Page 118 of Two for Roughing

“If you want me to.”

Kilian’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow, you’re taking this romance thing seriously, huh?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I just…didn’t know what to expect, I guess. You’re all older and experienced, so I figured you’d be over the cheesy stuff by now.”

A waitress, young and dressed immaculately, brought a tray with two tiny glass jars. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’ll just start you off with an amuse-bouche from the chef. It’s a smoked salmon mousse on wild rice risotto with dill cream.”

She set the jars in front of them. Damir reached for the outermost fork on his left, and Kilian followed suit. As he took his first tiny forkful, he closed his eyes, a guttural sound leaving his throat.

Damir paused his own progress to watch his boyfriend. “I haven’t done this part before,” he admitted. “Dates and romance.”

Kilian scraped out the little jar, licking every last scrap off his fork with relish. “No secret ex-boyfriend in Russia, then?”

Damir shook his head, turning to his own amuse-bouche. It tasted delicious, though it might have been better directly from Kilian’s lips. “I have a few, ah, friends there, but nothing more ever came of it. Not with me only there for the summer every year.”

When he chanced a look over, he found Kilian studying him intensely.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Kilian said far too quickly.

Damir raised his eyebrows.

“It’s sweet. You didn’t want to do an open relationship or long distance or whatever.” Kilian said. “You’re kind of a secret commitment guy, aren’t you?”

Damir busied himself clearing the last flecks of risotto from his jar to avoid answering.

The waitress arrived soon after with their first course, a creamy mushroom soup with chives and perfectly braised chicken liver. Kilian raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t push as they enjoyed the soup in silence. Damir breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know much about dating, but he knew it would come on a little strong to tell someone he hadn’t seriously considered commitment until they met.

When the waitress had cleared their plates, Kilian folded his hands together. “So tell me about all the kinky stuff you did with your Russian friends with bennies.”

Damir’s fingers fumbled against his silverware, knocking it together with a quiet clink.

“Come on,” Kilian cajoled. “You know so much more about all of it than me, and I want to learn.” He batted his eyelashes winningly.

With a sinking feeling that he would never be immune to Kilian’s wide-eyed pretend-innocence, Damir gave in. Over the course of the second starter (a fresh herb salad accompanied by beet carpaccio for Damir and mashed parsnip for Kilian, who rejected any offered tastes of beet) and the first main (lamb chops with confit tomatoes and baby potatoes), he described his sex life prior to meeting Kilian. Damir narrated his teenage fumblings and first crushes and finally finished with his more adult affairs, limited as they were. It seemed fair, now he knew he’d been all three for Kilian.

“So you really only got laid in the summer?” Kilian asked, wiping his mouth with his napkin. A pink smudge from his lip gloss marred the white cloth.

“It was safer. Didn’t want to get recognized in a club in Chicago, or photographed, or…”

With a self-deprecating shrug, Kilian said, “Fair. You hit the clubs in Russia instead?”

“Sometimes. Usually, I would have a friend over. My friend, Kirill, he’s…well, he likes a few of the same things you do…orgasm control, impact play. He taught me how to do it safely.” Kirill would be livid about how badly Damir had been doing on the safe, sane, and consensual front.

“Impact play?”

Damir cleared his throat and took a sip of water. “Anything involving, ah, hitting you.”

“When you spanked me.”

Glancing around furtively to make sure the waitress hadn’t overheard, Damir affirmed.

“Cool. What else?”

“Kilian! We’re not going to do a kink negotiation at a three-star restaurant!”