Bonus Story Adventures

The night lay across the hotel room like an open treasure-chest: blue velvet skies, pale stars beyond the open window, lacy curtains, traceries of gold in Leo’s hair, tiger’s-eye brown and darker emerald in the shades of his eyes. He was watching Sam, from his current position sprawled across the bed, naked and unabashed and pink in places from kissing. Sam’s mouth tingled, remembering.

Leo put a hand out. Walked fingertips along Sam’s forearm. Sam, propped on one elbow beside him, just looked at him for a while. Himself, and Leo Whyte. Here in a sea-story of a hotel room, in California. Salt and palm trees and bare skin. A movie premiere in the backdrop, Hollywood glamor and historical drama. The mark his mouth had left on Leo’s throat.

Leo tilted a golden eyebrow. “Appreciating the view?”

“Yes,” Sam said, wholeheartedly. “Not too sore?”

“Marvelous.” Leo wriggled happily. “I like sex. And you. And sex with you.”

“Good?” Leo’s sweater dangled from a chair in a delighted swoop of pumpkin-orange. His socks had ended up across the room, near the table with Sam’s laptop. They’d been in a hurry. Sam had done that. Had given Leo this: the pure wrung-out satisfaction in long limbs, hazel eyes, lazy smile.

“Very,” Leo agreed. “What were you thinking, just now?”

That was also very Leo: straightforward, asking, not holding back. Sam said, “I wasn’t, really. Looking at you.”

“I also like you looking at me.”

“I know. All the attention.”

Leo laughed, but the laugh was quiet.

“No,” Sam said. “I know that too, okay? You like being seen. But it’s not selfish.”

“It is,” Leo said, “but that’s all right. It makes the press round easier. We should probably get some sleep, unless you’ve got more plans for my anatomy.”

It wasn’t selfish. It wasn’t narcissistic. Sam wasn’t sure how else to say it, how to be more clear, if Leo wouldn’t hear it. You like being seen, he’d said. Because Leo needed to be seen, to be recognized by someone. To be told that, yes, he mattered.

He touched Leo’s throat, the evidence of his own presence over English-fair skin. “Will that show? Tomorrow?”

Leo put a hand up too, touched the spot, shrugged. “As if I’ve ever had a sense of shame.”

“You might get questions.”

“I don’t mind. I’m good at the press.”

“You are.” True, extremely so. “You enjoy it, don’t you? Or maybe not, at this point? I mean, you already did the whole junket back in London, and the stop in New York, and now here…”

Leo lifted a hand, tilted it, wobbled it idly back and forth. “I like people and I like excitement. It does get a bit repetitive. But that’s what Jason-shaped action figures and colorful top hats and surprise kittens are for.”

“Having fun with it.”

“I like fun.”

“And you don’t sleep well on planes. Traveling. New places.”

Leo shrugged a shoulder again, even while lying down. “If I’m exhausted enough I can. And if that’s the worst of it, it’s not so bad.” And then his eyes did a complicated sort of wince. “Sorry, not at all complaining—my life is fabulous and I’m absolutely lucky—”

“You are.” Sam leaned in to kiss him. “And it’s not always easy. I get that.”

“Yes, well…some people have had things a lot worse…” Leo did the little wince again. “Sorry.”

“No. It’s okay.” He knew what Leo hadn’t said. The ache of his own memories hung in the night, supported by blue-striped pillows and the compassion in Leo’s face. Memorial services. People murmuring hazy condolences. Black suits and too much heat beating down, on the afternoon they’d had the funeral.

Years ago, now. Scar tissue across a wound. “I know what you meant. And you’re allowed to complain.”

Leo made a face.

“You are. If you’re exhausted, if you aren’t feeling good. That’s important, too.”

Leo made the face even more.

“Seriously.”

“Oh, seriously…no, I don’t know.” Leo reached over just to tap fingers along Sam’s bicep. “I’ve sometimes wondered how I would handle something…some sort of real difficulty, hardship…I know I’ve been fortunate. I’ve got fantastic parents, I’ve always felt safe and loved at home, I’ve had a solid career, and I’ve never lost anyone, not as such…I’ve got three out of four grandparents, even, and the fourth passed away when I was all of one year old, so I can’t really say I knew him. I’ve never had to…to handle anything truly awful. I can imagine, and I can think about roles and characters and backstories, but it’s not the same.”

“I wouldn’t want you to have to.” Sam sat up, caught Leo in both arms, made sure their eyes met. Said everything he felt, all the words. Even if they were clumsy. Because Leo did that, and he was learning from Leo. “I love knowing you’ve been happy. I love that you smile at the world. I love knowing you haven’t been hurt—you’re you, and you’re safe, and you should be loved. You—what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” But Leo had glanced away, at a fallen pillow, a toppled lighthouse design on the floor. His smile was real, when he looked back up, but oddly wistful. “I told you once that I was worried about getting this right. I am worried. So I don’t know whether I should ask you the question I want to ask.”

“You can ask me anything. No secrets.” Sam himself was now worried. He touched Leo’s cheek, traced the line of a movie-star cheekbone. “I promise I’ll always be honest with you.”

“Oh,” Leo said, startled, “would you not, otherwise? That hadn’t in fact occurred to me, but—”

“I would. I just wanted you to hear me say it.” Had that been the right thing? Maybe not, if that hadn’t been part of Leo’s question. “I won’t lie to you and I won’t keep secrets. I know what my job is. But so do you. And I’ve tried—as much as I can, I know, it’s terrible—to be kind about it.”

“Sometimes you can’t,” Leo said. “The right photo, the money, the demand…but I do understand. You could’ve chased after Colby and Jason, that first night. You put down the camera, though. And you bought me a drink.”

Those expressive hazel eyes were so good at character. They gazed at Sam and knew the depths of his soul. Right through. He managed, “Yeah.”

“You’ve always been honest. And I like adventures.”

“Kinda glad you do.”

“I like you.”

“Kinda glad about that, too.” He leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to Leo’s mouth. Leo kissed back easily, not distressed, or Sam hoped not. His lips were bright and plush and tempting. Sam said, pulling back just enough to talk, the space of a breath, “What’d you want to ask?”

“I thought…” Leo hesitated. Then tugged Sam back down into the bed, face to face. Leo draped a long leg across Sam’s; put a hand on Sam’s chest. Framed by foam-white sheets, he was gold and earthen and luscious. “I wondered whether I could ask about your parents? They’re such a part of you, and I want to know, but is that too much? I understand if you don’t want to share that. I can come up with a different question. Favorite ice cream flavor, perhaps.”

He didn’t say I understand if you don’t want to share that with ME. But Sam heard the last two unspoken words as loudly as if they’d been shouted; he realized, then, that Leo expected the rejection, had already prepared lightness and flippancy in response. Offering an easy out, a way for Sam to avoid entrusting him with anything important, without guilt.

The thought clicked into place like the key to Leo’s heart. Like the camera steadying on a single subject, knowing it, seeing it.

Oh, he thought. Oh, Leo.

He said, “Dark chocolate. Nothing fancy, no swirls or mix-ins, not even any toppings, just really good rich chocolate flavor. I told you back at your place I like chocolate, remember?” and found the nape of Leo’s neck with his hand, kneading gently.

“I remember.” Leo did not look away, accepting that answer. “It might be a bit late, but everyone knows it’s me, so I could likely get away with calling room service if—”

“My mom loved chocolate, too.” Sam took a breath, let it out. Kept his hand cradling Leo’s head; kept them both in place. “Not mint chocolate, not fruit in chocolate, not any of that. Why would you do that to the chocolate, she’d say, and she’d laugh. But a good solid chocolate bar, a box of truffles, something like that…she could go through a whole candy box while grading student homework. Nobody got between Mom and chocolate.”

Leo laughed, but softly. His eyes were very wide, astounded; his lips stayed parted, rapt.

“That was one of the reasons I liked Jack.” Sam slid fingers through Leo’s hair, playing with dark blond strands, shorter here at the back. He liked the feel of it. “He was so shy, and so nervous, finally asking Mom out…they were both teachers, did I tell you that? How they met. Same school. And he knew she came with me, we were already a family, and he understood.”

Leo nodded, not interrupting, taking in every word as if tucking it into a small newfound treasure-box.

“He got to know us. Me, and her.” Sam wove a bit of Leo’s hair, sunshine, between his fingers. “He remembered that she liked chocolate. He’d bring her boxes of truffles—not, y’know, anything crazy expensive, on a public school teacher’s salary. But nice. He liked chocolate too—well, he liked good food, that was one of his hobbies. He used to say he should really give up bread or cheese or sugar or whatever it was, and then he’d laugh, all big and happy, because he knew he wouldn’t, really. He was a great cook. And he liked museums and weird little history, and Vegas is actually kinda great for that, so we’d go on these expeditions to the Neon Museum or the Pinball Hall of Fame or whatever it was, and just wander around all day.” He stopped, felt the spike of pain—old and new, a punch through his chest, raw edges—and breathed around it. The past. The present. Arsenic-laced with loss and love.

“He sounds lovely.” Leo’s hand rested over Sam’s heart as if wanting to heal it. “They both do. No wonder you grew up loving stories and art.”

“He gave me my first camera.” Sam swallowed, shut his eyes. Felt Leo’s hand shyly brush his cheek, his eyelashes: finding and soothing emotion. He opened his eyes. “I was so thrilled when they got married, when they told me I was going to have siblings…well, okay, I was less thrilled about having to share a bedroom and how annoying little kids could be. I mean, I was still a kid.”

Leo didn’t quite laugh, but did smile. “I remember feeling that way about some of my younger cousins, when they stayed for a whole summer. I love them, and they were fun to have around, but I was used to having space to myself.”

“So you know. And yeah, of course I ended up having fun, being a big brother. Carlos was always the serious one—even as a baby he was like that, just quiet and thinking hard and watching everyone—and the twins were unholy monsters, and I taught them how to ride bikes because Mom never learned and Jack was terrible at it.” He had to stop to breathe again.

“They know you love them.” Leo’s voice held tenderness like the first-ever sunrise. “And your parents must’ve known, as well. So much love, in your family. They’d be so proud of you, I think.”

“I hope so.” His own voice scratched, more raw than he’d meant. “I hope so.”

“They would be.” Leo put both arms around him and held him tightly, the two of them tangled together in an expanse of creamy expensive sheets, in a room full of ocean breezes and embroidered dolphins on throw pillows.

Leo’s hair and skin held that familiar tropical coolness as well, coconut and sea-salt. Sam breathed him in, drank him in, buried his face in the crook of Leo’s neck and trailed fingers along Leo’s spine, memorizing shapes and lines. The night was cool and unruffled, serene as the rhythm of waves. The bed held them up in gentle silence.

Leo’s legs were comfortable and long, also familiar, laced into Sam’s. Leo’s body was firm and solid, not overly bulky but toned: the muscles of a man who kept himself in shape for movie roles, who went scuba-diving and learned how to ride a unicycle just for fun. Leo’s fingers were long lines of warmth, touching his skin.

Sam said, into Leo’s collarbone, “They’d’ve liked you.”

Leo’s hands stilled in surprise. “I’m honored.”

“I mean it. They’d’ve wanted to cook for you, and then take you to the most random obscure museum they could think of, to see if you’d be up for it. And you would be, neon lights or pinball or rock music or the history of the mob, whatever it was. And they’d love you.”

Leo’s hand flattened slowly against Sam’s back: fingers, palm, heat. “Maybe you can show me one of those museums sometime. With your siblings, if they’d like to join us. I’d like that.”

“Yeah,” Sam told him. “I’d like that too.”