“To the director? I wouldn’t know what to say.”
“Tell him you liked the film. My god, it’s praise. It doesn’t have to be original, just genuine. The second you start posing, then you become a poser.”
“I suppose so.” Alex moaned with satisfaction as Jago took hold of his hand and worked the ointment into the spaces between his fingers. “But what’s that got to do with Lorca? An Andalusian Dog?”
“Because it can take hundreds and hundreds of compliments to build us up and one shitty act of spite to destroy us. Just one nasty bitch, eagerly awaiting a failure. Or one who wants to make a movie mocking you.”
“You’re sure that wasn’t just spite from a bitter ex? You said Dali and Lorca—”
“I suppose that’s possible. All this to say, I understand your anxiety. How it’s paralysed your show. But it will get better, I promise you. Joanna doesn’t suffer the same fears. Strange, in that way, among others. It’s like she’s an older soul.”
“Umm… thanks, I think?”
“Would I be here now, with you, if I was lying? Listen, my little bundle of high tension and insecurity, you belong here. You’ve every right to do this work and have it seen, and don’t let anyone tell you differently.” Jago smeared a little more of the ointment onto Alex’s face. Alex sighed with pleasure as Jago slid his hands down the length of his body one last time, slipping them between Alex’s thighs and smearing his now unapologetically attentive genitals with the ointment. “In the words of the cunning Shylock, ‘since I am a dog, beware my fangs.’”
Alex opened his eyes to see the Jago grinning in all toothy glory as his dark, handsome features hovered above him. “To the dogs of Andalusia.”
“To all of us Andalusia dogs.” Jago gave him a quick, wet lick on the nose. “Woof.”
“Woof,” Alex replied, now grinning too. “Woof, woof.”
Jago began panting, his tongue outstretched in self-mockery before easing back on his haunches and howling as if the moon itself could hear. Alex pushed himself up, and sitting across from Jago, began to howl too.
“Awwooooooo!” Jago howled with a laugh. “Awwooooooooo!!!!!”
Alex’s howl collapsed into laughter. “We won’t bother your neighbours?”
“Not from in here.” Jago said, arms outstretched as he caught his breath. “My sacred place, remember? How are you feeling?”
“Amazing. I don’t know what you were doing or where you learned it, but…” A few more seconds passed between them, and for the first time since Jago had asked him to lie down, Alex felt awkward. “I should probably go.”
“Perhaps, but I hope you won’t.”
It occurred to Alex as their lips met that he’d not kissed a man like this in a long time; with earnestness and courage, yet also a tentativeness that came from wanting the kiss to deepen with each passing second. Their shared nudity had stripped away much of his nervousness, and what remained made the taste of Jago one he longed to intensify. Jago, who up until now had been so in control of their time together, from the beer, to the massage, to even leading their questions, now lay on his back,his smile one of gentle adoration as he stroked Alex’s cheek. Torn between the urge to kiss him again and hover above him, drinking in every second of that smile, Alex let out a nervous giggle.
“What?” Jago said.
“I just wasn’t expecting this. You’re more beautiful than I thought.”
“I’m not sure how to take that.”
“I mean—I’ll shut up. I know you have guys telling you you’re beautiful all the time.”
Jago cupped his hand around Alex’s jaw, stroking the curve of his ear with a stray fingertip. “Not guys I care to hear it from, usually. There comes a time when casual sex starts to burn you out.”
Alex took Jago’s hand in his and kissed it impulsively. “Can’t say I’ve yet had that particular burnout.”
“It will happen. You stay in Madrid long enough? Or Barcelona or Mexico City... even New York or London. Anywhere that gathers men like us. It makes me fearful, sometimes. Such great hedonistic parties throughout history have seldom fizzled out. They’re more often crushed by an unwelcome visitor. The church. The Fascists. The plague…” He shook his head vehemently. “Gosh, I sound cheery.”
Alex tried to brush his dire prediction off with a shrug. “You certainly have a dark side.”
“You worked that out so quickly?”
Feeling emboldened, Alex began stroking the contours of Jago’s chest. “Did we or did we not dance in the shadow of the devil’s image tonight?”
Jago laughed, pulling Alex closer and wrapping him in a warm hug, accompanied by another deep, welcome kiss. It had occurred to Alex at some point during the massage how cool the room was, at least relative to outside, or even compared to the rest of the apartment. But reasoning this seemed a waste of time with Jago’s naked body pinned against his. He brought his knee up between Jago’s legs, pressing their bodies into each other with renewed hunger until their kiss broke again.
“Perhaps that’s why all that sex with those tourist boys—Americans, English, and French guys, Germans—leaves me cold. I’m a secret Cassandra.” Jago mocked his own sentence with wide eyes as he stroked Alex’s hair. “Beware, beware!”
