Barricades

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  Orestis

  Emir

  Orestis

  Emir

  Orestis

  Orestis

  Emir

  Orestis

  Emir

  Orestis

  Alex

  Orestis

  Emir

  Orestis

  Emir

  Orestis

  Emir

  Alex

  Orestis

  Emir

  Orestis

  About the Author

  By Dem Had

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  Barricades

  By Dem Had

  They were raised to hate each other, but love has other plans.

  When introverted bookworm Orestis escapes his homophobic parents and abusive home for a night out with friends, he meets artist Emir, and the passion between them is instant and explosive. But Orestis is a Greek Cypriot and Emir is Turkish Cypriot, and neither society nor their families will accept their love. If they want a romance that lasts beyond one fiery, forbidden night, they’ll have to face the backlash.

  World of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the globe.

  To myselves, both of them.

  Acknowledgments

  I HAVE to start by thanking my good friend Angeliki Georgiou for being an amazing alpha reader. Even during her university exams, she would make time to read everything from the early drafts, sharing her opinion and advice as a reader.

  I want to thank all my beta readers: Christina Kaniclidou, Letitia Washington, Sarah Petridou, Kat Mcbride, Bonnie Leonard, and my husband George Antoniou, for their helpful feedback, cheerleading, and support.

  To my enthusiastic critique partner William Kendrick Ravelo Garcia for his detailed and honest feedback. For without it, Barricades would have never become published.

  Last, but not least, I am grateful to Dreamspinner Press team for the opportunity.

  Author’s Note

  CYPRUS: A dot on the map, a rock in the southeast Mediterranean. A land with a strategic location in the Middle East, divided into Greek and Turkish sides since 1974, after several conflicts between the two sides. A centuries-old vendetta that poisons humans to their cores, brainwashes kids in schools, and breeds hate in soldiers’ hearts. Racism between Greek Cypriots and Turkish Cypriots is considered normal and understandable. Besides, it is just one generation apart from the coup d’état, war, death, and refugees. People are divided into Greek and Turkish, but they forget they are all Cypriots. They are divided by Christians and Muslims, but they forget they are all humans.

  Fifty-nine percent of the south area is under the control of the Republic, while thirty-six percent of the north area is administered by the self-declared Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus. The rest is covered by the UN buffer zone—also known as green line—or under British control as stated to the Zurich and London Agreements. The cross between the two sides for Cypriots was granted in 2003. The barricade had cut across Ledra Street in the heart of Nicosia, becoming a strong symbol. Crossing through Ledra Street was only granted in 2008.

  In the conservative, tight culture of Cyprus, being different means being marginalized, especially when it comes to sexuality. The officially registered organization dealing with LGBT rights was established less than a decade ago, and the first Pride Parade on the island took place in 2014. As society struggles to become more accepting and understanding, there are still many cases of hate speech, casual discrimination, and ignorance. Homophobia is mainly limited to verbal abuse and cyberbullying, while physical attacks seem to be the exception.

  Orestis

  “TAKE OFF your glasses, idiot.” Alex laughed before he switched off the engine. “You won’t be able to see clearly in there, anyway.”

  Alex and Nicolas, my friends, my only friends, had dragged me into the car, ranting about how I should get laid. They decided to have one explosive night before they left to study together in Manchester. The only people I could be myself with were fleeing the country, leaving me alone in this godforsaken place, and I was about to celebrate. Yay!

  “Fine!” I left my glasses on the back seat as my sight adjusted. For a second, the urge to root myself in the seat and whine like a five-year-old overpowered me, but I took a deep breath and forced myself out of the car.

  Nicolas wrapped his arm around Alex, and they walked together to the entrance. I watched from behind as they walked hip to hip, and I couldn’t help but pity myself. Would I ever have this? According to popular opinion, I should be holed up in my room, under the blanket, crying myself to sleep. I should be a depressed libertine who gets an STD and dies homeless. I walked toward a place where I could be myself behind closed doors. I was getting closer to society’s expectations: hiding. All that was left was a drug addiction or syphilis to complete the package.

  The night was still young when we entered, and the smell of dust and faux leather assaulted my nostrils. I headed to the bar and ordered a margarita. By the time I bit on the lemon wedge, my glass was empty, the air heavier, the music louder, and my friends’ bodies moved to its rhythm. Their foreheads touched, ignoring the waves of dancers around them. The way they stared into each other’s eyes, indicating foreplay, filled me with jealousy. Across the room, two men in their briefs and drenched in oil danced on the elevated floors. A long-legged man with short blond hair passed by and sat on a barstool. His broad chest and muscular biceps contradicted his high heels.

  Wherever my focus turned, boredom and sadness overwhelmed me. I sank into the sofa and hugged a pillow to hide myself. I’m nineteen and dried up like the Sahara. My inner voice was flat and dull. I’m a nerdy pervert. I love dick, but none comes my way. Alex appeared in front of me, pulling my arm in his unsteady gait.

  “You are dancing tonight!” he shouted.

  “No, no, no…,” I said, pulling myself back to the sofa. His strong grip stretched the skin around my wrist when I pulled it back.

  “Yes!” He laughed and pushed me toward the crowd. I stumbled and bumped into the firmness of a strong chest. My head spun when I realized I was on the dance floor.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. I lurched, trying to keep my balance, and two hands latched on to me, steadying me.

  “Are you okay?” Eyes like emeralds twinkled at me.

  “Yeah, err… sorry, my friend pushed me….” Gorgeous. Sun-kissed skin and red, glistening lips captivated me. For a second, I thanked Alex.

  “No problem,” he said, smirking down at me.

  I stepped back, avoiding his gaze, and went to the bar, ordered another margarita, and rested my elbow on the tabletop. I kept my back to the crowd and observed the barman pouring tequila in the shaker, then felt a push on my shoulder. I turned to face a muscled arm with a tattoo reaching up to the neck and the same green eyes checking me out from head to toe. A bottle touched his lips, he gulped, and his Adam’s apple danced in his throat. For fuck’s sake, his allure…. I swallowed hard. The bottle detached from his lips, leaving them dripping, and he looked down, sniggering. I turned to the mirror behind the array of liquor bottles and watched him dancing his way to the crowd. A heavy breath escaped me, and I sipped my drink.

  “What was that?” Alex asked.

  “He is looking at you.” Nicolas chuckled.

  Green eyes danced, staring my way. My hands trembled, unsteadying the glass I held. The unknown guy ran his fingers down his neck, his torso, until his thumbs pulled his belt downward and his hand disappeared into the front of his jeans. My dick began to move and twitch with the rhythm of his movements. My heart raced, and my temples throbbed. He was seducin
g me, and I, like an idiot, kept staring. What is wrong with me? When I reached for my drink, I realized the glass was empty. I traced the salty rim of the glass with my finger and licked it. His tongue ran over his lip, and he crooked his finger, inviting me.

  All my life, I counted every step I took, reconsidered a thousand times before acting, and what did I get in return? People retreating from my life, my parents being ashamed of me, loneliness and fear becoming my routine. I would seek hearts and souls in vain, while my hand caught fire every night. Now was my chance for a break from the ugliness of my pathetic life, and the sexiest creature I’d ever seen was serving himself on the plate in front of me.

  Intoxicated, I snapped. I put down the empty glass and walked toward him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and mirrored his moves.

  I put my lips close to his ear and said, “I don’t dance.” The heat from his body put me in a fever.

  He finger-drummed on my torso, and his fingers ran downward to the nuances of “Tainted Love” until he crouched in front of me. His eyes locked with mine, and his face was centimeters from my crotch. His lips parted as I imagined them around my half-erect cock. Brushing my inner thighs, he stood up in a single, steady move, and our noses touched. His hot breath, emerald eyes, and lush lips were a magnet, pulling me closer, challenging me to lick his mouth and taste the saltiness of his sweat. He grabbed my nape, tilted his head to the side, and pressed his mouth to mine, leaving me breathless while our tongues massaged one another.

  “You are hot.” He panted.

  I am hot…. What is the epitome of sexiness saying?

  “More….” I gasped.

  He smiled, showing me white teeth. He cupped my face and kissed me again, his tongue tickling my palate. A strange numbness curled around me.

  “Want a drink?” he asked, shaking me back to reality. He shrugged and giggled. He snatched my hand and led me to the bar before I got the chance to respond. He situated himself on a barstool, pulled me closer, and wrapped his legs around my hips. “Let me rest my legs a bit,” he said.

  I wanted to scream. Is this for real? My gaze wandered back to Alex, who laughed at me with his thumb up. My hands were resting on the guy’s thighs when he tapped my shoulder.

  “Here.” He handed the shot glass to me. “One, two, three.” We shoved the tequila down our throats, and before I could recover from the sting in my chest, he pulled me even closer and forced his tongue right into my mouth. “Are you still there?” he asked with a grin.

  “No…,” I mumbled, my head spinning. He laughed and kissed me one more time before he jumped up, twirling his way back to the dance floor.

  “I like this song,” he called out. Every move suggested seduction. He started stretching his tank top, revealing a trail of hair between his nipples, going all the way down to his navel. All I could think about was burying my face in his chest. I was losing control over myself. With his shirt pushed down to his hips, he turned around and put his back against me. His head leaned on my shoulder as he swayed his hips from side to side.

  Four shots later, the scent of his sweat mixed with cologne spread all over me, my lips were swollen from kissing, and my fly threatened to burst, but my alcohol intolerance was bound to destroy my mood.

  “I don’t feel very well,” I said. I turned around, snuck through the crowd, up the stairs, and out of the club. The bass frequencies were nothing compared to the pounding in my head. I leaned in, resting my hand on the cement wall, and breathed deep, desperate to hold back the vomit threatening to emerge. A hand touched my shoulder and I looked up to see him holding a bottle of water. This is humiliating, but whatever. I had a sip of water. He didn’t say anything, just stared at me with those glassy eyes, making me uncomfortable every time I gazed up to him.

  “I can’t go back there,” I said, shaking my head. I assumed he would go back in the club without me, but instead, his hands came to rest on my nape and he brought his face closer and closer, until his cheek touched mine. A shiver swept through my body.

  “Let’s walk. It will sober you up a bit,” he said. For the first time, I could properly hear his voice, thick and smooth. His stretched tank top was hanging from his shoulders and part of his chest was visible.

  I checked the time: 2:13. “Yeah….” I nodded and walked beside him.

  I texted Alex: I left the club. Don’t leave without me.

  “Feeling better?” he said, breaking the deafening silence once we stepped on Ledra Street. With his hands deep in his pockets, he was stealing glances at me, and his red sneakers attracted my attention with every step.

  I nodded and chuckled. “Still drunk, though.”

  “You’re not a drinker, huh?” He snorted. He stared with a wide smile lighting the moonless night.

  I locked eyes with him. “I’ve never drunk that much in one day.” His laughter echoed between the tall buildings around us. He reached for his back pocket and took out a package of cigarettes, slid one into the corner of his mouth, lit it, and offered it to me.

  I shook my head. “Where are you from?” I asked, looking at his cigarette package displaying warnings in Turkish rather than Greek.

  He exhaled a cloud of smoke, pointing at the checkpoint thirty meters in front of us. We walked for another twenty meters in silence and stopped in front of the Missing People’s Monument.

  “Are you Turkish?” I asked, confused.

  “Cypriot, actually,” he said with a hint of annoyance. I guess that made two of us. He stood right in front of me, cutting my view to the north side of the street. His eyes narrowed. “My flat is a five-minute walk from here. Wanna come?”

  His stunning face blurred from my vision as I imagined my dad’s reaction if he found out about him.

  “I… err…,” I mumbled.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t have any ID with me,” I blurted out, breathless.

  His face softened with a faint smile. “No way around it then.” He tapped my shoulder to follow him. We walked into an alley, then through a churchyard, and we sat on a bench in front of a school’s door. I was still speechless when he lay down on my lap and closed his eyes. After a long minute, he sighed.

  “That was sexy as fuck,” he whispered. “In the club I mean.”

  I scoffed, “You were sexy.” I looked away to hide my awkwardness before his knuckles brushed my cheek. “So… what do you do for a living?” I asked, trying to ignore the erotic vibes coming from him.

  “I’m an artist.” He took out his phone.

  Of course he is. His eccentric and bold behavior showed that much.

  He extended his phone to me. “Here….”

  I scrolled down pictures of paintings. Realistic, yet surrealistic and in bright colors, making me wonder if I was happy or sad. “Reminds me of Mark Ryden.”

  His eyes opened wide in surprise. “You know Ryden?” His voice pitched higher than usual.

  “Yeah, the other day, I came across a book and I was hooked.”

  With a sudden move, he stood up and opened his fly. What is he doing out in the open? I checked around to confirm nobody was coming. He pushed down his jeans and pulled up his boxer briefs, revealing another tattoo of the painting Blood on his inner thigh. I looked around to the emptiness of the alley, then to the silence of the schoolyard. There was no one. I leaned closer, seizing the chance to touch his bare skin again.

  “Wow.” His cock got hard next to my face, and I swallowed, trying to focus on his tattoo. I looked up to him and whispered, “It’s beautiful.”

  He exhaled with a grin and scratched my jaw. He bent over, nipping my lips as he straddled me. I wrapped my arms around his waist to pull him closer, and his hips ground into me.

  “What if anyone comes?”

  “I don’t care,” he moaned.

  I grabbed his shoulders and pushed him back. “I do.” I frowned.

  “I want it,” he whispered. Desperation radiated through him.

  I gave a wavering sigh. It was impro
bable we’d be seen, but still, not quite safe to hook up out in the open. I turned and placed one leg to the other side of the bench and let him sit in front of me with his legs resting on my thighs. With no second thought, he attacked my crotch as I struggled to open my fly. He started stroking me until both our dicks were between his palms. Drowning our groans, we tried to stay stealthy, but soon his hands moved faster and faster, and his wet skin sliding on me sent me to my zenith. My eyes rolled so hard I thought they wouldn’t return. When I came to my senses he was muffling his moans against my shoulder. Our foreheads touched, and we tried to catch a breather, sniggering.

  With his eyes shut, he sucked on my lips.

  “There is no way to hide it now.” Looking down at our semen spread all over our fingers and clothes, I started thinking of a solution.

  He surprised me when he pulled up his top and wiped his hand against the inside of the shirt.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Oh, did you want to lick it?” he teased.

  “But….”

  “No worries,” he said, shaking up his pants. “It’s just an old shirt.” He stood up to fix his clothes and lay down again with his head resting on my lap. “So….” His voice fluctuated. “What do you do for a living?”

  I laughed at his ability to turn the conversation around and told him about my boring job at the electronics shop. Chitchatting about our interests, we discovered we both loved astronomy. The conversation developed into a passionate debate.

  “Alternate universes, not parallel,” he said.

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not. A parallel universe—”

  My phone buzzed, interrupting him.

  “Where are you, dude?” Alex asked.

  “I’m close. Are you leaving?”

  “In a bit. Do you want me to pick you up?”

  “No, I’ll be there in ten.”

  “Okay.” He hung up.