Chapter 7 In Bed, Happily

Leo gazed at the hotel bed, and fell in love. Not with Sam, because he’d already done that. With mountains of fluffy pristine white bedding, and pillows with patterns of marine life, including a seahorse picked out in fuzzy thread, with eyes of aquamarine sequins. “It’s marvelous. I want to take every single pillow home with me.”

“I thought you might.” Sam, who’d met him in the lobby and held his hand all the way up in the elevator, let go to rummage around in a bag on the table by the window. “Got you a present.”

“You mean other than yourself?”

The flight had been long and uneventful. Leo’d read a possible next-project adaptation involving Victorian-era scandal and murder and bigamy, had decided that the two male leads were obviously more into each other than the woman they were supposedly in love with, had watched Adrenaline Spike again just to have some more ammunition regarding Jason and the terrible action-hero clichés, and had utterly failed to fall asleep even though he’d tried. He’d ended up putting on a travel documentary about Machu Picchu and then wondering what llamas felt like to pet.

He’d never been good at sleeping on planes. Always wanted to know what was happening around him. Listening. Observing. Getting distracted.

In this case the distraction involved anticipation. He’d barely been able to sit still in the car on the way to the hotel.

He knew Sam had gone out to the beach that morning, because Colby and Jason were in meetings with Jillian and studio executives most of the day; he knew, because of sent pictures, that Sam had rolled up trouser-legs and sat barefoot in the sand, feeling sun and tasting salt and sea, occasionally capturing a snapshot of the ocean’s rolling blue glory and some distant surfers riding waves and shared fun.

He knew Sam loved people, in all their messy beautiful complexity. Sam took and saved and made eternal every laugh, every human story, with that camera.

Sam had come back here and brushed off sand and waited for him, because Leo hadn’t publicly come out yet and Sam did understand people and wouldn’t assume that Leo wanted to be swept off his feet and soundly kissed at the airport or even in a hotel lobby.

Leo had wanted that. So badly it hurt: the want stuck a spear in his chest, skewering him in place.

There’d been paparazzi at the airport, of course. Not too many, but a few. They’d snapped pictures of him walking, carrying his bag, signing an autograph or two. He’d waved and been friendly, but the media would say he looked tired, he guessed; lack of sleep would do that.

He turned from the bed. Sam was holding something out. Small. Wrapped in tissue paper. A gift.

Leo took it. His heart looked at the spear in his chest and pushed back against it a fraction: Sam hadn’t tipped him into a movie-cliché kiss downstairs, but had bought him a present.

He unfolded layers of paper. He discovered glass, seashells, glitter: Southern California tourism in snow globe form. “This is brilliant!”

“It’s not anything big.” Sam had tucked hands into pockets, watching him, smiling faintly. “I just thought…we talked about seahorses…and it’s sort of tacky but also sort of not, y’know? Like, it totally is, and you could afford way better souvenirs, but it also goes with your fish pillow.”

“I love it.” He honestly did. Drifting sparkly sand flowed around a seahorse and a sand castle, when he tilted the globe; the base wore glued-on shells with unselfconscious glee. “There’s a whole story to it, isn’t there? He’s built that lovely castle, and he’s so pleased to show it off. Have you ever built a sand castle? I expect I’d be pleased too, if I could make one like that.”

Sam’s smile got bigger.

“What,” Leo said, “are sand castles some sort of bizarre American euphemism for sex, because I can kind of see that, with the towers—”

“No. Or at least not that I know about.” Sam stepped in close, looped an arm around Leo’s waist, tugged him into an embrace. “You’re perfect.”

“I tell people that all the time. I’m so glad someone finally believes me.”

“I do believe you.” Sam’s hand wandered down to Leo’s backside, fondling, squeezing. “Want me to kiss you?”

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind doing that now—”

Sam’s mouth landed on his. Sam kissed with conviction and with tongue, fierce and delighted and seemingly intent on showing Leo just how much fun kissing could be. Leo heard someone make a desperate needy sound; it was himself, as Sam nibbled at his lower lip, nuzzled his throat, left scratches of stubble.

He very nearly dropped his snow globe. His knees wobbled. Sam felt hot and masculine and wonderful, powerful and kind, generous and relentless in the giving of pleasure.

Perfect. Oh yes.

They tumbled in the direction of the bed, under sunshine. Sam’s hands tugged at the buttons of Leo’s shirt, and his belt, and his jeans; Leo arched his back and rubbed himself against Sam, shamelessly loving the feel of him, the way their bodies fit together, the hard hot press of desire. His skin was warm, tingling wherever Sam touched him: like the glitter, he thought, in a snow globe.

He had to laugh. Sam paused.

“Nothing,” Leo said, “I’m just happy, do that again, touch me more,” and carefully set his snow globe down on the closest nightstand, while Sam’s hand got back to teasing his nipple.

Sam pushed him down onto the bed, sent a few pillows flying with a sweep of one arm, yanked Leo’s jeans all the way off, bent to kiss him: a quick press of affection over Leo’s stomach, above his underwear, which happened to be red today, mostly because Leo had a hazy idea that red was a seductive sort of color and had certainly planned on seducing Sam.

Who announced, lips brushing Leo’s skin, just under his navel, “Missed tasting you.”

“Only just there? I have got other parts you can taste.”

Sam grinned. Swept Leo’s underwear away with alacrity. Leo’s cock, freed from confines, bounced up. “I like seeing you like this.”

Leo, spread out naked before him, wriggled in place. Tried for a pin-up pose. “I like being on display for you.” He did. He wanted Sam to want him; he wanted Sam atop him, covering him, in him, so that Leo could hold onto him and feel him everywhere.

“Beautiful.” Sam hopped off the bed, lost his own clothing, came back. He was golden too, like the sunshine: tanned skin, honeyed eyes, visible pleasure. His cock was full and fat and flushed, deeply colored and thick; Leo gazed at it. He’d had that inside him; he ached for it again, yearning, empty.

He spread his legs more, hopefully. Sam’s eyebrows went up, amused and excited. “In a hurry?”

“I missed you as well. Including all your parts. Bring that particular part over here, please.”

“Oh, so you’re giving the orders here, got it.” But Sam bent to kiss him, and was pleased, Leo could tell; the kiss was deep and possessive, and Sam’s naked body was firm against his. Leo’s cock stirred, leaking, eager.

Sam knelt above him as he lay on the bed, surrounded by a few more aquatic pillows; Sam took his own cock in hand and gave it a leisurely stroke, hand pumping rigid flesh. Leo whimpered, lifting his head as best he could, begging.

Sam guided himself to Leo’s mouth. Let Leo lick at him, suck at him, learn the feel of him all over again: the large head, the thick girth, the taste of Sam’s desire. Sam’s cock filled up his mouth, and his senses: Leo had not ever previously known how much he loved this feeling, having a man’s cock— Sam’s cock—keeping him occupied and busy and satisfied. He tried to show his happiness, his devotion, by worshiping the length of it, awkward as his position currently was. He wanted Sam to know it. He wanted Sam to fuck him, to claim him, to take him hard and fast, pounding into his throat or his arse, making him feel it all, incontrovertible.

Sam drew back. Touched Leo’s cheek. Surprised, Leo opened his eyes; he hadn’t meant to close them. Sam traced his eyebrow, cock resting sticky against Leo’s lower lip. “Everything okay?”

“I want you,” Leo said. The weight of Sam’s cock over his mouth caused a low wicked matching pulse to build someplace deep inside; his lips were wet, his own cock was rubbing slick against his stomach, and he felt filthy and decadent and wonderful. “Please fuck me. Hard.”

Sam gave him a small head-tilt. “Hard, huh? It’s been a little while, though, and you haven’t—”

“—precisely had a ton of experience, yet? I’ve had you . I’m not fragile. I need it.”

Sam’s expression shifted, softened. “You do, don’t you? My Leo. You haven’t had much sleep, I was going to say.” He touched the spot under Leo’s right eye, exquisitely gentle. “You didn’t sleep on the plane, did you?”

“I never can. Are you planning to fuss over me or fuck me? I vote for the second. Sometime soon.”

“Jesus, you are a bossy bottom,” Sam said, and pushed his cock into Leo’s mouth; Leo began sucking at him again, happily. “And who says I can’t do both? You could use someone fussing over you. And fucking you, yes, stop giving me that look.”

Leo paused long enough to say, “You like me looking at you,” and batted his eyelashes, and licked the tip of Sam’s cock, right over the slit, lapping up traces of want. Sam’s cock was all nice and shiny, after; he regarded it with pride.

Sam made a noise, something between a groan and a growl and a laugh, and more fluid bubbled up; Sam liked him doing that, Leo concluded. So he did it some more, lots of purposefully sweet little licks and laps.

Sam groaned again, and pulled back. Leo let out a sad sound.

“Thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Sam said, “not come on your face, which, for the record, was pretty much about to happen.” He looked like laughter, all bright and thrilled. A stripe of sunlight lay on the bed beside him, gold over white.

“Please do.” Leo flung out arms dramatically. Hit a lingering curious pillow. Which flopped down onto his wrist, dolphin embroidery and all.

For some reason this was utterly hilarious; he couldn’t not laugh. Himself and this bed and cheerful marine life and Sam, his wonderful Sam: the world felt perfect, he felt perfect, like his silly teasing word had come true, like a spell spoken into life.

Sam shook his head, grinned, and reached over to move the pillow because Leo hadn’t bothered. “Thought you’d like this bed. Didn’t realize you wanted the decorative dolphins to join in.”

“They can watch if they’d like. I have zero shame, everyone knows that. Particularly not when I’m enjoying myself. Which I am, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Sam looked at the dolphins. They eyed him right back. Leo wondered briefly whether dolphins also rejected the concept of shame. He thought that he might like dolphins, if so.

Sam, with somewhat suspicious haste, tossed the pillow at a chair. And then several more pillows for good measure. “I want you all to myself, thanks.”

“I suppose I can live without a dolphin audience.” Leo reached out, an impulse; Sam, now beside him, caught his hand and said, “Yes, we can go to an aquarium sometime, and no, I’m not going to have sex with you in public in an aquarium, but maybe in the men’s room,” and kissed his fingers.

“How’d you guess what I was thinking?” Leo squirmed against the bed, craving, needing, wanting more. “Oh, wait, you’re good at that.”

Sam stroked a hand over his stomach, maddeningly near but not touching Leo’s cock. “I’m learning. How Leo’s brain works. It’s a whole research course.”

“Really? Are there detailed projects? Areas of…ah…advanced study? Academic rigor?”

“Lots of gathering data.” Sam trailed a finger through the spreading wetness on Leo’s stomach. Leo nearly screamed. His skin shivered like music, like a note being played, the vibration of a tuning fork.

Sam said, “Testing a hypothesis,” and wrapped his hand around Leo’s straining cock, commanding and tight, and the grip resonated everyplace, through Leo’s bones and hammering heartbeat and thoughts.

He made a sound—a broken inarticulate sound, and he couldn’t’ve said whether it was relief or love or begging for more or pure joy—and felt his body respond, hips lifting, balls tense; a small spurt spilled from him, over the head, down to Sam’s hand on him. He moaned raggedly.

“You do like sensation,” Sam mused, with satisfaction. “Like this…” He did begin to play with Leo’s cock, then: rough enough that Leo began whimpering, crying out, loving it, rocking helplessly up into the relentless handling. Sam scratched a thumbnail over his dripping slit; Leo screamed aloud as white-hot sensation streaked through him, and felt his head thump against the bed, back arching.

“Definitely an interesting data point.” Sam’s eyes were dancing, Leo registered blurrily. “Might need to test that one again.”

He did. And then again, and again. Stroking, squeezing, scratching, even teasing the slit with a push and scrape of nails. Leo started sobbing with delight, with the onslaught of bewildering ecstasy and anguish happening to his cock, feeling himself growing wetter and wetter, leaking all over Sam’s hand; his head rolled weakly from side to side, and his muscles clenched and shuddered in a trembling instinctive rhythm.

Sam stopped playing with his cock. Ran both hands along Leo’s inner thighs, stroking, soothing. Leo, so lost in sensation that even that tenderness felt magnified to impossible heights, whined and let his legs fall wider, hips jerking, pushing his cock up into empty air.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Sam said, very quietly, hands still caressing Leo’s legs. His eyes were serious, iron under honeyed brown. “I know you like feeling things, I know you like it a little intense, so you can feel it, and I lo—I like giving you that, Leo, I do. But I don’t want to actually hurt you. And you’re crying.”

“I’m not…well, possibly…a bit…”

“You are. Tell me how you’re doing? Please.”

Leo took a steadying breath. Met Sam’s concerned gaze. “My dick feels as if you’ve been using your hands to take me apart, but in a very good way, and I would like more?”

“There’s my Leo,” Sam said, and bent and kissed the tip of Leo’s poor reddened cock, while Leo’s brain went momentarily blank and shimmery at the phrasing—himself belonging to Sam, Sam claiming him, Sam choosing him—and then Sam’s tongue began licking him, apologetic and sweet and loving now, stroking him all over right where he’d been left sore and sizzling. The contrast turned Leo’s head into sparklers and twinkling lights, fizzing and short-circuiting and electric.

Sam licked him and caressed him and suckled gently at him for an uncounted while, as Leo lost track of time and space, as the feeling became all he knew. He felt his body shudder with euphoria, slow rippling pulses of happiness; he could not think much beyond that. He had Sam, and Sam was taking care of him; Sam would make him feel everything, all the sharp quick glory and deep thrumming bliss. That was all Leo needed; he gave himself over to Sam’s care gladly.

Sam’s fingers touched him. They fondled his balls, kindly at first, then tugging slightly. Leo moaned in response, partly because he couldn’t help the sound. Sam tapped him lightly, the flat of one hand; it stung a bit, deliciously. Leo trembled with pleasure.

Sam’s mouth lifted from his cock; weight shifted. Fingers touched Leo’s hole, easing his cheeks apart; the fingers were slick, not cold but warm, even hot. They caressed him, pressed into him, opened him up: making him ready for Sam.

That really did feel warm; Leo lifted his head, hazily looking that way. Sam saw him peeking and smiled. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

“Marvelous. Easy for you. Warm inside.” He couldn’t really see what Sam was doing, from this angle; that was all right. He didn’t need to. He felt splendid, being worked open and soothed and prepared. “Why’s it warm?”

“Heating lube.” Sam wiggled the fingers in him; Leo made a noise he’d not known he could make, an outright blissful purr, and pushed back in reply. Sam went on, “Figured you’d enjoy that. You feel so good, you know. All pink and soft and opened up for me…wanting me inside you…”

“So very much. Now?”

“Now,” Sam agreed, and moved atop him, and into him: condom-sheathed length pushing hard and smoothly into Leo’s body.

Leo forgot to breathe for a moment, on his back and looking up. Sam filled up his vision, his hole, all his sensations. Inside him, above him, that splash of sun along one shoulder, muscles rippling. Everything he’d been missing, everything that plunged inside all the empty places and made them feel right again. He felt so very right, like this: as if he’d always needed to be right here, being fucked so well by Sam, who was gazing down at him with an expression somewhere between reverence and a desperate grip on self-control.

“I’m feeling spectacular,” Leo informed him, because Sam needed to know; and then he wrapped both legs around Sam’s waist for good measure.

Sam’s “ Leo —” came out broken and shuddering; his hips moved more, sped up, thrust. His length moved inside Leo’s body, huge and blunt and wonderful; the next thrust hit the spot that set off all the fireworks, over and over, and Leo gasped and clenched around him and made all sorts of noises, cries and pleas and whimpers, inarticulate and euphoric. His cock twitched and pulsed more wet all over his stomach; so much, he thought dreamily, and it felt so good, he felt so good, with Sam pounding into him…

Sam grabbed his legs. Lifted them, rearranging Leo’s limbs. He was nearly bent in half now, under Sam’s weight, with that lovely length and girth pumping into him. He wondered fuzzily what he must look like, from Sam’s perspective: utterly wanton, decadent, simply begging to be taken. He moaned at the thought.

Sam groaned and thrust harder, deeper, losing finesse and control. “Leo—I’m—God, the way you look, you’re so—”

“Yours,” Leo panted, “yours—”

Sam slipped one hand down to Leo’s cock, not even stroking, merely holding him, gripping him, Leo’s sensitive raw shaft at the mercy of Sam’s large strong hand—

And that was it, oh God that was it: he felt his mouth fall open, felt his body shudder and arch, felt the tingling wild racing wave as it rose up and spilled over and turned all his thoughts to gold and white light. He was coming and coming, all over Sam’s hand and his own stomach and chest; his hole clenched around the wonderful hard thick length buried inside him, over and over, rhythmic and instinctive.

Sam’s whole body grew taut, and his hips rocked forward, and he was coming as well, eyes wide and stunned and full of gold. Leo gazed up at him, loved him, felt loved by him; Sam’s hand squeezed his cock, maybe inadvertently, but the abrupt grip sent another pulse of dizzying ecstasy all through Leo’s body, and he cried out softly, twitching and shaking with pleasure that teetered on the brink of too much, overwhelming, but he needed it, he craved it, and his cock spurted again, weakly.

Sam’s breath caught, even as the climax ebbed from his muscles; he gazed down at Leo, stroked Leo’s dripping cock, reverent and wondering. One finger caressed Leo’s tip, toyed with the slit, rubbed at tender sizzling flesh.

Leo wailed, high and wordless. Sparks crashed through his brain, his body. His hole, opened up and full of Sam’s still-hard weight inside him. His poor overworked cock, which hurt and throbbed and felt incredible, and he thought it must look so red and flushed and messy and wrung out, limp in Sam’s hand. The thought made him sob and spasm helplessly, trembling with anguished bliss. He wanted Sam to play with him some more, to make him feel like this forever: that could be everything he knew, his whole world reduced to fizzing crackling static and the wet slick sounds of his cock in Sam’s fingers, as Sam took him and claimed him and kept him.

Sam’s hand slipped away. Leo mumbled sounds, incoherent. His mouth felt wet too, having fallen open.

Sam moved atop him—Leo’s legs flopped down, no longer held up, cradling Sam’s hips—and settled atop him, holding him. The weight felt good; Leo’s cock was now trapped between their bodies, and that felt good too. He tried to say so, but his voice had turned into hazy tipsy giggles, drunk on sensation. His vision had gone a bit hazy too, so that Sam seemed ringed by light, framed by halos.

Sam murmured something. Leo’s name. And touched his face, cupped his cheek. “Leo. God. So good—so perfect—oh, Leo…”

Leo nuzzled into the caress, liking it.

Sam laughed a little, unguarded and affectionate; and kissed him, clumsy with afterglow, noses bumping. “Just a sec, okay?” He pulled back, shifted—pulling out, Leo understood vaguely, and disposing of the condom—and then came back with a large friendly towel and began cleaning Leo’s exhausted quivering body, with exquisite attention to every inch, and occasional scattered kisses.

The towel was fluffy and Sam’s hands were careful, but even the lightest brush to Leo’s cock made him whimper. Sam breathed, “Sorry, sorry, I know, I know that was a lot, I know you’re sore, I’m sorry, Leo,” and Leo surfaced from drowsy rainbow waves to whisper, “What on earth’re you apologizing for, I feel glorious.” He did.

Sam laughed again, brief and hopeful, sitting back. A strand of his hair fell forward, dark over honey-smoke eyes. “Yeah? You sounded like that hurt, just now.”

“Oh…maybe. A bit. But in a good way. Very good. Come lie down with me?”

Sam tossed the towel away promptly, and did: pulling Leo into his arms, legs falling naturally together, kisses brushed to the corner of Leo’s eye, his nose, his mouth. “Might’ve got a little carried away, there. At the end.”

“Mmm. I enjoyed it. You were right about me.”

“Was I?” Sam ran fingers through Leo’s hair, leisurely, comforting. “About what?”

“Me appreciating sensation. Intensity. I like you doing things to me, I think.”

“I like me doing things to you too.”

Leo poked toes at Sam’s ankle, but not hard, because his toes were full of contentment. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. You like being kind of overwhelmed by it. When it’s almost too much, but that’s what you want.” Sam traced a fingertip along the line of Leo’s throat. “You want everything wonderful. All the sensations.”

“I sound terribly extravagant.”

“No.”

“Self-indulgent?”

“No. Leo, the way you look when you’re happy…the way you dive right in, like you could never be scared, like you trust me to make you feel good…” Sam swallowed. His eyes were heartbreakingly golden: open, honest, raw with emotion. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as this. Seeing you like that. Hoping I can get you to look that way again. It’s been, what, a couple weeks since we met?—and I’m here and you’re here and all I can think about is how much I love seeing you happy. And how damn lucky I am.”

His voice was quiet; the afternoon was quiet too, sun-laced, poignant, clear as exhilarated white bed-sheets and palm trees and the weight of his hand over Leo’s naked skin. Sincerity laced his touch, and the world.

A different person, a role or character, might’ve had more eloquent words. Leo, being cuddled by Sam and therefore foggy with pink-hued satisfaction, protested, “But you’re exactly the person who makes me happy!” and then, “Hang on, you… love …seeing me happy, you said.”

And then he winced. Tact. Not one of his qualities. But. Love. Sam’d said love.

“Yeah, I…” Sam had heard it too. Hesitated. Took a breath. Went ahead. “I do, Leo. I mean…it’s way too soon, it’s all too fast, I know, I’m not gonna come out and say it and make things weird, but…”

“But you’re thinking it,” Leo said. “Er…that is…you are thinking the words I’m thinking, right?”

Sam’s eyes met his. Held them. And joy spread like midsummer fireworks: bright and billowing. “You’re thinking it too?”

“As you said, it’s all a bit fast and we should be mature about it and also you’re literally the first man I’ve ever slept with and…and never mind all that,” Leo told him, “because yes. I keep thinking of you—of things I want to say to you, or to tell you, and I feel like I can say anything even if it’s ridiculous, and then I feel like I can maybe be the person you think I am, someone who’s thoughtful and brave and kind and all those other adjectives, because you look at me like that and you touch me like that, and I feel so right , you feel so right, and I—well, yes. I love…er, seahorses. And snow globes. And this bed.”

He also ran a hand over Sam’s chest on the word. Making it clear: Sam, at the moment, was more or less being his bed.

“You are all those things,” Sam said, loyal and quick and loving; and rolled him over into pillowy bedding and settled on top, letting Leo feel his weight and luxuriate in it. “You’re fucking perfect, Leo Whyte.”

“And perfect to fuck?” Leo asked hopefully. He was fairly worn out, but he’d be up for a round two, given some recovery time. “You did once say we were excellent in bed, together.”

“And perfect to fuck.” Sam dropped a kiss on his nose. “Though not yet, again, okay?”

“What? Why not?”

“Because, as much as I want to tie you to this bed and get this —” Sam rocked their hips together, making his semi-hard cock rub against Leo’s spent and sensitive dick, making the point; Leo moaned, unabashed about it. “—inside me, you look exhausted and I think you should rest. I can take care of you.”

“But I like sex with you.”

“Leo…”

“And you’ve just said—we’ve just said—we can’t profess mutual devotion and not have sex!”

“I adore you,” Sam said, very earnestly, body cozily pinning Leo’s down, “and we did just have incredible sex, and we’re not going to rush anything, got it? You said it, I said it, it’s perfect, and we’re good. I just want to hold you for a minute, all right?”

“Oh. I suppose…I might like that.”

“Come here.” Sam rolled to his side, gathered Leo close, tucked him into a tangle of arms and legs and sheets. “Try to get some rest, okay? For me.”

“Won’t you be bored? You haven’t just got off a plane.”

“No,” Sam said. “No, I won’t be bored.” One hand got back to stroking Leo’s hair, fingers slipping through strands. Leo’s hair loved the feeling.

He shut his eyes. He let himself bask in the sensation of Sam’s body against his, Sam’s chest and shoulder supporting him, the warmth of smooth skin against his cheek. He wasn’t sure he could sleep, whole body humming in a wrung-dry fading-firecracker way, not wanting to miss a moment.

But he was awfully tired, and the strength was so nice to lean on. Sam was a fraction shorter than he was, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter right now, as one of Sam’s legs draped over him and cuddled him closer.

He let his breathing slow, and let the world dwindle: airports and autographs and weariness gave way to the simplicity of the moment. Himself, here, being held. Sunshine and a bed. And a snow globe on a side table.

* * * *

Sam, holding on, felt the gradual settling of Leo’s body, saw Leo’s face relax, watched the man he loved settle into sleep; and breathed out, himself.

Leo looked so tired. Happy, or at least Sam thought so—Leo wore emotion so brightly, so transparently, except for the hidden exceptions—and thoroughly satisfied. But undeniably weary, with smudges under closed eyes.

Leo had met him joy for joy, and had said nothing about a lack of sleep on the flight over until asked. He wouldn’t’ve, Sam concluded. And apparently Leo never could sleep on planes, which, given the acting life, likely meant a lot of tiredness.

He wanted to know small pieces like that. He wanted to help, if he could. Maybe he could come along. Maybe Leo could sleep better with someone he trusted right there next to him. Maybe Sam could bring a pillow, or be a pillow, or do whatever would banish those dark circles. He did not like those circles. He wanted them gone.

They’d said so much, and also not enough. Sam rubbed a thumb along Leo’s shoulder blade, slow and comforting. Leo didn’t even make a noise, but nestled closer to him, heartbreakingly sweet.

He wondered whether Leo’d encountered any paparazzi, autograph hunters, fans, upon arrival. He’d be surprised if not; Leo probably had security, but Sam knew his own profession. He knew about persistence and obnoxious camera-flashes and celebrity stake-outs and tip-offs about flight numbers. And Leo was decently famous, especially these days, with all the drama surrounding Steadfast . Jason and Colby might be the stars, but Leo was up there as far as cast billing and could usually be counted on for some sort of tantalizing rumor or gossip or at least good fun.

Leo Whyte had never been shy about posing for cameras. Waving sex-shop toys, one time. Offering to dance with a paparazzo down the street outside a ballroom-lessons studio, on another occasion. Once he’d bought all of them ice cream.

Leo liked being unpredictable, he knew. And a sharpness skittered around his heart for just a second: Leo enjoyed surprises, whimsy, flirtations, all light and weightless…

But that wasn’t Leo, or not all of Leo.

The Leo Whyte most people didn’t know was the Leo who couldn’t sleep on even a long international flight, who worried about asking too much or anything at all of his friends, who gave his heart so honestly and readily that the gift was easy to overlook. The Leo who’d fallen asleep curled up in Sam’s arms, mouth a little open, trusting him.

I love you, he thought. I love you so damn much, Leo Whyte. And the thought hurt, but it was a crystalline luminous hurt: clear and poignant as a sword-point last defense, every protection he had left to give, himself standing between Leo’s generosity and the bruises of the world.

He knew Leo had no good reason to feel the same. No reason that made any sense, not in any fairy tale. But Leo had said it too. Those emotions. How right they were, together.

He let his head rest against Leo’s. He let himself imagine: that fairy tale, if it could be one. A future, a home, two homes, in Las Vegas and in London, as long as he was dreaming. Enough money for that; enough money to never worry about money, not ever again. Himself at Leo’s side for red-carpet premieres. Leo meeting his family, Thea and Diana and Carlos. Himself meeting Leo’s parents, getting their approval, being told they thought he was good enough for their son. Himself holding Leo’s hand in public.

His pictures of Colby and Jason—and of Leo, maybe—gaining some attention. An exhibition. An opening in a gallery.

A world in which Sam Hernandez-Blake had some small name as a photographer, someone who could capture and distill even a fraction of the luscious vibrant life that spun all around them.

Leo had asked him once what his favorite subjects were. People, he’d answered. Stories. Everything about them.

Leo had understood. Of course.

He let himself dream it all, just for a moment, in bed with Leo on a sunny California afternoon.

Time drifted, unhurried. Sam breathed in, tasted a golden flutter of Leo’s hair, breathed out. Shut his own eyes for a while.

Leo’s phone made a sound, from his jeans pocket, because Sam had peeled those jeans off Leo’s legs without paying much attention to anything else. On the floor, it tossed a reminder upward: life existed, and obligations demanded a return to reality.

Right now, this second, he didn’t want to move. Anyway, he couldn’t disturb Leo.

He held onto Leo, and his heart, while the afternoon stretched out and deepened into lazy amber.

Leo stirred, eventually. With some astonishment, announced into Sam’s bare chest, “I fell asleep.”

“You can stay asleep if you want.”

“No, I’m awake.” Leo yawned. “I didn’t think I would.”

“I know.” He traced a small lopsided spiral over Leo’s back, memorizing lean muscle, honed by fencing and choreography and gym sessions and whatever else movie stars did to stay in shape. “Happy I could help.”

“You do.” Leo yawned again, comfortable and contented in Sam’s arms. “I’ve been mostly awake for a few minutes, I think. More or less.”

“Have you?”

“Well…more less than more. But still. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“I know I said I was learning to speak Leo,” Sam told him, “but I think that one’s an advanced degree. Thinking about what?”

“Coming out?”

Sam’s head went fuzzy with static.

“Er.” Leo peeked up at him. “We did say we’d talk about it? And I realize it’s perhaps not the best timing, but I was having thoughts, and yes I know me and thoughts don’t always go in the same sentence, but it’s what was floating about in my head, just now.”

The static got louder. Somehow, in all the golden-hued future daydreams, Sam’s brain had skipped over the part in which Leo’s entire life changed.

He’d known it would. They’d mentioned as much. He just hadn’t remembered to dwell on it.

“I imagine everyone’ll be expecting some grand declaration,” Leo contemplated, naked and draped atop him. “Possibly with balloons. Or glitter. And cake. Not that I’m opposed to cake. I think there should be cake. I deserve cake. Some sort of raspberry sponge, perhaps. But I think…I do think I’ll need an announcement, something public, but I think I’d really rather something quieter, first. Something that’s ours, that we choose to share. What do you think?”

“I think…you deserve cake,” Sam managed, around clamoring white noise. “And what the hell was that, about you and not being thoughtful—”

“Don’t get sidetracked.” Leo actually poked him in the ribs. “I asked you a question.”

Sam opened his mouth and shut it again. Some part of his head was also fizzing with confusedly turned-on neurons, which had woken up at Leo being bossy and poking him.

“Um. I think. I think it’s your decision. It should be what you want.” He caught Leo’s gaze, held it. He meant every word. “Whatever you’re ready for. You’re the only one who gets to decide that.”

“Thank you, but you and I both know that isn’t true, or not exactly.” Leo swept a hand through the air, an exaggerated aristocrat’s gesture, then set it back on Sam’s chest. “I don’t want to hide, particularly not when I’m happy, and I am. I like who I am. And I’ve already told my parents. So that’s that. And that means it’ll be a story. One of them, as much as I love them, will accidentally tell a friend. And the media will pick it up and run in some sort of direction with it. Inevitable.”

Sam flinched, and hoped Leo hadn’t noticed.

Leo had. “I don’t mean you’re a problem. I want to do this with you.” He tapped fingers over Sam’s chest, a rhythm, though not anything recognizable. “That is—if you want to. It’ll change your life as well.”

“I know,” Sam said. “I’m not going anywhere, I said. I’m here.”

And he was. Here, on a drowsy afternoon, in a hotel bed and in a fairy tale, he knew it was true.

It was just that simple. Whatever happened next, he’d made his choice. Ogres and wicked paparazzi might exist. But so did he, and he wanted to stand at Leo’s side.

He was choosing that, open-eyed.

He said it again: “I’m here, Leo. With you.”

Leo’s whole face brightened. Leaves danced in English greenwoods. “Oh, good. I mean, I hoped so, of course, you do feel awfully solid. Tangible. Present. Thoroughly…massive.”

Sam burst out laughing, in part because Leo’s hand had snuck down to wrap around his dick and give it a meaningful tug.

Leo grinned at him. “What did you think, though? If we did something smaller, to start…and then I’ll say something during the press extravaganza, tomorrow or the next day…”

“You mean now ?”

“Well, yes. Why wait?”

“Why—um. Okay. Yeah. You…do mean now.” Life with Leo would never, ever be dull. It would be vivid, impulsive, full of kaleidoscopes and rocket ships and jumping off cliffs into rainbows. And Sam had already said yes; he’d say yes a hundred times over. A thousand.

He said, “What were you thinking?”

“Oh, something simple, for the moment…” Leo hesitated; Sam realized suddenly that the pause was something like asking for approval, or at least hoping for understanding. Leo embraced spectacle without a second thought, when the spectacle was lighthearted and insubstantial. But this—

This was Leo’s heart.

Because he couldn’t think of good words, he caught Leo’s face in both hands and dove in for a kiss. Leo kissed back, tongue teasing Sam’s, lips parting with enthusiasm. Sam wanted to kiss him forever.

Hands still framing Leo’s face, he suggested, “You want a picture of us? To share?”

Leo’s expression got all wide and open and soft, pleased and astonished and full of yes. “Yes—I wasn’t necessarily going to ask, but if you would—nothing explicit, and not necessarily your face, of course not, keeping you safe, but tantalizing, perhaps? You’d know better than I would, about how to do that. And I could post it, and let people start to get used to the idea…of course everyone’ll ask tomorrow, and that’ll be the big revelation, but…”

“You want to let people know you. First.”

“ My people,” Leo said. “My fans, the people who’ve always supported me…they’ve always been there, you see. They come to conventions, they ask questions, they show up, over and over. If I ask them to donate to a children’s hospital or a kitten adoption agency…if I ask whether someone knows how to make a top hat or a plush unicorn…I owe them so much. I think they should get to know me. I’ve always thought that.”

“I know.” He did. And if he hadn’t already adored Leo Whyte before, he would now. Head over heels. Non-stop falling. “You’ve always shared yourself.”

“I want to now.”

“Will it cause any problems with—”

“My agent will have an entire litter of puppies, but in a good way. She’ll be thrilled at the publicity.” Leo raised an eyebrow, added, “It’s trendy to be gay in Hollywood, haven’t you heard?”

Sam snorted.

“Well, maybe not,” Leo agreed. “And it’s probably bisexual, in any case. Or I think so. But I’m serious about the rest. It might’ve mattered more a few years ago, but less so now, I hope. And it’ll be perfect for the press for this film, not that that’s why, but it’ll be so much fun as far as timing. So yes. Right now. Let’s.”

“Right now.” And Leo trusted him, believed in him, wanted him, wanted this. Jumping off that cliff, taking that leap: but they’d jump together.

Sam glanced around. Considered options. If Leo really wanted it to be good, he’d use the proper Nikon, that sharper focus, not just his phone—though he could make the phone work if Leo wanted quick and casual…“What do you want it to look like? Just our hands, or your snow globe, like a present, or us in bed?”

“Us,” Leo said. “Something incontrovertible, and happy.”

* * * *

Sam grabbed a camera: well-worn, but professional-looking, and more complex than Leo’s own experience with random mobile phone snapshots. Leo sat up in bed, hugging a knee, and watched. The sheets tumbled in riotous waves over his toes, a froth of fabric to match seahorse pillows and excitement.

He liked Sam’s hands, competent and assured. He liked Sam’s body: sun-kissed and sturdy, a trail of dark hair below his navel, flat abs, firm thighs, and the lovely heavy swing of his cock, which made Leo squirm a bit against the sheets. His body wanted to feel all nice and full again.

Sam evidently had no qualms about being naked. Leo didn’t either, not as such; he had, as he’d often proclaimed, no shame. Or at least very little. So he sat and happily watched Sam, on display. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting you in focus?”

“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 white billows, 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 blue backdrop. 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 the point —”

“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 Leo should know.

Leo, who did not consider himself anywhere near the 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 being very next 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?”

“If by busy you mean having sex,” Sam said, doing something to get pictures uploaded and secure on the laptop and presumably also sent Leo’s way, “I hope so?”

“Jason and Colby are inviting us for dinner. Around seven?”

“I suppose we might need a break from the sex at some point…”

“You like them,” Leo said, sitting up, “don’t you?” His phone chirped: pictures incoming.

“I do.” Sam came back and put an arm around him. “I never knew Colby Kent could come up with that many innuendos about wizard’s staffs. We were unpacking fantasy novels.”

“Colby’s marvelous,” Leo said. “And much weirder, and more complicated, than people think. In a good way, I mean, even if he does like anchovies and bananas on pizza. If you want someone brave, he’s pretty much the best example I’ve got.”

“I want you,” Sam said. “Please don’t tell me you like anchovies.”

“Tried that once. Never again. How’s this?” He’d pulled up Instagram; he’d got that picture, the one he loved, the one that was them, poised and ready.

He hadn’t been sure about a caption. In the end he’d just typed Happiness , and put a heart in, and a small rainbow flag. He meant it all.

Sam looked at it, and then looked at him. And then leaned in and kissed him: deep and thorough and hot enough to curl Leo’s toes.

“So,” Leo said, once he could talk again, somewhat breathlessly. “Shall we change the world? And give Colby and Jason something to ask us about, over hors d’oeuvres? Hopefully not banana-and-anchovy, mind you.”

“So much yes,” Sam said, so Leo did. And the photo went up, both of them together, bathed in light.

The End