Chapter 6

Chapter Six

L eo would have loved nothing better than to escape upstairs with Tristan, who he had to admit had actually been helpful today, except Tristan paused and signalled to Wei, who nodded and made a just one second gesture. While they waited, Leo ducked his head and examined the floor, doing his best not to stare at the two women who were currently giggling as they had a mock sword fight with the display dildoes. They were his mother's age, but he couldn't ever imagine her having fun like that in a place like this.

Of course, he'd never imagined himself here, either, but here he was on a Sunday afternoon, learning about different lube flavours like it was no big deal. Maybe it really wasn't, and Tristan had been right about him getting off his high horse. Sure, some of the stuff was miles out of his league, other things he'd have to google later, and some of it he never ever wanted to know about, but what was it Tristan had said? " It's fun down here." And Leo was fast coming to realise he was right.

Wei tottered over to them in a pair of thigh-high leather boots that boasted impressive six-inch fuck-me heels, holding out a bundle of keys with what looked like a tiny penis swinging off the keychain. "Keys for the flat. Plus, I heard you talking about Jimmy's Mardi Gras days, and I thought you'd like to see this." She thrust a battered book towards Leo. "He kept it in the back office, for when he was feeling nostalgic."

"Thanks?" Leo took the book and tucked it under one arm.

Tristan scooped up the keys. "Thanks, sweetness." He blew Wei a kiss then opened the door that led through to a narrow staircase. "Flat's up here."

Leo followed him up the stairs, doing his best not to stare at Tristan's arse and failing utterly. In his defence, it was an absolute peach of an arse, and he'd just spent the last half an hour in a sex shop being handed dildos and vibrators and talking about lube. Stories about the hair removal capabilities of melted edible underwear notwithstanding, of course his brain was fixated on all things sexy right now. And Tristan was very, very sexy.

When they were halfway up the stairs, Tristan stopped suddenly and Leo ran into the back of him, managing to face-plant right into Tristan's arse. He reached up with one hand instinctively, cupping Tristan's arse cheek as he tried to keep his balance, and the brush of soft worn denim under his fingertips, combined with a handful of firm flesh, fuelled a burst of arousal that sucked the breath right out of him.

Tristan looked back over his shoulder and grinned before continuing on, and Leo was fairly certain he'd done it on purpose. Leo was left standing with one hand extended and his face hot with either embarrassment or want—he couldn't decide which. Anyway, it didn't matter. He was here to look at the flat in case Harry and Jack needed somewhere to go, not to have fantasies about Tristan—even if he was hotter and more tempting than anyone Leo had ever seen .

Leo spent the rest of the climb lingering a few steps back, keeping his eyes on the staircase, reminding himself that he was here for business, and willing his dick to calm the fuck down. It worked, sort of. By the time they reached the top, he was fairly certain he was back in control. Tristan opened the door to the flat and stepped inside, Leo following. "Ta-dah!" he said brightly as he spun, arms extended.

Leo took in the sight in front of him, pleasantly surprised. Based on the state of the terrace house, he'd half-expected a seventies-era disaster with floral wallpaper and lime green shag carpet, but this was nothing like that. It was a small space, sure, but it was neat and clean and modern, with polished floorboards and inoffensive cream paint that suggested it belonged to a Tupperware consultant named Linda rather than a sex shop owner.

A quick survey of the flat revealed a central living space, compact kitchen area, a bathroom, one bedroom and a tiny office that an enterprising real estate agent would definitely try to market as a second bedroom but that would really only be suitable for hobbits. The furniture was dated but in good condition. "I wonder why he didn't rent it out or sell it? He could have made a killing."

"Jimmy kept it empty for his rescues," Tristan said. "You know, baby gays that found themselves kicked out of home, country boys in the big city who needed some help to get on their feet, that sort of thing. He always seemed to have one or two in tow. Besides, Jimmy wasn't that hung up on money."

And that—that did sound like Uncle Jimmy. Leo thought again of the variety of mourners at the funeral. He'd wondered how his uncle had known them all. He guessed this at least partly answered that question.

"And what about you? Were you a poor lost boy who was kicked out of home?" he asked. "Is that how you ended up renting the doomsday house?"

Tristan let out a tinkling laugh. "What? No, not me. The house is just cheap and convenient, that's all. And it's not that bad. That electrician even said it wasn't the worst he'd seen, and he did manage to fix the power surges."

Leo had been more relieved than he'd liked to admit when the electrician he'd called the day before had confirmed that the wiring itself was sound and that the power fluctuations, while serious, were easy to fix. It was a glimmer of hope in what Leo had assumed would be a dark landscape of renovation nightmares. He only hoped the same went for the pipes, because Leo wasn't any sort of plumbing professional but even he knew that no house should make noises associated with an exorcism every time a tap was turned on.

He'd worry about it next week, which was when he had a bunch of tradies coming to give him a verdict on the state of the house. For now, he'd take the win with the sparky.

Tristan plopped himself down on the tiny two-seater couch and patted the spot next to him. "What did Wei give you?" he asked.

"I'm not sure." Leo sat down next to him, doing his best to ignore the way their outer thighs were pressed together in the small space, and opened the book.

It was a photo album.

The first page didn't contain a photo, though. Instead, it housed a ragged newspaper clipping. Leo squinted to read the faded print. "It's an article about a gay march and…an arrest list?" He looked closer. "Uncle Jimmy's on there."

"Yeah," Tristan said, his mouth giving a rueful twist. "This must be from the first Mardi Gras. It was a protest march. Did you know that? Figures Jimmy would have been involved. And they published the details of everyone arrested."

Leo swallowed convulsively, trying to imagine how he would have coped with having his personal details plastered all over the paper for the crime—because it was a crime, back then—of being gay. He took a shaky breath. "Shit," he said softly.

Tristan raised an eyebrow at him. "Yeah. Can you imagine," he said quietly, "being outed by the bloody Sydney Morning Herald ?"

Leo shook his head, mute. He turned the page to find a photo of a handsome man who was already edging into silver fox territory, his good looks marred by a bruised cheekbone and a split lip. He was grinning despite the injuries, and had his arm draped around the neck of a younger, stockier man. Scrawled underneath was "Bailed out! Jimmy and Brett, 1978."

Leo looked closer, and recognition flooded through him. This was Uncle Jimmy in his heyday—even through the years, Leo could spot the twinkle in Jimmy's eyes that promised a good time, or at least an entertaining one, and the familiar insouciant grin—the one his mother had always pursed her lips at the sight of.

Tristan was right , was his initial reaction. He was hot. He recoiled from the thought, backing away like he would from a cockroach on a buffet, horrified at himself.

He glanced up to see if Tristan had somehow read the wrongness of his thoughts and was about to mock him for it, but Tristan's gaze was firmly fixed on the photo, a fond smile on his face. It was different from his usual self-assured expression—softer, somehow. It suited him.

Leo flipped the page and there was Jimmy again, part of a crowd this time, marching and holding a placard. "1979. No mugshot this time" the scribbled caption read.

"He went back," Tristan mused. "How brave would you have to be, hey?"

Not only had Uncle Jimmy gone back in '79, he'd gone back every year since, and these were the photos to prove it. They flipped through the album, and Leo felt like he was walking through history. As the years passed and the photos got less blurry around the edges, he could see the nature of Mardi Gras changing too, morphing slowly until it was less about protest and more about celebration.

And every year Jimmy was there, front and centre. The costumes varied, from G-strings to leather harnesses, angel wings to sequinned booty shorts—and, one memorable year, something made entirely of balloons—but the one thing that never changed was Jimmy's devil-may-care grin, the one he wore whether he was planting kisses on the cheeks of the pretty young things tucked up against his side or waving a flag from the back of a parade float while wearing nothing but a chest harness, tiny shorts and army boots. He looked like he was living his best life, and Leo envied him.

He peered at the picture of Jimmy wearing a leather harness and short shorts and pointed to the drag queen who was kissing his cheek. "That's Miss Jenny!"

"Miss O'Jenny, darling. She gets very upset if you ignore her O," Tristan said, waggling his eyebrows.

Leo wasn't sure what possessed him to say, "I don't think I'm qualified to provide her with one of those."

Tristan's mouth dropped open. "Leo Fisher, did you just make a sex joke? "

Leo felt his cheeks heating. "Maybe?"

"I'm so proud! It must be my freeing influence!" Tristan beamed at him, his delight obvious. He was all dazzling perfect teeth and delicate features, and the shaft of sunlight dancing across his golden hair looked like some sort of halo, even though Tristan was about as far from angelic as you could get. But Leo didn't care. All he could think, looking at him, was that Tristan was irresistible, and Leo wanted him in a way he'd never wanted anyone before. He ached to touch him, taste him, feel the strands of his hair between his fingertips, and he was seized with a sudden surge of his own kind of bravery. Before he could talk himself out of it, Leo leaned in, wrapped a hand around the nape of Tristan's neck, and kissed him.

Tristan froze for a moment, huffing out a surprised breath against Leo's lips, but before Leo had a chance to regret every life decision that had brought him to this moment, Tristan moved. He stood, dragging Leo along with him, and curled his fingers around Leo's hips, tugging them closer together. He opened his mouth into the kiss, sweeping his tongue against Leo's bottom lip before sliding it into his mouth to touch Leo's.

It was like electricity. If they'd been at the decrepit terrace house instead of here, Leo might have thought they'd stumbled across a live wire. But no, apparently Tristan was just that good at kissing. Leo tried very, very hard not to think of why that was the case, because this kiss was magical and he didn't want to break the spell by thinking about all the people Tristan had kissed in exchange for money, and?—

Too late. His brain had ruined it.

He pulled back, a little breathless, his face burning. "Um."

Tristan grinned at him, swaying his hips, and pulled Leo into something that was almost a lazy dance. "You are just full of surprises, aren't you, Leo Fisher?" His grin grew, and he released Leo's hips. "I like it. "

Leo's heart hammered in his chest as he sorted through a tangle of emotions. He liked it too, and he wasn't sure what that said about him. Because on the one hand, Tristan was gorgeous and sexy, and Leo wanted him. But on the other hand, Tristan was a rent boy. On the other other hand, if Leo really meant what he told himself about there being no shame in sex work, why did he care? Then again, on the other, other, other hand—hell, Leo couldn't think straight. He had too many hands, lips that still tingled from an amazing kiss, and a gorgeous man in front of him—and really, did any of it even matter?

No, he decided. It didn't. He was sick of second guessing and overthinking. He put his hands on Tristan's hips, pulled him close again, and went in for another kiss. It was just as good as the first one, and Leo let his eyes close as he soaked up the taste and feel of Tristan's soft lips against his, the flicker of a tongue seeking entry, the hand that slid round to his arse and squeezed gently. He moaned into the kiss and felt Tristan's mouth curve into a smile before he pulled back and they broke apart.

Leo was about to object when Tristan ran a hand over the bulge in Leo's jeans where he was half-hard—more than half, actually. He was well on his way to a full hard-on. Leo rocked forward into the touch without even thinking about it. Tristan let out a soft laugh, then leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Can I blow you?"

Leo froze for a split second, then he found himself nodding, agreeing before he gave himself a chance to back out. Just for today, he decided, he was living by WWJD— What Would Jimmy Do? And what Jimmy would do in this situation, he was almost certain, was make the most of it. "Yeah," he said, his voice cracking with nerves.

Tristan's eyes danced with anticipation, and he kissed Leo again, right before he dropped to his knees in front of him. He unpopped the button on Leo's jeans and eased the zipper down before extracting his now fully erect cock.

"Fuck, that's a pretty dick," Tristan whispered as he wrapped a hand around the length, his breath ghosting over the sensitive head. Leo wasn't sure whether it was the warm air or the reverence in Tristan's voice that made his cock throb more.

He didn't get a chance to think about it, because Tristan stroked his length once, twice, then there was the sound of foil tearing and a condom was expertly rolled onto his dick in a way that shouldn't have been erotic but definitely was. A moment later those hands were replaced by the heat of Tristan's mouth. Fuck, if Tristan was good at kissing, when it came to blow jobs, he was nothing short of stellar.

His mouth was hot, wet and everything Leo didn't even know his dick had been missing up until now. He was overwhelmed with pleasure as Tristan flicked his tongue up and down the length of Leo's cock and fondled his balls with one hand, teasing and tugging lightly in a way that had Leo's knees threatening to buckle under him.

Leo couldn't help but let out a groan, and when he dared look down, Tristan was glancing up at him from under long lashes. He looked nothing short of sinful on his knees like that. Leo gave in to his fantasy and tangled his hands in Tristan's golden locks, pulling gently. Tristan moaned around his mouthful of cock, and when the vibrations travelled through him Leo felt like he'd touched that live wire again, his cock throbbing and jerking.

Tristan hummed again, and Leo was helpless to stop his hips driving forward, forcing himself deeper into the welcoming warmth of Tristan's mouth. Tristan swallowed around him, his head bobbing rhythmically, and it was barely a minute before Leo's balls drew up tight. This was going to be over embarrassingly fast and Leo didn't even care, his entire body straining to chase his peak. His hips stuttered as he made a strangled noise of warning before thrusting forward one last time and coming harder than he ever had before. His orgasm seemed to last forever, pleasure washing over him like one of the waves at Bondi, pulling him helplessly under again and again until he was left gasping and breathless.

Tristan worked him through it, holding Leo's softening dick in his mouth and wrapping warm hands around the back of his thighs to steady him until Leo, shuddering at his touch, collapsed backwards onto the couch, throwing a hand over his eyes. "That was…Jesus," he breathed out.

"Well, it's not the first time I've made someone see God," Tristan said with a soft laugh, peeling the used condom off. Leo squirmed at the touch, still sensitive, as Tristan tucked him gently into his jeans, leaving the zip open.

Leo peeked out from under his arm in time to see Tristan raise gracefully to his feet, which put Leo right at eye level with the bulge in Tristan's jeans. He swallowed. "Do you want me to"—he gestured vaguely—"help with that?"

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to?"

And Leo did. He wanted to see what Tristan was hiding in those jeans, and he wanted to get his hands on it. Feeling bolder than he had in a long time, he leaned forward and tugged at Tristan's hips, pulling him closer. "Come here."

Tristan came easily, draping long legs on either side of Leo so he was straddling him, unzipping his jeans as he went. He tilted his head and leaned in for a kiss while Leo fumbled Tristan's cock out of his jeans, taking a second to appreciate the satisfying thickness of it and imagining what it would feel like inside him. He skated his thumb across the damp head, spreading pre-cum down the length, and Tristan gave a gratifying whine. Leo started jerking him off in a nice, steady rhythm, working the shaft as Tristan rocked his hips, tangling his hand in Leo's hair, his fingers flexing.

Leo responded by tightening his grip on Tristan's dick and speeding up his movements to match until Tristan was squirming in his lap and panting against his mouth. It was cramped and awkward with one hand shoved between their bodies, and the metal teeth of Tristan's zipper dragged across his knuckles more than once, but Leo didn't care and Tristan didn't seem to notice, fucking desperately into Leo's grip. Far sooner than expected, Tristan pulled back from their messy kiss and threw his head backward, his spine arching as he groaned loudly and came across Leo's knuckles in hot spurts. Sweat gleamed on the long line of his throat as he shook and shuddered through his orgasm. Leo hadn't thought Tristan could be any more gorgeous, but like this, raw and unguarded, he was stunning —and, Leo realised with a start, he wanted to keep him.

Tristan slumped forward, resting his head against Leo's shoulder and letting out shaky breaths. Normally, now would be when Leo started to stress about the sticky handful of cum that was trapped between them and whether it was getting on his shirt, about what Wei would say when they went back downstairs or if she'd guess what they'd been up to. Except that for once, he found he didn't have a fuck to give. He'd given his last one to Tristan, apparently.

This had probably been a terrible idea, but as he breathed in the scent of sex, sweat and Tristan's bodywash, he couldn't find it in himself to care. Instead, he wallowed in his post-orgasmic high and let himself savour the heat and weight of Tristan's lax body where it was pressed against his, turning his head to steal a slow, lazy kiss from a gorgeous, smiling mouth.

Just this once, he'd save the worry for later.