AUTHOR'S NOTES:
My sister kindly reminded me this week that it's been 300 years since I posted. I've been distracted with another project, but that's wrapping up so I can return my focus to these stories soon. I also plan to get out the next chapter of Aftershock in the next day or two.
Everyone reading Errors & Omissions will see a conversation in here between Greg and Jasper that takes/took place months ago in the E&O timeline, when Edward and Jasper were on their trip to Chicago. We wrote our chapters at about the same time and it was my intention to post them at the same time, but that so didn't happen.
Is the FF witch hunt over? We'll see. I will continue to post here and on AO3 for as long as I can. When/if I am forced to complete the relocation you can find me at - archiveofourown ~dot~ org. Then just do a search for Jtrue.
Much thanks to Liz for bringing me up to date. Much thanks to Pauline for making sure my Brits sound like Brits. I send huge smooches to you both.
This book runs more or less concurrently with Enticements & Obstructions by OhJasperMyJasper, and picks up after chapter 13. Events depicted herein are tied into the lives of the central characters from my other book Culture Shock, that take place after chapter 24. If you have not read those, some of what you read here might leave you a bit lost.
As ever, giant hugs to my girls Maureen and Rebecca.
Anyone who has not read the incredible Equal & Opposite, or is not now reading the brilliance that is Errors & Omissions, or Enticements & Obstructions, all by OhJasperMyJasper, should go do so right now. Here is how you find them since the FF witch hunt removed Liz from this site - ohjaspermyjasper ~dot~ blogspot ~dot~ com.
WARNING:
This story is intended for an adult audience! There is crude speech, hate speech and adult sexual subject matter of a homosexual nature. If you are under 18 stop reading now!
AU/AH/OC/Non Magical
All characters from Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling. I just take them out and play with them.
There are actual Arsenal football club players as characters in this book. Real People. Much as I would like to, I do not know them. I do not know anything about them. Their personalities and sexual orientations, as depicted herein, are entirely fictional. I only know their names, what they do and where they come from. Their families, spouses, or children, if any, are entirely fictional and made up by me.
All characters from Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer. I just play with them too.
Chapter 10: Preobrazhenie
Viktor and Petar lifted their daughters so that they too could kiss one of the icons within the narthex of the Metropolitan Cathedral of the Assumption of Mary in the center of the old city of Varna. After they had all kissed one of the icons, as every parishioner did, they passed through the open doors into the nave. Greg was struck again with the incredible beauty of the place. The polished marble floor was flawless. The great high walls and ceiling were covered in light blue and gold frescoes that at once dazzled the eye and were somehow soothing. The family followed Petar's lead and they found seats together closer to the entrance than the altar. Greg was glad of it. He knew the service would be entirely too long for the two little ones to sit still all the way through it. Iskra sat beside her widow neighbor and in order on her other side sat Vladimira, Radka, Petar, Viktor, Helena, Greg and finally Kliment had the end on the aisle. It was another twenty minutes before anything happened, during which both little girls already expressed their boredom to their parents.
A grand Crucession signaled the start of the service. Two altar boys in simple gowns swung smoke billowing thuribles, followed by a third who carried a great, tall Eastern cross with a longer cross piece beneath a shorter one and a thrid beneath them that was on an angle. At the sides of this cross bearer were two more who carried beautiful and elaborately hand embroidered banners with long tails adorned in gold fringe and tassels, that depicted Christ and Mary. Behind them came two more who carried icons of the same. Finally came the black bearded clergy, with each priest in a black cassock beneath a colorful phelonion. Each had a tall, flat topped black kamilavka on his head. The last two were bishops with a klobuk on their heads, rather than a kamilavka, obvious by a long black veil that hung from the top of the hat in back that covered their shoulders. The two bishops also had an ornate gold engolpion that hung from round their necks on a thick gold chain. Last came the Metropolitan Archbishop himself resplendent in a sakkos and omophorion of white and gold orphrey. On his head was a magnificent bejeweled bulbous mitre with a gold cross on the very top. No bishop in Greg's Anglican experience, indeed the Archbishop of Canterbury himself had not such fine vestments. The white bearded man walked with a tall crosier in his right hand. This procession made it's way slowly and with great dignity to what was most foreign to Greg, the iconostasis. This screen of tall icons blocked the view of the people from the altar. Deacons Doors on the ends of the iconostasis were opened for the lesser ranking clergy to reach the altar. The grand Royal Doors in the center were opened for the bishops and His Eminence.
The Divine liturgy began at last. Greg and Helena, of course, could not understand a word of it. Greg liked listening to the cantor intone his almost melodic responses to His Eminence. He did not remember having to get up and sit back down quite so many times on previous visits. The first time the congregation took to their feet to sing a hymn, Kliment handed Greg a hymnal.
"What is this for?" Greg asked his kind brother-in-law.
"I know you no understand," Kliment flipped to the right page. "So you can follow."
"Kliment, you use the Cyrillic alphabet," Greg pointed out to the well intentioned younger man. "I can't read it to follow along."
"Oh," Kliment laughed at himself. Several hymns later the ever more fidgety five year olds threatened to get whiny. Vladimira rose and took Radka by the hand to lead her out of the church. Viktor and Greg shared an understanding nod. Greg took Helena by the hand and they followed after her aunt and cousin.
Outside, Greg in particular found he was overdressed for the warm summer day. They were grateful for what little shade the great cathedral offered them in the near noonday sun. Greg and Vladimira where not the only parents outside the enormous church with their kids, but they were the only ones speaking English.
"Is very nice you and Helena come to church with us," Vladimira spoke as she strolled beside the Brit. They trailed after their girls who skipped and jumped ahead with each other, such was their energy.
"It's a special day and I know how important it is to your mum. I think it's important to Viktor too, though he'd never admit it," Greg smiled.
"We have our tradition here and they very old," Vladimira nodded. "I mean is especially understanding for you come to church not so understanding of you. We not all so," she searched for the English word she wanted, "enlightened about gay people here." Vladimira smiled and rubbed Greg's arm.
"Every society advances at it's own pace, I suppose," Greg mused. "I don't mind, really. I don't come to church for everyone else. I come to church for Viktor, and for you."
"You good man, Grigor. I remember when Viktor get pick by Arsenal. He work hard for long time. He so excited. He very scared too," Vladimira revealed. "He afraid be so far from home by self. Afraid be all alone your country. He not know Angliysky very well."
"I do remember him telling me that," Greg smiled to himself at the memory.
"I remember day he meet you. He call me," Vladimira continued. "He so excited. Viktor and I always close. We much closer than Kliment. I love little brother, but Viktor and me closer in age. Viktor say he meet most wonderful man. He say you so handsome and smart and you agree have dinner with him."
"Vik thinks I'm handsome," Greg shook his head at the absurdity of such a compliment from such a magnificent specimen of male beauty as Viktor Krum.
"He think you gift of God, Grigor," Vladimira informed. "Viktor say to me many time, meet you and get Helena, best things in whole life."
"Viktor and Helena are the two best things that ever happened to me too," Greg admitted. "In that order. And I'm so glad he's close with his family. You're just delightful people, all of you."
"We you family too," Vladimira put her arm around Greg's waist.
"Indeed you are," Greg in turn put his arm around her shoulders. "And I'm also glad Lene can be a part of a big family like this."
"Our family not so big. You family small?" Vladimira asked.
"I'm an only child, actually. On my side I only have my parents and grandfather," Greg laughed to himself as the thoughts came. "My grandfather does the evening cocktails in the lounge of my parents' inn, in Scarborough. He particularly enjoys when gay couples stay and chats them up relentlessly. He will tell anyone who will listen to him about his grandson, the television producer, and his grandson's husband, the professional footballer, and of course, his darling little great granddaughter. He even pulls out pictures of us that he keeps at the bar."
"You and Viktor married?" Vladimira latched onto one particular word in Greg's story.
"We have Civil Partnership in the UK. We don't get to use the word marriage, but otherwise it's exactly the same. The Anglican Church won't have anything to do with us, of course, but it's the government that gives us our rights," Greg informed.
"I see. Is good for you," Vladimira nodded with certainty.
"I might mention," Greg chuckled to himself, "on the flight here we discussed our plans for when Lene makes us grandfathers."
"I not ready to think about be baba," Vladimira shook her head. "Petar and I think we ready to have another child. Already we try. No tell maika. We want to say when we know we pregnant."
"It's our secret," Greg smiled at the striking woman under his arm. Another man passed them at that moment coming from the other way, with a young boy by the hand. The man communicated with Greg in a way that transcended language. The smile and nod the other man gave Greg made it clear that he considered Greg to be a lucky man to be with such a beautiful woman. The gay man just smiled to himself.
"You think you and Viktor have more?" Vladimira asked. She had noticed, but did not care about the other man's appreciation of her. There were many times when she had to reject unwanted advances from men. Of course, that never happened when she was on the arm of her husband, who was fashion model hot himself. Petar was not with her now and if being in the company of her gay brother-in-law kept unwanted advances at bay, that was just fine with her.
"More children? I don't suppose we've really thought about it," Greg stated. "The circumstances of how we got Lene were so unique. We could always go the traditional route of adopting. Lene's biological mother, who is a dear friend and is a part of her life, has offered to carry a baby for one or even both of us if we wanted. I shall have to ask Vik when we get a moment. I could do with a few hours alone with him, though, mind you, not for talking, if I may be so bold."
Vladimira gave a mirthful laugh. "We all adult. I will help. I make happen. I no think happen today though."
"Well, my dear, the sooner the better, but I would very much appreciate any help you could provide on that score," Greg smiled down at her.
"We figure out. Now I think we get back inside. Radka, Helena, come," Vladimira called.
"Come along, girls," Greg lent his voice to rounding up the children. It would be time for communion soon and if Vladimira and Radka missed that, Iskra would be distressed.
Greg and Helena remained in the pew when the rest of the family went up to the priests for their bread and wine. Helena tucked herself under her British father's arm. Greg held his daughter to him snugly. He knew it made her sad that she could not go with her Bulgarian father for communion in this church. The act of partaking of communion meant nothing to her. It was that she, and her other father, were not allowed to be with him. Greg figured the reason for that was probably beyond a young child and had simply told her that here, just like in the Bulgarian Orthodox church they occasionally visited in London, only people born in Bulgaria were allowed. Helena had accepted that answer, but she did not like it.
On the walk home from the cathedral ties were loosened and shirts unbuttoned. Iskra made every one of them eat the grapes that had been sanctified by the blessing of the Metropolitan Archbishop himself. In another merger of the holy and profane, Bulgarians believed that this first fruit of autumn, grapes blessed and consumed on this day, would ensure health and fertility for the coming year. And further, now that they had tasted of God's sanctified fruit, they could all consume blackberries without fear, which were delicious, but of the Devil.
Kliment had his keys ready and admitted everyone into the house.
"Everyone is hungry, right?" Greg took off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of a chair at the kitchen table. "We'll have a proper English breakfast in just a tick," he rolled up his dress shirt sleeves.
"You no cook," Iskra tried to shoo Greg away. She was no more successful this time than the last time her eldest brought his family home.
"You, Maika, are to put your feet up. Viktor and I shall make breakfast. Off you go," Greg took charge.
"I make coffee," Iskra countered.
"Alright then, make us all some coffee," Greg agreed. Viktor, who was also now in rolled up sleeves, set about putting the needed pans on the stovetop and fetching ingredients from the fridge.
"You two cooking?" Kliment asked with a bemused smile from the kitchen doorway as he continued to pop grapes into his mouth. Greg didn't get it, until his mother-in-law spoke.
"No have men in kitchen," Iskra observed.
"Still no," Kliment gave a big teasing grin. Viktor set down his knife beside the mushrooms on his chopping board, and moved toward his little brother. Kliment shot out of the doorway in flight.
"Let him go, Vik. He's just being cute," Greg poured oil into a pan.
"You thank Grigor," Viktor called after his laughing brother. "He only reason I not wipe floor with you!" Viktor returned to his chopping task and paid no attention to his mother who wapped him on his arm.
"I cute," Kliment popped his head back in the kitchen.
"You be very cute when I take you outside. I no care church clothes," Viktor threatened.
"Nyama!" Iskra commanded. "Always fighting," she shook her head. "You, go!" Iskra shooed her youngest child out of the kitchen. Greg just chuckled to himself.
As they did at home when they made this meal, Viktor assisted while Greg did most of the cooking. Iskra hovered around them washing every little thing as it was used. This home, like their flat in London, had no formal dinning room. Just like in their home the family gathered around the big table in the spacious kitchen. This meal was more prep than cooking and soon they all sat down to fried eggs, pork sausages, thick bacon, sauteed mushrooms, baked beans, grilled tomatoes and toast with marmalade and fresh jam, that Iskra had made herself.
"I like Angliysky zakuska," Petar announced from the head of the table. "We make Preobrazhenie tradition."
"Da," Kliment agreed with a hearty nod while he chewed. "You always come," he pointed at his brother and brother-in-law and their child.
"I no promise, but we try," Viktor agreed.
"This might be a rather nice tradition to start," Greg shared. "Every year Lene and I will pick you up in Austria at the end of your camp, and then we'll come here for Perobazyshy," he gave the pronunciation of the Bulgarian word a try. Everyone at the table chuckled.
"Preobrazhenie," Viktor smiled and took his lover's hand.
"Isn't that what I said?" Greg played dumb.
"Da, that exactly what you say," Viktor patted his partner on the back.
After breakfast Iskra insisted on cleaning up what remained as every pot and pan had already been washed and put away. Everyone was ready to change into more comfortable clothes. The four men headed upstairs together. Petar carried the small bag his wife had packed for them. He followed Kliment toward his room.
"Petar, you no have to go with Kliment. You change with us," Viktor teased. He could not keep the grin from his face.
"Oh, ne," Petar shook his head with a smile. He knew Viktor was teasing. "I change with Kliment."
"Is good Petar. You change with them, I have explain Vladimira why you take hour," Kliment added as he took hold of his older brother-in-law's arm and pulled him into his room. Viktor snickered as he followed Greg into their room and closed the door.
"Would your sister like you teasing her husband?" Greg asked as he started to unbutton his dress shirt.
"I tease him for years," Viktor dismissed. He stepped up to Greg and took over the task of unbuttoning the Brit's shirt. Once done, Viktor spread the shirt open slowly as he pulled the tail out of Greg's pants. Greg gave a sigh as his lover leaned closer to kiss his neck and Viktor's hands moved over his chest. Viktor pushed the shirt off of Greg's shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Greg felt his lover's strong arms encircle him as Viktor took him in a tight hug.
"Thank you be so good with crazy family," Viktor spoke softly into Greg's ear.
"Hardly," Greg countered. "They're not crazy at all. They're great fun and I love them," he rubbed his partner's muscular back.
"Vladimira say you two have nice talk when take little ones outside, but she no say what you talk about," Viktor informed.
"We did at that," Greg agreed.
"What you talk about? Why she no say?" Viktor asked.
"We talked about what big dicks our husbands have," Greg could not resist.
Viktor moved back to look into his lover's face with alarm. "You not talk about my dick with Vladimira!"
"Turn about is fair play. I know you've talked about mine," Greg kept up.
"That different. Yours not related to her," Viktor pointed out. "You not talk about that," he realized that Greg was teasing him.
"No, we didn't. We just had a little chat," Greg smiled.
"Next time I pull out mobile and show her," Viktor threatened as he finally released Greg. He started to unbutton his own shirt.
"Excuse me, Sir, that's my job," Greg moved Viktor's hands away and took over the task of ridding the Gunner of his shirt. He opened Viktor's shirt, pulled it out of his pants and off the broad shoulders. Greg reached for Viktor's belt as he bent to run his tongue across his footballer's right nipple.
"Mmm. That nice, Slunchitze," Viktor ran his hand down the back of Greg's head. "Lots other place for tongue too."
"Sweet," Greg stood up, "if I put my tongue in all the places that I want to right now, we will be up her for an hour and no one will wonder why."
"We change quick then," Viktor unfastened his belt and pants, unzipped and pushed down his pants and underwear together. "I think shorts I want over here," he laid down across the end of the bed, with his pants and underwear about his ankles, and dug into his duffel bag. Greg took in the sight his lover very deliberately presented him. The Brit's dress pants tented obscenely as he quickly grew to full erection.
"Viktor Krum, you could tempt a bloody saint," Greg fell to his knees and ran his hands over the twin, hard globes of his partner's mouth watering ass. He spread Viktor's cheeks apart. "This is exactly where my tongue would like to start. Or rather finish," Greg leaned forward and ran his tongue through his lover's crack.
"Huh!" Viktor felt his lover's warm, wet, silken tongue wash over his hole and was acutely aware of how long it had been.
"Vik!" Greg was alarmed that he had made Viktor cry out so loudly. This was exactly why they needed to be home alone. Viktor twisted around, grabbed Greg about his torso and threw him onto the bed. He straddled his partner with his own pants and underwear still about his ankles.
"I need you fuck me so bad, I crazy!" Viktor ran his hands over Greg's chest and massaged his pecs.
"I'm crazy for it too, Vik. Just one taste of your perfect arse has me ready to blow my load!" Greg enthused. Viktor reached between his legs to grip his lover's thick hardness through his pants.
And then came the pound on the door. "Hey, what you do in there?" came Kliment's voice. Viktor hung his head in exasperation. He leaned down to rest his forearms and the top of his head on Greg's chest.
"I kill him," Viktor sighed.
"It's alright, Sweet," Greg ran his hands up his lover's strong arms. "We can't really do anything now, much as we might like to. It would take much too long and they're waiting for us."
"Da," Viktor conceded reluctantly. He jumped off of Greg and the bed, his half hard snake swinging heavily.
Greg leaned up on his elbows and shook his head. "I could spend an hour alone just licking that arse. I shall have the horn for it all day."
"Promise you brush it against me every chance," Viktor smiled.
"That I will," Greg rose from the bed as Viktor finally freed himself of his dress shoes, socks, pants and underwear. Soon they were in tee shirts, shorts and sandals like the others.
"You two so fast!" Kliment said as they came down the stairs. "I thought be long time."
"My whole body ache to pound you," Viktor told his little brother.
"Pound with Grigor," Kliment thought he was very funny.
"Not that kind pound. Pound with fist," Viktor held one up.
"Okay, boys," Vladimira came out of the kitchen still in her dark blue dress. "Where bag?"
"Kliment room," Petar slipped an arm around his wife.
"I get kids changed too. You take them while we cooking," Vladimira gave her husband a quick kiss on his lips and he gave her a gentle swat on her butt.
"Lene, go upstairs with lalya and Radka and get changed so we can go," Greg urged his daughter.
"Where are we going?" Helena asked.
"We go to sea garden," Viktor answered as he ran his hand down the back of her head.
"You remember how much you like it there. And we might stop in some lovely shops along the way," Greg added.
"Can we get some of those sweets?!" Helena remembered her favorite fruity candy that could only be found here.
"If we find that sort of shop, certainly we can," Greg agreed.
"Whatever princess want," Viktor added.
"Come, girls," Vladimira herded them up the stairs. Soon all three women returned dressed much more casually. The girls had cute little tops and pants with co-ordinating sneakers. The adult had on sandals and a flowery, snug tank top with short shorts that hugged all her curves perfectly. It was very clear that Petar approved from the way he smiled at his wife and stepped close to her. He ran his hand appreciatively across the small of her back and down over her butt.
"Okay, be good," Vladimira bid.
"I will, Mamo," Radka agreed.
"I talking to your cheecho," Vladimira clarified. "Don't let them kill each other."
"We shall try," Greg smiled. Petar took hold of his wife by the back of her head and gave her a gentle, loving kiss on her lips. Then the men and children headed out.
It was the same walk they had taken this morning. They made their way back to the cathedral with the kids jumping and skipping along ahead of them. Neither child needed to be reminded to wait for the adults when they came to a street they needed to cross. It had been ingrained in both of them since they could walk. Across the vast square before the Metropolitan Cathedral of the Assumption of Mary, was the beginning of Bul Knyaz Boris I. This pedestrian only central city shopping promenade was lined with shops and cafés and restaurants. It began here at Vladislav Varnenchik Square and continued Northward before it jogged East and ended at the sea garden. In all it was over a mile long. Here was where the city had spent it's money to renovate and maintain. Sections of the street were almost like little parks with trees and benches beneath them. No buildings here were shabby. This street was very well maintained. The men were more indulgent here of letting their daughters run around, so long as they remained in sight. There was no danger on King Boris I Boulevard of being run over by a crazy driver. Some of the shops were closed for the religious holiday, but as this area catered to tourists, most were open.
"Here it is, Daddy," Helena's ever watchful eye spotted it first. "Here's a store. Here it is," she took her cousin by the hand and together they dashed into the sweet shop. Hands in pockets, the men chuckled and followed them in. Bags of fruity and even Rose flavored candy later, they were back on the street.
"Daddy, I love these!" Helena popped little soft fruit candies into her mouth.
"Don't let's eat them all at once or you'll get a tummy ache. Both of you," Greg noticed Radka doing the same thing.
"We won't," Helena handed the bag back to her father. "I want to play in the fort when we get to the sea garden. Cheecho Kliment, will you be Peter Pan?"
"I Peter Pan," Kliment snatched her up in his arms. "We fly!" he tucked her under one arm and ran around the street with laughing child.
"Me too! Me too!" Radka jumped. Kliment needed both hands to keep Helena in her flying position under his left arm. Viktor was quick to snatch up his niece and let out a roar as they zoomed after Kliment and Helena. Greg and Petar were left to watch and smile. This manner of horseplay went on for the whole mile until they reached the strip of gardens that separated the city from the beach. There was a large playground for children and Kliment was only too happy to be dragged inside. Viktor, Greg and Petar sat on one of the many benches placed for such a purpose and watched them.
"You want go to beach tomorrow?" Viktor asked.
"Oh, that's a marvelous idea. I love the beach here. We can all go, right?" Greg enthused.
"Ne," Petar shook his head.
"Come, Petar. You wear very tiny swim suit. Look very nice," Viktor teased.
Petar laughed. "I have to work."
"Not on the weekend, surely," Greg countered.
"Is no weekend at power plant. Someone must supervise staff. Tomorrow that someone me," Petar informed. "Vladimira go with you. I drop her off on way to work. Come back for dinner."
"I guess he has a rather good excuse," Greg looked to his partner.
"Da," Vikor nodded.
"We leave Radka with you tonight. She sleep with Helena," Petar stated.
"Certainly," Greg agreed.
"You want adult time with Vladimira," Viktor poked the straight man on his chest with a finger.
"Da," Petar nodded. "Adult time. I have her favorite wine, bubble bath and candle ready."
"That sounds lovely, Petar. Good man," Greg endorsed.
"Vladimira be pregnant by tomorrow," Viktor gave a grin.
"I try," Petar smiled as he gave a shrug. Their attention was taken by the ring of Greg's cell and he fished it from his pocket.
"Oh, blimey, it's Jasper!" Greg answered and raised the phone to his ear. "Jasper, old mate, how lovely to hear from you!"
"Hey, Greg! How are you? Hope I'm not disturbing anything. I know this is an odd time for me to call," Jasper's voice was strangely uncertain.
"Not at all. The kids are in the playground climbing on their uncle at the moment. It's a perfect time," Greg stated.
"Big hug for Jasper!" Viktor leaned toward the phone in his partner's hand.
"Did you hear Vik?" Greg asked.
"I did. Big hug for him and Helena too. But wait, I thought I heard you say kids? And Uncle? Oh shit, you're in Bulgaria with Viktor's family. Damn, I'm sorry Greg. I completely forgot. I'll let you go. We can talk another time," Jasper apologized.
"Nonsense, Jasper. Now is really a perfectly fine time. We're just watching the kids play and enjoying the park and sea breezes. What's on your mind?" Greg asked further.
"Honestly? I don't even know myself. It's partly why I'm calling you. I'm in Chicago. With Edward," Jasper cringed a little as he waited for Greg's response. He very deliberately had not told his friend about this weekend earlier. But with everything that happened between him and Edward, he needed help to sort things out. Peter wasn't an option, so he turned to Greg.
"You are!" Greg did not expect that. "Excuse me. I'm just going to go have a natter with Jasper," he said to Viktor and Petar. Greg rose and strode away from the bench. "How ever did that happen?" Greg directed his question into the phone.
"The show was on location here this week and I asked Edward if he wanted to join me for some sightseeing. Separate rooms. Just to get to know each other again. As friends," Jasper explained.
"And how is that going, then?" Greg pressed.
"Fine. Good. He's changed a lot. Sometimes I can see he's really trying, which he hardly ever did before, and other times he's just so naturally easy to be around. It's like when we were friends before, but just the good parts, none of the manipulative and controlling shit, none of the arrogance. And I don't think it's an act. He's been keeping it up too long and too consistently. I think he really has changed. The way he is now, we could be really good friends, " Jasper went on.
"Emmett says Edward's a good chap, or at least, he is now. So I'd say that's a jolly good thing," Greg stated.
"I know," Jasper sighed. "Em has told me the same thing and everything I've seen reinforces it. And it is a good thing, but," Jasper vacillated.
"It seems like you have some conflict in your mind. Bad memories getting in the way?" Greg asked.
"I guess. The memories are slowly being pushed back, but they're still there. And I hate that I don't even know what I'm feeling. One second we're just buddies, hanging out, and then he'll do something and everything that I felt for him before just comes flooding back. And I have no idea how he feels. Sometimes I think it's the same for him, but then he seems to pull back. It's frustrating as hell. Then I remember how I could never really be sure where I stood with him before, and it's just the same now. Shit! I don't know if I'm coming or going," Jasper expressed.
"Ah, I see," Greg got it. "The old feelings are coming back, quite possibly for both of you. You've seen for yourself that he's a new man, right? And you said you don't know how he feels. Have you asked him?"
"I can't do that, Greg," Jasper spoke with certainty.
"Well, have you told him how this is making you feel?" Greg continued.
"How can I when I don't even know myself? I'm afraid of what would happen if I said anything, even about being confused. What if he doesn't want me that way anymore? Or what if he does, and it turns out I'm not ready? It's too soon, but then sometimes when we touch there's these sparks, and," Jasper paused. "What the hell is wrong with me, Greg? I thought I was over him. I really did."
"I don't think there is anything wrong with you at all, Jasper. You loved this man when he was an arsehole. Now, by all accounts, he's a right good chap. I think it's only natural that these feelings would come back," Greg assured. "The question is, how does he feel? Is he over you?"
"I only wish I knew. He's sending some pretty mixed signals and I don't really know him anymore. I mean, I never knew him as a gay man. Maybe he's this friendly with everyone?" Jasper mused. "We are going out to a gay club tonight. I guess I might find out more there."
"I think that's a good plan, mate. And what do you mean by 'this friendly with everyone'? How friendly is he?" Greg asked.
"I don't know if friendly is the right word. Maybe flirty is better? We were on this speed boat today and I freaked out so he held me the entire way, which could just be a friend thing to do, but then he said I was hot and he was flirting, I think. And then later, on the Ferris wheel, he put his arm around me and held my hand and kissed my knuckles. I mean, it was just a show for some tourists, but it kind of felt like more," Jasper informed.
"Why would he need to put on a show like that for tourists? Those signals don't seem mixed to me," Greg stated. "What else has he done?"
"You had to be there. I mean, we were both flirting, I guess. If you were talking to him he could tell you the same thing about me. And he hasn't done anything else, but sometimes it's just a look on his face or in his eyes. Or we'll be holding hands, or touching some other way, and it will be totally innocent, but then suddenly it will change. Does that even make any sense? I'm babbling, aren't I? It's like I said, I'm confused as all shit," Jasper gave a sigh. "What do you think I should do at the club tonight?"
"I can't help but wonder why a man who seems this into you would 'pull back,' as you put it. Could he be just as scared as you are?" Greg wondered aloud.
"I don't normally inspire fear in people, Greg. And he's never been timid or anything other than completely self-assured. But I suppose people do change. I just don't know, is the bottom line," Jasper stated.
"I think you need to find out, is the bottom line. When you go out to the club tonight, just be yourself and go with your instincts. Have a few drinks, but not too many. Alcohol is a great liberator, but don't let it impair your judgment. See how he acts," Greg advised. "I think you'll know a great deal more by morning."
"You're right, mate," Jasper conceded. "I just need to give it some more time, and to observe him around other guys, I guess. I do wish we could just sit down in some coffee shop somewhere and talk everything out, but I'm just not that brave. Thanks for listening, Greg. It's such a relief to have someone to talk to about this. Peter would never understand."
"No, I don't imagine he would. Jasper, let me just ask you one more thing, and then I'll leave you to go. I know why you are there, but what is he doing in Chicago?" Greg posed.
Jasper paused, confusion sweeping over him. "Sightseeing?" he guessed tentatively. "Catching up with an old friend?" he tried again when his first guess was greeted with silence.
"You fancy that's all it is? Seems to me like this chap tried awfully hard at Seth's wedding to make up to you, and it seems like he still is. I've never met Edward, but he reads to me like a man who has some deep feelings of his own. And we both know a couple of good mates who might could tell you," Greg pointed out.
"No," Jasper was firm. "I know I could ask Emmett and Seth, and they might even tell me, but I don't want them to betray his confidence like . . . Let's just say this time if we're going to find anything out, it should be by talking to each other. No intermediaries. We're both adults, for fuck's sake. Even if I'm not acting like one at the moment."
"Well, I think you've got the talking to each other part bang on, mate. Sounds like a good ole heart to heart might be the very best thing for both of you. I think you both have some feelings to sort through and bags to unpack. Best done together, right?" Greg urged.
"Yeah. You're right, of course. It's just hard taking that first step. And then there's the fact that practically every time I've opened up and revealed everything to someone I loved, who I thought loved me back, it all turned to shit. I think I might be developing a phobia about sharing personal information, at least with anyone I'm interested in romantically. I'm a fucking mess. Really, he'd be better off without me," Jasper doubted himself.
"I wouldn't call you a fucking mess, Jasper, and that aside, I'd say that's rather his decision to make. I know you've had a rough go of it romantically. If this one does not turn out to be a prince, that doesn't mean you should stop kissing the frogs," Greg saw Kliment laboring slowly away from the playground. The younger Krum wore two laughing and screeching children, who each sat on one of his feet and had their arms and legs wrapped around his leg. Kliment took great dramatic, lumbering steps and did his best to mimic Godzilla like noises.
"Looks like the kids are ready to go. I'm always here if you need me, Jasper, anytime," Greg expressed. "Oh, I dash near forgot. There's a Julius Meinl café there in Chicago. I've no idea where, of course. I saw the chart when we stopped in the café in the airport in Vienna. If you only ever listen to one thing that I tell you, listen to this: it's the best bloody coffee on the face of the Earth. Do not miss it."
Jasper laughed. "I knew there was a reason I called you this morning. Who else would take time away from his family, on vacation, no less, to listen to my problems and give me advice, and then throw in some tourist tips for good measure? You're a good man, Gregory Goyle. I am so damn lucky to have you as a friend. Thank you, and please apologize to your family for me, and to Viktor's family too."
"Vik and I are with his brother, Kliment, and his sister's husband, Petar. We're teasing the straight boys, of course, as is our duty. Gives them a little bit of a break, so it's no trouble at all," Greg assured. "And as it's only morning there, go straight, I mean, gaily forward, to the Julius Meinl café right this minute. You'll be glad you did."
"We have plans for this morning already, but I'll see what I can do this afternoon. Go back to teasing the straight boys. E-mail me when you get back home and I'll tell you all about the rest of the weekend. Hopefully by then I'll know much more."
"Absolutely, it's a promise. All the best with everything there. Vik and Lene and I send hugs and love," Greg expressed.
"Same to all three of you. Bye, Greg."
"Cheerio, Jasper," Greg lowered the phone and ended the call. He walked back to the bench where Kliment had just arrived with his cargo of children. "Are we ready to go?" Greg asked as Viktor and Petar stood.
"How Jasper?" Viktor asked.
"He's good, for the most part. He's in Chicago at the moment with Edward," Greg informed.
"Oh, da?" Viktor found that very interesting.
"Did you talk to uncle Jasper?!" Helena asked with big eyes.
"I did. And he said to be sure to give you a great big kiss and hug!" Greg squatted down to deliver those very things to his daughter.
"I want to give him a kiss and hug too!" Helena expressed.
"And I told him so," Greg assured as he stood and they set off. The girls were somewhat winded for the moment from running around with Kliment and consequently all six of them walked together through the sea garden, and back up King Boris I Boulevard. They strolled more leisurely on the way back home as the shadows from the sun lengthened across the street. It was Viktor that noticed it first.
On the opposite side of the street from which they had come down originally was a shop with museum quality icons standing on easels behind windows framed with velvet drapes. The Byzantine works of religious art were hand painted in egg tempera and gold leaf.
"Look, is beautiful," Viktor commented as they stopped to admire the artwork.
"They are," Greg agreed. "Looks like the shop is closed today," he observed.
"Is Archangel Michael," Viktor informed.
"How do you know that, then?" Greg asked.
Kliment giggled. "Sign say so," he pointed.
"Oh, right," Greg had noticed the small placard beneath the icon, but of course, could not read it. "Sorry."
"Hand painted by monks," Petar read the placard further.
"Is about four thousand pounds," Viktor converted the leva price tag in his head. "So beautiful they are. Is worth it."
"Fancy that at home," Greg made light. Viktor just smiled and the group moved on up the street. Only a few shops down, their interest piqued again.
"What a charming little wine shop," Greg looked in through the windows. "Oh, look, they have a wine bar as well," he noticed a few other patrons. "You chaps fancy a glass of wine?"
"Is good," Viktor put his arm around his partner's shoulders. "We have fine Bulgarian wine."
"I no drink wine," Kliment commented as he followed the group inside.
"Expand your horizons, Kliment," Greg urged.
"How you know is good wine?" Kliment asked.
"You know good wine if I say," Viktor stated.
"What make you expert?" Kliment challenged.
"I give you glass of piss," Viktor spoke as they walked up to the bar.
"Vik," Greg chided. Viktor and Petar helped their daughters to climb up onto the barstools so that they could see. The men stood behind them.
"Dobur den," a pleasant man in a dark red shirt and black pants strode behind the bar.
"Zdravey," Viktor greeted. "Govorite li Angliysky?"
"Da, little bit only. Claris!" he called to a lady who appeared to be a co-worker. "Angliysky," he said simply and walked away as an attractive dark haired woman in a long black skirt and the same dark red shirt took his place.
"Right, welcome, chaps. I'm Clarissa. How can I help you this fine afternoon?" she spoke with a London accent.
"Oh!" Viktor raised his eyebrows. "England? Grigor also from England," he put his hand on Greg's shoulder.
"You sound to be from London to my ear," Greg stated. "I'm from Yorkshire, but we three," he pointed, "live in London."
"I am from London. Chelsea to be exact," Clarissa smiled.
"Chelsea is swear word," Viktor shook his head. "I am Arsenal Gunner."
"You play for Arsenal! I thought there was something familiar about you. Well, we're a long way from London, so I suppose I shall tolerate you at my bar. What can I get you blokes?" Clarissa smiled.
"What do we fancy, chaps?" Greg asked.
"What you like?" Kliment asked Clarissa. He turned on the charm and leaned on the bar toward her. She looked to be older than him, about his brother's age, and that was just as he liked it. Clarissa returned his smile and leaned on the bar from her side to be closer to him.
"I rather fancy," she produced a bottle from under the bar, "Telish, if you care for a full bodied red."
"Maybe try several," Viktor suggested.
"Shall we do a sampling? That's a splendid idea," Greg agreed. "I'd love to start with something white though."
"Right," Clarissa put the bottle in hand back beneath the bar. "Let's see then," she lined up four wine glasses before each of them. "And don't we have two darling girls. Something for you young ladies?"
"You have orangina?" Viktor asked.
"I do, lovely cold ones in the cooler over there," Clarissa produced laminated sheets that gave a run down and brief descriptions of the Bulgarian wines for sale by the glass and bottle in the shop.
"I get," Kliment headed off to fetch them.
"Let's start with a traminer from Targovishte. Hard not to like this one," Clarissa poured a generous amount in the first glass for each adult.
"I know this. Is very nice," Petar endorsed. Kliment returned with an orangina apiece for the children.
"Would you ladies care for a glass with ice?" Clarissa asked.
"Oh, yes, please!" Helena was all for that.
"Quite a nose, rather floral," Greg observed.
"I like." Viktor nodded. He noticed Kliment take a sip and raise his eyebrows as he mulled it over. "Is good," Viktor gave his brother a light punch on his upper arm.
"Okay, is good," Kliment agreed. Clarissa served up two tumblers with ice and poured the orangina for Helena and Radka.
"Lovely," Greg nodded. "What shall we try next?"
"I think you might like this one," Clarissa produced another bottle from the cooler. "Not a typical blush wine, this is a blend of cabernet sauvignon and merlot grapes. The peels are extracted after only a short time, making this charming rosé," she explained as she poured.
"Oh," Kliment found this very amusing. "Is pink for you," he patted his brother on the back.
"My," Greg observed appreciatively as he inhaled through his nose and took a sip.
"Is good," Viktor did the same.
"You like pretty pink wine?" Kliment smiled. Viktor watched his brother and waited until Kliment took a sip.
"Maybe should tell you. Pink wine what make me gay," Viktor gestured with his glass. Kliment stopped in mid sip with his glass at his lips. He lowered the glass slightly and slowly let the wine dribble out of his mouth and back into the glass.
"Charming," Greg observed. Petar just chuckled.
"Is too late. All have to do is taste," Viktor gave a shrug. He made a show of draining his glass and gave a most satisfied sigh.
"You drink it?" Kliment asked his brother-in-law. Petar made a point of taking another sip before he answered.
"I leave you sister. Take you home," Petar teased.
"Ne, ne," Kliment shook his head.
"Is good, Petar. Stay one family that way," Viktor patted his brother-in-law on the shoulder.
"I can dress them up you know," Greg shook his head. "So, Clarissa, what brings a Chelsea girl to Varna?"
"When you fall in love with a Bulgarian boy," Clarissa gave a shrug. "I suspect you know how that is," she gave a sly smile.
"I can very much relate," Greg nodded.
"That was my husband, Yosif, who called me over for you," Clarissa informed.
"Ah," Greg looked round the shop and spotted him helping another couple. Then he looked over the three men who were with him. "There is something about these Bulgarian boys."
"You just look that one," Kliment pointed at his brother.
"Drink up," Viktor bid.
"Is more for you," Kliment slid his glass along the bar toward his brother.
"Glass full of spit, so nice," Viktor dismissed.
"What's next, Clarissa, please?" Greg steered them forward.
"Let's try a red then, shall we?" Clarissa selected a bottle.
"That rosé was quite remarkable," Greg mused. "I've never met a blush wine that I liked before today. Might have to get some of that."
"Bulgaria second largest exporter of fine wine in whole world, after only France," Viktor boasted.
"We are?" Kliment asked.
"Quite true," Clarissa confirmed. "This is a very interesting one. One of my favorites," she explained as she poured for them. "This is seventy percent merlot and thirty percent rubin from Tcherga. It's quite velvety with a lovely finish."
"Oh, I like," Petar enthused. "I not try this one before," he noticed that Kliment was still just sniffing it. "Very manly. Make you straight again."
"You no worry me. You drink whole bottle," Kliment countered and took a sip.
"It's claret," Greg concluded.
"It is rather," Clarissa agreed.
"Dré would just adore this," Greg was certain.
"Da," Viktor agreed with a nod.
"Who Dré?" Kliment asked.
"Friend of ours. He go to school with Grigor," Viktor explained. "He neposluchen sometimes. Remind of you."
"I no neposlushen," Kliment argued.
"Not always," Viktor conceded. "Just last twenty years."
"Govnarche," Kliment muttered. Greg recognized the Bulgarian words for ill behaved boy and shithead, in that order, and watched his lover chuckle.
"Moving right along," Clarissa reached for a last bottle. It was clear she understood the words as well.
"Oh, yes, please," Greg urged.
"We shall finish with a nice, rich cabernet from Domaine Boyar," Clarissa poured. "Just you chaps take in this nose."
"Mmm," Greg agreed. Viktor could not wait to taste it and was the first to do so.
"Vladimira love this," Petar stated in a tone that made it clear that he meant she would, rather than did.
"We're on foot, Clarissa. I wonder if you could send a case round the house?" Greg asked. "Three bottles of each."
"You must be very close by. Sure we can. I'll have it round about the time you get home," Clarissa agreed with a smile. She set out a pad and pen and Viktor set about writing down the address while Greg pulled out his wallet.
"No pink one," Kliment shook his head.
"I get extra pink one for you," Viktor countered.
"Three of each, please," Greg reiterated.
"Sure," Clarissa gave her fellow Brit a nod. "I'll just go ring this up, shall I? Before I do, would you chaps like one more glass for the road, on the house? It's the least I can do for a Gunner and his mates, who must live with the fact that he will never, ever beat Chelsea."
"Hoh!" Kliment started to laugh and punched his big brother on the upper arm.
"I see how is," Viktor slowly nodded.
"I used to think you were a lovely girl, Clarissa," Greg said with a sigh.
"What'll it be, then? Rosé?" she pulled the bottle from the cooler.
"That's what I would like," Greg affirmed.
"Da," Viktor agreed.
"No pink," Kliment shook his head. "White."
"The Tcherga you pour us," Petar answered. She poured a full glass for each of them and walked off with Greg's credit card.
Ten minutes later they were back on the street. Helena and Radka were refreshed and skipped and jumped ahead of their adults.
"I can't believe how inexpensive that was," Greg commented as he read over their order. Viktor made no comment while he put his arm around his brother's neck and pulled Kliment's head down to his chest. Kliment only laughed and pushed his big brother away.
"I no believe you make drink gay pink wine," Kliment teased. Viktor reached for him again and this time Kliment laughed as he danced out of reach.
"I make you go Club Aleksandar. Drink more pink wine with us," Viktor threatened.
"I go ID Club all time," Kliment dismissed.
"Da?" Petar asked with raised eyebrows. He had heard about Varna's only gay bar, but he had certainly never been there.
"What that, ID Club?" Viktor asked.
"Club Aleksandar gone. Is ID Club now. See," Kliment pointed. They came to, and passed by again, the Interhotel Cherno More as they walked back along King Boris I Boulevard. Tables with large umbrellas made up the outdoor café in front of the hotel. On the side of the big hotel marquee, in much smaller letters, read: ID Club and had the club's new logo, a keyhole symbol. These neon signs were off during the day making them far less noticeable.
"Is excellent place meet girl," Kliment endorsed. "Gay boy always have girl around. Need real man take care them. I do this," he spread his arms.
"A right public service you are," Greg quipped.
"You tell truth?" Viktor asked with a narrow gaze. "I make you go with us," he threatened with a pointed finger.
"Da, I go," Kliment agreed with a smile. "Valery, Svilen go," he added.
"Those two still around?" Viktor enquired.
"Da. They my, how you say it, mates?" Kliment asked.
"Mates. Right," Greg confirmed.
"Mates go ID Club, but no drink pink wine," Kliment stated.
"You will when go with us," Viktor dictated. "You come, Petar?"
"Ne," Petar shook his head with a chuckle. In spite of the yet prevailing attitude in Bulgaria, Petar Stoyanov had no problem with gay people and loved his brothers-in-law. Going out to a gay bar with them, however, was where he drew the line.
It was a warm summer day and the Krum home had the doors and windows open wide. Fantastic, mouth watering aromas greeted them well before they reached the front door.
"Oh!" Viktor rubbed his stomach with wide eyes.
"Bloody hell, does that smell good!" Greg exclaimed as they all filed into the living room. "Sirenka!" he isolated the smell of one of his favorite things. Greg loved the special bread baked with the Bulgarian white cheese in it. He would never forget what that was called. Iskra promptly came out of the kitchen with a piece of the bread, still warm from the oven, in her hand. She walked up to Greg and fed it to him.
"Oh, Maika," Greg chewed. Iskra patted her British son-in-law's face with a smile.
"Where for me?" Viktor protested his mother's obvious favoritism.
"Is more in kitchen," Iskra dismissed. Kliment did not hesitate and Petar was right behind him.
"What a lovely girl you are, Maika," Greg complimented.
"My girl like sirenka?" Iskra asked as she bent over and smiled at her granddaughters.
"Yes, please!" Helena answered for them both.
"Come help baba in kitchen," Iskra turned and the girls bounced after her.
"Is official. Maika like you best," Viktor stated with a nod.
"Of course she does. Quite charming, I am, and maika has only seen me at my best," Greg faced his partner and put his arms loosely around Viktor's waist. "You are at a disadvantage in that your mum can remember what an impossible child you were."
"That why your maika like me so much?" Viktor smiled.
"She adores you. It's no contest at all," Greg confirmed. Viktor wrapped his arms around his lover and hugged him as tightly as he knew Greg could stand it.
The beep of a small horn from the street drew their attention as a tiny, aged, rattletrap flatbed truck no larger than a Mini Cooper pulled up before the house.
"Ah, here is wine," Viktor headed for the front door.
"I think I'll take this opportunity to check in on the lads," Greg pulled his cell from his shorts pocket as he followed Viktor out the front door. He paused for the briefest moment as he considered who he should call. He wanted most of all to talk to Rick, but this being the weekend, Greg knew that Rick would be with Ashok and every moment they had to bond and grow closer was time well spent. He decided to call Vince as he would at least have details.
Vincent Crabbe lay on his back with his body half inside the cabinet beneath a kitchen sink in one of their apartments. He wore a tight, dark blue tank top with dark gray trim to match his loose, fleece track shorts. The tenant was not at home, but Vince was not alone. The landlord's son sat cross legged on the kitchen floor between his widely planted feet and handed him tools as he needed them. The thin man wore a loose black tee shirt and black denim shorts. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, while he watched the skilled man make his work look easy.
"Do you normally dress this way when you come to look after this sink?" Dré asked.
"I don't know," Vince asked.
"How do you not know?" Dré challenged.
"I guess I've never paid any attention. Why do you ask?" Vince enquired.
"I rather think I just figured out why Mrs. McGillicutty has so much trouble with this sink," Dré surmised.
"What's that, then?" Vince did not get it.
"Because my personal property can be easily seen up the wide, loose legs of these shorts," Dré informed.
"Oh?" Vince lifted his head to look at his partner and laughed. "I didn't realize that. I shan't wear these anymore," he returned his attention to his work.
"Oh yes you shall," Dré ran his hands up his lover's shins and over Vince's bent knees.
"I'll put on underwear, then," Vince stated.
"Oh, no," Dré smiled. "No underwear for my peach. These shorts are just right, just as they are," he ran his hands up Vince's thighs into the loose shorts. "So long as I'm the only one looking up them," Dré finished his thought. Vince smiled as he felt his lover's fingers curl around his loose sac, and just then his cell phone rang.
"There's ruddy timing. Will you get that, Duck?" Vince asked. Dré reluctantly let go of his lover's testicles and fished Vince's cell from his pocket.
"It's Goyle," Dré announced as he answered the call and raised the phone to his face. "Hello, Gregory. How are things in the third world?"
Greg stood out on the Krum front porch and watched Viktor interact with the delivery driver from the wine shop, who looked to be nowhere near old enough to drive. "Positively quaint, you little git. Is your man around?"
"He's laboring under a kitchen sink with my hand up his shorts at the moment," Dré answered.
"I see. Are you distracting him or is he distracting you, is my question," Greg was flip.
"I don't compete for attention with a kitchen sink, Goyle," Dré answered in a flat tone.
"Right. How was your meeting with the party?" Greg watched Viktor and the delivery kid speak to each other in Bulgarian. Greg could not understand a word they said, but he had no need. From the kid's animated face and expression of pure admiration it was quite clear he had recognized a sports hero.
"Huh," Dré scoffed. "Not my party. That man is pure evil and my father worships him. I fear for this country," he confessed. "By the way, I came home to an empty house when my father's driver dropped me off. Thank you for that."
"That's what I wanted to talk to Vince about," Greg was unapologetic. "Has he a moment?"
"Goyle wants to natter about the other night when you carried that arseholed twit home," Dré handed his partner's phone back to him. Vince set his tools down, ignored his lover's caustic remark, and brought his cell to his ear.
"Greg, mate," Vince greeted.
"Hi, Vince. Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to see how things went the other night," Greg began.
"Rick was right tanked up when I got to him. Had to take him to the loo and hold him up so's he could have a piss," Vince informed. He closed his eyes as his lover's hands ran up both his legs into his shorts again.
"Might have guessed. What happened when you got him home?" Greg asked.
"Ashok was waiting right there at the door. He looked so worried, Greg, I'm sure even Rick could see it. I offered to help Ashok pour Rick into bed, but he said you told him to keep Rick awake," Vince relayed events while Dré fondled him. The platinum blonde smiled as his lover's cock expanded in his hand.
"Ashok had water and toast ready, just like you told him," Vince gave a sigh and spread his legs further as Dré pushed the shorts up his thighs and pulled his cock and balls out his right shorts leg. "I steered Rick to the sofa and sat him down. Ashok brought the toast and Rick ate it up like he'd never had food in his life," he gave another sigh as his lover began to stroke his hardness. "He wasn't so keen on the water but I put him straight and made him drink it. Then I had to go. I would have stayed longer, but I was double parked. "
"You did everything that was needed and more, and it sounds like you left everything under control," Greg said as he sat down in one of the wicker chairs on the porch. He smiled as he watched Viktor sign a paper to give the delivery boy his autograph.
"Anyway, I found out what happened after I left when Ashok came by the next day," Vince gasped as a warm, sensual tongue unexpectedly ran up his length, along his sensitive cum tube, and over the head of his penis.
"Are you alright, Vince?" Greg asked.
"Fine," Vince dismissed. "Apparently Ashok managed to get Rick to bed all by himself and they fell asleep having a cuddle. Say, did you know those two have been messing around and sleeping together? If you could have seen Ashok's face when he told me about that. He's just so sweet, and so obviously infatuated with Rick," Vince sighed again as Dré planted soft kisses up and down his hard cock.
Greg furrowed his brow as he heard this. He suspected he might know what was going on at the other end of this phone call and made up his mind to not ask further. Greg watched Viktor lift the case of wine like it was nothing and carry it to the porch. The delivery boy got back in his tiny rattletrap truck and roared away all smiles.
"Did Ashok tell you anything else, Vince?" Greg prompted.
"Oh," Vince lay half under the sink with his eyes closed as he held the phone and enjoyed the sensation of his lover's lips on his bone. He didn't even realize that he had stopped talking. "No. Just that they cuddled and that he thought H was a very stupid man for not realizing how much Rick loved him. I could have told Ashok the same thing about Rick, but I bit my tongue," Vince paused again as Dré's tongue passed slowly through his moist slit.
"Mmm," Dré tasted his lover's precum and licked the snake's eye again hoping for more.
"I wonder if Rick went to work yesterday," Greg mused.
"He did. Ashok came round the usual time and brought me the lovely brisket he made for Rick the previous night. Let me tell you, that brisket was the dog's bollocks, it was. We had a fine lunch. Anyway, he said Rick had gone off to work, though, markedly the worse for wear as you might guess. Then Rick called Friday afternoon, asking for Dré and me to take him out with us, but I managed to talk sense into him. Last I heard Ashok was heading home to make Rick a nice dinner," Vince informed. He bit his lip to keep from moaning into the phone as Dré's mouth closed around his prick.
"I would like to call, but I hesitate to intrude on their time just now," Greg thought out loud.
"Right," Vince agreed as his lover's lips massaged his now throbbing cock.
"I'll ring off then, Vince. Thanks ever so for taking care of them," Greg expressed.
"Cheers, mate," Vince quickly ended the call and dropped the phone. He took hold of the platinum blonde head with both hands. "Ugh. You little bastard!" Vince pushed Dré's head down tight to his body, shoving his hard pole down the slight man's throat. He held Dré in place, choking his lover with his cock. Dré had been hoping to provoke the stronger man into doing exactly that.
Viktor stood holding the case of wine and watched his partner finish his call. "What?" he read the slightly disturbed look on Greg's face.
"I have the uneasy feeling that a tap is not what Vince was working on. Or not what Dré was working on anyway," Greg slipped his phone back into his pocket.
"Dré work on Vince tap," Viktor suggested with a smile.
"I don't at all doubt it," Greg gave a slow nod.
"Kliment, come help with pink wine!" Viktor called as he finally headed into the house with the case.
"Ne!" came the shout back. Greg rose and followed his partner inside.
"Tell maika how much you like," Viktor continued to tease.
Kliment walked out of the kitchen to meet his big brother in the living room. He put a gentle hand on Viktor's shoulder. "Brat, pink wine all for you. I wish you happy long life with Grigor," he reached his other hand to Greg's shoulder. "Drink pink wine every day. But no for me," Kliment shook his head.
"What he mean, pink wine?" Vladimira asked as she also walked out of the kitchen.
"He means a blush wine, a rosé. Though how that came to be synonymous with gay, I've no idea," Greg answered. "Let's get the whites and pinks in the fridge, Vik," he put his hand on Viktor's back.
"Da," Viktor agreed.
They sat round the large, old, wooden table in the rustic appearing kitchen. The table had been made by hand and had all the character being in the Krum family for generations would give it. Those on the side nearest the wall sat on a long wooden bench that had been made at the same time. The mismatched chairs had been gathered over many years and some were no older than Viktor. As the unofficial head of the family Petar took the head of the table and Viktor took the other end. Greg and Vladimira both sat beside their mate. Helena and Radka sat together, and Iskra sat beside her baby boy.
Supper was an elaborate affair with many dishes. Iskra and her daughter had outdone themselves and were happy to do it. Greg had to force himself to stop eating the sirenka, lest he have room for nothing else. Petar, and Iskra with him, was a traditionalist when it came to holiday meals and insisted that everyone have a glass of rakia with the shopska to start. Petar had brought several bottles of his favorite Peshterska Otlezhala rakia and poured the golden salmon colored liquid for the adults in the family. Greg never did understand why Bulgarians were so set on drinking this admittedly good, but very strong grappa like beverage with their first course, which was invariably shopska. It seemed to him that a pinot grigio would be a better accompaniment to the tomato, cucumber, roasted pepper and Bulgarian white sirene cheese salad, but he accepted his Bulgarian partner, and the family that came with him, just as they were. Viktor had never complained when his mother served them her pheasant and pickled walnut terrine, or other such extremely British dishes.
The shopska was followed by tarator. Viktor opened a chilled bottle of the rosé to accompany the cold yogurt and cucumber soup. Kliment and Petar elected to have another glass of the rakia. The red wines came out when the kavarma kebap, witch Iskra and her daughter liked to make with tender veal, and the kebapcheta made of lamb were served. There were also stuffed mushroom caps and fried eggplant.
"Oh, how nice this is," Vladimira commented when she took her first sip of the Domaine Boyar cabernet sauvignon. "Petar, you try?"
"I knew you like," Petar smiled at his wife.
"Why don't you take a bottle home with you?" Greg suggested.
"Da," Viktor nodded.
"Thank you," Vladimira agreed. "I like very much."
After dinner they retired to the living room for coffee. Helena broke out her coloring books and crayons, and her cousin joined her in spreading out across the living room floor.
"Maika, Vladimira, everything was quite simply delicious. I don't remember when I ever ate so much," Greg reclined on the small sofa beside his partner. "Kliment, it's a wonder you don't weigh twenty stone with all the good food in this house."
"I like see my boy eat," Iskra smiled broadly.
"When we have cake?" Kliment asked as if he had not already eaten twice what anyone else had.
"Oh dear Lord, I forgot all about the cake," Greg stated.
"Maika, we wait hour two," Viktor instructed. Petar exchanged a glance with his wife and Greg saw it.
"Da," Iskra nodded. "We wait."
"Perhaps we could clean up and cut the cake just as soon as we're ready," Greg suggested.
"Ne, ne," Iskra crossed herself.
"Never cut zagoveznishka cake. That how my father die," Viktor stated in all seriousness. Greg, of course, had heard this story many times. The family had special guests for the holiday that year and Iskra had cut the cake rather than break it apart to make it look more presentable on the plate. A knife taken to zagoveznishka cake was said to bring calamity on the house. That year Lyubomir Krum had died quite unexpectedly. He had been in good health. And because he died during the Unclean Days between Christmas and the Feast of the Epiphany, two funerals had been required. Iskra and her children watched as their husband and father was dug up, given a full second funeral by the orthodox priest on the day of his patron saint and reburied. Such a thing was an absolute necessity for someone who had died during the Unclean Days, lest the deceased become an upior.
"Of course," Greg was horrified that had made such a slip of the tongue. "I'm terribly sorry. I meant break and serve the cake. That's what I meant. And if we're too full still, Petar and Vladimira can take theirs with them."
"We know what mean you, Grigor," Vladimira threw him a life line. "Is very thoughtful."
"Is very thoughtful, Slunchitze," Viktor took his lover's hand.
"Come help me clean up, Sweet," Greg rose and Viktor followed.
"I clean up," Iskra protested.
"No, Maika," Greg countered. "You and Vladimira slaved away all day in that kitchen making us a feast fit for King Boris. You put your feet up."
"Da. No argue with Grigor," Viktor shook his finger.
"Or else what? Make drink pink wine?" Kliment found himself very funny.
"Straight from the bottle," Greg confirmed.
"I put pink wine bottle in you arse," Viktor threatened. Petar burst out laughing.
"Vik, he's just being cute. C'mon," Greg urged. Viktor said nothing more and followed his partner into the kitchen. Greg started to gather up dishes from the table.
"I start on pots," Viktor headed for the deep farmhouse style sink.
"Vik," Greg brought a stack of plates to the counter beside the sink. "I'm sorry about that back there, about your father. I feel terrible. I'm so sorry."
Viktor took his lover's face in his hands and looked deeply into the light brown eyes. "Tay obicham," he kissed Greg lovingly on his lips.
"Tay obicham, Vik," Greg kissed his partner a second time.
"Oh, see what pink wine do," Kliment saw the intimate moment between his brother and brother-in-law as he walked into the kitchen. "How I help?"
"You tasted the rosé too. Sure you wouldn't like a little kiss?" Greg teased.
"I no swallow," Kliment shook his head.
"We always swallow," Viktor asserted.
"We still talk about wine?" Kliment asked with a grin.
"Were we talking about wine?" Greg made a mock puzzled face.
"Go wipe table," Viktor tossed his brother a wet cloth. Kliment snickered to himself as he did so. Between the three of them the kitchen was spotless and everything put away in a matter of a few minutes. Kliment set out the cake and Viktor placed dessert plates on the table.
"Petar, come break cake," Kliment called to the defacto head of the family. Just as the adults in the living room rose there came a knock at the screen door.
"Dobar večer," a male voice called.
"Oh, there rest of my boy," Iskra smiled. She called to them in Bulgarian to come in. The screen door opened and two exceptionally attractive twenty year old men walked into the Krum house. The first man wore a white tee shirt with Cyrillic letters on it layered over a black one with white capri shorts and sneakers. By virtue of careful shaving he had a hint of a mustache and soul patch. His longish dark hair that hung in wet curls made it obvious that he was fresh from the shower. The second man was not quite as tall. He wore a skin tight black tee shirt and black denim shorts. His shorter, equally black hair was spiked up.
"You just time for cake," Iskra spoke as she kissed each young man on the cheek. They both looked at her with a furrowed brow. They could not imagine why she would speak to them in English. Until they saw Helena's blonde head on the floor beside Radka.
"Viktor here?" the man in white asked.
"Da. Viktor, Grigor, Helena," Iskra beamed. Viktor and Greg followed Kliment out of the kitchen hand in hand.
"You be Helena," the man in black squatted down by the girls.
"Hello," Helena smiled sweetly.
"Hello," he gave a nod. "Zdrasti, Radka."
"Zdrasti, Svilen," Radka echoed without bothering to look up from her coloring project.
"Hey, guys," Kliment greeted his friends. They did the straight guy one armed hug with their clasped hands and forearms between them while clapping each other's back with the other hand. "You know my brother, his partner Grigor."
"Viktor," the man in white wore admiration clear on his face as he shook the professional footballer's hand.
"Valery," Viktor smiled.
"Grigor," Valery offered the Brit his hand as well.
"Hi, Valery, Svilen," Greg shook both their hands. "Lovely to see you again. Are you keeping our boy out of trouble?" he gestured to Kliment with his chin.
"I get them in!" Kliment joked.
"Come. We have cake," Iskra herded everyone into her kitchen. Everyone made room for the extra adults around the big table in the Krum kitchen. Kliment fetched a beer for his mates and for Viktor and Greg as well. Iskra and Petar stuck with coffee while Vladimira had another glass of the Targovishte traminer. Greg and Svilen both noticed that Kliment gave them an Almus, while the rest of the beer drinkers had an MM Varna.
"Good taste, Grigor," Svilen held up his bottle.
"Cheers, mate," Greg touched the neck of his bottle to Svilen's before they both took a chug.
"Petar and I go now, Maika," Vladimira announced when she and her husband were only half done with their cake. Peter quickly pushed his plate away. He was very hungry, but not for cake.
"Da, you go," Iskra set her fork down. "Radka stay with baba," she knew exactly what her daughter and son-in-law were up to and was all for it.
"Petar drop me way to work in morning," Vladimira rose and bent to give her mother a kiss. A general movement began as everyone rose from the table to see them off.
"Radka, maika and tatee see you in morning," Vladimira said to her daughter. Radka jumped up to give her mother a hug. Petar squatted down for his turn.
"Be good, momichentse," Petar hugged his child tightly.
"Tay obicham, Tatee, Maika," Radka hung around her father's neck for a long moment. She gave both her parents a kiss. It was certainly not the first time she had stayed with her grandmother and uncle.
"Night, Cheecho, Lalya," Helena gave them a wave.
"Night-night, Helena," Petar smiled.
"We'll see you in the morning, right?" Greg gave his sister-in-law a hug.
"Da," Vladimira confirmed as the Brit took her in his arms.
"Good luck," Greg whispered into her ear. She pulled back and gave him a knowing smile before she took her husband's hand and followed him out the door.
"Leka nošt," Viktor called after them. "I think they want make baby," he thought out loud.
"Do you think?" Greg did not let on that he knew.
"You want go ID Club?" Kliment asked his friends.
"Da," Valery was all for it.
"I change," Kliment wapped his brother on the arm. "You get change too. We go."
"This should be interesting," Greg smiled.
"Maika, we go out," Viktor called.
"Da, go. Have good time," Iskra called back from the kitchen. Viktor took his lover's hand and led him up the stairs behind his brother. Kliment once again did not shut his bedroom door and Greg looked away as the younger man peeled his tee shirt off over his head. At least this time it was not the straight boy's bare butt on display. Greg closed their bedroom door behind them.
"What you want wear, Slunchitze?" Viktor began to pull clothes from their suitcase.
"One of my polos and jeans," Greg pulled his tee shirt off over his head.
"You bring Dolce Gabbana jeans like I say?" Viktor looked through the clothes.
"Yes. I don't know why I let you talk me into those expensive jeans. They're too tight," Greg complained.
"Ne," Viktor shook his head as he pulled both their jeans from the suitcase. "They just right."
"How you look in them is just right," Greg dropped and stepped out of his shorts. Viktor stepped over to his naked lover.
"How they show this," Viktor cupped Greg's soft, yet still impressively thick cock and balls, "and this," he grabbed Greg's butt cheek, "very nice. I like."
"Imagine how you look in them. It should be illegal," Greg gave his partner a soft kiss on his lips.
"Is all for you," Viktor smiled and pulled his shirt off over his head with one arm.
"Yes it is," Greg ran his hands appreciatively over his lover's solid, broad chest. They did not keep the straight boys waiting long. Greg wore a pale blue polo shirt while Viktor had on a snug black tank top and they both wore their matching Dolce and Gabbana jeans with their sandals. They found Kliment was already ready in a plain white tee shirt that was clearly too small on him. The skin tight, thin shirt clearly displayed his nipples and did not quite reach his snug, low rise jeans.
"Excuse me just a moment, little boy," Greg put his hand on Kliment's hip to turn him. "You certainly don't look like any straight boy I know."
"I know," Kliment smiled. "Girl no think too. They no be on guard."
"Oh, is that your strategy?" Greg gave a slow nod.
"I guarantee get more action that you tonight," Kliment boasted.
"I can guarantee that too, but it might not be the action you want!" Greg gave his straight brother-in-law a light smack on his butt.
"Come here, Princess," Viktor squatted down and picked her up when she stepped into his arms. "Love you so much. Tatee and daddy go out with cheecho for little while."
"Okay, Tatee," Helena kissed her stronger father before he set her back down.
"Play with Radka and go to bed when baba tells you," Greg put a hand to the back of his daughter's head. He squatted down to give her a hug and kiss. "We love you and we'll see you in the morning."
"I love you too," Helena said sweetly and then rejoined her cousin on the floor amidst their spread out books.
"Night, Radka," Greg bid.
"Night, Cheecho," she did not bother to look up.
"You boy go now. Have good time," Iskra came from the kitchen. "You have key?"
"Da, have key," Viktor answered.
"Kliment probably not come home again," Iskra shook her head.
"I hope not," Kliment gave a big smile.
"Oh!" Iskra slapped her youngest on the back on his way out.