Page 33 of In Frame
“I’m glad.” Sam touched the corner of Leo’s mouth again. “You didn’t mind? Me, y’know. Kinda asking a lot of you, for a first time.”
“I told you I want to know.” He shut both eyes, tipped his head into Sam’s hand. Let himself want and feel and simply be, just for an instant. “I loved it.”
“You sound tired.” Sam stroked a thumb over Leo’scheekbone. “I’d say I’m sorry about that, except I’m not. Your voice, though…here, I’ll at least get you water. Stay still for a sec.”
“Mmm,” Leo said, “all right…” and tucked himself down into the warm spot left by Sam’s body. Water flipped on—Sam had found glasses, obviously—and off; a heap of indigo watched him, smiling in duvet-fluff.
Stunned by exultance, Leo flopped to his back, starfished on the bed, stared blankly at his ceiling. His ceiling smirked back; voyeur, he thought exhaustedly at it. But his bedroom approved of everything they’d just done, so that was all right.
His mouth tasted like Sam, which was like nothing else ever. He stuck out his tongue. Tried to squint at it.
“What’re you doing?” Sam settled down beside him, propped on an elbow. One big hand landed across Leo’s stomach, evidently just to touch. The other offered water, in a familiar glass that caught the morning and became extraordinary.
“Trying to see the flavor,” Leo explained. “You. On my tongue.”
* * * *
The complete honest guilelessness of that reply charmed Sam’s heart into wordless emotion. He sat still and looked at Leo for a second: Leo Whyte, beautiful and freshly loved and fascinated by the world. Trying to see flavor, to taste Sam, on his tongue.
He wanted to kiss Leo all over. He wanted to tumble Leo down into sticky sheets and laugh. He felt like sunlight, like holiday mornings, like the scent in the seconds just before rain.
Leo said, “I know that’s probably less than possible, seeing flavor, but why not try?” and reached over and took thewater and took a sip, and then pulled Sam closer, fitting their bodies together. Sam breathed a kiss over his temple, tasted soft sandy blond hair, never wanted to leave this bed with its mountains of color and pillows and lavish mattress-topper ever again.
He asked, hand sneaking to the back of Leo’s head, cradling Leo against him, “Feeling better?” He hoped so.
Leo hadn’t been feelingbad, he thought. Overcome by sensation. Flexible voice scratchy around the edges, used hard. But enjoyably. He believed that. Leo had said so.
The sweetness of it all hurt too much. Clear-etched as streetlamps spilling light.
Leo looked up from water. He’d been sipping slowly, and a drop clung to his top lip before he licked it away. Sam’s whole entire self, despite recent exertion, swelled with desire. Naked, he held onto Leo as hard as he could.
Leo’s lips quirked into a smile. “Feeling thoroughly spoiled. You taking care of me, holding me…you getting me to feel all of that…everything I’ve felt…it’s so much. I’m all wrung out and twinkly.”
“Sounds about right.” He took the glass when Leo handed it back, and set it on the bedside table. “Done?”
“Unromantically,” Leo said, “I may in fact need to brush my teeth? Not because of you. Just because it’s the morning and I like clean teeth.”
Sam collapsed into laughter. Couldn’t help it. Not because the line was even funny. Because it felt so right: so domestic, so unguarded, so much like the exact collection of words for that exact moment in time.
“And here I wasn’t even trying to be entertaining.” Leo waved a hand. “I’ll talk about showering next. My entire morning routine, narrated for your pleasure.”
“No,” Sam tried to explain, “no, no…I’m not laughing atyou…I’m just…laughing…”
“Because of my toothbrush? I hadn’t thought about it, but I suppose if you like me putting things in my mouth…” Leo’s smile wasn’t the one displayed across movie posters or on-screen roles. This one was personal, not a performance, and consequently braver than Sam could’ve ever guessed: happy, mischievous, just a little proud of himself for making someone else happy too. “I wonder whether entertainingly-shaped toothbrushes exist? Like certain aspects of the male anatomy. Or other things. Like dinosaurs or pineapples. I’ll ask the internet later.”
I love you, Sam thought. I love you and the dinosaurs and your toothbrush—
He didn’t say it. He couldn’t say it.
He kissed Leo instead. Long and deep and inarguable. And tasting sort of like himself, but that was okay; he didn’t mind. He’d kiss Leo Whyte forever if he were ever allowed.
They got out of bed. They brushed teeth and cleaned up and got dressed: hips and arms bumping, touching a lot, encountering each other over and over in shared space. Easy, so easy: as if they’d had a routine for years, Leo’s hand finding Sam’s too-large shirt, Sam looping a finger into Leo’s boxer-briefs and tugging him in for a kiss. When Leo first held up a toothbrush, in the bathroom, they both burst out laughing.
Leo kissed him amid amber lamplight as it fought the chill of a too-early London morning, and said, “Did you want to take any photographs? Of me, here at home? I really am offering and you’ll need something to show for your time away.” His eyes were more serious than gossip suggested they could ever be. Generosity and commitment lined up among green and brown forest groves.
His posture, his motions, were easy too, untroubled, but also a hint more careful than usual; no regrets, but probably,yeah, decently sore, Sam realized. First times. Exertion. All that.
He said, while the world developed fault lines and the cracking raced along his veins, “If you want…” He couldn’t let Leo offer this. Except for how he could, obviously, because he was. He was saying yes. Using Leo. Using Leo’s kindness for a paycheck.
