Put the dildo down!

Chapter 5

Vincenzo 'Mayday, The Fucker is My Mate' Rossi

I took Tadhg to a local steakhouse restaurant run by an old friend of my parents. The owner prepared the best table on the terrace for us, with candles and fresh flowers. I don't know, maybe he likes more exquisite cuisine, but better safe than sorry, at least this place is decent and cozy, their staff is serious about keeping everything clean and they don't save money on buying cheaper ingredients, like some other places do. It's not wagyu, but it's really good. I have my ribeye rare, he orders medium, and handles the knife and fork as is he was taking royal etiquette classes from childhood.

The only problem is wine. I'm more of a beer guy, so I have zero idea what wine suits to ribeye, but I also don't want to make impression of a country bumpkin, so I decide to ask Tadhg which wine he prefers.

"To be honest I differentiate only three kinds of wine: too sour, too sweet and drinkable. I'd rather have ale tonight." He says casually, and I smile in relief that our tastes are matching.

"Let's get two red ales then. It's just that you look so refined, as if you've been eating lobsters in Michelin-starred restaurants since birth." As I say that, Tadhg suddenly snorts in a not at all aristocratic manner.

"I literally was raised by a fisherman in a small village, and I have never eaten in Michelin-starred place. Never tried lobsters either. You surely got a weird first impression of me, did I accidentally park a white horse somewhere so that you mistook me for Prince Charming?" He doesn't seem so menacingly perfect anymore, and my heart warms.

"Wait, how come your father wasn't a sorcerer? Was you mother a sorcerer then?" I'm genuinely interested in his family. Werewolves are not solitary creatures; we can only live sanely in the company of our own kind and are born only if at least one of the parents is a werewolf. So this whole sorcery ordeal is a complete mystery to me.

"None of my parents is aware sorcerers or werewolves exist. And actually I cut them both off a long time ago, for a completely non-magical reason." I'm full of questions, but I wait patiently, not wanting to pressure him. 

"So I guess you wonder where sorcerers come from if magic isn't passed genetically, and I don't mind giving some bees and storks talk. Simply put, sorcery is a random abomination. Some people are just born prone to certain turbulences in their energy flows. If the turbulence is minor, they can live happily to the very end, not even knowing they're different. If the turbulence is substantial, they're bound to be either found by an adult sorcerer or by ... some other beings. The latter never ends well. A youngling without skills or knowledge is an easy and delicious prey." He falls silent, thinking about something of his own.

"And what happens if a grown-up sorcerer is the first to meet such turbulented kid?" I blurt impatiently.

"Then the kid gets a mentor. Even if this particular adult doesn't want to be one, it's actually our fundamental rule not to abandon gifted younglings. So the adult is obligated to find a suitable mentor for a kid, or to become one themselves."

At that moment the candles on the table get blown out by the wind, and I only see his relaxed silhouette against the dark sky. The reflections of light from the main hall of the restaurant slightly highlight the outlines of his face, his long hair flutters in the wind and I am overwhelmed with the sensation of unreality.

"Tadhg," I say sincerely, admiring him so much that I can no longer hold it to myself, I must let him know how fabulously he looks. "You look so beautiful when your face isn't showing."

He looks at me dumbfounded for a few seconds, and then bursts out laughing, his laughter sounds like a flock of seagulls. 

"I surely wasn't prepared to deal with this amount of emotional damage," he squeezes out through fits of laughter. I realize my mistake and desperately look for a way to amend the situation. 

"No, I mean you're really beautiful, like you came out of a Picasso painting." I've never seen Picasso paintings, but the fella is famous, so I guess they must be marvelous.

As soon as I say this, the 'seagulls' laughter evolves into 'asthmatic hyena', he folds down and covers his face with his hands.

"So, you woke up and chose violence," finally says Tadhg, his face red and teary from laughter.

I sincerely wanted to give a compliment, but now I'm ready to sink into the ground with shame, so I just look downwards hating myself. The mood is ruined. Then I feel his warm hand on mine, his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand.

"Hey, it's fine, I don't remember when I laughed this hard last time. I never had a date this funny before. I get what you meant. You now, I think you are really attractive too. Not in a Picasso style, but rather you remind me of Roman gladiators." He says in his usual reserved manner, however this time it doesn't sound so cold.

After the dinner I walk him to the hotel, still upset over embarrassing myself, but Tadhg doesn't let me sink into self-deprecation and when we pass a dark alley, pulls me there by the sleeve. I follow him, still not fully understanding what's happening when I hear his hot whisper. "Enzo, a good date is incomplete without a kiss, isn't it?" 

Before I react, his soft lips touch mine tenderly, his hand stroking my back way up to my nape. At this moment the world stops existing for me, the only thing I feel are his lips and his warm body against mine. I carefully put my hands on his waist, not daring to act more frivolously. His lips become more insistent, I open my mouth and his tongue finds its way in, exploring me with more and more passion. 

I close my eyes, enjoying him taking the lead, inhaling his intoxicating scent. His hand on my nape grabs my hair tightly, not letting me pull away, his tongue is establishing his dominance, his body presses into mine.

I moan when my boner grinds against his hip bone. I can't hold back anymore and pull him to me, literally dry-riding his hip. The thought that it's a public place and we might get caught only adds spice to my arousal. His other hand goes under my shirt, moving up until he finds my nipple and pinches it, making me see the stars. 

I'm so aroused that when he unbuckles my slacks and firmly grips my length, it takes only a couple of strokes for me to finish in his hand. He kisses me tenderly and pulls away to wipe his hands with a tissue. I don't know what to say, but don't want to let him go either, so I cuddle into him and nuzzle his neck.

"However much I want to go on, I can't avoid a question, Enzo," he says quietly. "What if you meet your fated partner someday, like all werewolves do? Is it all right for us to play around like this?"

"Then imagine if you were me," I whisper frantically. "Imagine dreaming about your partner for 18 years, then looking for him in despair for 12 more years. Then you meet him and he wouldn't recognize you, but instead says that he is leaving your town in two days. What would you do, Tadhg, would you just give up? Would you hold back, let him disappear from your life again?"

He pauses and looks at me in surprise. I see that he understood. I wait if he accepts me, fearing that he won't.

"I wouldn't, Enzo," he finally says. "I wouldn't give up. And I wouldn't hold back either."