Page 31 of In Frame
Leo had asked about taking pictures. Had seen him, seen clean through him, to the person who still sometimes wished the world had been different, who wanted photographs in gallery exhibits and art books that people would save and look through and be moved by. Had used the wordlove.
Sam, in the dark, holding Leo and holding onto Leo, felt his heart thump against the cage of his chest.
He knew Leo had arranged this night. Leo had wanted to try sex with a man, and had for some reason liked Sam. Had been intrigued by him. Trusted him.
Leo had chosen him, and Sam would never be anything but honored; he couldn’t ask for more than this encounter. Wouldn’t dare. Lucky enough to have this time, this second time, when he’d never thought he’d see Leo Whyte again.
He’d have this and he’d keep the memory safe, tucked like a sepia-toned picture next to his heart, a love-letter he could imagine from time to time, when he needed to smile.
He kissed the top of Leo’s head. The scents of lemon soap, of papaya shampoo, made him smile as they stabbed his heart.
He shut his eyes, and held on.
Chapter 3: London
Leo woke far too early, but the waking came with a kiss, so he did not mind as much. He cracked open both eyes, recognized the bulk of an unexpected presence beside him, had a brief moment of utter bewilderment, moved a leg, and remembered.
Physically. Incontrovertibly.
“Oh. Oh,my.”
Sam balanced on an elbow beside him, left his legs tangled up with Leo’s, got visibly concerned. In pearlescent dawn light his eyes were dark gold as temptation, and gave away nothing of whatever he’d been thinking when offering a fairytale awakening. “Sore?”
“Let’s say I’m…noticing everything we did.” Leo yawned. This was himself in bed with a man. This was himself, in bed with a man, much too early the morning after. A bit sore—well, perhaps more than a bit, but not so much he’d admit to anything; he’d felt far worse after fight training and flying-harness stunts on various sets—and inarguably nestled into a firm masculine body.
All right. He’d woken up with people before. And his bed remained his bed, luxurious and pillow-topped and layered with indulgent fluff. And the person in his bed was Sam.
And Leo couldn’t find any sort of real panic about that fact, though maybe he should at some point do some re-evaluation of self and sexuality. “You’re a splendid bed-warmer. Are we getting up?”
“You don’t have to.” Sam touched him while talking: cheek, shoulder, hip. Sam did like touching, Leo concluded all over again. “I can get up and go. You can stay in bed. Stay warm.”
“No, I promised.” He wriggled closer, though. Sharing naked skin, under the weight of sheets and covers. The indigopool of his duvet kept them close. “I’m entirely skipping the gym this morning, though.”
Sam’s hand encountered Leo’s backside. Squeezed appreciatively. Lingered there. “I think you’re allowed that much. What’re you up to, anyway? After your successful world-changing film premiere.”
“Is it? I hope so—those stories need telling—but we’ll see how the reviews turn out. I’ll read a few once I’m more awake. We’ve got some press to do, this afternoon, tomorrow, and then next week when we hit New York and Los Angeles. Would you like tea? Coffee? Pictures of me?” He knew Sam had to leave. He did not want Sam to leave. The extent of not wanting that astounded him.
“Right now I want to do something else for you.” The exploring hand snuck over between Leo’s legs. Leo’s cock, which had quite liked awakening with that large radiator-heat right up against him, perked up further “The way you look…the way this feels…God, I want to do things to you.”
“Do you always feel like sex in the morning? Not that I’m saying no. I’m quite interested.” So was Sam, given the thick upright stiffness nudging Leo’s thigh. “Sothatpart feels different. Your, er, literal part. As far as waking up with someone.”
Sam’s hand did not leave Leo’s morning arousal, but ceased moving. “If you don’t want…I mean I get it, you said before you weren’t usually into guys…and if you want to say this never happened…”
“No, no, not at all! I’m not about to pretend I’m not into you when I am, and I think I’ll have some sorting out to do but I’m quite happy to do it. I won’t even be bothered if you tell people about this…though…perhaps give me a day or so to have dinner with my parents first? If you wouldn’t mind.”
Sam’s eyes did something complicated: a wince, aflinching from a dart-wound, a resolution. “I won’t tell anyone.”
“I don’t hide anything,” Leo told him. “And I very rarely regret things.”
“No.” The dart didn’t quite land. The wound knit itself back together, entertained. “Not you. You’re yourself for the world. And for me, right now. I won’t tell anyone, though. That way you can decide what you want to do, whenever you want to do it.”
“Oh,” Leo said. “That’s…well. Thank you. For that. Would you like to dome, right now? I would like that.” He would. Looking into Sam’s eyes, all treasure-brown against a frame of winter-blue sheets, he saw the promise and the conviction; gold slipped along his bones and gathered and pooled into need, all at once. “What else would you like to show me?”
Sam gave him a curious sort of head-tip, between laughter and ruefulness; his hand resumed stroking Leo’s cock, which very much agreed with the attention. Leo, who had always preferred talking over silence and having to guess, inquired, “Is that the plan? Your hands on me? Can I put my hands on you?”
Sam did start laughing, this time. Strokes sped up, stoking fires. “You really do mean it, don’t you? You want this.”
“I want you,” Leo informed him. “I say what I’m thinking. For instance, at the moment I would like you to do that more, and maybe a bit harder? Like…” Oh, well; hehadjust said he’d say what he was thinking. “Like, oh, when you did a bit of pulling my hair? Like that, sort of. Intensity.”
