Yes, the… incident with the unforgettable analogy occurred three days prior, and the mental residue occasionally surfaces like a bad dream. Thankfully, the infection in his wound has abated, allowing him to move with a slightly less glacial pace, though he still moves with a certain… slowness. In a development that I gather is of significant personal importance to him, the shard-of-glass sensation during his morning constitutionals has mercifully ceased. A truly monumental victory. I even managed to coax him into consuming another cup of peach tea – a triumph of diplomatic maneuvering that arguably surpasses even the aforementioned bowel-related milestone.

And on a completely separate, and rather mortifying, personal note, my jealousy regarding Leo has been extinguished. It appears that Leo is… twenty-two years old. Yes. A full eight years Levi’s junior. All prior feelings of angst have evaporated into thin air, replaced by a healthy dose of self-directed embarrassment.

Levi was sprawled across the length of the sofa, his attention fixed on the televised presidential rallies. Despite the dramatic pronouncements emanating from the screen, an ennui was etched across his features as he lounged in his silk pajamas. I sat beside him, then the buzz of his phone shattered the quiet. It was Annie. With a sigh of displeasure, he answered. “Yes?” He listened for a moment, his expression hardening. “Gods, Annie, relay to the new Minister with the utmost clarity that I am currently operating under the distinct disadvantage of being a rather crudely sewn-up doll. Under no circumstances am I amenable to visitors at this juncture,” he stated flatly before ending the call.

“Why the sudden urgency for a meeting?”

“Ministers of Health,” Levi began, with a wave of his hand, “to be perfectly honest, I couldn’t even recall her name if my life depended on it. They are drawn to the pull of pharmaceutical empires, and when one happens to be of the rather… substantial scale of mine, an audience becomes a mandatory ritual. Think of it as a pack of dogs engaging in the customary olfactory investigation. She will undoubtedly want to lay eyes on this vast enterprise, conduct a superficial inspection of our operational procedures, make a token assessment of our ethical standards, and engage in other such tedious formalities.”

"So, it's Annie on point for the olfactory investigation this time, while you convalesce in your 'sewn-up doll' glory?" I inquired, a wry smile playing on my lips, fully anticipating his usual disdain for anyone in a position of authority.

“No, no, Holden possesses a far superior nose for that sort of… unsavory scent. Annie is an exceptional manager and an utterly invaluable assistant, but Holden… Holden is more akin to a miniature version of myself. And considering the remarkable alacrity with which he unearthed the rather extensive evidence of bribery and corruption involving our previous Minister, I believe a substantial raise for both of them this quarter would be a prudent, and indeed, well-deserved investment.”

“Wow,” I remarked. “I know he’s from the royal family, and you two have a… history. But what about Annie? She doesn’t seem like she comes from your usual rarefied circles.”

“Ah, that… remarkably timid woman,” Levi mused, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Indeed, Annie is merely an employee, but one possessed of an attentive, organized, and remarkably intelligent mind, bolstered by a truly impressive résumé. Her initial month navigating the intricate machinations of Holden and myself was… rather predictably amusing to observe. I lost count of the instances where her cognitive functions appeared to simply… cease. However, we eventually discovered a rather effective loophole in her timidity. Annie harbors an almost pathological fondness for vacation. Thus, whenever her shyness began to resurface, we would deploy the promise of additional paid leave. Eventually, much to our mutual benefit, she shed her timorous nature and has since blossomed into a formidably efficient manager within my organization.”

It's a fascinating, if ethically dubious, insight into his management style. Treat people like algorithms to be optimized. Find their weaknesses and exploit them for maximum output. And yet, Annie is loyal.

“I mean… it does beg the question, doesn’t it?” I ventured, a frown creasing my brow. “Given the… unconventional methods and the sheer intensity of working with you and Holden, why didn’t Annie or Holden ever simply decide to hand in their resignations?”

“Ah, my naive rabbit, my clean-conscienced Pulla. Do you not, even now, feel a certain thrill, a rush of adrenaline, whenever I open my mouth? Do you not, in some perverse corner of your being, enjoy teetering on the very edge of a razor blade? Of course, you do. Now, tell me, how many individuals in this rather mundane world do you believe possess the intellect, the audacity, the skill required to document evidence of a government minister’s extensive bribery and corruption? Do you honestly believe they could derive that particular brand of… satisfaction, that sense of accomplishment, playing the role of clandestine detective with any other employer? I assure you, at least not within any other pharmaceutical enterprise.”

"So, you're saying you've created a haven for adrenaline junkies with a penchant for corporate espionage?" I clarified, arching a brow.

Levi chuckled. “No, my dear Raphael, that particular brand of adrenaline-fueled excitement is a privilege reserved for Annie, Holden, and, of course, you – though your domestic variety tends to involve rather less espionage and more… interpersonal tension, shall we say? And let us not overlook the rather significant financial compensation I extend to even the most junior members of my staff. Loyalty and exceptional performance, in all its forms, are always appropriately rewarded.”

Annie and Holden are exceptionally good at what they do, and they likely wouldn't find that level of challenge or reward elsewhere. And… well, our dynamic is undeniably intense, even if his description is a vast understatement.

"And what exactly constitutes the 'appropriate reward' for enduring your rather… unique brand of 'interpersonal tension'?" I pressed, meeting his gaze.

“For you, and only for you, my dear Raphael,” he murmured, his voice suddenly softer, as he reached out and gently pressed a kiss to my lips. Gods. It had been a long time since we had even shared a simple hug, let alone a kiss.

"Levi…" I whispered. "Can we… perhaps… do anything else? Anything at all?"

“Hm…” he murmured, his gaze softening further, though a hint of his usual wryness flickered at the corners of his lips. “Well, strenuous physical activity, particularly of the horizontal variety, is decidedly off the table for me at the moment, my dear. Unless your desires include witnessing a rather messy reenactment of my recent internal trauma staining my rather fetching silk pajamas. However,” he continued, a suggestive glint returning to his eyes, “we might certainly arrange a more… mutually accommodating form of intimacy, provided you would be so kind as to lend your strength to assist this temporarily fragile doll in navigating the journey to the bedroom.”

"You dramatic man," I chuckled softly, already moving to stand. "Lead the way, oh fragile doll."

"Be prepared for a rather significant density, my dear," he warned, placing his hands on my shoulders for leverage as he laboriously pulled himself upright. Each step was taken with painstaking care. Finally, I helped him settle onto the bed. Had it truly been this many days since we had even shared the same air within these four walls? I carefully crawled onto the bed, positioning myself above him.

"No undue pressure, my dear."

"Duly noted," I whispered, keeping my weight supported on my knees and elbows, hovering above him. Our lips finally met. Ah, yes. God damn yes.

His hands cupped my face, his thumbs gently tracing the curve of my cheekbones. A sigh escaped my lips.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

As the kiss deepened, a spark of the old passion began to flicker. My balance became less about avoiding pressure and more about drawing closer, elbows bending as I leaned further into him, my chest brushing against his. His lips parted slightly, inviting me deeper, and I eagerly accepted.

“Dear,” he murmured softly, tugging at the hem of my shirt. I lifted my arms, letting him peel the fabric away. The vibrant blues and purples that had adorned my chest were now a softer tapestry of fading greens and yellows. Levi’s warm hand followed, subtly caressing my skin, avoiding the bruised areas. I shucked my own trousers and underwear before turning to him, my fingers fumbling with the buttons of his pajama top. The angry red line of his stitches looked cleaner, less inflamed. After easing his pajama bottoms down his hips, the stage was set.

My hand drifted towards the bedside table, aiming for the lube in the top drawer, but Levi’s hand closed over mine, stopping me. Well, who was I to deny myself the anticipation of his touch?

A groan rumbled in my chest as he teased, his fingertip tracing the ring of sensitive flesh, dancing at the very edge. Each circle was a spark, the ache in my core coiling tighter. My hips canted toward him, but he simply smirked, the usual tormentor.

Then, with a deliberate slide, he slipped inside. I gasped, a sharp breath at the sudden fullness stretching me. He went still, letting me acclimate. I gave a small nod, desire a rising tide that washed away everything else. He began to move, a slow rhythm that stoked the fire deep within me.

The gentle friction was an anchor, grounding me after weeks of chaos. I propped myself on my elbows, cataloging the subtle shifts in his expression—the furrow of his brow, the way his lips parted on a silent breath, the intensity in his gaze that mirrored my own. His other hand rested on my hip, his thumb stroking lazy circles.

Heat pooled in my gut, a throbbing pulse that begged for release. My hands grew restless. One drifted up to trace the line of his collarbone, feeling the warmth of him under my fingertips. My fingers slipped lower, carefully bypassing the stitches, until they closed tentatively around his length.

A harsh groan ripped from Levi’s throat, the vibration a jolt against my own chest. Emboldened, my grip firmed, exploring the texture. A primal need surged through me—a need to connect, to feel every part of him, even with the limitations.

“Levi,” I whispered, my voice thick. “Tell me…”

“Not like that, dear,” he rasped, his voice raw. With a grunt, he pulled himself up against the headboard. I crawled over him, straddling his hips, and his fingers immediately reclaimed their place inside me, deeper this time.

“Hold them, dear,” he instructed, his voice a suggestive rasp. My hands, trembling with anticipation, reached down and closed around the engorged lengths of both our cocks. The shock of it—the slick heat of his skin against mine, the impossible contrast—was intoxicating. As he continued his stretching within me, my own hand began to move, stroking the hard length in my grasp, already slick with my own need. I leaned down and bit his neck, tasting the salt on his skin.

The pace shattered. Our movements turned urgent, hungry. My hand moved faster, chasing the rhythm of his fingers, the pressure building to an unbearable peak.

“Easy now,” he murmured, his voice strained, a wince crossing his face. Had I been too rough?

“Gods, I’m sorry,” I breathed, my hand falling away. But before I could pull back completely, his fingers scissored deep inside me, his middle finger pressing a perfect, devastating pressure against that sensitive knot of nerves.

“You focus on us, Raphael,” he commanded softly.

I obeyed, my grip tightening once more. Levi’s head fell back against the headboard with a thud, his breath catching. I surged up, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss.

It was a frantic dance of tongues and teeth. My hand resumed its rhythm while his other hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. My vision tunneled to his face, a mask of desperate lust. The wave was coming.

A strangled cry tore from my throat as the first tremor hit, my cock spasming in my hand, hot seed coating my fingers and his stomach. My whole body seized, a chain reaction of clenching and releasing. A heartbeat later, a guttural roar erupted from Levi. He arched off the bed, his grip in my hair clenching to the point of pain before going slack. He collapsed back, his breath coming in ragged, heaving sobs against my chest.

“Grab the antiseptic wipes, if you would be so kind,” Levi murmured, his voice a thick, languid rumble.

Fuck.

What had we just done? What if I had jostled him too much? Reopened something? I scrambled for the antiseptic wipes on the bedside table, my hands clumsy. I immediately began to cleanse his abdomen and torso, scanning his stitches. Thank god. No fresh blood, no weeping, no redness.

As I reached for another wipe to clean myself, Levi interjected.

“Dear, do not even dare to use that industrial-strength concoction on your… jewels,” he said, watching me with amusement. “Unless, of course, your intention is to achieve a state of burning torture,” he gestured with a languid hand. “Water will suffice for that, my overly cautious Pulla.”

"So, the tender skin of my… nether regions is apparently more susceptible to chemical warfare than your recently traumatized internal organs?" I quipped, tossing the used antiseptic wipes into the bin before settling down next to him on the bed.

“Precisely, my dear,” he confirmed, a smirk playing on his lips. “The epidermis adorning your… jewels possesses a lamentable thinness, comparable to the skin beneath your eyes. Those wipes are liberally imbued with alcohol. The resulting discomfort would be… regrettable, and entirely unnecessary.”

A full-body shudder went through me at the thought. “Regrettable is one word for it. Excruciatingly painful is another.”

“My Pulla embarked on his maiden voyage into the aftercare today. It would be most… unfortunate if such a promising start were to veer sharply into the territory of unforeseen epidermal catastrophes.”

“Wow…” I conceded, a sheepish grin spreading across my face. “You actually… have a rather valid point. This is my first foray into the aftercare.”

Levi chuckled softly. “Yes, and while the temptation to endlessly regale you with tales of your assault on your own delicate anatomy is undeniably strong, I confess that a rather profound wave of… lassitude is currently washing over me. It appears the exertions of the afternoon have finally caught up with this temporarily refurbished doll.” A soft sigh escaped his lips, and his eyelids began to droop slightly.

Dramatic as ever. But I suppose nearly applying industrial-strength antiseptic to my… well, yes, it was a close call.

“You caveman,” I whispered, a playful nudge to his shoulder. “You coaxed me into a post-coital decontamination ritual, and now you’re simply going to abandon me?”

“Hm…” he mumbled, his eyes barely fluttering open, a drowsy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Let’s review the established patterns, shall we? You possess a remarkable aversion to any form of cleaning, reach the finish line with… commendable speed, then necessitate a fireman’s carry to the shower, followed by another arduous transport to the bed. Therefore,” he concluded, his eyelids drifting shut again, “I rather believe this hard-earned slumber is my due. And the rather potent cocktail of painkillers currently coursing through my system is… rendering me somewhat… somnolent.”

Commendable speed? Guilty as charged. Aversion to cleaning? Also accurate. But his smug justification for drifting off while I'm left wide awake is still slightly irritating. He looks peaceful, though, and after everything, he deserves the rest.

...

Levi’s breathing had evened out. A new thought, persistent and insistent, took root as I watched his face.

I needed to try.

Truly try to understand his mind, the grand schemes that occupied so much of his life. My inherent apolitical nature, a byproduct of being an outsider in this country, and the intellectual vertigo induced by even the simplest explanation of his plans had always been convenient shields. But tonight felt different. A chasm existed between us, not just of emotion, but of comprehension.

Silently, I slipped from the warmth of the bed. When I emerged from the shower, he’d shifted onto his side, a groan catching in his throat. I rearranged the pillows, propping his shoulders and cradling his head until the sound smoothed back into steady breathing.

Then, drawn by a newfound resolve, I moved towards his study. The six-digit code clicked softly, granting me entry into that hushed space. The last time I had crossed this threshold, the carefully concealed truth of the Queen’s suicide had been unearthed, shaking the fragile foundations of my understanding. What new revelations, what further glimpses into the labyrinth of Levi’s world, awaited me now?