“You’re right.” Andy set the bottle down, then dropped a black backpack onto the table. He unzipped it, the sound deafening in the silence of the small space, and began to pull things out of it and set them on the table.
His back was to Leonidas and he couldn’t see everything, but he at least recognized the crinkly sound of a condom wrapper. Finally, after what felt an eternity, Andy zipped the bag and dropped it onto the floor. He rolled a piece of prosciutto between his fingers and slid it into his mouth as he turned to face Leonidas once again.
Leonidas couldn’t think of a single moment in time since they met when Andy hadn’t taken his breath away. Even though he’d thought about it every step he took through Spain, the act of physically coming to America was a brash and impulsive decision. He’d booked the ticket, but it wasn’t until he was on the first plane that he realized what he’d done, what he was saying, what he was committing to.
Even now, Andy doubted him, doubted his intent and his devotion, and that was his own fault. He knew that the things he said sometimes cut Andy, but why couldn’t Leonidas have all the things that he wanted? Couldn’t he have the life he loved, and Andy too?
Andy reached behind him and pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it on the ground, then he popped the button on his jeans, but left them on. He picked something up from the table, and it took a moment for Leonidas to realize it was a blindfold. Gooseflesh broke out across his skin and he bit his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Get up,” Andy said, tucking the blindfold into his pocket and reaching down. Leonidas slipped his hand into Andy’s and let himself be pulled up. His knees cracked, but he ignored it. His cock was still hard, still pointing outward, still leaking.
“Go pour out some paint,” Andy continued, “onto a palette.”
Leonidas managed a nod, then went to the racks where Greyson stored all the paint. He picked some colors, mostly reds and oranges and golds, and squirted them out.
“Brushes?” he asked.
“Just one.”
Leonidas plucked a brush out from the jar of them, his eyes finally landing on all he things Andy had taken out of the backpack. It wasn’t anything he’d expected, beyond condoms and lube. There was a towel that looked stolen from the hotel, a worn, black bandana, and a small length of rope.
He tried to not focus on the things and turned back to Andy, the palette prepared and in hand.
“What now?”
“Set it down,” Andy said calmly. “Have a drink.”
Leonidas set the paint down on the edge of the table closest to the blank canvases. He reached for the bottle and took a drink. It was shitty wine from the shitty little grocery store, but if he licked his lips, he could taste the lingering flavor of Andy’s lips around the rim.
He put the bottle back on the table and waited for his next instruction. Leonidas’s mind was peacefully clear from the time he’d spent waiting, the ache in his knees throbbing in time with every beat of his heart.
Andy picked up one of the cherries and slipped the whole thing into his mouth. He held the stem between his fingers, and Leonidas watched the way Andy’s jaw worked as his tongue fished the pit out.
“Hold out your hand,” Andy said, his mouth full and his lips reddening from the juice.
Leonidas did, and Andy spit the pit into his palm.
“Is that humiliating?” Andy asked, his eyes sparkling as they searched Leonidas’s face.
“No.”
Andy made an agreeable noise, then bit into another cherry. Shortly after, another pit landed in Leonidas’s palm. His cock jumped, and Andy’s shiny lips pulled into the smallest hint of a smile.
Next, Andy offered him a cherry, and he dipped his face down, taking the fruit between his teeth and biting down. Juice leaked from the puncture and coursed down his chin. Andy waited, and Leonidas spit the pit into his own palm.
And then, nothing happened.
They stood face to face with three cherry pits in Leonidas’s palm, their stares locked together as the silence softened around them. Without breaking eye contact, Andy scooped the pits into his own hand and tossed them onto the floor, then he reached for the rope and looped it around Leonidas’s already outstretched wrists. Andy bound him, bare, with his knuckles dragging against the hot length of his erection.
“Make a fist around your cock,” Andy said, and Leonidas shifted his hands in his restraints to get a grip on himself.
“Do you remember,” Andy carried on, “when we were in Paris and you taught me how to throw a bowl on the wheel?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“I do, too. I think about that night a lot.”
“So do I,” Leonidas agreed, watching Andy’s expression soften.
