Page 103 of Twisted Needs

He rolls his eyes. “God, Petchka. You can come with me.”

“You sure?”

“Yea.”

“Together?”

His mouth pulls into a smirk. “Now who’s the clingy one?”

The smile stays on my face, but something twists unpleasantly in my chest because I still can’t believe I said that to him.

I know I still have something to prove. Now is not the time to get comfortable…I know that. But I can still enjoy it.

After we share a quick shower in his bathroom, I throw on a fresh pair of pajama pants. Anders steps into a fresh pair of briefs before sliding one of my T-shirts over his head. It doesn’t fully engulf him anymore, but it’s still big enough that the soft cotton drapes over his body and falls to the middle of his thighs. That probably shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. There was a time when one of my shirts would’ve swallowed him whole. Now he fills it out. Now he’s a grown man standing in front of me.

I insist on carrying him back into my room anyway, refusing to let go until we’re both settled into bed.

He drags his finger across the tattoo on my chest, lightly tracing my father’s script that’s been permanently inked right over my heart. “Volkie…nogi…kor-myat…” he sounds out slowly. Because of course he can. My boy is smart.

“What about the wolf?” he asks, saying “volkie,” to himself in an adorable accent.

“It’s like—the wolf’s legs feed the wolf. Means to get off your ass and do something.”

He laughs softly. “Of course you’ve got some wolf shit on your chest. Is that your dad’s writing?”

“How’d you know?”

“Cause I’m fucking smart and use context clues.”

I snort. “You’re too smart.”

The room settles around us as I flip us over so I can hold his warm body against mine. He immediately buries his face into the crook of my neck, tangling his legs with mine beneath the blankets, almost like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Maybe that’s what gets me. It’s just so easy with him.

The room is blanketed in darkness when I reach over and turn off the lamp. Anders slides his hand up my chest and rests his palm flat over my tattoo.

“I’ve been reading Frankenstein,” he tells me softly, dusting his lips across my neck.

“Never read it before.”

“It’s my third time reading it,” he says, lightly tapping his fingertips against my chest. “And it just has me thinking a lot about, like, the fact that a woman was able to capture what isolation and being lonely can do to a man.”

“That sounds pretty heavy,” I murmur, brushing through his damp hair while cradling the back of his head.

He exhales softly, and I can feel his breath against my skin.

“Well, it’s about this freaked out scientist who made a Monster because he was lonely and shit,” Anders continues. “And it wasn’t until the Monster came to life that he freaked the fuck out and was like, ‘what the hell did I just make,’ y’know…”

“Mhm.” I chuckle. “Right.”

“And not to sound super prolific or whatever,” he adds. “But I think it’s pretty relevant to masculinity and…male relationships.”

“You’re getting all that from a book about a monster?”

“I mean, I guess…” he mutters. “ Frankenstein was obsessed with creating this perfect specimen of a man—which he had, like, all this weird sexual aggression towards—and when the Monster came to life, it was this perfect antithesis to Frankenstein’s own dark, latent desires and…” Anders sighs. “Anyway.”

I smile to myself.