Page 75 of In Frame
“Me? Not us?”
“I’m coming back. Lean back a little. Elbows. That curtain…actually, never mind, I like it. You said you wanted simple, right? Personal.”
Leo hadn’t, exactly, but he did. “What about the curtain?” He glanced over. Loose and airy, it waved in diffuse whitebillows, catching sunshine.
“Oh,” Sam said, almost to himself; and very obviously took a picture of Leo not at all posing, head tipped toward the window, off-guard and not expecting it.
“I want you in it,” Leo protested.
“That one’s for me.” Sam sat back down with him, making the bed dip. “So, how do you want—”
Leo leaned over and put both arms around him, and landed a kiss someplace around his temple: not terribly coordinated, but precisely what he felt like doing, just then.
“Ah,” Sam said. “Okay. Wait, do that again—” and this time he caught the moment, Leo kissing him, his own laughter.
Leo tackled him back into the bed. Kissed him again, and again: hands roaming all across Sam’s body, gazing down at him, needing to touch and be touched and let all the love spill out in a wild wondrous overflow.
He knew Sam was capturing pieces, bursts, glimpses of joy. He knew the camera remained in play. He loved that as well, here and now: Sam’s gift and their choice, just for them.
After a few minutes and a lot of laughter—and Leo’s cock deciding to wake back up, half-hard again, taking an interest in Sam’s body next to his and the pure naughty delight of naked photography, coupled with equally pure trust—Sam let him see the results. Leo, shamelessly sitting in Sam’s lap, ended up speechless.
He knew Sam was a genius. He’d known. He hadn’t, though. Not the way he saw it now.
Sam hadn’t caught anything below the waist, or even their shoulders, the dip of a collarbone; they might’ve been simply shirtless, if not wholly innocent at least more so. The daydream of the background suggested a bed, but that wasn’t the focus. The focus, and the story, was simply them.
Bare shoulders and sunshine and a gauzy white and bluebackdrop. Leo’s arms flung around Sam, a moment just after a kiss. Lightness and love and Sam’s hair in Leo’s face, messy and imperfect and full of delight. Leo himself glancing at the camera, grin visible despite the press of his nose into Sam’s head, and Sam glancing down, not quite as in focus, but obviously laughing, obviously overjoyed.
The only word for it all was love. Vibrant, tumultuous, soul-baring love.
He said, “That one. That second one—”
“Yeah,” Sam said. “I thought so, too.”
“You’re in it as well. Mostly. You’re not quite looking, we can’t see your eyes, but…”
“The second you say something, someone’ll figure out who I am anyway.” Sam shrugged, or attempted to: he still had Leo in his lap, rather protectively. “Someone somewhere’ll remember that you brought a man home after your London premiere, and someone’ll recognize me in pictures of that night, and they’ll bribe your driver for details. I know me. The other mes, I mean, with the cameras and the lack of journalistic integrity or respect for privacy.”
Leo tipped his head back onto Sam’s shoulder just to make a face at him. “You did what you had to do. And you’re kinder than most. And also how dare you impugn my drivers. And also that wasn’t an answer.”
“I’m sure your drivers are fantastic,” Sam said. “And very human. No, I don’t mind. It’s gonna come out, Leo. Sooner or—”
“Well, yes, coming out is precisely thepoint—”
“I’m trying to answer your question. No interrupting.”
Leo stuck his tongue out at Sam for that one. Sam let this go, likely because he hadn’t technically interrupted as such. “I’m proud to be with you. Kinda still working on believing it’s all real, but if you want me and I want you and we want this…then I want to be right there next to you.” He paused, and added,“You’re one of the bravest people I know, Leo. You know that, right?” and it sounded like a genuine question, as if that ought to be something Leoshouldknow.
Leo, who did not consider himself anywherenearthe realm of heroic or courageous, thank you, answered lightly, “You obviously haven’t spent nearly enough time with people, then; can I have a copy of that one? For sharing?” and did a small bounce in Sam’s lap. “I like beingverynext to you. Where’s my phone?”
“Um…the floor? Your pants?” Sam’s eyebrows performed that little concerned motion they sometimes practiced. “Leo, I mean it. I think you’re amazing.”
“Of course I am. Send me that picture?”
Sam sighed. “I’ll need the laptop. Just a sec…” He had to get up to do that; Leo dangled over the side of the bed and fished around for his phone.
Hmm. Text messages. His agent—Anne-Marie wanted to know what he’d thought of that period-piece script, and also the proposed multi-episode arc for his character’s return to that science-fiction show. His mother—she’d randomly sent a snapshot of Benvolio the cat asleep on what looked like a pile of chain mail, though she’d probably meant it as an opening to a question about how he was doing today. Most recently, Jason—asking whether he’d got in all right, apologizing for being busy most of the day, which sounded more like something Colby’d put in, and asking whether he and Sam would want to come over for dinner later.
He looked up, still half-draped over the bed. “Are we busy later?”
