can't cross and therefore you don't risk suffering.
Oh, fuck you, Charles!
I quickly withdraw my hand, even though I loved the feel of his tongue on my skin; my erection suddenly stops throbbing. Anger, annoyance and I don't know what. Shame, perhaps?
He's right. It's exactly like he said.
This is the only truth, but I've just realized it and I don't like being suddenly stripped naked, but even more, I don't like appearing so weak.
Only Daniel had seen me so fragile and he liked me for that. Charles hadn't seen me like that yet, but apparently he's just understood that hidden piece of me.
He immediately pulls my hand back when I try to pull it away. This time he intertwines our fingers and brings them to his lips again, kisses them shamelessly and then brings them to his chest; after that, he comes closer to me, the little bit that remains, and, more unpredictable than I am in one of my sudden outbursts, he snuggles against me.
I want to turn away and yank his hand, but I remain dazed on the side facing him and let him settle against me. With my hand held hostage over his heart in a gesture so sweet and sensitive that shocks me.
He positions himself so that his forehead rests on my mouth, so I have no choice but to kiss it and return what he left on my hand.
Damn. I didn't want to. I shouldn't have. I had decided to reject him and definitely don't give him anything.
Why does he always win?
And fuck, why do I feel so happy I want to cry?
- I understand you and I'll let you be the one ready now; that's the least I can do. I owe you. - he then says softly in my arms in this forced position. Domineering as always. Exciting like no other. And now, even sweeter than I've ever seen.
Devastating.
One of my hands is his hostage, the other is free and not knowing where to put it, I have no choice but to place on his hip. I don't want to, but now my number one concern is not to let him feel that my dick is hard, and the only part he's not touching is that because I'm holding my hips back.
- So you mean you're ready now? - I ask arriving on the second train. I was busy finding the right position. Charles distracts me again with his legs intertwined with mine, his warm feet clinging to my ankles.
Are you a monkey?
- I don't know, certainly more than that December a year and a half ago.
He murmurs softly seeming very calm and serene, as if he'd found the answers he needed to start living again.
- And aren't you afraid of making me suffer?
Charles nods.
- Absolutely.
- So you still don't know if you're capable of loving and feeling emotions without making your partner suffer.
- I think I only feel them for the people who matter, who aren't many, but they're there.
- And Pierre? - I press him needing to know everything, absolutely everything, once and for all.
- It wasn't love, but I still love him.
- And don't you think you made him suffer because you weren't capable of loving? - I know I'm probably exaggerating, but it's now or never. Either I clarify everything now without hesitation, or we'll never move forward.
But he remains calm and doesn't hesitate to answer, no longer dodging uncomfortable answers.
- That’s what I was afraid of, but I actually feel affection, I just didn't love him that way.
- And why did you make him suffer?
- Because I didn't have the balls to tell him right away; I dragged myself out until I made him suffer even more.
- So it's not your emotions that matter, but your cowardice.
I don't know why I say it like that, it's as if I'm protecting myself now like in the old days, with my famous asshole side. My tongue is sharp and unstoppable, but Charles stays here against me and doesn't get upset or back down. It's as if he expected this conversation. As if, in fact, he wanted it.
- Exactly. And my selfishness. That's why I'm afraid of making you suffer.
- Because are you cowardly and selfish? - I ask for clarity, trying not to sink into his sincerity, which I hadn't expected at this level. He nods without fear or hesitation. I frown as if something isn't right. - Isn't it because you only have feelings for a select few?
- You're one of those select few. My list is short, but it exists.
And this is where he finally breaks me.
- You're an asshole. - I hiss through gritted teeth, unable to speak because my emotions are overflowing. How the hell do you control them so well? I'm not saying you don't feel them, but maybe playing that damn piano did you a world of good, somehow.
I think he's smiling, but I can't say for sure because he's anchored to me, as if glued.
I can't let go of him and I can't look at him, but I'm holding him like this because even though he's an asshole and the lump in my throat has grown like a bomb, I'm fine this way.
Close to him, with his warmth against me, his feet wrapped around my ankles, his hand intertwined with mine, his forehead on my mouth.
- Sorry it took me so long. I know I have to do the rest of my humanization journey on the ground, not in isolation, and that way everyone on that famous short list is at risk, but... - he sighs and shrugs in surrender. - I have no other way to help myself.
Have you cried? Have you even cried in all this time? Because I'm sure that if you do, you'll feel better. That's the whole problem: that crying blocks your true happiness.
But this time my mouth remains glued to his forehead, I kiss it and sigh, surrendering. It's as if he were stronger than me and I was more fragile despite everything.
He wants to lead the way between us and I don't want to let him, but in the end, one way or another, he leads anyway and I just can't stop myself, even if I try.
It's just... it feels so good to be led by Charles.
Anyway, I'll make you sweat for a while longer. I want to see how far you'll go and when you'll force your tongue into my mouth. I won't make things easier for you, not even once. I'm keeping this promise to myself, damn it. Even if it were the only one, I'll keep it.

The alarm starts vibrating before it goes off. I'm very sensitive to that vibration and it's usually enough to wake me up. It's the same today and as soon as I heard it, I reach for my phone with my free hand and, with only half an eye open, I grab it and stop it. Luckily, I’ve the habit of setting my alarms at the start of the race weekend based on Sarah's instructions, so I don't have to think about it the rest of the day.
Not that I remember exactly what I have to do today, but if she told me to be ready by nine, I'll be ready by nine.
I put the phone back on the nightstand, almost throwing it, and then focus on the weight I'm carrying.
I know perfectly well that I fell asleep with Charles next to me, or rather, curled up in front of me, but we hadn't hugged and now I notice with pleasure that His Majesty has undemocratically settled himself on top of me as if I were his personal pillow.
Charles is practically sleeping on top of me, his head on my chest, his arm around my waist holding me possessively, he even has his hand under my back, like I'm a pillow you hug in your sleep.
One leg is bent over me, wrapped around both of mine. In short, I can't move.
I smile immediately feeling my chest expand as if I were breathing pure mountain air for the first time. But I remain still limiting myself to moving my hands; one on his back slowly moves up the nape of his neck, through his tousled hair, the other slowly travels up his arm, then descends again as soon as reaches his shoulder, slowly and calmly repeating the same path.
He must have cuddled me while was sleeping and I bet he's one of those little princes used to sleeping with their pillows wrapped. Or maybe he simply couldn't wait for me to fall asleep so he could cuddle me and settle on top of me.
We're not a couple, we're nothing, but as long as we're both lying here together, I like to think, to dream, that we are something instead. That one day this awakening will be normal.
I suffered so much for this asshole. If I knew that to have a crumb of what I wanted, I just had to sleep next to him, I would have filled him with sleeping pills. Not that I've done that now; he was the one who practically crawled into my bed, he couldn't wait.
He has much more to do, let's be clear, but he's quickly gaining ground on what he'd lost. After all, he's a racing prodigy; everyone knows he's predestined. That's his nickname for a reason. I know he'll reach his goal and I really hope to be that goal. I hope so with all my heart.”

/Charles/

“I wake up quite early, facing the outside of the bed and on the other side of Max. The first thing I do is check the time and, realizing that it is indeed early.
Max is now sleeping on the other side, his back to me, so annoyed I crawl toward him and, with my typical selfishness, which I am now aware of but accept serenely, I take him by the shoulder and gently pull him to turn onto his back, trying not to wake him.
Max continues to sleep and lets me move him as I please. When I see him in the dim light of this now almost day, with my eyes largely accustomed and a few breaths of morning light filter through the closed curtains, I settle down next to him and look at him, leaning on my elbow.
One hand on his T-shirt-covered chest, I gently caress him at heart level. His chest, firmer than I remembered, rises and falls with a steady breath. I trace his pecs through his shirt, following a hunch, and my investigation continues with his abs.
He's started working out. He's more well-built than before. He doesn't have the physique of an athlete yet, but he's definitely less soft than two years ago. I remember the hugs I stole from him, I remember well the feeling of his body against mine, under my hands. It was soft and adorably squishy.
I'll leave the rest aside; it's not right to do certain things while he's asleep, although I know he's such a heavy sleeper I could do anything without him noticing.
Thinking about it, I remember when he took advantage of my drunken sleeplessness, although evidently not that much, since I remember the light kiss on the lips he gave me. But my sleep, unlike his, is still very light.
That stolen kiss reminds me that he owes me one, so right or wrong, I move my fingers up to his neck, where I feel his regular heartbeat. I pause there to feel the pleasant sensation of this part of his where I've often hidden my face in the throes of a nervous breakdown. I bring my face closer but don't touch, don't immerse myself in it. I just smell.
Now there's no longer that scent that drove me crazy, there's the smell of his skin that has no specific scent. He hasn't sweated, he hasn't done anything. He smells of sleep, of bed. I trace up with my fingers, observe closely as I caress his sleeping features. Rather soft and charming features.
A little beard tickles my fingertips, but then I reach his full, red lips. They always have this color that makes me think of cherry. I wonder if that's their natural flavor.
They're an obsession, his lips. How long have I looked at them? How long have I stared at them, fantasizing and want them like crazy?
Soft, full, often pouty.
Yes, yes, I owe his one and I'll take it now.
I lean closing the very short distance between our faces, and I place my lips very delicately on his. I simply place a light kiss where I'd like to violate with my tongue and find his. But I don't, I close my eyes and capture the sensation that comes from me and as it hits me like a boiling wave that flows straight between my legs, I feel stupidly and distinctly happy.
I wish I could do it awake and delve deeper, but it's not the time yet. I'd be selfish as usual and I want to try to be better than I have been so far. Maybe not with everyone, but with those select few on my famous short list who deserve it. And he certainly does.
So I separate and lean against his chest, settling in while I hug him as if he were my pillow. I slip my hand under his back to hold him better against me and, not content, I wrap my leg around his. A smile appears on my face. A satisfied and serene smile.
I want this feeling to become a habit for me.
Thinking about it, I fall asleep again.

I'm woken up by the Coldplay song I set as my alarm, the latest release from their new album, which I really like. Chris Martin immediately starts off with the opening line that gives the song its title.
- You, you are my universe, and I just want to put you first, and you are my universe!
As soon as I hear it my eyes widen, stupidly convinced that somehow someone has just read my mind!
I struggle to get back into my rational head and understand that no one has read anyone's mind.
It's just my alarm clock.
- Damn, Charles! How the hell do you wake up properly with such a shouted cheerful and lively song?
Max's raspy, scratchy voice comes to say good morning from below me; only when I hear him does my brain relay the information in order of importance.
I have an erection pressing against his side. I was sleeping on top of him, clinging to him. I'm still on top of him. I'm in his room. I slept with him all night. I just slept. He doesn't know I kissed him back, and this is my alarm clock, which means it's time to go back to the world.
But I stay there giggling against his chest while Coldplay sings the whole of "My Universe." He'll never know that it's more or less my motto from tonight onward and that it concerns him as if it were a spell that reflects my soul.
He probably didn't even understand the lines Chris Martin was singing. This idiot down there is naturally asleep, let alone just awake.
I roll onto my back to get to the bedside table and take my phone. I grab it and roll back over to get back on top of him, as if he were my boyfriend and he were forced to cuddle me in the morning as soon as I wake up.
I don't even think about it. He continues to hold me, always as if he were forced.
But maybe he just likes it.
I turn off the alarm and, giggling, answer it while I go to my favorite Spotify playlist.
- I changed it recently because I liked it; before I had this one, more suitable for waking up...
I play "Hymn for the Weekend," which begins with birds chirping and Beyonce's delicate, wonderful voice.
- Much better. Why the hell did you put that other one with the excessively cheerful shrill part?
I absolutely like his grumpy morning version with the hard wake up call; I end up turning off the song and throwing my phone next to his, then sinking back into his chest just like before. More comfortable than ever, my arm still around his torso, my hand tucked under his back, my face turned toward the center of his chest.
I smile.
Yes, damn it. I'm undeniably happy.
It's the best wake-up call I've had in seven years and maybe the best ever. We're not engaged, I have no right to do something like this, I'm perfectly aware of that, but I can't stop. I'm still too selfish, I haven't managed to improve myself, it's been too little since I realized it. It takes me a while to work on it and stop, but judging by the way his hand is caressing my back, I'd say he doesn't mind my selfishness.
I hope he doesn't notice my flag-raising, further hardened by his scratchy voice that literally drives me crazy, especially in the morning.
You're so fucking sexy, Max.
Luckily he didn't catch the opening line of "My Universe." If he was smart, he could have started a very uncomfortable conversation.
‘So that's what you think? I'm your universe and you want to put me first?’
But no, he didn't hear anything, only that ‘a shouted cheerful and lively song’.
- What alarm clock do you have? - I ask completely unwilling to move.
Max picks up the phone, puts it down because it's mine, picks up his and plays me a banal, classic alarm clock that isn't even a song.
I emerge from his chest, my chin resting.
- How sad, Max. Do you have a band or singer you like?
He seems to think about it for a moment, then answers a little unconvinced: - I don't know, maybe Martin Garrix, but more because we're friends. I like his songs and enjoy listening to them, but not enough to set it as an alarm clock!
Max finishes laughing and I push myself up on my elbow, adjusting more to my stomach. In the process, I shift my crotch and smack it against the mattress, thus avoiding any risk.
I look at his face better and it's even worse, but no one will know. Only me and my dick, which I think is about to shoot. I'll pretend total indifference.
- Of course, you can't set it as an alarm clock; his style is certainly not sweet and melodious! 
Then I bring up the topic of music and their friendship just to divert and distract him. If he noticed something was going on down here, it would be a mess.
Our slow pace and waiting for him to be ready wouldn't last at all.
- He does dance and electronic music, right? - Max nods a little uncertainly.
- Don't ask me about music genres. I don't know shit.
The hand that was encircling my back and gently caressing me from the nape of my neck to my lower back, abandons me and ends up bent under his head. I still remain on his shoulder, my hand resting on his chest where my face had been.
- Well, he's into dance and electronic music. But if you're not friends with him because he's one of the best DJs in his genre, why are you?
We'd already talked about personal tastes and I remember he doesn't listen to music and has no particular preferences, but we hadn't talked about Martin Garrix.
- Because he's Dutch like you? - I ask curiously. Maybe a little too much.
Okay, don't act jealous, Charles.
Am I still good at masking and hiding emotions, even if he's one of the few on my short list?
Hmm, from the way he looks at me, I'd say no.”

NOTES: I have this idea of ​​their roles. In my opinion, they aren't fixed; it depends on the stages of their relationship and their own maturation, on what they experience. Sometimes Max is top, while other times I it's Charles. Max, however, is much less tough than he seems; I see a fragility well hidden behind his seemingly prickly and unscrupulous nature, which, in my opinion, is just a defense. (I say this because I'm a bit like him and people like us, with a superficially insensitive nature, tend to be fragile and soft in reality.) Until next time. Kisses, Akane.