Sweet Spot Ch. 01bypodga©
At first, Andy barely noticed the prim and shy-looking man in glasses standing at the bar; his eyes had settled on the blond twink in the tight orange T-shirt swaying to the music one seat to the guy's left. Unfortunately, by the time Andy fought his way to the bar, the twink had already been pulled onto the dance floor by somebody else, and Andy ruefully settled on the emptied bar stool and ordered a drink. As he pivoted around to rest his elbows on the bar and look out on the dance floor, he accidentally hit the man with his knee.
"Sorry about that," he said, taking a closer look. Not bad at all, if you liked dark curly hair and tanned skin, which, let's face it, you sort of had to if you lived in Greece. The man was wearing a baggy shirt and jeans, generally never a good sign of what lay underneath, especially since one didn't come to S-CAPE to relax in one's most comfortable clothes, but the rolled-up sleeves disclosed muscular forearms and strong-looking wrists. And anyway, Andy was hardly one to demand perfection in a body, given the slight spare tire he'd developed over the past couple of years.
The guy smilingly cupped a hand behind his ear, indicating that he hadn't heard. The move pulled his shirt tight against a nicely swelling bicep, and the smile was cute, as well.
"Sorry," Andy repeated more loudly.
"Oh. No problem."
Even with those few words, Andy could tell he wasn't a native Greek speaker.
"American?" he asked, speaking English this time.
"Me, too," Andy said, pointing at himself with his thumb. "At least, my mom is."
The man nodded, smiled again, and then looked down at his drink. He was either not very interested or a little shy, but by this point Andy was hooked enough to try and keep the conversation going a little longer.
"Do you live here? Have you been to S-CAPE before?" he asked, wincing inwardly at the triteness of his questions. He really wasn't good at small-talk.
"Yes, to both." This time around, the man didn't even try to meet Andy's eyes, though he did smile again.
"I'm Andy. Do you want to dance?" he asked, feeling a little desperate. Twinks were a hell of a lot easier, and he didn't care if that made him a dirty old man. He pointed at them, then at the dance floor, and they either nodded or looked right through him and he knew exactly where he stood. Older guys were more complicated; Andy always felt like he needed to engage them in some type of conversation, as if the sex, whatever form it might later take, would be better if they could both just pretend they hadn't met at a dance club frequented by guys a lot younger than them.
Paul wasn't a particularly good dancer, but he seemed willing to get up close and personal, and Andy took full advantage of that. He slid his hands across Paul's shoulders and down his strong back, then hunched over a bit to briefly cup Paul's ass, before straightening up to clasp his hips and pull him against him. As they ground and swayed together, Andy came to the very firm conclusion that the baggy clothes were not an attempt to conceal love handles or a soft belly. Paul was either blessed by nature or spent way too many hours in a gym. Or maybe he worked for the US Embassy in some kind of security position. That would explain the conservative hair cut, athletic body and poor dress sense.
A head shorter, Paul reached up and looped his arms around Andy's neck.
"You're a good dancer, Andy," he smiled. "I'm sorry if I'm trampling you."
He didn't look particularly sorry. He looked a bit dazed, and, if the hard-on grinding against Andy's thigh was anything to go by, a lot horny. Andy pulled him more firmly against him, and bent down to rub his cheek against Paul's stubble.
"That's okay. I blame the size of my feet, they leave less floor for others to stand on."
"And is it true, what they say?"
Andy backed away and stared down at Paul. "You did not just ask me that."
"So it's not true?"
"Maybe," Andy smirked, and Paul laughed. Andy bent and rubbed his cheek against Paul's once more, liking the faint scratch of his soft stubble. "We could go somewhere and you could see for yourself."
It was Paul, who backed away now, but only far enough so that he could see Andy's face, his groin still firmly pressed against Andy's thigh.
He said it a bit challengingly, as if he thought Andy hadn't really meant the invitation.
"Okay," Andy echoed emphatically. "Let's get out of here, then."
It was still fairly early when they stepped outside the club, only just past midnight, and people were waiting to get in. Paul had reverted to shyness, not quite meeting Andy's eyes as they stood on the sidewalk. The night was so warm and humid, it felt like they were still inside.
"Uh, I'd invite you to my place, but I live pretty far from here. How about you?"
Paul shook his head. "No, my place is no good. A hotel?"
Andy grimaced, not particularly thrilled with the idea. There were a few hotels in the vicinity that were both gay friendly and available by the hour, but he wasn't too sure about their discretion and the last thing he needed was an exposé on how Andreas Giannopoulos was booking himself into gay hotels for a few hours' playtime. Even the larger hotels had employees with paparazzi phone numbers on their speed dial. He wasn't a major celebrity, and he was out, but he was also the son of a politician,, whose opponents would take any opportunity to sling mud, especially during an election period.
"I don't know..." he said hesitantly, and Paul obviously understood at least part of the reason for his hesitation.
"Come on, there's a pretty nice hotel I used to stay at back when I used to visit here on business. I'll book myself in, tell them it was an unexpected stopover, and that I'm headed back to the airport tomorrow. It won't be the first time. You can follow me in and come straight up to the room. They never noticed anything before, or at least they pretended not to."
"So I'm not the first cute guy you've picked up at S-CAPE?"
Paul just grinned and flagged down a taxi. During the short ride, they idly commented on the weather and new movie releases. Paul mentioned how much he liked the open air cinemas in Athens and Andy reminisced about being seven and spitting sunflower seeds into the hair of the girl sitting in front of him, until his Dad caught him at it and dragged him outside halfway through the movie.
"It was "Jaws", too. I didn't even dip a toe in the sea for at least two weeks after that. I still think that's the scariest movie I've ever seen."
At their destination, Andy waved off Paul's attempt to pay.
"My last name is Pappas," Paul said, before ducking into the hotel. "Give me a few minutes to get checked in, and then call through reception and I'll let you know my room number."
Andy lurked outside the hotel for about ten minutes, pretending to be fascinated by the suntan lotions and orthopedic shoes on display in the pharmacy window next door and puzzling over Paul's conflicting behavior. His apparent shyness at the club didn't really jive with his brisk efficiency in the subsequent arrangements. He was putting on an act, but Andy couldn't figure out why or to what extent or which part was the real Paul. For a brief paranoid second he wondered if he was somehow being set up for a public outing, with embarrassing pictures and everything, but nobody could have known he'd be at S-CAPE that night.
He forgot his trepidation once Paul, already stripped down to his jeans, opened the door for him. Usually Andy went for hairless twinks, but Paul was more of an otter, his pecs, abs and arms covered by a dusting of fine dark hair, and if he was slender, his musculature made it evident that it was due more to exercise, than to not eating or a high metabolism. After admiring him for a couple of seconds, Andy stepped forward and pushed him back, letting the door swing shut behind them. Paul's shoulders were warm and smooth and slightly damp with perspiration under Andy's hands, and he only resisted Andy briefly, before moving docilely backward, until they stood together in the middle of the room. Paul had also taken his glasses off, and in the better light, Andy could see that his eyes were a medium brown with darker flecks adding depth and warmth. Honey eyes.
"So," Paul smiled, slipping his fingers between the buttons of Andy's shirt. Andy tensed his muscles, equally against the tickle and in an effort to conceal the softness of his belly.
"So," Andy smiled back, his own fingertips sliding down the Paul's body, tracing the groove between his pecs, his abs, then the skin on either side of his belly button, before finally pushing slightly under the waistbands of his jeans and underwear. Paul shivered, his skin erupting in goosebumps.
For the first time in many years, maybe ever, Andy found himself unsure about how to proceed. By rights they should have already been tearing the clothes off each other, and yet Andy was oddly reluctant to move so quickly, and it had nothing to do with how turned on he was, because his dick had never been so hard for so long. Despite looking like he was in his early thirties, Paul somehow seemed more innocent than all those twenty-something-year-old twinks that had been Andy's favorite fare until that point. And yet he clearly wasn't inexperienced, so a slow careful approach wasn't called for either.
"So," Andy repeated awkwardly, as he pointlessly waited for inspiration on the best way forward.
"So, can I see?"
"If it's true that big feet mean a big dick," Paul explained, his eyes teasing, and Andy laughed.
"Yeah. It's what we're here for, right?"
"Among other things," Paul muttered and without further ado, dropped to his knees in front of Andy and started undoing his belt. And thank God for that, because clearly Andy had been hit by some kind of evil freeze beam that stopped him from moving or thinking. It didn't stop him from feeling though, his belt and waistband loosening, his pants and underwear being shoved down, Paul's breath gusting over the tip of his cock and his lower belly.
"Wow," Paul exclaimed, his fist closing around Andy. "It's enormous."
"No, it isn't," Andy protested, looking down to check just in case something had changed from the last time he'd seen his cock earlier that day. Too big could be just as impractical as too small.
Paul leaned forward and licked the head, and Andy moaned.
"In any case, the myth isn't busted," Paul chuckled, and his tongue slid against the top of Andy's dick again, probing under his foreskin and tracing his slit.
"So long as it fits in your mouth, I won't complain," Andy hinted, and Paul took the hint, his mouth wet and warm and so, so right. Andy groaned and grabbed at Paul's head to somehow anchor himself, his fingers combing through Paul's short curls and clutching them. He rolled his hips, trying to control the speed more than the depth, to slow Paul down a bit, because he wasn't so sure he could last very long, and given the choice, he'd prefer Paul's ass to his mouth. Still, he could probably hold out a little longer, if he really had to. After all, Paul seemed to be enjoying himself, and Andy was not a selfish lover.
"Is this okay?" Paul asked suddenly, looking up at Andy.
"Fuck, yeah. You can't tell?"
"I can't really see your face that well without my glasses."
Andy dropped to his knees, as well, and kissed Paul's swollen lips. Paul immediately opened up for him, letting Andy search for his tongue with his own. Paul tasted of beer and of Andy.
"Can you see me better now?" Andy asked, even though Paul's eyes had closed somewhere along the line, his thick short lashes fluttering.
"Yeah," Paul breathed, but he didn't open his eyes, just searched blindly for Andy's mouth again, his kisses wet and hungry, his hands busy unbuttoning Andy's shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. Andy let go of Paul's hair for as long as it took to get rid of the shirt, then reached up again, liking how the thick short strands felt cool and soft between his fingers, how Paul's breathing changed when he tugged on them.
"Are you gonna take off your jeans and turn around for me?" Andy asked breathlessly against Paul's mouth, and Paul moaned and shook his head, a slight, unsure movement. "Come on, honey eyes. Turn around," Andy urged again, and this time Paul nodded, twisting around so that he was kneeling with his back to Andy.
Andy reached around and unbuttoned Paul's jeans and with a hand between Paul's shoulder blades, pushed slightly, so that Paul bent down to prop himself on his elbows, presenting his perfect ass to Andy.
"So sweet," Andy murmured, bending over Paul so that he could lick a long stripe from his nape down to the top of his crack, even as he was shoving and pulling Paul's jeans and briefs down his thighs and completely off.
"So fucking sweet," he repeated, sitting back on his heels and admiring the taut cheeks that contrasted whitely with the tanned skin on Paul's back and legs, the shadowy cleft between them.
"Spread yourself for me," he whispered, and Paul partly complied with a sound that sounded like a sob, widening his knees and burying his face in the crook of one elbow, so that his back arched.
"Jesus Christ, Paul," Andy muttered reverently, his hand reaching out to trace around Paul's hole, then down his perineum to his balls, hanging full and tight between muscular thighs. Paul was drawing deep, harsh sobbing breaths, but he wasn't resisting. If anything, he was pushing back against Andy's hand, opening himself further, seeking more contact, and if Andy didn't sink himself balls-deep into Paul in the next three seconds, he was going to explode with lust. He reached into the back pocket of his pants, which were still hanging loosely from his hips, and pulled out a condom and a pillow pack of lube.
"Any allergies or other stuff I should know about?" Andy asked as he hastily gloved up and slathered himself with lube, and Paul shook his head, his face still tucked into his elbow. "Me neither. I mean I'm clean. We should have probably discussed this a bit earlier," Andy babbled, suddenly nervous again.
Paul turned his head slightly to the side, so that he could speak. "I'm clean, too. Now shut up and carry on," he growled and Andy started laughing.
"Yessir," he murmured, taking a brief moment to get rid of the rest of his clothes, then knee-walking forward and so that he was tucked tight against Paul's backside. He reached one hand down to hold and guide his own dick, and the other to grasp Paul's. And the first touch of his cock against Paul's hole, Paul bucked nervously, then steadied himself, as Andy started to push in by slow increments. Despite the mythbuster jokes, Andy's dick wasn't particularly thick, and he rarely had to prepare anyone to take him as long as he moved slowly, so he was surprised when Paul jerked away from him.
"Paul? What's wrong?"
Paul took a deep breath. "Nothing. It's just been a while. Don't stop."
Andy backed away and kissed Paul's back. "It's okay. We have plenty of time," he soothed. Still stroking Paul's dick with one hand, he pressed the middle finger of his other into Paul, and Paul sighed, his tense muscles relaxing. He reached back awkwardly to clasp the back of Andy's thigh and pull him tighter against him.
"It's good now," he said after Andy had introduced a second finger and stroked Paul for a while longer. "I'm not going to last much longer."
This time Andy was able to sink all the way in, until his hips were tight against Paul's ass. He braced himself with one hand against the middle of Paul's back, pushing his chest even further into the floor, and fucked Paul with slow, deep thrusts.
"Harder," Paul moaned, and Andy obliged. He was no longer jerking Paul off so much as forcing Paul to thrust into his fist every time he slammed against his ass. Andy's palm was slick with sweat and Paul's pre-cum, and when he tightened his fingers to get a better grip, Paul gave a short high wail and started spurting. Andy followed a second later, his orgasm spreading from his balls to his fingers and toes, his muscles clenching and releasing in sync with Paul's tunnel tightening around his dick. When he could breathe again, he draped bonelessly over Paul's back as Paul collapsed flat on the carpet, and kissed his cheek.
"That was awesome," he said, nuzzling Paul's ear, his fingers drawn irresistibly to Paul's hair again. "Thank you."
"Uh huh," Paul agreed blearily. "You can get off now."
"I already did," Andy assured him, and Paul chuckled breathlessly.
"I mean off of me. You're crushing me."
"Wimp," Andy scoffed, but he picked himself up and wandered into the bathroom to take care of the condom and clean up a bit. When he walked back into the room, Paul had rolled onto his back,, but otherwise hadn't moved.
"You should maybe get up off that carpet," Andy advised as he started dressing. "It can't be too clean."
"New carpet. The front desk assured me I'm the first guest in this room after the remodeling. You can't smell it?"
Now that Paul mentioned it, Andy recognized the distinctive smell of new carpet and fresh paint. For the first time he looked around the room, and realized everything looked particularly fresh and sparkling. He wondered if part of the dizziness he'd felt had been due to the chemicals rather than to lust for Paul, but he was clear-headed enough now, if slightly rubbery-kneed.
"And now you've christened the new carpet with spunk. Nice."
Paul laughed and finally sat up, scooting backward and propping his back against the foot of the bed.
Andy paused in the act of turning the sleeves of his shirt right-side out so that he could put it on, and looked down at Paul.
"Yeah. I've got an early start tomorrow. Do you want me to drop you off at your place?"
Paul shook his head. "Nah. I might as well sleep here."
Andy finished buttoning his shirt and sat on the foot of the bed to tie his shoe laces. After he was done, he ran his fingers through Paul's curls one last time, and Paul leaned his head back into the caress.
"Take care, okay?"
"Yeah. You too, Andy."
During the entire cab-ride home, he thought of calling the hotel and asking to be connected to Paul's room again. He held his phone, his thumb hovering over the button that would send the call through, but that wasn't the way he did things. Besides, Paul hadn't seemed interested in further contact either. He finally put the phone back in his pocket. Best not to fool with the tried and true, or ruin the memory of a great night by trying to pin anything more onto it.
If there was one thing Paul had learned over the years, it was that it seldom served to try and find answers to the mysteries of life at 3:00 in the morning. Still, as he leaned closer to the mirror to examine the angry red carpet burn on his left temple, cheek and collarbone, he couldn't help but seek answers.
First, would the burn look as obvious in the morning (and he suspected it would) and how would he explain that, as well as the burns on his knees, without going into the details of being fucked on the floor of a hotel room? Second, how could he possibly not have felt the pain at the time his face was being rubbed back and forth against the carpet by Andy's powerful thrusts? Third, why hadn't they used the bed, when that was the very reason Paul had rented a room, despite his non-existent financial resources? And fourth – and most important – why the hell hadn't he gotten more information than a first name from a guy, who had demonstrated the ability to fuck him so senseless?
Unfortunately, Andy was long gone, leaving Paul to his ruminations, his pleasantly sore hole and his unpleasantly sore face. He considered avoiding the walk of shame in the early morning and returning home now, but the hotel boasted amenities he wouldn't find in his studio apartment, namely air-conditioning, a large shower stall, and a full breakfast included in the price of the room. He stretched out on the soft mattress and closed his eyes, trying not to worry about the hit his bank account was taking, because he'd wanted to stay on neutral ground with Andy, and about the fact that he'd once again opted for the nameless fuck, even though he'd moved a continent away from his home and family in order to try and change his ways.