"Maybe it is not an act," Matteo whispered.
The words hung between us in the dim bathroom, soft and heavy, like they had been waiting weeks to be spoken. Silence stretched after them, thick and trembling. I froze, heart slamming against my ribs so hard I thought it might bruise them. Matteo stood inches away, shirtless, his chest still damp from the spilled wine, eyes wide and searching mine. He looked terrified, but there was something determined in the set of his jaw, something that kept him from stepping back.
He took a small step forward, closing the last bit of space. His voice came out quieter, almost fragile. "I mean it Adrian. I have been trying to pretend it was just the act, the favor, the joke. But it stopped feeling like that since the night at Antonio’s."
My breath caught. I could not move, could not speak. His hands lifted slowly, hesitant, then cupped my face with gentle fingers that trembled just a little. His palms were warm against my cheeks, thumbs resting lightly along my jawline.
Then he leaned in.
The first brush of his lips was tentative, barely there, like he was testing if this was allowed. Soft. Careful. His mouth touched mine once, twice, small presses that sent sparks racing down my spine. I felt the heat of his breath against my lips, the faint taste of wine and him. My hands moved on instinct, one flattening against his bare chest, fingers splaying over the steady thud of his heart, the other settling on his shoulder, feeling the muscle shift beneath warm skin.
He exhaled shakily against my mouth, then pressed closer.
The kiss deepened. Slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing every second. His lips parted mine gently, tongue brushing in with the same careful sweetness he always carried, even now. It was nothing like the staged kisses we had performed for audiences. This felt real. Raw. His mouth moved over mine with quiet hunger, savoring, tasting, like he had been starving for this longer than he would ever admit. Tongues met, slid together, soft and wet, drawing a low sound from deep in his throat that vibrated against my lips.
My hand on his chest felt the rapid beat beneath my palm, the heat of his skin, the faint tremor running through him. My other hand tightened on his shoulder, anchoring me as my knees weakened. His hand slid from my face to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, holding me steady while the other wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him. Shirtless Matteo against my clothed chest, the contrast sharp and electric. His body was solid, warm, pressing into mine with a need that matched my own.
My cock throbbed hard in my pants, straining against the fabric, aching with every slow roll of his hips. He felt it too. A small sound escaped him, half moan, half sigh, as he kissed me deeper, tongue stroking mine in lazy, deliberate circles. The kiss turned hungrier, wetter, lips sliding, breaths mingling in short, desperate gasps between each press. His thumbs stroked along my jaw, gentle even as the heat between us built.
I had kissed him before, for show, for the act. But this was different. This was Matteo kissing me because he wanted to. Because he could not stop himself. Because… finally, it was not pretend.
We broke apart slowly, lips parting with a soft, wet sound. His forehead rested against mine, breaths coming in short, uneven pants. A small, dazed smile curved his mouth, eyes half-lidded and bright in the dim light.
"I have been thinking about making out with you for days now," he murmured, voice rough and quiet.
The words landed soft but heavy. I blinked, heart stuttering. Not shocked exactly, but stunned in the way you are when something you have wanted forever suddenly becomes real. My mind raced, trying to catch up. Days. He had been thinking about this for days.
Matteo kept his hands on my waist, fingers curled gently into the fabric of my shirt, holding me close. His thumbs moved in slow circles against my sides as he looked into my eyes, expression open and vulnerable.
"Adrian," he said softly, "I have never felt this before. Not with anyone. I thought I was straight. I thought it was just close friendship or whatever. But that night at Antonio's, when you touched me, it didn’t feel weird at all. And every day since then I cannot stop thinking about you."
He swallowed, voice cracking just a little. "I was scared. Scared of what it meant. Scared of losing our friendship. We are best friends, Adrian. I did not want to ruin that. Even when we kissed at movie night, when Jessica was watching, something shifted inside me. I felt it then too, but I did not know if it was real or if I was just imagining things. I kept telling myself I was doing it to get Jessica off my back but it was not."
His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me a fraction closer. His bare chest brushed mine, warm and solid, heart pounding against my shirt.
I finally found my voice, quiet and raw. "Matteo, I thought you would never see me like that. I said yes to the fake thing because even pretending felt better than nothing. I have always liked you. More than liked you. For longer than I want to admit."
He let out a small, surprised laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know. The hottest Italian in Palermo. Why would you not?"
The joke was light, playful, classic Matteo, but it carried a tenderness that made my chest ache. I smiled, unable to help it, and placed one hand on his bare chest, giving a gentle push.
"Shut up, Romano."
He laughed again, soft and warm, but did not step back. His hands stayed on my waist, thumbs still stroking slow circles. My cock throbbed harder in my pants, aching with every word he spoke, every brush of his fingers, every second his eyes stayed locked on mine. The confession, the sight of him shirtless and flushed, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world, it was too much and not enough all at once.
All of a sudden the bathroom door latch clicked open from the outside. A female voice called through the wood, sweet and concerned.
"Matteo? Adrian? You guys in there?"
The door swung open before either of us could answer. Sofia, one of Jessica's closest friends, stepped inside, then froze when she saw Matteo shirtless and me standing close enough that our bodies nearly touched.
"Oh shit, I am sorry," she said, eyes wide, hand flying to her mouth. She backed up quickly, stepping outside. "I did not know you two were... the bathroom was locked from outside, and we were wondering where you went", her voice came from outside the bathroom.
Matteo and I moved at the same time, stepping apart, though his hand lingered on my waist for a second longer than necessary. We both walked outside. I cleared my throat, face burning. "No, no. We just got locked in. I was trying to clean his shirt. The wine spilled."
Matteo nodded fast, grabbing another t-shirt from the wardrobe in the corner and pulling it on quickly. "Yeah, the door jammed or something. We were stuck."
Sofia laughed, relieved, waving a hand. "Okay, okay. All of us were wondering where you disappeared to. And after the thing with Jessica got heated, we thought maybe you two needed a minute. Do not mind her, she gets like that sometimes. You know how she is, Matteo."
He gave a small, tight smile. "Yeah. I know. Very well."
"Come on," Sofia said, stepping back toward the hallway. "Pizza is here. Everyone is waiting."
She disappeared into the living room, leaving the door open behind her.
Matteo looked at me. I looked at him. For a second neither of us moved. Then we both laughed, quiet and breathless, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep.
He grabbed my hand for a brief second, squeezed once, then let go. "We’ll talk about this after the party.”
I nodded.
We stepped out of the bedroom together, shoulders brushing. Matteo's new shirt was dry but slightly wrinkled. His hand found my waist again, guiding me forward, the touch steady and warm.
Jessica was by the couch, arms crossed, glass of red wine still in her hand. Her smile was tight, eyes flicking between us. "Took you guys long enough."
Matteo tensed beside me, anger flashing fresh across his face. His jaw clenched, fingers curling against my back. Sofia appeared at Jessica's side before he could speak, leaning in to whisper something sharp and quick in her ear. Jessica's expression shifted, the smirk fading into something closer to regret.
She looked at Matteo, voice softer. "Matteo, I am sorry. It was a mistake. I did not mean to spill it on you."
Matteo did not answer right away. His hand tightened on my back, then relaxed. I stepped in, keeping my voice calm. "It is okay, Jessica. Really."
He exhaled, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Yeah," he said finally, voice flat but controlled. "It is fine, Jess."
She nodded once, small and quick, then turned away toward the living room. Sofia gave us a sympathetic look before following her.
The party had shifted while we were gone. Pizza boxes covered the coffee table, slices half-eaten and scattered across plates. Music played softer now, conversations overlapping in lazy clusters. People lounged on couches, laughing about old stories. Someone had started a game of never-have-I-ever in the corner, glasses clinking with each round.
Matteo and I rejoined the group near the balcony doors. Friends greeted us with teasing grins. "There they are! What were you two doing in there, cleaning up or making out?"
Matteo forced a laugh, sliding his arm around my shoulders again. "Both. Wine stains are serious business."
The table erupted in laughter. Someone asked about Jessica's love life, and the conversation turned light and gossipy. "She still talks about that guy from Greece," one friend said. "The one who ghosted her after two dates."
Another chimed in. "She is single now, right? Anyone she is seeing?"
Jessica sat across from us, wine glass cradled in both hands. She looked up at the question, eyes flicking to Matteo for half a second before dropping back to the table. "Not right now," she said with a small smile. "I do not know. I might start dating girls, considering all the hot men in Palermo are dating each other."
The table burst into laughter, a few people clapping. Even I smiled, caught off guard by the dry humor. Matteo did not find it funny.
The night wound down slowly after that. Pizza boxes emptied. Glasses collected. People drifted toward the door in small groups, hugging goodbye. Jessica moved through the room like a hostess should, thanking everyone, her smile polite but distant.
Matteo stayed close to me the whole time, hand on my back, shoulder brushing mine when we stood still. When the last guest left, the apartment suddenly felt too quiet. Music off, lights dimmed, the balcony doors still open to the cool night air.
He pulled me aside near the railing, away from the living room where Jessica was stacking glasses. His hand slid from my back to my waist, turning me gently to face him.
"Stay over, tonight," he said, voice low and steady. “I really want you here."
My heart raced, heat flooding through me at the quiet intensity in his eyes. Stay tonight. Not as the fake boyfriend. Not for the act. For him.
I swallowed, "Are you sure?"
“Yeah”, Matteo said.
“Okay”, I nodded.
His smile came slow and soft, the same one he had given me when we first kissed in the bathroom. It reached his eyes, crinkling the corners, making my chest ache in the best way.
He leaned in, pressed a quick, gentle kiss to my mouth, right there on the balcony. Then he pulled back, thumb brushing my lower lip.
"Wait for me," he whispered. "Chill here. I will help Jess out and be back."
He added, softer, "Though she does not deserve the help, but I live here too and I happen to like my apartment clean."
I nodded again, unable to speak. He squeezed my waist once more before stepping back into the apartment.
I leaned against the railing, staring out at the dark sea and the city lights scattered below. The night air was cool against my skin, but I felt warm everywhere Matteo had touched.
Staying over at his place. Spending the night. What would it mean now? No more pretending. No more fake. Just us. Real.
The thought sent a shiver through me, equal parts fear and want.
I waited, heart pounding, for him to come back. For whatever came next. For everything that had been building since the first time he called me babe.
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