Damian showered fast, quickly brushing his teeth, and pulled his boxers and a T-shirt on. Hurrying back, but Armando was smiling, playing with the pig, making small snorting sounds. Damian lay down next to him and pulled the covers to their chest. Armando wedged himself close, stroking the pig.
Damian looked down at him. “Uh… Goodnight, I guess?”
“Cuéntame un cuento.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Tell me a tale.”
Damian’s eyes widened a bit. “Oh… we should have a book of tales… and we don’t.”
Those large dark eyes went to him, waiting. Damian’s mind raced, his eyes on that pig. He took it gently and stroked its head.Ok. Ok. You can do this. A story. His eyes almost welling up. “Far away, on an island in the big sea, lived a pig named Walter…”
“Walter.” Armando took the pig from his hands, hugging it.
“Yeah… Walter…” He breathed in deep, stroking that pig, Armando’s arm. “Walter had a wife, Gisele… and together, they had all sorts of adventures on that island…” His voice got lost in recounting some of their adventures with Gabe, transposing it to the pigs, painting a picture of that magical place with its crystal waters and blue sky, the white beach and the coconut trees dancing in the wind. That deep jungle with the snakes and other animals. Torn out of that dreamlike state by that dead silence filled with Armando’s breathing. He had fallen asleep, so Damian flicked off the light, listening to those soft sounds, breathing in his scent. That sharpened sense of smell, even if assaulted by fumes and artificial perfumes, had stayed, and he just breathed him in, letting his instincts take over. Even if they had that test scheduled the next day, he knew. In that deep, primal soul which had been awakened by the island, there were no doubts. He turned on his side and laced his arms around that frail body, closing his eyes.
The test next day, where they laughed whilst somebody swabbed their mouths in that sterile, white room.
Going for ice creams then in a park where Armando had climbed on every single play structure he could find, and Damian just sat for hours, watching him play, when before he had had no patience at all. There was a mountain of it now, watching as people were tugging the kids away. Hurry. Hurry. We have to go. Dinner. Homework. Piano. Extra language classes. His lips curled up, and he stayed until Armando collapsed on the bench, exhausted.
“Can we go?”
“Yes!” But he still ran until the park’s entrance, the sun setting. They walked back to the hotel, the boy’s eyes wide on the busy streets. Damian just breathed against that stench, trying to ignore the noise.
Back to the suite, getting a bath, a shower, and this time, Armando had chosen his dinner, eating a large plate of mac and cheese. Damian smiled, picturing that five-star Michelin chef getting the order.He must have had a heart attack. But it was a five stars mac and cheese, that he had to give him.
To bed then, and Armando could hardly wait for Walter and Gisele’s adventures on the island. Both of them underestimating how tired they were, falling asleep with the night lamp on.
This is how Gabe found them when he sneaked in and walked to the room. He stopped at the door, just taking in that sight, his heart rushing in his chest. Damian sleeping on his back and Armando in his shoulder, his head against his ribcage, holding the pig tight. Damian’s arm laced around him, his hand resting on the pig. Fortunately, there was space on Damian’s side, so he showered and went to bed, sliding under the covers. Almost kissing that slightly parted mouth, but he didn’t want to wake him. He flicked off the light, snuggling close, his head against his. Feeling Damian stir, turn to his warmth, his lips searching his skin. Gabe pushed his mouth against those lips, stealing a quick kiss in that deep sleep. Feeling him still, breathe against his skin.
Next morning, Gabe woke with Armando playing on the bed with the pig and his cars. Blinking, he pushed himself on an elbow, the faint whirr of the treadmill reaching them. Glancing at the clock. 08.35. Knowing that Damian had been up with the sun and had probably been running since then. A mild worry in him, but he just sat up, letting Armando jump on him and hug him tight.
“Gabe! Mira!” He showed him how the pig could push the cars around with its snout, laughing. “Walter!”
Gabe’s heart iced over, his eyes darting to the door, but he could only hear that treadmill. He got up, ruffling Armando’s lush hair. “I’ll check on Papá, ok?”
He nodded and went back to playing.
Gabe walked to the room where Damian had had that treadmill set up, facing that vast sky. Watching that soaked body, his eyes lost to that void in front of him. Breathing hard but steady, running barefoot, only wearing his boxers. Gabe’s eyes roamed that body he knew by heart, his heart sinking because it was melting back to some sort of softness, those lean, strong muscles coated with a gentle layer of fat, blurring those sharp lines and angles. It had freaked Damian out, more than him, running his hand on his abs and sides, his eyes stern in the mirror, during those rare times when he had dared to look. Losing that dark bronze color of his skin too in that scarce light. Watching him slow down, hold on as he was trying to catch his breath, sweat dripping down his forehead, sliding down his skin to pool at his feet.
Gabe walked close, waiting until he stopped, taking a large towel, wiping the sweat off. He flashed Gabe a large smile. “You’re spying?”
“You’re ok?”
“It’s a run. No big deal.”
Gabe put his hand on his arm, gently. “How long?”
Damian shrugged, glancing at the screen. “Two hours. Could have been longer…” He sighed at Gabe’s look in his eyes. “I can’t stand sitting on my ass, or lying in bed, knowing that when I get up, there’s nothing to do.” He walked off the treadmill, heading to the bathroom. “I’m fed up… what a shit life!” He threw the towel on the floor and set the shower to full blast, pissed, almost kicking his boxers off. He stood under that hammering jet, opening his mouth, letting his tears wash away with that tide.Waste of water… insane… fuck…Breathing hard, washing that body which he thought too soft, losing that raw strength, despite the runs, the push-ups, and pull-ups. Even the thought of entering a gym making his skin crawl though.
Gabe just watched him fume, handing him a towel when he was done. “I’ll order breakfast. What do you want?”
“I’m not eating. I don’t move enough for this rich food to go somewhere else, and not straight on my hips and ass.”
Gabe took his towel. “Hey… you need to eat. It’s not going to do anything…”
“Cut it. I’m not hungry.”
