Page 2 of Romeo vs Romeo

That was how I could ensure a life of peace for myself.

Roman

My shoulder blades ached dully from being slammed against the door, but the full, red lips that wrapped around my cock a minute later made me forget all about the pain. He was either blessed by Eros or very well practiced, taking me to my highs and lows with a very deliberate tempo. And that, in his view, was only just foreplay. What followed was an hour of what I could only imagine was the worst nightmare for my roommate. This guy wasn’t kidding when he’d whispered into my ear that hewas desperate for some dicking and happy to leave it at that. He promised that I would remember it someday on my deathbed. I was beginning to believe him.

We rolled and wrestled and grappled until our bodies were covered in sweat, and the headboard of my bed threatened to bring down the outer wall of the building. When it was over, we heaved for air while staring at the ceiling, sweat running through my eyes and blurring my vision.

“What’s your name?” he asked in a huff.

“Rome,” I said, just as breathless.

He chuckled, and when he looked at my raised eyebrow, he raised one of his. “Now I get to say I’ve been in Rome.”

“Oh?” I snorted. “And where have I been?”

He shrugged. “Colin.”

“Well, damn,” I said in mock disappointment. “Sounds like I’ve been in an Irish village.”

Colin poked my rib cage with his two fingers and hopped over me and onto the floor. As he straightened, his lean body glistened with sweat and smears of cum. He bent down to pick up his jockstrap, which had snapped down his legs at some point in the blurry timeline of my Sunday evening. “Mind if I shower real quick?” Colin asked.

I sucked my teeth.

“Great. Thanks. And…” He hesitated, picking up the rest of his clothes, pausing, looking at me. “Thanks for this. I needed it.”

“Yeah, sure, it was great,” I said. “You’re fun.”

“You, too,” Colin said with a grin and slipped out into the living room with only his clothes covering his soft dick and smooth balls.

A moment too late, I sent a silent prayer to the Lord Almighty that all my roommates should be in their rooms. No screams came back from the living room, so I kissed the tips of my index and middle fingers and sent the kiss up to Him.

Colin showered and left without a goodbye, which was just as well because I was in a bit of a hurry. Across the street, in the bar that was the heart of the neighborhood, preparations for a welcome party were well underway. The matron of the somewhat run-down establishment that Neon Nights was hadn’t seen me leave with a cute, hung twink who had been in need of dicking. She would worry if I didn’t show up soon. Lady Vivien Woodcock, born Roger Sable and remaining Roger Sable on paper and out of drag, was a diva with a heart of gold and a tongue like a whip.

I strolled casually to the bathroom after Colin had left, not minding if my roommates saw my ding-a-ling too much since they had to be used to it by now. I wouldn’t be the first or the last guy in our small apartment to cross the space with his bare ass out for slapping. After showering, I dressed quickly and wondered why the place was so quiet. Sure, Tristan, my best buddy in the world, wasn’t here—I checked the time and determined that Tristan was very likely at JFK having his passport stamped—but the rest of the guys were quieter than usual.

Madison, who occupied the last remaining single room on the far end of the apartment, was a broody one and unlikely to make much noise, but I hadn’t heard a fight from Lane and Oakley’s shared war zone—ahem,room, as they called it—in well over three hours.They’re probably at Neon Nights, I decided. Tonight was the big night, and even the less social of the residents of the Peeling Palace were attending the party.

Tonight, over a week since we got the news of his success, Tristan was returning to the United States from Verdumont, a slice of land nestled between France and Germany ruled by the Valois Montclair family. And Tristan wasn’t returning alone. He was bringing Prince Cedric Montclair with him. The very sameone we had all known as Cedric the busboy a mere three weeks ago.

After a short while of dating, Tristan and Cedric had gone through a rough patch, him being a foreign royal engaged to an heiress and Tris being your everyday Joe. Still, with some meddling and matchmaking, Tristan flew to Verdumont to win over a freaking prince of a freaking kingdom. And the fucker succeeded.

As I dressed and thought about Tris and Cedric, a smile touched the corners of my lips. It was a rueful one, but I wasn’t jealous. I was happy for my friend, but his sudden twist of fate seemed so random that I struggled to imagine I would ever find something more than a slutty twink to warm my bed for a night. Don’t get me wrong, slutty twinks were my favorite demographic, but they weren’t exactly the type I’d bring home to try my mama’s casserole. Not that I was in a hurry to go back to our Sunday lunches anyway.

I checked myself out in the big mirror in the common area, decided I’d already gotten laid and wasn’t out to get any more, and headed out.

Across the street, the bar was lit with bright yellow lights as opposed to the dim atmosphere it normally had on party nights. People were slowly starting to gather, and not all were there for Tristan and the Prince.What are the odds?I wondered. But I didn’t have the brains for crunching numbers. Oakley could have told me the exact odds, probably by counting the number of gay princes in the world and dividing it by the number of atoms in the universe.

I didn’t even need a prince. I needed…

I sighed.

I didn’t know what I needed. There was this cold and slimy emptiness in me as I paused near the bar’s entrance. It felt like I had walked down into a countryside house’s basement thathad been out of use for a decade.It turns out I’ll never need an earth-cellar in my life, for I have an earth-cellar right here, ha-ha, I thought and mentally pressed my index finger against the middle of my chest.

Colin was cute and sexy in that cute and sexy way of twinks who cringed at the idea of exchanging names before exchanging fluids. I wasn’t that much different in my behaviors, sure, but at least I was self-aware. I knew this bohemian life was a bitch. I knew I couldn’t go on like this forever without turning bitter. My cynical nature was starting to cast very long shadows over my more refined qualities. I had more refined qualities, by the way, I just couldn’t remember where I’d put them.

Swaggering into the bar, I pulled on a big smile for my friends. Many familiar faces had arrived since I’d taken up Colin’s offer a couple of hours ago. Rafael Santos and Luke Whitaker, who had gotten married at this very bar a few months ago, waved at me from a corner table. Bradley, our diligent maestro behind the bar, was shaking a cocktail shaker to the beat of “Heaven Is a Place on Earth,” hips swinging back and forth and left and right. Madison brooded at the bar. Oakley was with a group of girls I’d never seen before, and Lane, Oakley’s roommate and the general of the right-side battlefield in their war of the contested room borders, was alone at a table, fiddling with his phone.

Lady Vivien Woodcock appeared out of nowhere, grabbing my forearm. “They’re almost here, Roman,” she said in a surprisingly deep voice. It meant that the man beneath the glamorous makeup was pretty nervous.

---