Page 19 of In Frame
“No, I meant…of course you live here. London.” You want me at your place, he did not say. You trust me to see where you live, to come home with you.
He downed another gulp of champagne. Noticed that the sleeves of his rented suit were far too large.
Leo’s suit fit beautifully. Tailored for him, of course.
Leo hadn’t expressed astonishment about Sam never having ridden in a limousine. Hadn’t made a joke about that. Had talked about this being a first for them both.
“Of course I live here,” Leo said. “It’s where we grow half the British acting talent. Sometimes they let us escape to Los Angeles or Vancouver if we’re well behaved. More seriously, though, I like living here. I’m only about ten minutes’ walk from my parents, which sounds dreadful but honestly is marvelous, because my parents are also marvelous. Which is where I get it, naturally. You did say you likedSteadfast?”
“I did.” Sam set down the champagne. Reached out and found Leo’s hands, both of them. Natural. Simple. As if his hands had been made for this. “So much. The detail, the scenery—Will’s library, I mean, wow—and the emotion. Like I was right there feeling everything with them. The whole story.” Leo’s fingers were long and graceful, and wove into Sam’s in fascinating ways.
“Yes.” Leo looked at their fingers too. “Colby and Jason are so very good, and Jill’s one of the most intuitive directors I’ve ever worked with, and then Colby’s script is brilliant, as well. I imagine there’ll be some awards on the horizon.”
“They’re good,” Sam said, “but they have everyone behind them, too. That world-building. Every character—I cared about Lord Cary, and about Percival Crawford, even if he is awful to Will, and about you. Edward. I honestly thought you might die in that storm sequence—and when the ship went down—and I hated thinking that, because you were so important, you’re Stephen’s friend and right hand, and you needed a happy ending too, and I think I said thank God, out loud, when you were alive at the end.”
This sentence came out rambling, disjointed, inelegant; but he meant every word. Leo began smiling even more, at the first part, and did not stop.
“It’s an important movie,” Sam said, and probably he was saying too much now, words erupting messily all over the place, but he wanted to see that smile keep happening. “Seeing our stories—our history—up on a big screen, with a happy ending…that matters so much. And you got to bring it to life.”
Leo’s pleasure danced in those hazel eyes, fireflies among forest groves. And he leaned forward and in and his lips found Sam’s in a kiss.
Leo Whyte really didn’t hold back, Sam managed to think dazedly; but then he was kissing Leo and discovering a clumsynear-lapful of Leo, bodies pressed together in the back seat of the limousine, heated and firm and ecstatic. That became Sam’s whole world: the eager explorations of Leo’s mouth meeting his, Leo’s tongue teasing his, Leo’s body—and, God, that body, lean and flexible and enthusiastic—under his hands, against him, all motion and excitement.
He touched Leo everywhere, the way he’d wanted to: hands learning the planes of that gym-honed back under a shirt that skimmed fingers like silk—he’d bet it was—and then venturing lower, to the tempting perky curve of Leo’s ass, which beckoned further playing. Leo’s eyes went even wider, mid-kiss, but he only paused long enough to grin and then nip deliberately at Sam’s lower lip.
“Oh really,” Sam murmured, entertained, and ran a hand along Leo’s thigh: learning how Leo squirmed and arched into the touch. “You like me touching you.”
Leo paused again to sparkle at him. “I’m beginning to suspect I do, yes.” His hair stood up, teased out of the red-carpet smooth wave. Sam’s fingers had done that. Sam’s mouth had left that mobile English one all pink and newly kissed.
“I want you to come home with me,” Leo said. “To celebrate my premiere. To be here. With me.”
“I want to.” He had a hand on Leo’s hip, over expensive suit-fabric. He was rubbing a thumb over that spot, the suit and the taut muscle beneath. He couldn’t help it. “But I just…I mean, are you sure?” He managed a steadying breath, and clarified, “You could be…should you be appearing at…after-parties, parties with friends, anything you want…anyone…publicity…”
“I want to be here.” Leo put out a hand and touched Sam’s chest, curious; Sam’s chest ached sweetly in that spot. “I know I’ve never done this, but I do like you touching me and I like the way I feel. With you. Unless you’re planning to kiss me and call me a cab and run away again.”
“I did not,” Sam said, ruffled, “run away—I was giving you space, a choice, something better than—”
“I’ve decided I’d quite like to try out this whole sex with a man concept,” Leo said, “and I want to try it with you.”
Sam, silenced by this, couldn’t reply.
He could put hands in Leo’s hair and tug them into another kiss, so he did. The kiss became soft and incredulous, because he couldn’t believe it. All that courage. That fearlessness. That faith in him. Inhim. Sam.
He shook his head in minor disbelief, laughing; and stroked a fingertip over Leo’s cheek because he could.
* * * *
Leo, whose cheek was presently discovering how much it liked being caressed by Sam’s fingers, attempted to ask, “Was that a no?” His voice emerged breathy and low, laced with audible desire; he was fairly certain that Sam was on board with the plan, given all the touches and the evident bulge in that not-quite-fitted suit, but then that had been a headshake, so he thought he ought to make certain. “Youarefree to say no, I realize I’ve rather sprung this on you and you only just came to see a movie and take some red-carpet photographs—you did get some, didn’t you? I can pose here in the limo for a few moderately scandalous ones if they’d be of use.”
“Leo.” Sam put both hands on his face this time: cupping Leo’s cheeks, stilling him, steadying him. Rather mortifyingly, this sensation—being held and soothed by Sam—went straight to Leo’s cock, which grew if possible even stiffer, trapped by his suit and quiveringly sensitive.
“Leo,” Sam said again. In that deep voice Leo’s name became chocolate, rich and molten, swirled long and lazy over tongues. “I love your movie, and, yeah, I did take some pictures.But that’s not really why I’m here. I’m here for you.”
“Because I practically dared you to come to—”
“Because I want to be here. Because it’s important to you—because you’re important.” Sam searched his eyes, and must’ve seen the crack at the core of Leo’s heart, because the words got repeated, slow and firm: “You’re important, Leo Whyte. I’ll tell you again if you want. You matter. In your movie. And here. With me.”
“Of course I’m important,” Leo announced. Bridges over chasms. Graceful and laced with ribbons, to hide any missing steps along the way. “I’m a gift to the world. And to kittens everywhere. So that’s not a no about the sex, then?”
