A night out
The brush scrapes across the tile floor. The cold water doesn't bother me. The rhythm, the structure, and the repetition are still comforting, but today it feels different. Tap. The riding crop hits my ass, not perfunctorily as before, but sharply; perhaps even deliberately.
Milan is on scrubbing duty with me today. Well, he's supervising, of course.
Tap. The riding crop hits my butt again. Not hard, not punitive. Playful.
“You're doing well,” he says, his voice warm. He's standing right behind me, close enough that I can smell him: boy sweat and leather, a hint of aftershave. ”I couldn't have done it better myself.”
My back straightens without thinking. A strange kind of pride creeps into me.
His fingers press lightly against my lower back. Not as a correction, more like... encouragement. “Straighten your back a little, it looks better.”
I hesitate, but obey. Not because he's forcing me, but because his voice makes it seem the natural thing to do. As if he's not commanding me, but guiding me.
“That's good,” he murmurs. His fingers slide briefly along the edge of my shoulder blade, barely touching, sending a shiver down my spine.
I continue scrubbing, but the rhythm feels different now. It's no longer just my movements, but something happening between us. His voice, his closeness, the subtle contact; everything draws me in.
“I know this isn't the most exciting job,“ he says, standing next to me. His hands are loosely in his pockets, as if he's just here to watch. But I can feel him. Every detail. The slight tension in his leather pants, the subtle glint of his boots in the damp light.
“I don't mind,” I mumble, not quite sure why.
He smiles softly. “No? I didn't think so.” His voice is a warm caress. He studies me. “You like structure, don't you? A little stability?”
I don't dare look at him. My hands move mechanically across the floor.
Milan leans a little closer to me. ”That's nice, Jelte. Because I take good care of what's mine.”
His words linger in the humid air, soft, almost reassuring. But they leave a tremor in my body.
Rhythm... Structure... Repetition...
I walk with Rik through the hallway on our way to the dining room, now that this week's scrubbing is done.
“You were flirting with Dorian while scrubbing, weren't you? He's hot!“ I say to Rik.
“Yeah, I think Dorian was trying to hit on you earlier, but it looks like Mr. Milan has all your attention again.”
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh, “but with Milan, you never know how long that will last.”
“He's just stringing you along.”
I don't know what to say to that and shrug my shoulders.
“Well, if you count his bulging leather pants, waiting isn't so bad,” Rik jokes.
Rik's joke makes the blood rush to my cock. Before I know it, the image of Milan’s cock and balls, outlined in those tight leather pants flashes through my mind.
“By the way, have you heard? Fenris' Soannen are performing here in town next week.”
Typical Rik to jump from one topic to another.
“You mean that new rock band, with those hot, rugged guys?”
“Yes, are you going?”
------
“But Haukon, everyone is going to the Fenris' Soannen concert! Why can't you take me? It's really cool. Oh, come on, let's go next week!”
Haukon gives me an amused look from behind his desk. “Jelte, I already told you: no time. And, maybe more importantly, no desire. All that noise, that crowd? No thank you.”
“Okay, but Ivar is going, isn't he? Can't he take me?”
Haukon shakes his head. “Ivar is submissive. The rules say you have to go with a Dominant.”
“But Ivar is allowed to go?”
Haukon sighs and leans back. ”Ivar is under my authority, not the Temple's. He can go. You can't.” He grins weakly. “And honestly? I'm glad I don't have to go.”
My stomach tightens. This concert is everything. Damn it, I want this so badly.
“Don't pout, prince. I know how much you want to go to that concert, and I have a solution for you.”
My heart leaps with hope. ”What kind of solution?”
Haukon looks at his watch, “A solution that could arrive any minute now.”
The doorbell rings. I vaguely hear Ivar's voice greeting someone. Heavy footsteps approach the study where we are. A burly blond boy in shiny black leather enters the room. Milan.
“Milan, Sir,” I drop to my knees before I even realize it.
Milan looks at me with a warm smile and pulls me up, his hands firmly on my shoulders. “Don't be so formal, Jelte.” His grip lingers just a little longer than necessary. Then he pulls me toward him in a short, warm embrace. “I heard you'd like to go to Fenris' Soannen concert. I heard you were looking for a Dominant to accompany you... would you like to go with me?”
“No way, seriously? Really?!” The words spill out before I can stop them. ‘Shit, dude; uh, sorry, Milan, you want to go to the concert with me?!’ My voice almost breaks. ”That's awesome, that's huge, that's fucking unreal.”
Milan bursts out laughing and puts a finger to my lips. “Breathe, little prince.” His voice is warm but unyielding.
I gasp for air, my cheeks glowing. Fuck.
“So?” Milan looks at me expectantly, a grin that is just mocking enough. “Do you have a decent answer for that, or are you going to keep stammering like a schoolboy?”
My mouth opens and closes. I try to organize my thoughts. “Yes, duh! Of course I want that!”
Milan nods, satisfied. His fingers tap my jaw briefly, a playful gesture, but the underlying control is palpable. “Good.”
He turns to Haukon. “I'll accompany him next week.”
Haukon smiles at me contentedly. ‘Well, that's settled then. Are you happy, little prince?”
Before I can answer, Milan puts his arm around my waist and pulls me toward him. ’This is going to be great! We're going to have fun.” He kisses me on the temple and winks. “See you soon, little prince.” He turns and walks away, without paying any attention to me. I can't take my eyes off him as he leaves, his back just as devastating as his front.
“Wow! Haukon! Thank you, that was really nice of you to ask Milan to take me to the concert!”
Haukon puts on a fatherly face. “It's my job to please my boys... Ivar is going too, so he can keep an eye on you for me.”
“You give Ivar a lot of freedom, much more freedom than other Dominants give their boys...” The words escape before I can stop them. My stomach tightens as I wait for Haukon's reaction.
He nods slowly, his face unreadable. “Well observed.” He gestures to a chair. “Sit down.”
“You know,” Haukon continues, running his fingers along the armrest, “marriage isn't just about the Dominant. If I want to keep my marriage to Ivar healthy, I have to take his temper and his needs into account. Ivar needs a lot of freedom. I have to give him that space. Otherwise, my marriage will be over.”
He pauses for a moment, his gaze resting on me. “But as you've seen, Ivar also needs strict boundaries. And I enforce those with a firm hand.”
There is a moment of silence as he looks at me intently. “A firm hand is not for you. You need a Dominant with a gentle touch who offers you structure and stability. Not a Dominant you can argue with, like Ivar does with me. But a Dominant you can look up to. A Dominant you can serve.”
His words echo in my head. My throat feels dry. I want to protest. But deep down, I know he's right.
“Anyway, have fun with Milan next week.” Haukon nods warmly, but it's clear that this conversation has come to an end.
------
The days leading up to Fenris' Soannen concert seem to pass even more slowly than usual. The routine feels drawn out, boring. Never any fun. Never anything exciting, I think, bored out of my mind, as I head for the central hall. From the central hall, I hear commotion. A cacophony of whispering boys' voices. When I enter the hall, I see Kasper standing over one of his protégés.
The boy clears his throat, but his voice is barely audible. “I... I passed a note during class.”
Kasper sighs dramatically and slowly shakes his head. “A note?” he repeats, as if the boy has committed a deadly crime. “What a childish offense.” His blue eyes narrow, and his hand slides loosely over the buckle of his belt. “And what did it say, hm? Was it something important?”
The boy quickly shakes his head, but Kasper has no intention of letting it go. He turns slightly so that he can see not only the boy but also the bystanders who have gathered around him. His gaze rests on me for a fraction of a second longer. I feel my breath catch in my throat.
“You know the rules,” Kasper finally says, with that calm, clipped tone only seasoned Dominant boys have. ”And you know the consequences.”
The boy swallows hard and nods. His cheeks turn deep red, and I almost feel sorry for him... almost. Because I feel a restlessness. A desire that holds my attention in a way I don't dare to face yet.
Kasper claps his hands. “Good. Pants down.”
A shiver runs through the circle, and I feel my heartbeat quicken. This is really happening. Here, in the middle of the central hall. No private correction in a room, no gentle warning. This is meant to teach. Not just for the boy being punished, but for everyone watching.
The protégé hesitates. But not for long. He knows that delaying his fate will only make it worse. His fingers slide to his belt, and with trembling hands he unbuttons it. His pants fall to his ankles, revealing tight, white underwear that leaves little to the imagination.
“Everything,” Kasper says dryly.
The boy groans audibly but obeys. With a jolt, he pulls down his underwear, exposing his buttocks to everyone in the room.
My breathing quickens.
Kasper takes a seat on a bench and beckons the boy with a short nod. “Come here,” he says, patiently but unyieldingly.
It is a ritual. An act that seems carved in stone in the hierarchy of the home. The boy shuffles forward, his face bright red, and lays himself across Kasper's lap. His hands clench the wooden bench, his toes curl in his boots.
The tension crackles in the air. I feel my body react, a traitorous warmth pooling low in my gut. My gaze remains fixed on the round, vulnerable buttocks stretched out in front of Kasper, the subtle tension in the muscles, the powerful hand resting on the boy's lower back.
The first blow falls.
A sharp, dry sound fills the room. The boy groans, but he doesn't move. Another blow. Then another. A rhythmic, hollow sound, accompanied by soft panting.
I force myself to look away, but I can't. My eyes are drawn back to the scene, as if Kasper has me in his grip, even though the boy is lying across his lap.
I nervously stuff my hands in my pockets, feeling my cock swell. Somewhere deep inside, I know I'm betraying myself.
Because I want this.
Not to be over the knee myself. Not exactly like this, not here, not in public. But something in the raw, orchestrated correction, in Kasper's power, in the bare skin that turns red under his hand... It awakens a burning hunger in me.
Despite the fascinating spectacle unfolding before my eyes, I feel it. A glance. Not from Kasper and not from the boy being punished.
Slowly, with a tight feeling in my neck, I turn my head. Milan. He is leaning against a pillar, relaxed, his arms folded, the corners of his mouth barely visible. His eyes, warm, penetrating, understanding, are fixed on me. Not on Kasper. Not on the boy. On me.
He has seen everything. My breathing. My posture. The way I looked.
The corners of his mouth move further up in a subtle, confident grin. His tongue flicks over his lips, casual and confident. A small, almost insignificant movement. But in that moment, I know that he understands exactly what is going on inside me.
I want to say something, do something. It's too late. I feel my knees go weak, my fingers tremble. Milan knows now. Without saying a word, he turns and walks away.
------
“You have the rest of the afternoon off, but come by and see us,” Haukon had said. The big day of Fenris' Soannen concert has arrived. After lunch, I go to Haukon and Ivar.
Ivar looks me up and down with a contemptuous smile. ”You didn't think I'd let you go to the concert in that sad little outfit, did you?”
“What's wrong with it?”
Ivar walks around me. His head is slightly bowed, his hand under his chin, as he studies me intently. “Where's the flair? ... There's no Schwung.” He stands in front of me. “No, boy, we're going to do something about this.”
He pulls out a large package. ‘Here you go!’ he says with a triumphant smile.
When I open the package, I find leather pants and a leather jacket, along with brand new boots.
“Wow! Ivar!”
“...just try them on.”
The leather feels unexpectedly soft and supple against my skin. The pants fit like a second skin around my butt, and the jacket hangs reassuringly heavy on my shoulders. I feel so tough and horny now, like I can take on the whole world.
I walk to a mirror. The pants are tight around my legs, the jacket smells like leather and newness. I see myself in the mirror and barely recognize myself. Someone Milan might... I swallow. Fuck, I hope he likes it.
Ivar whistles approvingly through his teeth when Haukon enters the room and says, “My little prince really looks like a prince now. Do you think we can send him out to dinner with a nice Dominant boy, Ivar?”
“I think any Dominant boy would eat him up right now...”
“Dinner? With Milan?” I ask.
“Yes, before you go to the concert, Milan wants to take you to a restaurant,” Haukon says.
“But I don't have any money for that.”
“That's not your concern, prince. Just be beautiful and enjoy yourself.”
Haukon takes something out of his coat pocket and holds it up to my eyes. ”Here's a collar. Submissive boys aren't allowed on the street without a collar with their Dominant's name on it.” Haukon hands me the collar almost ceremoniously.
It's a tasteful, narrow collar made of soft leather. On the front is a silver plate with a name on it: ”Milan.”
Haukon looks almost tender when I read the name. “Milan is your Dominant for tonight.”
I look at the name. My fingers slide over the silver plate. My Dominant, for tonight. It would only be temporary, but still I feel my balls tighten at the mere thought.
“Come on, put it on,” says Ivar, ”I want to see how it goes with the rest of your outfit.”
Click
When I fasten the collar around my neck, the click is tiny, but it feels much heavier. But it feels good.
“Yeah, that completes the look.”
“Milan will be here in an hour. I could use some tea,“ says Haukon, looking at Ivar.
“Sure, Haukon. Good idea.” Ivar is already walking to the kitchen.
------
When Milan enters the living room, his presence fills the entire space. The energy changes; he commands attention without seeming to try. I stand up and walk toward him. Almost automatically, I sink to my knees. My lips find the impeccably polished boots in front of me. The leather carries his scent, a mix of aftershave and something purely Milan, something that makes me breathe deeper.
Above me, I hear a hearty laugh. “Get up, my little prince, don't be so serious, we're just going to have a nice evening.”
His hand briefly touches my chin, pushing me up playfully. But he lingers just a moment too long before his fingers slowly slide down to my collar. His fingertips glide over the silver plate. “You wear my name,” he whispers softly, his eyes sparkling.
Milan smiles as he takes a step back, his eyes still fixed on me. “Let me look at you... You look fantastic, boy! So beautiful,” he says, his gaze slowly sliding over me. “So sexy.”
At this moment, I don’t care that heat is rushing to my cock.
Milan sees it too, his gaze resting for a moment on the bulge in my pants. His eyes shine with approval as he nods almost imperceptibly. “This is going to be a great night,” he says.
He turns to Haukon, “With your permission, I'll take him now.”
“He's all yours tonight, take good care of him.”
“I will, Haukon.”
“And little prince,” says Haukon, “have fun tonight... and obey your Dominant.”
A horny charge rises from my balls and crackles through me like lightning at the sound of that word. I look at Milan. My Dominant. “Yes, Haukon, I will.”
------
We walk to the exit together. Milan has his arm draped casually around my shoulder. Behind us, I hear the buzz in the hall fade away. The glances of submissive boys sting my ass, jealous, curious, envious. A Dominant boy, leaning casually against the wall, whistles between his teeth.
“Hey Milan, where are you taking that hottie?”
Without lifting his arm from my shoulder, he turns halfway toward the boy.
“Away from your grabby fingers.” His tone remains light. But his eyes remain fixed on the other boy, like a tomcat defending his territory. His thumb moves casually along my collarbone, a gesture that feels as playful as it is possessive.
The boy grins broadly and throws his hands up in the air exaggeratedly. “Hey, I'm allowed to admire handsome guys, aren't I?” His words remain light-hearted, but his stiff shoulders and the fraction of a second in which he looks at Milan just a little too long undermine his nonchalance.
His gaze flashes to me, teasing, challenging, probing.
My heartbeat quickens, a tingle runs down my spine. My gaze wants to bite back, teasing, cheeky. But Milan's thumb against my collarbone is a silent reminder of who’s in charge. Not hard, not forceful, but inevitable. My muscles relax before I even realize I've already made my choice.
A taxi is waiting outside. Milan helps me into the back seat like a gentleman. He takes the passenger seat. For the first time in ages, I see the outside world again. It is a clear, winter day. A bright blue sky with sharp light.
This feels like freedom, or so it seems.
------
The taxi stops in front of a restaurant. The taxi driver opens the door for me. Milan is already waiting to help me out of the taxi. “I've made a reservation for the two of us,” he says briefly.
The restaurant has a warm, almost luxurious atmosphere. The soft lighting, the muffled buzz of voices, the shiny cutlery on crisp white linen—everything here feels... free. There is no hierarchy here. No one is watching my posture. My gaze can wander without being seen as inappropriate. No discipline, no control.
I slowly begin to relax. Across the table, Milan is completely at ease. He holds his glass of wine casually between his fingers, as if he experiences evenings like this every week. His posture is relaxed, almost careless. Almost less dominant than usual. Or perhaps dominant in a different way? His presence fills the room, even when he is sitting still.
Yet this moment feels different. For a moment, there is no home, no rituals, no obligations. Here, in this restaurant, we are just two young men sitting at a table. Almost equals.
Milan looks at me with that typical, slightly amused look of his. “I have to say, I expected you to be more nervous. But you seem quite at ease.”
I grin. “Maybe I'm just good at pretending.”
“Ah, a man of mystery. Tell me, what do you do when you're not in the kitchen or on your knees?”
My fork hovers halfway to my mouth. I blink.
Did he really just say that?
I stare at Milan. My fork taps against my plate. “Sometimes I just stand there. You know, when I feel like it. Just like sometimes I want to flip a table when someone tries to provoke me with a provocative joke.”
Milan smiles broadly. “Ooh, that sounds like a dramatic scene. Do you want to do that now or after the main course?”
I shake my head, unable to suppress a grin. “I think I'll save it for dessert. Even more dramatic.”
Milan raises his glass. “I’m looking forward to it.”
I sigh, more theatrically than I intended. “I really need to find better ways to express my frustrations.”
“Or you could just accept that you love being provoked,” Milan remarks dryly.
I have to laugh. “You're impossible.”
Milan takes a sip of his wine and leans back. ”I've been told that before.”
I decide to be honest: “You know, it's a sensitive issue for me.”
Milan pauses for a moment. He looks more serious. Then he nods. “I know. I could have been more subtle.”
He takes another sip of his wine and then says, “But really, Jelte, I want to know what's on your mind. What are your hobbies, besides cooking?”
“I draw,“ I reply briefly.
“Interesting,” says Milan, and to my annoyance, he sounds genuinely interested. “What style?”
“All kinds. Portraits, sometimes abstract. Whatever moves me.”
He nods slowly. ”That suits you. You observe, you capture things. You try to understand.”
His tone is studious, as if he is analyzing me as attentively as I am putting lines on paper. It irritates me.
“Not that I can do much with it,” I add curtly.
Milan tilts his head. ”Why not?”
His question comes too quickly. My frustration bubbles up, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Because I don't have any choices. You do.”
Milan remains calm. “Explain.”
“You have choices,” I say, barely suppressing the anger in my voice. ”You're studying business administration. You determine your future. You get to decide what you want. I don't.” As I look at him, his confident smile still playing on his lips, I notice how effortless everything seems to be for him. I hate that I find that attractive. Damn it, Jelte. This is Milan.
He looks at me, his eyes searching. But instead of arguing, he simply asks, “Is that what you think? That you have no say in the matter?”
I sniff. “I know that.”
His voice softens, but is no less penetrating. “If you could do what you wanted, Jelte... would you be here?”
My mouth opens... but no sound comes out. Because I know the answer. I know it. The truth pierces through my resistance, sharp and inevitable. I can pretend I'm trapped, that I had no choice. But deep down, the realization gnaws at me. I want to be here. Not necessarily in this role. Not necessarily as a submissive boy wearing a collar. But with him. Here, with Milan, in a world that seems detached from everything I'm fighting against.
Milan looks at me searchingly. His playful tone from earlier has disappeared. He puts down his glass. “I understand you, Jelte,” he says calmly. “I really do.”
I had expected a teasing remark, a challenging look perhaps. But not sincere acknowledgment.
“It feels like you have fewer options than I do, like there's a path mapped out for you that you can't deviate from. That you can't say, ‘No, I don't want this.’ Right?”
I nod, slowly.
Milan takes a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Jelte, I can't promise you that you'll ever feel completely free. But I can promise you this: as long as you're around me, I'll never let you think you're less than me. Choices... are more complicated than we sometimes want to admit.”
My throat feels dry. I swallow, but it doesn't help. “So you think I do have choices?”
Milan smiles, softly, without mockery, and I hate how that affects me. ”I think you have more power than you think. You feel trapped in a role you didn't choose for yourself. But even within that role, there is room to be yourself. Space to decide how you deal with it.”
I don't know what's worse: that he says this with such conviction, or that I want to believe him. How can someone be so intensely annoying and irresistible at the same time? Fuck. This isn't fair.
Milan calmly cuts a piece of steak and takes a bite. “You don't have to know now, Jelte.” His voice is low, almost intimate. “But if you ever want to talk, really talk...” The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, just enough to make me feel that he knows something I don't dare admit yet. “Then I'm here for you.”
I keep my face impassive. If I look at him now, I know he'll see it, that he'll know how I feel about him. I force myself to focus on my plate and pop a piece of broccoli into my mouth.
I can't taste it. Milan's words hit me hard. Maybe he's right. Maybe I have more choices than I allow myself to see. The thought feels both liberating and frightening. I let it sink in, deciding to save it for later. For now, it's enough that I'm sitting here, in this moment, with someone who makes me... feel human again.
I spear a piece of broccoli with my fork and dip it in the sauce.
“Does it taste good?“ Milan asks after a few bites.
“Yes,” I reply, “but not as good as what I would make.”
A small smile plays around his lips. ”Of course not. You're a better cook than anyone else here.”
The compliment feels sincere. I relax again.
“Have you ever eaten in Stockholm?” he asks, seemingly out of nowhere.
I shake my head, grateful for the new direction our conversation has taken.
The food tastes better than I expected. The wine flows smoothly. The buzz of the restaurant becomes part of the background again. And for the first time in a long time, an evening like this feels... normal.
We continue talking, cautiously at first, but soon with more ease. About food, about travel, about things that have nothing to do with the nursing home. Milan tells me about a time he got hopelessly lost in Stockholm, and I laugh at his rare admission of failure. It almost feels like we're just two guys out to dinner, no roles, no obligations, just this moment.
By the time dessert is served, the sharp edge of the earlier conversation has softened. Milan leans back, relaxed, and looks at me with a satisfied expression. “So... are you going to flip the table now, or wait until we've paid the bill?”
I grunt. ”I think I'll save it for a dramatic exit.”
“Excellent choice,” says Milan, with a mock nod. ”It would be a shame to waste a good crème brûlée.”
------
The concert hall is within walking distance of the restaurant where we ate. Although it is winter, the sky is blue and the sunlight is bright. Everything looks so much more colorful than in the Home. The voices and laughter of the people on the street sound looser, freer than the controlled whispers in the Home. I walk proudly beside Milan. Although some of the elderly look at us with frowns, there are many young people who smile at us.
When we arrive at the square in front of the concert hall, we already see a group of boys from the Home standing together. One of the boys looks back at us and breaks away from the group to come towards us. It's Ivar.
“Jelte! Milan! Good to see you here.” Ivar's voice bubbles with enthusiasm. ‘It's a shame that Haukon doesn't appreciate culture, but luckily you guys have good taste.’ He glances playfully at Milan. ”And it's great that you want to accompany Jelte.”
Milan bursts out laughing. “I'm a Fenris' Soannen fan myself, so I was going anyway.” His hand rests casually on my back for a moment. “But with Jelte along, it's even more fun.”
“I'm sure Jelte thinks it's cool to go out with you too. Anyway... I'll see you later.” And Ivar is gone again as he heads off to another group of boys.
“He's a special boy,” Milan says softly, watching Ivar go. His gaze lingers a little too long, as if a memory flickered through his mind. I can only nod in agreement. A teasing smile appears on Milan's face. ”I understand that Ivar has led you to believe that he's Dominant?”
“Uuuuh,“ I stammer, feeling myself blush.
“That's perfectly understandable,” Milan looks at me with a kind of fatherly tenderness, “Ivar is certainly not your average submissive boy.”
I manage to regain my composure. ”No, he's definitely not. I think he only kneels for Haukon and no other Dominant.”
“You see, Ivar is a switch.” Milan's eyes become dreamy, ‘He could have chosen to be Dominant, but he chose to submit to Haukon.’ He lets out a short sigh, ‘That's ultimate surrender,’ Milan whispers. ”Knowing that he chose it himself.” He looks away for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts. “Not everyone can do that,” he says finally.
I clear my throat and look away. The thought of Ivar's submission disturbs me in a way I can't quite place. “I know from experience that Ivar can also be dominant.”
“You'd do well to listen to Ivar.” Milan's eyes are soft now. ‘You're lucky to have Haukon and Ivar as mentors.”
I feel Milan's hand press lightly on my lower back. With a broad smile, he says, “Come on, the doors are opening. Let's go soak up some culture, little prince.”
I sniff, pretending to be annoyed. Milan has once again struck exactly the right tone to get me moving. He's right. I hadn't noticed, but everyone is starting to walk toward the entrance. The group of boys from the Home is also starting to move. Milan quickens his pace so we can join them.
Dorian and Rik are also in the group. Rik greets me enthusiastically. “Hey! You're here after all. You found a Dominant companion too.”
------
The lights go out. A wave of excitement ripples through the hall as the first thumping bass notes blast from the speakers. The fans' screams fill the room and I feel Milan move a little closer to me.
The band storms onto the stage. Bjarke is first, microphone in hand, a broad grin on his face. His leather pants are tight around his muscular legs as he throws his body into the music. My eyes are immediately glued to him. Balder, what a hottie! That sexy attitude. His confidence. His voice is rough and powerful.
Milan is also staring intently at the stage. Not at Bjarke. No. I know exactly where he's looking. My gaze flits to Sindre, the slender, almost ethereal boy with long, wavy blond hair and an angelic face. As he moves softly across the stage, a dreamy look in his eyes, I feel Milan relax beside me. A smile on his face.
“You like him, don't you?” I whisper in his ear, just audible above the music.
Milan doesn't respond immediately, but then his eyes slide sideways to me. A crooked grin. ”And you like Bjarke.”
I open my mouth to protest, but Milan raises his eyebrows. I feel my neck getting warm. Damn. Busted.
“Just admit it,” he chuckles, his voice teasing. ”You really do have a thing for the bossy kind, huh?”
I shake my head and focus back on the stage. Bjarke has already unbuttoned half his shirt. My mouth goes dry.
Milan leans closer. “See?”
I shoot him an annoyed look. He looks back at Sindre, his gaze now openly admiring. His finger taps rhythmically against my wrist to the beat of the music.
We don't say anything for a moment. But as Bjarke and Sindre sing a chorus together, raw and powerful alongside ethereal and dreamy, I realize that Milan and I are standing next to each other in exactly the same way. Two different tastes, one experience.
It feels good.
I try to keep Bjarke in view, but the row of tall guys in front of me keeps moving. I bite my lip, frustrated. Milan sees my discomfort and crouches down in front of me. “Climb on my shoulders,” he says briefly.
When I'm sitting on his shoulders, Milan straightens up effortlessly. Now I can see Bjarke clearly. I sing along at the top of my lungs, holding on to Milan's hair.
This feels even better.
