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“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.
