"No..."
Mike struggled to resist, but Vincent's scent and actions made him dizzy. He felt like prey pinned down by a lion, unable to escape, barely able to breathe.
"Shh... my beautiful one..."
Vincent whispered, licking Mike's earlobe. "You don't want to be heard, do you? You don't want to be discovered... stay quiet... beautiful..."
Mike trembled, like a cat with its fur standing on end.
On the other side of the floral wall, the moans grew louder, their high-pitched tones teasing the mind. Vincent tore at Edward's clothes, yanking his pants down to his thighs, then pressing himself between his legs, rubbing against him.
Mike covered his lips, glaring at the younger man. He tried to appear fierce, but his eyes, filled with tears and moonlight, held no threat; instead, they were even more alluring.
"Cara mia..."
The sticky, ambiguous French, the playboy's taunts, the exaggerated and grotesque opera. In the maze, separated by a floral wall, morality and interest were swept away in the wind.
Mike groaned, biting hard into Vincent's shoulder.
"My beauty, my love, relax... I'll take good care of you."
"I promise."
His voice was deep and melodious, like those nights they had spent together. His promises, however, were careless, thrown out casually.
Mike's anger surged. "How dare you say that?"
What right did he have to make promises, and what could he guarantee? The mask of affection had long been torn off, so why pretend to be tender now?
Mike had a thousand things to say but couldn't voice any of them—that would be too ridiculous. He had no real standing to question him. With Vincent, he always seemed to lack confidence, retreating step by step. No matter how hard he tried to break free, he couldn't resist. And this struggle was not just because of Vincent's assertiveness; it also stemmed from Mike's own heart.
He loved him.
No matter how it started, no matter what the beginning was, whether it was deceit or manipulation, love could take root and flourish in any soil.
Mike's mouth tasted bitter, feeling something stuck in his throat, hard to swallow.
He closed his eyes, his eyelashes trembling, as if they couldn't bear the weight of the moonlight. His muscles were tense, his body rigid. Vincent touched the pulse at his wrist, feeling each beat as if it might be the last.
He stopped advancing, looking at Mike, finding him beautiful and yet so fragile, as if he might break with a gentle touch.
Vincent felt a surge of indescribable emotions.
He reached out, lightly touching Mike's lips, dry but soft. The younger man leaned in, gently licking them.
Like an immature beast not yet knowing how to hunt; or a clumsy attempt at comfort.
Or perhaps, it was just an attempt to convey some warmth and moisture to the elder.
On the other side of the floral wall, voices rose and fell, followed by the sound of departing footsteps after a rustling. Vincent held Mike, kissing his hair and forehead over and over, his warm hand on Mike's back bringing inexplicable reassurance.
Mike gradually calmed down.
"Vincent..." he called out, leaning against the younger man's warm embrace with infinite longing.
Mon cher...
In that moment, Edward didn't mind being addressed like a woman, didn't mind anything that had happened before. He was held by the one he loved, protected and cherished. He wished this moment could last forever, wished he could call out to his lover like a noble lady.
Mon cher...
Love me, wanderer. Stop your steps for me. Look at me, gaze at me forever. Then love me, and kill me.
Mike propped himself up, looking at Vincent, tears slipping from his eyes, streaming down his face.
"Vincent," his eyes filled with pain and longing, "Do you..."
Do you love me?
Such a gaze made Vincent's heart tremble. He looked at Mike, feeling both urgent and fearful.
Even though he himself didn't understand what he was hoping for, or what he was afraid of.
"What agreement did you make with the Baroness?"
Mike ultimately couldn't ask. The dignity of an elder, the pride of a gentleman, the responsibility towards Mary and the others weighed on his heart, more important than personal feelings.
Vincent felt a mix of disappointment and relief.
"It's nothing major. Miss Hild is getting married, and I should do my part."
Mike pressed his chest, pinning him against the floral wall.
"You know that's not the truth."
"But are you sure you can handle the so-called truth?"
Vincent reverted to his usual tone, placing his hand on Mike's bare hip. Even without doing anything, it was enough to sap Mike's will to question.
He understood Mike slightly better than Mike had imagined.
Mike didn't want to engage with Vincent here; who knew when someone might walk in. He brushed Vincent's hand away, struggled to put on his pants, straightened his appearance, then stood tall and said loftily:
"If you don't wish to divulge, then I won't ask."
"But you must promise that the truth will not harm the Baroness or the young ladies."
"Otherwise, even if I must risk my life and duel with you, I will make you pay the price."
Vincent sat on the ground, his clothes disheveled but still retaining his poise, looking all the more alluring in his disarray.
He smiled and replied:
"I assure you, my beauty."
Cara mia...