When I open my eyes, the first thing I see is the healing wound on his chest. The ‘S’ I carved there is scabbed over, but all the redness around the edges has dissipated. The second thing I notice is that he’s on his phone, casually scrolling through a playlist. I watch like that for a while, not giving away that I’m awake, and it feels like a little thrill, stealthily observing him. He’s unnaturally still, his chest rising and falling evenly, but his thumb is erratic, swiping through songs at light speed. One of the best things about Dimitri is how unpretentious he is about the music he likes. He’ll add Bach to the same playlist that boasts obscure internet trap hop, Motown, Scandinavian death metal, and a remix of an eighties cereal jingle. There’s no rhyme or reason to his choices except for one that’s entirely internal.
Idly, I wonder if this is what it feels like for Tristian, getting a glimpse at someone’s behavior when their defenses are down.
Speak of my devil. His name pops up on the screen with an incoming voice call.
Dimitri swiftly declines it and then pulls up their text window. I watch as he sends off a series of emojis:
Sleeping face, book, middle finger.
A moment later, Tristian sends his own:
Knife, syringe, gun.
Dimitri responds:
Yawn, eggplant, ‘ok hand’。
Tristian responds with a single emoji—pinching hand—and it makes Dimitri’s chest hitch with a silent laugh.
“If I’m reading this right,” he barely startles at the realization I’m awake, “you fell asleep with a book, so Tristian should leave you alone. Then he threatens you with assorted violence. And now you’re going to jerk off until you go back to sleep again.”
His voice is deep and still rough with sleep, rumbling beneath my ear. “You’ve decoded our secret language.” Dimitri’s hand moves over my ribs, making me squirm. It’s even warmer and more comfortable here than I remember it being when I first tumbled in beside him. My ankle is tangled up between his, and he gives it a slow rub with the heel of his foot. “The knife is Killer,” he quietly adds, turning to press his nose into my hair. “You’re the book.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip, looking at the screen. “What’s Tristian?”
Dimitri brings up the emoji library and clicks on an elaborate cupcake. “Drives him crazy,” he explains.
I bury a smile, and the yawn that accompanies into it, into his neck. “I can only imagine.”
He sets the phone aside and rolls into me, pressing a series of lazy kisses to my jaw. “I think Killer’s getting impatient. He says he doesn’t have all day, but between you and me, I think he just wants to do presents.”
I hum, turning my head to give his wandering lips access to my neck. “There are presents?”
“Of course there are presents.” His hand finds the crease of Tristian’s dress shirt and dips beneath it, invading the spot of skin right below my breast. “Tristian and I always get him the same thing. Credit with his favorite ink man. He and Tristian always get me credit at the overpriced instrument shithole in North Side. And I always get Tristian drugs.”
That brings me up short. “Tristian doesn’t do drugs. Not, like, real drugs.”
Dimitri lifts his head to look at me, eyes sweeping down as he pulls my shirt back. “Sure, he does.” His fingertip circles my nipple, watching it stiffen to a point. “Once a year, Christmas day, he’ll let me get him fucked up without asking where I got it and what it’s cut with.” Gently—almost tenderly—he cups my breast in his hand. “It’s the one day he actually lets go. He even eats junk.”
I snort, skating my fingertips over his wrist. “No way.”
Dimitri gives me a lopsided smirk. “Just wait, you’ll see. Tomorrow he’ll act like a little bitch about it. Probably do some kind of detox cleanse or whatever the fuck. But today, I get to pump that fucker with absolute garbage. It’s amazing, you’ll love it.”
I wish I’d known that. “I couldn’t find anything to get the three of you,” I confess.
But he just shrugs. “We figured.” So casually that I’m not even expecting it, he bends down to take my nipple between his lips. Just like that, I’m a mess of white-hot want. The cool metal of his lip rings against my skin does little to soothe it. “Don’t worry, we didn’t get you anything ridiculous. Sometimes they don’t understand, you know?” His dark eyes rise to mine. “That money makes people like us twitchy.”