Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

T ristan hadn't intended to blow his new landlord, but he couldn't say he was upset about how the day had turned out. Leo had definitely needed to relax, and what better way was there for him to feel loose-limbed and noodly all over if it wasn't getting his brain sucked out through his dick? Tristan was certainly a fan. He was also, luckily, a fan of hand jobs, and not at all disappointed that Leo had chosen to reciprocate that way instead of getting down on his knees. Hell, he was honestly surprised Leo hadn't bolted once his post-orgasmic glow had faded, so the hand job had definitely been a win.

And Tristan, because his mother had raised him right, had kissed him, thanked him, then left him blinking owlishly in Jimmy's flat. "Catch you later," he'd said as he'd headed out the door. "I've got this last-minute work thing."

The thing for work was gate crashing Allyson Fletcher's family picnic at the tables near the pet pool at Sydney Park and complaining that she hadn't invited him but that he'd followed her because he was tracking her phone. She'd called the previous night, and Tristan had agreed because he liked Allyson. Besides, it only took fifteen minutes and he fled before her brothers beat him up, so it was an easy fifty bucks to make. He only wished he'd gotten to eat something first.

He got Red Rooster on the way home to make up for it.

Tristan didn't need the work, but he enjoyed it. He'd always had a dramatic flair, and being a Bad Boyfriend was fun. Also, it was a community service. There really were a lot of people out there who needed a vivid demonstration of just how terrible the wrong boyfriend could be for their son or daughter.

Tristan didn't get that at all. His parents had always been nothing but supportive, no matter who he'd brought home. He'd told his mum about the Bad Boyfriend thing, and she'd laughed her head off. His dad had quirked a single eyebrow and slid him the business card of a criminal lawyer "just in case." Personally Tristan thought he was overreacting, since he'd only been threatened with arrest twice but had never actually been dragged down to the police station.

It was drawing on into the late afternoon when he got home. Harry and Jack were being all cute and lovey-dovey in the kitchen, moving around each other as they threw together something for dinner, and smiling and blushing whenever they brushed up against one another.

"So," Tristan announced, tossing his Red Rooster bag on the table, "guess who blew the new landlord?"

"Tristan!" Harry exclaimed.

"Of course you did." Jack rolled his eyes.

"Of course I did," Tristan agreed. "And I was excellent. Glorious. Transcendental ."

"And modest," Jack said.

"Well, that goes without saying." Tristan dug into his bag for some more chips. He shoved them in his mouth, then looked at Harry, who was wearing a slightly worried expression. That wasn't unusual, but Tristan didn't like that it was directed at him. "What?"

Harry pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Is this going to mess things up with our rent?"

"Sweetheart, the way I give head, we'll probably get a reduction."

"Sure," Jack said. "Right up until he realises you don't ever hit the same target twice. We're already in danger of getting evicted, Tris. Please don't make it worse."

"You two worry too much." Tristan headed for the hallway. "It's boring."

He climbed the stairs to his room, flung his door open and flopped onto his bed on his back. He dug around in his bag for any chips that might have escaped the carton, sighed when he didn't find any, then crumpled the bag up and tossed it onto the floor. He stared at the pattern of sunlight on the ceiling.

Harry and Jack were adorable, but they were also boyfriends —the sort of boyfriends who spent all their spare time together, and somehow didn't drive each other crazy. And when they weren't together, they were texting and smiling at their phones. Which was nice, because they were very much into that kind of thing, but Tristan wasn't. He was young, hot, single and determined to enjoy the fuck out of all those things as long as he possibly could. What were his university years for except to have fun and get laid? Well, his parents would argue it was also to get a degree, but they couldn't complain about his results. He was constantly on the Dean's List, which wasn't something he bragged about—because he wasn't a nerd—but he was quietly proud of it, all the same. It was just that he had his studies and his future career all worked out and on track, so why not cut loose a little in other areas of his life?

He licked the chicken salt off his lips.

Jack was right about his one and done rule, though. Tristan didn't do encores, no matter how spectacular the performance had been. It led to messiness and expectations. If he invited a guy over for a second time, then they'd expect a third, and a fourth, and suddenly they were having all these crazy ideas that they were dating. No, Tristan had learned that lesson very early on.

He had a faint sinking feeling in his stomach, and he didn't know how to put a label on it. It grew into an ache that felt uncomfortably like regret when he thought of Leo with his gorgeous dark eyes, his shy, awkward smile and his really, really nice dick.

One and done, right?

Tristan glared at the ceiling.

But then, it wasn't as though he'd had sex with Leo, right? Blow jobs and hand jobs didn't technically count, not unless he wanted them to. And Tristan thought that maybe he didn't want them to, not this time. Because if the opportunity arose to actually get his dick inside Leo Fisher, or vice versa, then Tristan was going to enjoy the hell out of it.

Tristan thought of Leo a few times over the following week, but mostly because there was a steady stream of tradesmen poking around the house, knocking on walls and making unhappy sounds. Jack and Harry usually dealt with them, but the mould guy turned up at Wednesday lunchtime when they were both at work.

"Oh, yeah," the mould guy said, craning his head to look at the greyish-greenish-blackish patina on the bathroom ceiling, "that's mould all right."

Tristan leaned in the doorway in his kimono and nodded .

The mould guy got his phone out. "Leo? G'day. It's Jason, the mould guy. Yeah. Yeah, I'm taking a look now. Yeah." He chuckled, a warm, happy sound, and Tristan narrowed his eyes at him. Was Leo being funny? Leo didn't know how to be funny. "Yeah, right-o. It's a bit of a fucking mess, to be honest. Yeah, I reckon you're looking at about three grand for the whole house."

Well, Tristan bet Leo wasn't smiling now.

The mould guy hummed. "No point even starting until the water damage is fixed, though. And the builders might reckon it's just best to rip the whole bathroom ceiling out." Another hum. "Yeah. Yeah, depends on the damage, yeah."

Tristan was already bored with this one-sided conversation, and he yawned. Of all the things someone could talk to Leo about, who'd pick mould?

"Okay," the mould guy said. "Yeah, I'll give you a call later." He ended the call and set his phone down on the bathroom sink while he stared up at the ceiling again. "Just gonna grab a ladder."

Tristan moved out of his way in a swish of silk, listening to him tramp down the stairs. Then he stepped into the bathroom, grabbed the mould guy's phone and scrolled through his recent call list to get Leo's number, in a completely non-stalkerish way. He typed it into his own phone and put the mould guy's phone back where he'd found it.

Nope. Completely above board and non-stalkerish. It was just that it made sense for him to be able to get in touch with Leo. This was Tristan being an adult, in case he needed to step up in a sort of tenants' rights advocate capacity in the event the tradies did something sus—like turning up at fuck o'clock in the morning and using power tools or whistling and being cheerful.

He typed L into the contact details and paused. Tristan had plenty of numbers in his phone, and none of them belonged to hook-ups. He bit his lip and typed quickly— andlord.

There. It was perfectly reasonable to have his landlord's details in his phone, not stalkery in the least—even if his landlord did have a plush, fuckable mouth, wide doe eyes and shaggy curls that begged to have a hand tangled in them.

The need for Leo's number had nothing to do with the way Tristan had been thrown off-balance by the radio silence from Leo after their afternoon at the flat. At least, that was what he told himself. After all, it wasn't like he'd expected to hear from Leo. Well, okay, maybe he'd hoped , if only for Leo to thank him for a spectacular afternoon delight. But apart from that, there was nothing for them to talk about.

Except…

It looked like the house was going to be undergoing some renovations after all, and they never did get round to inspecting the flat properly to see if it was suitable for Jack and Harry. What sort of friend would Tristan be if he didn't make sure his little lovebirds had a nest?

The responsible thing to do would be to contact Leo and find out about the possibility of homelessness, surely? That's what a good tenant would do.

Tristan was distracted from thoughts of Leo by the sight of the mould guy going up and down the ladder and displaying a very nice set of legs, all tanned and lean. It was a pleasant enough way to spend half an hour, and Tristan even thought briefly of flirting, right up until he saw the wedding ring. Once the guy had gone, though, he found himself wondering what Leo was doing. He grabbed his phone and hit the call button before he could think too hard about it.

Leo answered on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Leo! It's Tristan. "

A wary note crept into Leo's tone. "How did you get my number?"

"Oh, you know how these things work," Tristan said airily. "It just occurred to me that we never did decide if the flat was habitable before we got distracted by our dicks, and we didn't get a proper look at the inner workings of Pleasure Party. When's a good time for you? Friday night? I'm not working for a change."

Tristan's heartbeat raced, for no reason he could fathom, while he waited for Leo to answer. It seemed to take forever, before Leo said, "Um, sure, I guess? I probably need to know what I'm selling. Just…don't give me any hooks, okay?"

Tristan laughed. "No hooks, I swear. Shall we say seven? I'll meet you there." He ended the call and took a moment to wonder if the butterflies in his stomach were from relief or anticipation, before deciding to do what he always did when he encountered an unexpected emotional response—ignore it. Tristan had successfully managed to avoid his feelings getting tangled up in his love life up until now, and that wasn't about to change just because of Leo's adorable awkwardness.

This, Tristan reminded himself, was about getting into Leo's pants, and nothing else.

When Tristan arrived at Pleasure Party, Leo was already standing outside, glancing at his watch with a worried look on his face. He stuck out like dog's balls, radiating the nervous energy of a high school virgin about to buy condoms with his mum's credit card. The tense set of his shoulders softened when Tristan approached, although the frown didn't quite disappear. "You're late."

"Sorry," Tristan said breezily. "I lost track of time." He didn't mention that he was late because he'd missed the bus or that he'd missed the bus because his man bun wouldn't sit right and that he'd had to redo it four times. He also didn't mention that he'd ended up cajoling a lift out of Jack, in case Leo asked if Jack was still around and invited him up to the flat. Tristan didn't want that. He wanted it to be just the two of them because…well, he just did.

He pushed the door of the shop open, and when Leo followed him inside he looked less terrified than last time, which was something at least. Wei was busy serving, but Leo pulled the keys to the flat out of his pocket and waggled them at Tristan, so they gave her a wave and headed upstairs. It was almost like déjà vu, and Tristan found himself wondering if he'd be lucky enough to get a repeat of the last time. Not that he did repeats, but the last time didn't count. It had been a slip of the tongue. Or hand. Something had slipped, anyway, then everything had gotten nice and slippery.

Leo's arse swayed in an enticing manner in front of him as they climbed the stairs, and Tristan wondered if he was doing it on purpose, but he dismissed the thought. Leo wasn't the type of guy to sway his hips. He was more the sort to hop around on one leg and overbalance while trying to get out of his jeans. Tristan really hoped he'd get to find out.

When they got inside, Tristan managed to behave himself as Leo took stock of the condition and contents of the flat. It was nicer than the house they were in now—although that particular bar was set incredibly low—and it was even kind of furnished, including an ancient double bed and a chipped dinnerware set in the kitchen cabinets, as well as an assortment of sheets and towels lurking in the linen cupboard.

When they circled back round to the living area, Leo threw a glance at the old sofa where Tristan had gotten his mouth on Leo's cock last time, before clearing his throat. "So, um. The other day…"

"Was a lot of fun!" Tristan interrupted, before Leo spoiled things by saying he regretted what they'd done. That would just be awkward.

Leo swallowed again. "Yeah," he said, "it was." A shy smile crept onto his face, which Tristan found encouraging. Not that he'd really thought Leo had regrets—Tristan knew for a fact he gave spectacular head.

"We should do it again sometime," Tristan said—then wondered where the hell that had come from, because it was definitely in his lexicon of Things Tristan Doesn't Say, along with "Call me," and "Would you like to meet my parents?"

But, he reminded himself, he'd decided last time didn't count, so this was fine.

Probably.

Leo fixed his gaze on a spot on the floorboards and made a non-committal sound in reply, which wasn't a no, but Tristan could also sense that Leo didn't want to talk about it. Tristan wasn't completely insensitive, whatever Jack said, so he changed the subject.

"If Jack and Harry do move in, this room really needs a rug so that Harry can sit on the floor and do his craft and Jack can sit next to him and make goo-goo eyes while he hands him the glitter glue. It's not my idea of a good time on a Friday night, but they seem to enjoy it, the little weirdos. What about you, Leo? Are you artistically inclined?"

Leo blinked. "Um, no?"

"I can't draw to save my life," Tris carried on blithely, "and I can't carry a tune in a bucket. My talents lie in other areas."

"What, shagging?" Leo blurted out, before clapping a hand over his mouth, eyes wide and horrified. He pulled his hand away and his face was beet red. "Oh my God, that was so rude! I'm sorry!"

Tristan wondered for a moment what Leo's upbringing had been like that he thought that was being rude. "It's fine," he said, and raised a suggestive eyebrow. "I'm good in bed, and I'm not ashamed of it. It's just that you can't get a BA in shagging."

That earned him a surprised laugh. Leo had a nice laugh, rich and musical. Tristan was surprised to find that he wanted to hear more of it, which was unusual for him. His normal stock in trade was moans, whimpers and pleas for harder, deeper, more.

Leo shook his head but he was wearing a wry smile now, so Tristan guessed he was over his mortification. Leo cast one more glance around the flat and said, "So, take me downstairs and show me what's hiding out back?"

"Is that a euphemism, darling?" Tristan smirked. He'd always thought he looked good in a smirk.

Leo's cheeks flushed and he laughed again, and Tristan laughed along with him and led the way downstairs. Wei was still serving, so Tristan took Leo out the back where he showed him the less sexy stock that consisted of teddy bears and silk flowers, as well as the boxes of unpacked stock. Tristan felt a weird sort of pride that one blow job from him had apparently been enough to loosen Leo right up, because Leo didn't even shy away from an open box of dildoes. Instead, he wondered aloud if it was better to market them by firmness, size or colour.

"Hmm," Tristan said. "Maybe amateur, enthusiast and professional?"

He liked to make Leo laugh.

They stuck their heads into the tiny, cluttered room that had been Jimmy's office but there wasn't much to see, just a sagging office chair, a battered wooden desk, and a bunch of those old concertina files that Tristan didn't think still existed.

They made their way back to the counter where Wei was filling up the complimentary condom basket. Tristan pocketed a few just like he always did before asking "Hey, Wei, did you ever get paid?"

She nodded and smiled brightly. "Yeah! Apparently, Jimmy had an accountant all along, a guy named Kevin. Turns out Jimmy just did the cash payment thing because he liked an excuse to come down and chat. Kevin sorted it all out, and the pay goes into our bank accounts now."

"I'm glad to hear it, love," Tristan said, and meant it. He couldn't imagine having to live payday to payday. It sounded miserable. He turned to Leo. "I guess you have to talk to Kevin, too?"

Leo's brow furrowed. "Yeah, it's on my list, but sorting out the estate is… It's a lot more complicated than I expected."

Tristan felt a pang of sympathy. Wills were never fun at the best of times, and it definitely sounded like Leo had inherited more than a few headaches along with Jimmy's properties and businesses. Yet here he was, doing his best to take care of everything. A wave of fondness washed over Tristan that was new and frankly unsettling. Tristan wasn't fond of people. He just fucked them—or they him, either was good—then he walked away. Which was why the overwhelming desire to spend more time with Leo— time that didn't involve getting his dick out—caught him off guard. Before he could think about it too much he found himself asking, "Do you eat?"

Leo gave him a guarded look, like he wasn't quite sure where Tristan was going with this—which was fair, because Tristan wasn't quite sure either. "Do I eat? "

"Meals," Tristan clarified. "And, do you. With me? Want to?"

Leo just stared.

Jesus. Tristan had asked a hundred men to bed in a hundred different ways and he'd managed to be flirty and seductive every single time, but when it came to something as simple as asking Leo to dinner, he couldn't even form a sentence. Silently appalled at his complete lack of composure, Tristan took a breath and tried again. "Can I take you to dinner, Leo?"

"Um, are you asking me on a…date?" Leo's eyes widened, and Tristan caught a glimpse of something vulnerable there—hope, maybe.

"Yes," he said. "I am."

Leo bit his bottom lip and hesitated for just long enough for Tristan to second-guess himself before he gave a shy smile and nodded. "Yeah. That'd be nice."

Tristan mentally high-fived himself and ignored the voice in his head reminding him that he was breaking his hard and fast no-dating rule, and chose instead to focus on the warm tendril of anticipation that curled in his belly at the prospect of dinner with Leo. He was shocked to discover that he wasn't even all that concerned about whether or not they shagged afterwards, which was uncharted territory as far as Tristan was concerned.

He wasn't sure what had spurred him to ask Leo out or why he was doing this, but he was doing it.

Fuck the rules.

Tristan was going on a date.