“I’ll let you touch yourself, but I’m going to ask you questions,” he said, swirling the brush through a darker orange hue and retracing the line he’d just painted. “And I want answers.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“There is a catch, though.” Andy laughed to himself, pulling the orange color out toward Leonidas’s shoulder.
“Okay.”
“You can only touch yourself, I mean,” he paused and squeezed Leonidas’s hands again, “reallytouch yourself, if you’re answering me.”
Leonidas muttered something under his breath that Andy couldn’t hear, and the frustration in his voice made Andy smile.
He dipped the brush into some paint and held it poised and ready.“Tell me about the first time you traveled.”
He pulled the brush in a long line down Leonidas’s sternum to his belly. His thick black hair tangled in the paint, matting to his skin. Andy pulled the brush away and brought his attention to Leonidas’s face, the loose, slack shape of his mouth as his hands started to move around his cock, the tension in his throat and shoulders as he generated much needed friction against his skin.
“I was eighteen,” Leonidas practically grunted. “I went to Belgium. To Bruges, with my friend Adrian.”
“Why Belgium?” Andy reached up with his fingers and pressed against Leonidas’s throat, smearing the paint before it dried.
“We liked the movieIn Bruges,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing. Andy dragged his hands higher, smearing paint across the new crimson backdrop Leonidas had made for him. “Wanted to see it.”
Leonidas’s body trembled as he used his hips to fuck his cock into his bound fists. Andy circled his fingers around the base of Leonidas’s cock, using his knuckles and his wrist to stop Leonidas from jacking off.
“What?” he grumbled, stilling.
“You stopped talking.” Andy reminded him with a smirk.
“We went to the marketplace,” Leonidas started again, his wrists jerking and pushing around to build up the motion he’d stopped. “Up the steps of the belfry tower.”
“Just like the movie.”
“Less Irish. Less murder,” Leonidas groaned. His lips straightened into a tight line and he stilled.
“Good boy,” Andy praised, leaning in and brushing their lips together. Leonidas opened his mouth and chased after Andy’s kiss.
Andy put space between them, taking a drink of wine and then raising the bottle to Leonidas’s mouth. He tipped it, letting dribbles of merlot pour onto Leonidas’s tongue. Leonidas drank, licking his lips and silently pleading for more. Andy obliged him, because he knew he would never not give Leonidas whatever he wanted.
“Please ask me something else.”
“Where’s the best place you’ve ever been?” Andy set the wine down and held a cherry between his fingers. He split it in half and cast out the pit, then rubbed the ripe, lush fruit against Leonidas’s desperate and swollen lips.
Leonidas’s hands began to move again, his mouth grimacing as he fought his way toward his orgasm.
Andy pushed the cherry halves between Leonidas’s lips, then swiped his fingers through a mixture of the paint. He flattened a hand on Leonidas’s chest and pushed him backward, until his shoulders bumped the wall. The breath puffed out of him with a quietoomph.
“I can show you,” Leonidas whispered, licking cherry juice from his lips.
“Yes.”
Leonidas lowered himself to his knees like he was meant to be there, like it was second nature. He tilted forward, pressing his face against Andy’s groin and inhaling deeply. He turned slightly to the side and mouthed the base of Andy’s cock.
“Here,” he said, his breath hot against Andy’s straining erection and his knees firmly planted on the floor. “The best place I’ve ever been is right here.”
“Cherry Creek?” Andy croaked.
“Cherry Creek. Bordeaux. Paris” Leonidas sucked the side of his cock. “Anywhere but Hawaii.”
Andy reached down and grabbed him, the paint on his fingers slicking and sliding across Leonidas’s shoulders and biceps. He didn’t move to pull him up, just to hold him. Maybe it was for support, maybe for grounding even though Andy knew Leonidas was there—truly knew it in the marrow of his bones.
