Dima and Anya

With the gentle blade of a single finger, Dima and Anya exchanged petal caresses: he her bare, fair thigh in those denim summer shorts, she his mobile wrist. And, staring at them out of fatigue and fascination, I thought quietly Isn't she his first cousin? Have I ever touched my cousin like that? Certainly not.
Later that evening, she retreated to the bathroom, a subtle smirk of some random satisfaction across her face and with panties and a faded shirt (XXL, perhaps an ex's) underneath pinched between her forefinger and hidden thumb. I marveled at the delicacy of her hand and immediately the word "prim" came to mind. As she prepared for bed at 3:30am, we three men-- a Russian acquaintance, a Russian cousin, and an Italian nerd-- saw in awe her petite and smiling mysteriousness.
"Iee do naught know what eet ease, but when sheh step-pid off the plaen from Moscow, Iee could naught help myself."
"Waddaya mean, Dima?" I asked with precedented suspicion, noticing how our eyes (including his) trailed behind her ass as she exited the room earlier.
He thought how best to respond, and with a finger on his lips, he looked up at me and replied assuredly "Iee haff never met her before five days ago. She ease my couseen, ahnd Iee--," he puts an arm over our shoulders, "my friends--haff indulged een forbidden pleasures...."
The ellipsis is for me, not for him. I couldn't think of how to make out what he said.

The toilet flushed, the door squeaked open, and Anya came out in nothing but the large faded shirt with Russian pop culture written on it. Her blonde down and her makeup off, she was more beautiful.
"What?"
We were all huddled, standing and discussing her (a raucous subject), and then interrupted by that very subject of our juxtaposingly quiet dialogue.

Anton didn't react to her presence beyond turning to acknowledge her.
I reacted with a blink and an inaudible and timid "--nothing."
Dima smiled.

I wondered at that, too, squinting my eyes at him as if blurring my vision would brighten my mind.

Anton slept on the couch after smoking cigarettes he rolled himself.
I slept in the bed sprawled and alone and aware of the floored air-mattress below my side, and the sounds I was hearing on it.
Sounds of Dima coming to bed after Anya had fallen asleep, to wake her up and corrupt her. I heard zippers though-are there pajamas with zippers?

They were gone when I awoke, and the mattress looked deflated. I shuffled to the living room, scratched my head, turned it to see Anton waking to see who was shuffling. We smiled at one another, at our incredulity, and went back to sleep.