Taste of Iron

Forty Three: Emil Is Sexy And He Knows It

Forty Three: Emil Is Sexy And He Knows It

"We don't need to repaint, Emil."

"Are you sure?" The crime boss questioned. "How about furniture? Is my bed okay for you? I know some people prefer their mattress to be hard. I've heard that's good for your back or something. We can go to a store and check out new ones. You mentioned you had some pain in your lower back the other day and I don't want that to get any worse. Maybe we could get one of those massage chairs too! The ones that look like recliners. Ava has one and she keeps raving about them. Oh my god, we will have to totally remodel the kitchen to your taste too! You need to make a list of all the appliances you want and—"

"Emil!" Atlas cut him off. "Pause. And breathe, please."

Emil inhaled deeply, before exhaling and then repeating the same a couple of times. He parted his lips to continue his rant, but Atlas raised his finger, keeping it on his mouth as if telling him to keep quiet.

"Your apartment is perfect the way that it is right now. Especially your mattress and your kitchen. There's no need for any remodeling whatsoever," Atlas spoke, his calm tone was the complete opposite of Emil's endless ramblings.

"But... but I want this place to feel like your home too," Emil whispered, a soft frown decorating his lips.

"It'll be our home. Soon," Atlas smiled, keeping his palm on Emil's cheek and caressing it gently with his thumb as he leaned forward to give him a quick peck.

"I'd like that," Emil was now grinning as he wrapped his arms around Atlas's waist. The sudden switches in his demeanor was someday going to give the chef whiplash. "We're not moving too fast, are we?"

"Oh, we definitely are," Atlas chuckled. "But, I mean, our first meeting was when you broke into my apartment and then you bought the restaurant I worked in to be close to me. So I suppose nothing in our relationship has been traditional... or even normal for that sake."

"Okay, you're kinda making me sound like a creepy love-sick stalker when you put it like that," the gangster muttered, furrowing his brows.

"Eh, at least you're cute," Atlas shrugged with an amused smirk as Emil narrowed his eyes. Atlas responded by keeping a hand at Emil's nape and connecting their lips once again.

Frankly, Atlas had no fucking idea what he was doing. He did say the moving in together thing in the spur of the moment and he wasn't exactly expecting Emil to be so eager about it.

Actually. It was Emil, for fuck's sake. Of course, he was going to be all in.

Was it stupid to move in with somebody just after a few months of dating them? Probably. Was it stupid to even date someone with a criminal record and a bunch of enemies? Sure. So was Atlas stupid to fall in love with said gangster? Most definitely.

But did he regret that? Despite his face and body being blue and beaten? Not one bit.

Atlas wasn't one to make rash decisions, but at the same time he could see himself spending his life with Emil. And Emil evidently felt the same way too. So... what were they waiting for?

"Ouch," Atlas mumbled as Emil gripped Atlas's side a little too tightly. The crime boss pulled back, raising the chef's t-shirt to reveal a rather nasty bruise.

"Atlas..."

"It'll heal," the blue-haired man reassured. "Just give it a few days, okay? You promised you would let it go."

"Oh baby," Emil sighed, resting his forehead against Atlas's. "Just because I said I would let it go doesn't mean I don't hate seeing you like this. It's killing me inside, Atty."