Sweet Spot Ch. 04

Paul sighed. "It's all just fucked up, you know? I shouldn't care. I should just tell them all to fuck off, if they don't like it."

Andy loosened his tie and sat on the grass, his arms loosely wrapped around his legs.

"They found out about you?"

"Yeah. Well, I told this one guy myself, and the news kind of spread from there."

"And what? Maras is giving you a hard time?" Andy probed. He'd end his membership if that was the case. Hell, he'd insist his whole family pull out.

"No. Well, he tried to, but I think I handled that. The problem is that some of the parents heard, and I lost some of my private pupils. As for the rest, I don't know if they've actually decided to stick with me, or if they just haven't heard about me yet."

Paul lay staring up at the sky and Andy wanted to reach for him, but he'd come to understand that Paul didn't really like being held or touched, when he was unhappy about something.

"The thing is, I was just barely breaking even before. And I doubt I'll be able to find new pupils before September, and that's assuming they don't hear about me or don't have a problem with me."

"You're talking two months," Andy said carefully. "It's not so long. There's nothing you can do to manage until then?"

Paul turned his head and looked at him over the edge of the hammock, his expression completely defeated.

"Not really. I could go back home, I guess. Stay with my parents in Bridgewater. Things won't be much worse there. At least, I can't imagine how they could be."

"Let me float you a loan," Andy said, knowing that Paul would refuse, yet unable not to propose the obvious solution. "Just until September. Or you could just come stay here. At least you wouldn't have to pay rent."

Paul went back to gazing up at the sky. "I've got this little Czech kid I'm coaching. He's really something. Just a real instinct for the game, for his opponent, for where the ball's gonna go. Great timing, too. And he works hard." He paused, and Andy thought he was done, but then he continued: "As far as I know, he's still with me. Of course, it might take his mother a while to hear the gossip, seeing as how she doesn't speak Greek."

Andy remained silent. He'd said his piece, and he could only hope that Paul would see his way to accepting either one of his offers, or maybe even both of them.

---o-O-o---

Paul wished he could think. Even more, he wished he could get off the fucking roller coaster his life had become over the past week.

He hadn't told Andy that almost every single one of his private classes had quit on him. He'd get paid for today's classes, because there was a 24-hour cancellation notice, but going forward he only had four of twelve pupils left, and of those only two were certain, because their mother had told him firmly that she didn't care what his orientation was, so long as she got her three hours of peace and quiet per week. Only Libor and Dinesh, a 52-year old Indian executive that Paul coached once a week, remained and they could both go either way. And even if they did stick with him, it accomplished nothing, because even with twelve pupils, he'd barely been hanging on.

The academy still seemed safe, although he knew a couple of the older kids were aware of the rumors, even if they didn't know exactly what they meant. So far, none of the parents had demanded that either their children or he be removed, not that he'd heard of, and he didn't even want to know what Maras had said or promised to keep the peace. The other coaches and staff at the club were keeping their distance, as well; some because they genuinely felt uncomfortable around him, others more probably because they simply couldn't risk losing their jobs in this economy by offending the wrong people.

Lying in Andy's hammock all afternoon, he'd realized there were several fatal flaws in his coming out plan, and could only wonder at how he could have been so stupid.

Obviously there was the choice of country, which Andy had pointed out the first minute he'd heard why Andy had come to Greece. Then, he'd thought he wouldn't care what strangers thought of him, but he should have known he would. After all, wanting others' approval was what had driven him to practice endless hours, to play with pain and to keep on competing for a full eighteen months after he'd known he'd lost the drive for it.

And last but not least, he'd seen his family, friends and whole previous life as a cage, which kept him restricted to a certain role, but he'd overlooked how they could also be a safety net. Now, both his job and the roof over his head were at risk, and he had no friends here; well, none except for Andy, and Andy wasn't exactly a friend. If he'd come out in the States, even if everybody he knew had turned against him, even if he'd lost his job – and he doubted his mother would have let his father fire him – he'd still have had his apartment, and a much better chance at finding a new job that actually paid something. Maybe he could have even hooked up with Nate again, for friendship and for creating a circle of gay friends, if for nothing else.

What he had with Andy was good, and it felt right, but the timing was fucked up. Andy seemed pretty laid back and willing to make a number of allowances, but for how long? And besides, once Paul had finally started imagining himself in a relationship, it was as a full and equal partner, who could contribute at least 50% financially, and there was no chance of that now.

Still, Andy's offer was so tempting. Accept the loan, and he could postpone going home, maybe turn the situation around. Stay with Andy, and . . . well, there were just too many benefits to list, and only one downside: that Paul's pride would take an even bigger hit than it had so far. On the other hand, going back to live with his parents in Bridgewater wasn't exactly something to brag about, either.

He turned to look at Andy again. He was resting back on his elbows, his long legs crossed at the ankles, and was gazing at the pool. He seemed serene, like he knew all the answers, like he could handle anything that came along. Paul needed some of that.

"Andy?"

"Hmmm?"

"I don't want the loan. But, if I could terminate my lease and stay here, that would help a lot."

Andy nodded. "Okay, we'll do that. Does your lease have some kind of termination notice?"

Paul was grateful that Andy had moved so matter-of-factly to the logistics. "Yeah, but the landlord can use the deposit, if he wants. At least I won't be spending more cash."

"Any stuff you need to move into storage?"

Paul shook his head. "I just have a futon, some sheets, books, clothes, that sort of thing. The appliances were already there and I didn't want to invest in anything more. After all, this isn't supposed to be a permanent thing. I'd only planned to be here eighteen months, twenty four tops."

Andy's frown was so fleeting, Paul almost missed it.

"Not that you have to put up with me for that long," he added hastily. "If I don't work something out by fall, I'll get out of your hair."

"You'll figure something out," Andy said smoothly and then stood up. "Listen, why don't we go out for a burger or something, and then go to that movie?"

Suddenly it was as if Andy had been replaced by a polite stranger.

"Andy? It's okay to rescind the offer. I mean I appreciate the thought, and that you want to help, but it's too much. I'll figure something else out."

"I don't want to rescind anything," Andy said, his mouth a grim line. "We'll need to get a move on, if we want to make the start of the film. I'll go take a quick shower and change."

"Okay," Paul responded, though he was still puzzled at the sudden chill. He slowly hoisted himself out of the hammock, and followed Andy into the house, but didn't think that a suggestion that they shower together to save time was going to be particularly welcome, so he fished his jeans and a clean shirt out of his bag, and waited for Andy to finish his shower, before taking his own.

---o-O-o---

Andy may have had a brief fantasy, in which Paul showed his gratitude by ripping off Andy's clothes and fucking him into the middle of next week, but he hadn't actually expected it. Then again, he hadn't expected Paul to look like he was being force-fed cod liver oil, like accepting Andy's offer to move in was something he hated and only did because he knew it was good for him, or him to keep on reminding Andy that his stay in Greece was only temporary. That, by extension, they were only temporary.

Despite the inauspicious start, Paul seemed to enjoy cohabitation. After the first ten days, during which he had seemed to ask for permission to do anything from putting something in the fridge to turning on the TV, he had slowly started treating Andy's home like his own. Six weeks later, he was still scrupulous about cleaning up after himself, to the point where Andy, normally tidy himself, started feeling like a slob by comparison, and he'd introduced the novel concept of preparing dinner from scratch rather than ordering in, something which Andy suspected he did more as a form of payback than because he really enjoyed shopping and cooking, but otherwise he seemed to be settling in.

And although Andy had worried that Paul would insist on behaving like a roommate rather than a lover once he moved in, it hadn't come to pass. Andy had helped Paul move his stuff, including the futon, into the guest room and he'd expected he'd need to seduce Paul into his own bed. In fact, he'd been looking forward to it. But then his mom, who, although American of Danish descent, gossiped more than any Greek Andy had ever met, had called right after dinner that first night, and he'd become involved in a long and convoluted conversation about various family members. It was almost eleven by the time he'd managed to hang up and Paul had already left the living room. The guest room door had been closed, and Andy's heart had sunk. He'd dragged himself into his bedroom, only to discover Paul there, already snoring.

A few days later, they'd gotten tested, agreeing that it only made sense, given the living arrangements and that both were prepared to commit to exclusivity as long as they shared a roof and a bed. If Andy sometimes allowed himself to hope for something longer term, he kept it strictly to himself.

Paul was definitely more active than Andy. He woke up early to run or ride his bike, and returned all smiles and damp curls, just as Andy was hitting the snooze button. The first couple of weeks, having a bare-chested, sweaty guy jumping on top of him, offering blow jobs or anything else his heart might desire, had kept Andy sweet. After that, the novelty wore off and he started getting grumpy about it. Paul sometimes ignored his mood and had his wicked way with him, and sometimes deferred to Andy's need for more sleep, and went off to shower and make the coffee.

The only dark cloud was that Paul steadfastly refused any offers Andy made to arrange a weekend away. He was extremely touchy about the subject of money, and insisted on covering his half of all expenses; they'd even had an argument about the electricity bill. So unless Andy wanted to go off alone or with other friends, he was basically stuck in Athens for the duration. He couldn't even convince Paul to come along on a visit to his parents.

"It's no big deal. We go to the beach, swim, hang out, and then go to my parents for a late lunch. They won't ask any difficult questions, if that's what you're worried about," Andy broached the subject again after dinner one Friday night, hoping to catch Paul in a mellower mood.

"Do they know I'm living here?"

Andy hesitated. He hadn't made any announcements, but he'd mentioned Paul often enough that his mother had figured things out, and when she'd asked, Andy hadn't lied.

"Mom knows you're important to me," he evaded.

Paul flushed and went back to wrapping tape around the handle of one of his racquets, a task that seemed to require his full and undivided concentration.

"Would you prefer they think it's casual?" Andy asked.

Paul gnawed on his bottom lip. "It's not, though, is it?" he asked finally, his attention still on his racquet.

Andy wanted to reach over and rip the damn thing out of Paul's hands. "Not for me," he admitted. "Not for quite a while now."

Paul's hands stilled, and he met Andy's eyes, though Andy could tell it took some effort. "Not for me, either."

"So come to Rafina with me, honey eyes. Let my parents meet you, get to know you a little."

Paul took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "Yeah, okay."

"Tomorrow?" Andy pressed his advantage.

"Tomorrow," Paul confirmed, then bent back over his racquet again.

Later that night, Andy woke to Paul's restless tossing, and he rolled over to take him in his arms. "Can't sleep?"

Paul mumbled something unintelligible.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Andy asked innocently. "I could make you some chamomile tea, if you want."

"Asshole."

"Or I could suck you off, if you ask politely."

"Please, Mr. Giannopoulos, would you suck me off?"

"Why, I'd be happy to, Mr. Pappas."

Andy pushed Paul flat on his back. In the darkness, he couldn't see Paul, and he had to rely on his other senses. Leaning over Paul, he gently traced his long straight nose and his lips, then bent down to trail soft wet kisses and licks along the same path, his fingers leading the way slowly along Paul's jaw to the lobe of his ear, then down his neck to the faintly salty hollow at its base, and on, across hair roughened skin, to one peaked nipple. Paul let out a short, sharp breath, when Andy's teeth lightly nipped at the same nipple, and one of his hands cupped the back of Andy's head, keeping him from moving on for a bit. But Andy's hand was still free, and it moved on, across to Paul's other nipple, which had tightened in sympathy, and then, trailing down ticklish ribs, to the waistband of Paul's briefs, and still further, over the soft cotton covering Paul's swelling dick and then down between his legs, to cup and gently squeeze his balls.

Paul was drawing breath in sharp gasps, and his body writhed in reaction to Andy's caresses. He pushed Andy's head lower, until Andy's nose was pressed against Paul's crotch. Andy inhaled the smell of freshly laundered cotton, and of Paul's underlying musk, and he rubbed his cheek against Paul's thigh, his stubble grazing Paul's skin and eliciting a loud moan.

Paul let go of Andy's head and, arching his hips off the bed, shoved his briefs down to mid-thigh. "Now, Andy," he pleaded, the damp tip of his cock butting against Andy's lips, seeking entrance.

Andy tormented him a while longer, licking the crease of his groin, suckling at his balls and the sensitive spot behind them, before he finally came back up to swallow Paul's dick. He'd twisted around, so that his own erection was rubbing on the sheets, and he now raised himself on his knees, so that he could touch himself. Paul had started fucking his mouth, a little out control as he bumped against the back of Andy's throat, causing him to gag every so often, but Andy didn't mind the discomfort, and he certainly didn't plan on pulling back or stopping. Turned on beyond belief, he beat off at the same rhythm Paul was following, and just as Paul's flavor exploded in his mouth, Andy's own orgasm ripped through his body.

Spent and languorous, he slowly kissed his way back up Paul's body and then collapsed on the mattress next to him, his head on Paul's pillow. Paul threw a relaxed arm around his waist and pulled him closer and they made out for a while, their kisses progressively slower and drowsier, until Andy finally fell asleep in the middle of one.