Sweet Spot Ch. 04

Paul learned several things about Andy during their virtual Delfi weekend.

Some stuff Andy volunteered: He'd played basketball in college. His first car had been a convertible VW Golf GTI, and he'd once gotten nearly arrested for, as he put it, "drive-by mooning." He spent a lot of time creating play lists that he then never listened to, because afterward he was never quite in the mood for what he'd prepared, and that was more frustrating than simply putting his entire music file on random play. He liked photography, especially landscapes. He was allergic to kiwis.

Other things Paul figured out through observation: Andy was obsessive about neatness (something Paul heartily approved of). He didn't cook, but religiously watched any show Gordon Ramsay appeared in (and maintained this had nothing to do with Ramsay himself. Or his muscular forearms.) He really was a pill until he'd had his second cup of coffee, and it was best to let him be until then. He was a little too fond of 70s disco, if the amount of it on his iPod was anything to go by.

Due to tennis and, later, business travel, Paul had never developed many close friendships. He'd always thought of himself as a self-sufficient loner and he'd been sure that more than a few hours in the company of anybody other than his family – hell, even of his family – would make him antsy and desperate for solitude. And yet on Sunday afternoon, despite having been with Andy constantly since Friday evening, he found himself depressed by the looming prospect of returning to his apartment.

"You look like you could use a nap. Come share the hammock with me," Andy invited, once they'd finished cleaning up after a very late lunch. They were both in the bathing trunks they'd spent the entire weekend in, and Andy's skin, a little sunburned, gleamed with the SPF50+ suntan lotion he'd been slathering himself with.

Paul let Andy climb into the hammock first, and then awkwardly followed, praying he wouldn't dump them both onto the ground. He found himself lying half on top of Andy, his shoulder tucked in Andy's armpit and his head on Andy's chest. A cool breeze was blowing and they were in the shade of a pine tree, but he still started perspiring within minutes, especially where his and Andy's skins were touching.

"It's still pretty hot out here," he mumbled, smoothing his palm over Andy's warm stomach.

"Is that a complaint?"

Paul burrowed deeper into Andy's side and Andy obligingly hugged him closer. "Nah. Just an observation."

He lay peacefully, eyes closed, listening to the cicadas and the droning of a plane flying high overhead, his nose full of the coconut scent of Andy's suntan lotion, occasionally caressing Andy's belly and hip. At some point he may have even drifted off a bit, and when he returned to full awareness, he wasn't sure if he'd drooled on Andy's chest or if it was only sweat. He moved his cheek to rest on a slightly dryer spot.

"Are you awake?" he whispered.

"Uh huh."

"I have to get going pretty soon. I need to get my stuff organized for tomorrow, clean my apartment a little."

Andy had hung one leg off the edge of the hammock and had been swinging them gently, and now he stopped, probably expecting Paul to climb out, but Paul wasn't quite ready yet; he lay there, counting slowly in his head, thinking that he'd get up when he reached fifty.

"If I say something, do you promise not to laugh?" Andy asked just as Paul had reached eighty three.

"No," Paul answered, already grinning in anticipation of whatever Andy was about to disclose.

Andy took a deep breath, his chest expanding under Paul's cheek.

"I think I've fallen for you."

Paul felt like someone had sucker-punched him in the gut, robbing him of his breath and leaving him struggling to understand what had just happened. "Oh," he said finally, his voice faint.

"Are you laughing?" Andy asked gruffly.

"No," Paul whispered. He swallowed hard and tried to put some order to his thoughts, but they wouldn't settle on one thing long enough. He wasn't even sure if the adrenaline rush that was making him slightly nauseous was due to excitement or terror.

There might have been things about himself that Paul didn't like and was slow in changing, but at least he didn't hide from them. He knew that somewhere along the way he'd developed a massive crush on Andy, and he was mostly okay with it, determined to enjoy it as long as it lasted. But the fact that Andy reciprocated the crush, that he actually admitted it out loud, somehow made his own feelings seem inadequate, maybe even false. Andy had just upped the ante considerably, and Paul didn't know whether or how he was supposed to react.

"Hey," Andy said, tugging on Paul's hair in what was by now a familiar gesture. "I can feel your heart pounding. Relax. There's no reason to panic."

"No, I know," Paul lied.

"I just wanted you to know. So that you don't wonder if I seem weird."

"Weird?"

He felt Andy shrug.

"Like if I were to invite you to stay here, or come back for your breaks, or use my laundry room, if you want. So that you'd know why I'm doing it, that it's for my benefit and that you shouldn't feel obligated or anything."

"Oh."

"I should have kept my mouth shut," Andy said resignedly. "My age, I should know better."

For the life of him, Paul couldn't think of anything to say. But he didn't like hearing Andy despondent, either. Andy was too impulsive, that was the problem; he laid himself wide open to getting hurt. And that was an epiphany, that Andy could get hurt, because until that point he'd seemed damned near invincible.

"No. It's good you told me," he said stoutly. "Because I think I'm falling for you, too, and I wouldn't want to be the only one acting weird."

Andy tugged his hair harder, and Paul raised his head, so that they could look each other in the eye.

"Weird?" Andy asked, his lips pulling up at the corners.

"Yeah. Like if I drop by unannounced to do emergency laundry but only have one shirt with me. Or if I come over for a healthy snack."

"And why would coming over for a healthy snack be weird?" Andy asked, sounding affronted, as if his fridge were full of yoghurt and fruit, instead of beer, juice, evaporated milk for his coffee, and a tub of margarine that had expired two years ago and that Paul was afraid to even touch.

Paul reached up and kissed him hard, and Andy immediately responded, his fingers tightening in Paul's hair, his tongue thrusting into Paul's mouth. He still tasted of the ouzo they'd been drinking earlier, and Paul moaned and squirmed higher on Andy's chest, so that he could deepen the kiss. The hammock swung alarmingly and they jerked apart.

"Dammit," Andy grumbled, and started shoving at Paul's shoulders. "Up, up. Get up."

"I am up!"

"And stop with the double entendres already."

Andy pushed with his foot, so that the hammock tipped and dumped them both, more or less standing, on the lawn.

"You're not going anywhere until I've crushed you one more time," Andy declared, hurrying inside the house and towards the bedroom, dragging an unresisting Paul along behind him.

For all the previous urgency, once they were naked on the bed, things slowed down. Paul was too aware that after they were done, his Delfi weekend would be over; the experience of lying with Andy's solid weight slightly squashing him changed from sexual heat into something bittersweet to be savored. For his part, Andy now seemed happy to let Paul take the lead, and braced himself on his forearms, staring down at Paul and occasionally dipping his head to kiss him slowly, but otherwise simply waiting.

Paul cupped Andy's head in his palms and smoothed Andy's ash blond eyebrows with his thumbs, then pulled him down for another kiss, and then another; Andy responded hungrily, his mouth opening wide for Paul's tongue. Paul eventually grew frustrated with his limited range of movement, and, their lips still locked together, he rolled them both over, so that Andy was now beneath him.

He knew Andy's body better now. He knew the exact spot right beneath Andy's left ear, that, if lightly bitten and licked, made Andy writhe and grind against him, so he went there first, and had to strain to keep Andy from bucking him off. He knew that Andy was pretty indifferent to having his pink nipples played with, but that any attention to his armpits drove him wild, and he went there next, trapping Andy's wrists above his head so that he had full access to the sparse blond tufts and tender skin. He nuzzled at the salty skin, lapped at it, dizzy with the combined smells of clorine and coconut and Andy's fresh sweat, and Andy's biceps bulged as he tried to lower his arms, but Paul held him fast.

"Ah, Jesus, honey eyes, what you do to me," Andy moaned, his hips rocking and his cock a hard rod sliding damply against Paul's lower belly.

Paul also knew that Andy liked being teased with feather light touches and scratches high up on his inner thighs, that his foreskin would retract slightly and precum would start beading at his slit, that if Paul played with him enough, Andy would cum just from that, and he briefly debated continuing his trip down Andy's body, but he wanted other things more, so he kept his hands wrapped around Andy's wrists and moved back up to kiss his mouth.

"Fuck me, Paul," Andy whispered, and then, when Paul ignored him, repeated it more insistently. "Fuck me!"

Paul reached for the lube and the condoms, and lifted up, so that he was kneeling upright and sitting back on his heels, Andy's legs between his. After the usual brief struggle, he managed to rip open the small foil packet and pull the condom out.

"I was thinking the other way around," Paul said.

"Yeah, that'll work, too," Andy responded dazedly, and, hands still above his head, watched with heavy-lidded eyes, as Paul prepared him.

Paul couldn't help hissing in pain as he slowly lowered himself onto Andy's dick. He'd bottomed more in the past two days than he had in the previous two years, so he was sore, and Andy felt bigger from this angle, too. He held still for a couple of seconds, willing his tense muscles to relax.

"All right?" Andy asked. His big warm palms cupped Paul's ass and gently kneaded it.

"Yeah. You just take a little getting used to," Paul joked.

He sank further down, until Andy's hands were trapped between their bodies. He rested his own hands on Andy's shoulders, and began a slow movement, trying to draw out the pleasure for both of them. Andy slid his hands up to Paul's hips, so that Paul could take him deeper, and they both moaned.

"This just keeps on getting better," Andy mumbled and Paul bent over and kissed him, because Andy said the things that Paul wanted to but couldn't.

He shut his eyes and rode Andy's cock, losing himself in the act between them, in the escalating pleasure that made it harder and harder for him to draw breath, in the whisper of accompanying pain, in the primal need to spill his seed. Andy grunted a curse and arched his hips up, and Paul slammed against them, driving him back down into the bed, and spurted wet ribbons onto Andy's chest.

"Oh, fuck!" Andy yelled, as he violently arched upward once more, and he would have dislodged Paul, if he hadn't also been gripping his hips so tightly. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" He finally sank limply back onto the bed. "Oh, Jesus," he said weakly. "You broke me."

Paul raised himself gingerly off Andy's dick and collapsed on the bed by his side. As the orgasm induced endorphins slowly receded, he became more aware of his sore hole and tired quadriceps and realized that there was no way in hell he wanted to try and ride his bike back home. He also realized that he didn't care if he never went home, as long as he could lie next to Andy for just a while longer.

---o-O-o---

The main problem with being an adult was that one was occasionally obliged to act like one, Andy mused, as he drove Paul home. This meant that he wasn't allowed to sulk that their time together was up and that Paul couldn't stay over Sunday night, as well. At least, he now held Paul's bike hostage, since they couldn't fit it into Andy's Audi S5 Convertible.

Once they reached Paul's apartment building, Andy wheedled an invitation inside, but after fruitlessly circling the narrow streets for ten minutes in search of a parking spot, he was rapidly losing hope he'd be able to capitalize on it.

"I can't believe the only parking garage in this area closes for the weekend," he grumbled for the umpteenth time, aware that he was starting to get on Paul's nerves, yet unable to shut himself up.

He braked hopefully when he saw a car pulling away from the curb, but even if he'd been a parallel parking expert, which he wasn't, he couldn't have fit the Audi in the space the Smart had just vacated. He swore between his teeth, and drove on.

"Andy. Give it up. Just drop me off."

Paul sounded tired and exasperated, so Andy did as he was told, and then they couldn't even kiss each other goodbye, because of the group of young men loitering just down the block. Andy drove back home in a dark mood, hung up his and Paul's damp trunks that had been left lying on the bedroom floor, drank two beers, while watching an inane film on TV, and then went to bed. He twisted and turned for a good two hours, reliving the weekend, hopeful and excited about the future, frustrated that he had to wait for it and, above all, nervous, because there were no guarantees in life.

The next morning started out considerably better, when he woke up to the door bell, and realized that it was Paul, back for his bike. He rushed to the door and flung it open. Paul was in his tennis clothes, bag slung over one shoulder, and Andy took a brief moment to silently apologize for all the times he'd railed against the Tennis Club's old-fashioned rules that still prohibited colored clothes on the courts, because Paul with his dark hair and tanned skin just looked so damned sexy in white.

"Hey, you!" Paul grinned.

Andy grabbed him and dragged him into the house, and, mindful of his morning breath, settled for hugging him hard. "Hey, you! I didn't expect you this early."

Paul dropped his bag onto the floor.

"I found myself missing your surly early morning mood, so I thought I'd come share a cup of coffee with you, before heading out again."

"Oh!" Andy grinned happily. "Well, if you want to start the coffee, I'll go grab a shower and get myself into the appropriate state of mind."

He still had a silly smile on his face when he returned to the kitchen. Paul turned from the coffee machine and gaped at him.

"What?" Andy asked uncomfortably after withstanding a few seconds of intense scrutiny.

"I... I've never seen you in a suit before," Paul stammered.

"Yeah, so?"

Paul blushed a fiery red. "Nothing," he mumbled. "Forget it."

"No, really. What?"

"It's just... Well, I've got this site bookmarked."

"Yeah?"

"Men at Play dot com."

Jesus, it was like pulling teeth. "Yeah, and?"

"It's about guys in suits."

"Guys in suits," Andy repeated blankly.

"Argh! Porn, Andy! Porn featuring guys in suits. And, you know, taking those suits off."

Andy burst out laughing. "You're kidding me!"

"No." Paul's blush hadn't subsided.

"So, this makes you horny?" Andy asked, skimming his fingertips from the knot of his tie down over his belt buckle to the fly of his light gray linen trousers.

Paul's eyes had followed the path of Andy's fingers and were now glued to his crotch. Andy let his hand drop away, giving Paul a full view of his rising interest, and Paul licked his lips.

"We could call in sick," Andy suggested.

And that's where the spell broke, because Paul suddenly shook his head violently. "No way! No way! I have to go in!"

"What's the big deal? Aren't you allowed to be sick?" Andy frowned.

"Of course I am. It's just after what happened Thursday, and then Friday Maras wasn't there, and I need to be in today," Paul rambled.

"Paul, I have no clue what you're talking about. 'After what happened Thursday'? Why, what happened?"

Paul folded his arms against his chest and squared his jaw.

"Nothing. Just work stuff."

"What work stuff?" Andy tried to think back. He'd shown Paul the pool on Thursday night. He'd seemed tired, which wasn't surprising after a full day, but not particularly upset about anything.

"It's no big deal, Andy," Paul flared. "Stop nagging."

"I wasn't aware one question constitutes nagging," Andy snapped back, his own temper rising out of nowhere. "But fine, I get it. None of my business. Forget I asked."

He poured himself some coffee, stirred in milk and sugar so vigorously that liquid sloshed over the edge of his mug onto the counter, and strode angrily to his office, where he'd left his iPad charging on his desk. He was scrolling through the morning news and not taking much in, when he became aware of Paul leaning against the door jamb. He glared at him, then went back to pretending to read.

"Ah, now there's the morning Andy I know," Paul said, gentle amusement in his voice.

Andy ignored him and Paul sighed.

"Come on, Andy, don't be like that. I'm sorry I yelled, okay?"

"Okay," Andy muttered ungraciously. "I'm sorry I yelled back."

"It was more of a low growl than a yell."

Andy tried not to react, because he wasn't too sure that not being able to stay angry at Paul was a good thing, but his lips twitched. He decided a change of subject was called for.

"Says here that Cape Fear is playing at Cine Filothei tonight. The original one, with Gregory Peck and Robert Mitchum. Feel like going?"

"I've packed for an overnight stay," Paul revealed hesitantly.

"Did you?" Andy asked softly, warmth spreading through him. "That's good. You should also think of leaving some stuff here. You know, less to carry back and forth."

Paul smiled.

"Hey, honey eyes. Come over here."

Paul approached slowly, and Andy pulled him onto his lap and kissed him thoroughly.

"I can give you a key to the house, if you want. You can hang out here, maybe take a dip in the pool, rather than staying at the Club during your down time or having to bike all the way home and then back again."

"Thanks, Andy. I might just do that. You're sure?"

Andy reached over into his desk drawer for his spare house key, and handed it to Paul, who slipped it into his pocket and kissed him sweetly by way of thanks.

"What time do you think you'll be home?" Paul asked.

"Around six, six thirty."

Paul gave Andy a last kiss, and stood up. "I have to go. Don't take off the suit until I get here."

"When will that be?" Andy called after him.

"I should be here a bit after you. Wait for me!"

The door slammed shut seconds later.

After that, Andy expected the day to drag by, but, thanks to a couple of emergencies and a resulting argument about who was to blame with his cousin, it was six fifteen before he knew it, and he still had a twenty minute drive back home. He tried to reach Paul on his cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail, so he left a message that he was on his way. For once, all the traffic lights were mercifully on his side, and he pulled into his garage at six forty exactly. He straightened his tie, patted down his cowlick, and walked into the house.

Paul's bike was in the entrance and his bag on the floor next to it, but Paul was nowhere to be found. Andy checked the whole house and then the back garden, and finally located him, still in his tennis clothes, lying in the hammock, one arm covering his eyes.

"Hey, you," Andy said softly, thinking Paul might be asleep.

Paul lowered his arm and Andy saw that his eyes were bloodshot.

"Paul? What's wrong? What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, honey eyes. Let's not go through this again."