The soft, amber glow of the chandelier bathed the suite in golden warmth as dusk settled over the Swiss skyline. Snowflakes fluttered against the wide windows like silent witnesses to the tangled story unfolding within the walls. Romy stood by the window, pretending to be absorbed in the scenery, but his heart was tethered to the quiet rustling sounds from the bathroom behind him. He could hear the water trickling, the faint clink of glass as Monty adjusted something on the counter, and then, silence.
His pulse thudded.
Moments later, the bathroom door opened. A waft of steam drifted out like a whisper of temptation. Romy turned slowly, and there he was, Monty. Standing just steps away. Wet hair curled softly over his forehead, his skin gleaming from the shower, and a plain white towel wrapped low around his waist, teasing the lines of his hips. Water droplets clung to his collarbone and rolled down his chest, pausing at the hollow of his throat before trailing further, like nature itself worshipped him.
Romy couldn't breathe.
He wasn't supposed to feel this. Not again. Not like before. But ever since that day, that honeymoon night when everything changed, Monty had imprinted on his soul like a firebrand. The way Monty's lips trembled under the wedding veil, the way his fingers had curled around Romy's hand when no one was looking… And now, seeing him again, vulnerable and stripped of all pretense, it brought the memories crashing like a tide he couldn't resist.
Monty walked over to the bed, oblivious or perhaps pretending to be. He was drying his hair with a second towel, casually, unaware of the storm building behind Romy's eyes. Romy clenched his fists at his sides, trying not to look. Trying.
Monty suddenly met his gaze. "You okay?" he asked, his voice soft, a bit hoarse from the heat of the shower.
Romy forced a smile. "Yes," he lied, stepping forward. "Just… thinking."
Monty gave a nod, but there was curiosity in his expression. "You've been quiet since we landed."
Romy hesitated. Then, he moved. Slow, deliberate. He crossed the room, stopping just inches from Monty. Close enough to see the water bead on Monty's lashes. Close enough to feel the heat of his skin.
"I was thinking…" Romy's voice dropped, "about the night I married your sister."
Monty stiffened slightly. Romy noticed. A spark ignited.
"You weren't there," Romy continued, stepping even closer. "At least, not where everyone could see."
Monty opened his mouth, but nothing came.
"I've always wondered…" Romy's fingers ghosted upward, stopping just shy of touching Monty's neck, "how it felt, for you."
Monty's breath caught.
Romy slowly raised his hand, and finally, finally, his fingertips grazed Monty's throat, featherlight. He felt the jump of Monty's pulse beneath his fingers. Their eyes locked, a breathless standoff of unspoken truths.
Romy whispered, "Your heart races… that time I touch you."
Monty swallowed hard. "That's not—" he faltered. "It's not what you think."
"Then tell me what it is," Romy challenged softly. He leaned in, his lips just near Monty's ear. "Because I remember… your breath on my neck, that night. I remember how you held me, not like a bride, but like a secret you never wanted to lose."
A tremor passed through Monty.
Romy leaned back slightly, eyes still on him. "Why did you marry me that night, Monty? Why did you wear the veil instead of your sister?"
Monty shook his head, eyes glistening. "I don't know," he said hoarsely. "Maybe because… I wanted to know what it felt like to belong to someone."
"And now?" Romy asked.
Monty looked at him then. Raw. Unfiltered. "Now I'm terrified I'll never stop wanting it."
Romy didn't wait.
He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Monty's bare shoulders, and pulled him in, so close their foreheads touched. Monty's hands, hesitant at first, found Romy's waist. It was gentle. Fragile. Like holding something that could shatter.
Romy whispered, "I've never stopped wanting you either."
He lowered his lips slowly, reverently, to Monty's neck. He kissed just below the ear, where he knew Monty was sensitive. The skin was warm and tasted faintly of the alpine water. Monty shivered under his mouth, fingers gripping Romy tighter.
Romy trailed kisses down the curve of his neck, letting his lips linger, savoring each pulse of breath that escaped Monty's parted lips. His tongue followed, softly, tracing the hollow at the base of Monty's throat. "You feel it too, don't you?" he murmured between kisses. "This… is real."
Monty's hands trembled as they moved up Romy's back. He whispered Romy's name like a confession, like a prayer. His own lips found Romy's temple, pressing against it with a hunger that had been caged too long.
They stood there, two hearts echoing one rhythm, the room holding its breath.