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Damn, that boy is fantastic.
His eyes put shame on the colour of the ocean. His feathery hair is perfectly styled, he is a tease and funny and shy but sassy. And his body. I moan as I remember how he pulled his cheeks apart, how the string of the panties went inside his crack. His ass is something else.
"Damn, brother. Calm down," I hear one of my brothers say with an amused voice tone. "We're in the store and your dick is coming alive. I don't think people could handle seeing your bulge."
"Fuck off," I look to my right side, cussing at my brother. Harry.
"I'm just saying," he smirks, nodding to my crotch. I follow his gaze and see that, indeed, I'm aroused and my erection is showing big time. Edward chose this moment to show himself.
"I showed Mr Bianchi a picture of Louis He says he will immediately start looking for a suit that will fit Lou — Are you horny, Marcel?" he chuckles.
"Who did you think about? Bet it was Louis."
"Of course it was Louis!" I exclaim. "It's always Louis. You know that."
"Of course we know. All of us beat our meat to the sight of that boy," Edward shamelessly says but it sounds so awkward and wrong. Harry laughs at him.
"Yes, we all masturbate to Louis. He's sexy and his pictures in the Playbunnies are mmm," Harry moans to expand his point.
"Hopefully, we can be together. All of us," Edward says. He doesn't usually show his softer side, it isn't good for his line of business but we are his brothers. Family. He can do that with us.
"Seeing how eager he was before, I bet he would jump in the relationship with us, be it romantic or sexual," I say.
"Ragazzi! Che bello vedere voi tre insieme. Non sei qui da molto tempo," Mr Bianchi says as he comes to us. (A/N: Italian is translated with Google translator and we all know it doesn't translate everything right so...) (Boys! How nice to see you three together. You haven't been here in a long time.)
Pablo Bianchi is an older man, pure Italian and it's visible on him, too — he looks like stereotypical Italian. He's been working as a tailor for most of his life. His passions are suits and dresses, although he has shop only for suits. We've been buying our clothes at his stores — his daughter Angela owns a unisex informal clothes shop. She is happily married to Victoria and they have twins.
They're practically our family.
"Ciao, signor Bianchi. Siamo stati impegnati," I say to him, smiling. He smiles back, laughing his famous laugh. (Hello, Mr Bianchi. We've been busy.)
"Always so formal, non ce n'è bisogno," he says, half English half Italian. (No need for that.)
"Pablo, non devi imparare l'inglese per noi," Harry says to the man, smiling at his, honestly, adorable accent. (Pablo, you don't have to learn English for us.)
