I should’ve insisted on keeping Yulian indoors, but he was getting annoyed with simple walks around the estate. We’re over ten days out from when we came here, so Uncle Maks suggested fishing.
Nothing strenuous, right?
Wrong, as they’re wading now.
The lake looks like it’s been painted into the land, glass smooth except for the lazy shimmer of sunlight across its surface. Birch trees guard the far bank, their pale trunks catching the golden rays, and the snowcaps in the distance look close enough to touch.
Under different circumstances, I’d be admiring the view, but I’m more preoccupied with watching Yulian, who’s knee-deep in freezing water like a goddamn idiot.
His jeans are rolled haphazardly, the cuffs already soaked. Uncle Maks towers beside him, looking ready to wrestle a bear for breakfast, and hands Yulian a fishing rod like it’s a medal of honor.
“Uncle Maks!” I call again when he doesn’t reply.
He doesn’t even turn his head when he says, “He’s breathing. He can walk. That’s all the equipment he needs. Stop fussing, boy.”
“I’m not fussing. His ribs are broken and bruised.”
“It’s water and a stick. He’ll live.” He finally glances back, a slow grin pulling at his mouth. “Tell him to stop nagging, Antosha.”
“He’s right, though,” Uncle says. “It’s cold.”
“Thank you!” I say to Uncle Anton, who’s sitting beside me.
“Why do I even try?” Uncle Maks shakes his head. “The boy definitely takes after you with the nagging.”
“It’s after Kirill.”
“Nah, he’s not a nagger-in-chief like you…” Uncle Maks trails off when Uncle Anton gives him a look. “Still love that about you. Don’t be jealous of your own brother-in-law.”
My focus shifts back to Yulian, who winks at me and then goes back to focusing on his task. His hair’s catching the sunlight in sharp streaks, and the way he’s holding that rod makes it clear he has no idea what he’s doing.
But he follows Uncle Maks’s instructions with complete concentration. Every time he moves, I’m on the edge of my seat, contemplating how to get him to safety.
Yes, sure, I’ve been overly careful with him over the past ten days, but that’s because he needs to heal properly. The idiot even tried to have sex on the third day, then grumbled when I told him it’d be impossible. So now I don’t even kiss him that long in order to avoid awakening his monstrous libido.
That doesn’t seem to be working, though, because justsleeping in the same bed is enough to get him excited. Hell, sometimes I catch him getting hard just watching me do the most mundane shit.
It’s honestly a struggle because I’m barely keeping myself in check in the first place. Helping him shower, seeing him in his gorgeous naked glory without touching him the way I want to is sweet torture.
He felt my hardening cock against his ass the other day and said I was being cruel by not allowing sex.
But really, I’m apprehensive about hurting him in any way. Yesterday, the doctor came for a checkup and said he’s healing well, but he still needs rest.
As he was leaving, Yulian said, “I have a very important question, and you better think carefully before you reply.”
The doctor, a man in his sixties with a shock of white hair and a groomed beard, wore a serious expression. “I’ll reply to the best of my knowledge.”
“When can I have sex? And remember, thinkcarefully.”
“Yulian,” I hissed under my breath.
The doctor didn’t seem fazed, probably used to these types of questions from Uncle Maks. “A week or two.”
“I said to think carefully, Doc.” Yulian stood up and even flexed. “Look, I’m feeling really good. You said I’m recovering well and that I’m young and killing it. Come on, give me a better number.”
The doctor remained silent.
Yulian pointed a thumb at me as he whispered, “We’ll both die of blue balls if you don’t give that guy the green light.”
