“Your top male model has just entered the building,” Felix announced as he twirled on the spot. Unfortunately, he misjudged the closeness of one of the tables and ended up bumping into it. “Whoops! Better get practicing those moves, hadn’t I? Will you be wanting any mincing, because it may not come naturally but I reckon I can have a good stab at it.” He demonstrated with a hand on his hip and a pronounced pout.
Andrew’s lips gave a twitch, just like they had yesterday. God, Felix wanted to make this man smile. He’d look amazing happy. Everyone did though, didn’t they? Well, except Saul, who had smouldering arrogance down to a T and only ever gave cruel smiles.
“Let’s leave the catwalk practice till nearer the time. You don’t need to do anything outrageous.”
“But outrageous is my middle name, Andy-baby.”
“Would you stop calling me that!”
Felix grinned. “Whatever you say, sugarplum.” He shrugged off his leather jacket and threw it on the table. “Now, where do you want me? And I must warn you, I didn’t manage to get hold of a vest.”
Andrew huffed, but then drew in a sharp breath as Felix stripped off his T-shirt.
Felix turned around slowly, giving Andrew time to get a good look at his torso. It was a pleasant view, even if he did say so himself. Felix might not be a bulked-up gym bunny, but he had a set of weights and made sure he put in a good hour’s workout a couple of times a week, and walking up and down all the bloody hills in Bath took care of the rest of his fitness regime. God knew how anyone ever managed to get fat in a city like this. Starving, carless art students certainly couldn’t afford to.
When Felix turned back to face Andrew he was delighted to see the want written plain in those eyes. They glittered with it, dark and demanding. Felix started on his jeans, flipping the buttons slowly, teasing.
“Please tell me you’re at least wearing underpants,” Andrew rasped, his voice a cracked parody of its usual tone.
“Oh yeah. Well, kind of. I think you’d have to classify them as that.”
Felix grinned, hearing the expletive rip from Andrew’s throat as he wriggled out of his jeans and struck a pose in his jockstrap. “Exactly. I know they’re meant to be designed for sport, but I always thought they looked better suited to buggery, don’t you?”
Andrew had his eyes clamped shut and appeared to be reciting something under his breath.
Felix stepped closer and caught a “Hail Mary.”
“Ah, that explains a lot.”
Andrew’s eyes flew open. “What does?”
“The Catholic thing. All that guilt. My first boyfriend was a Catholic. Used to fuck like a demon then beat himself up about it afterwards. Proper conflicted, he was.” Liam was also the reason Felix had sworn off longer term relationships for the past three years. He needed an emotionally mature man—one who’d accepted who he was.
“I’m not really a Catholic anymore.”
Felix raised an eyebrow.
“I’m lapsed. Severely lapsed. Haven’t been to confession since I was fourteen.”
“Oh yeah? What heinous sins did you get up to at that tender age? Stealing sweeties? Sniffing glue? Wanking over a poster of some boy band?”
Andrew looked away and paced over to the door. He shoved a plastic chair under the handle and turned back to Felix. If his eyes had seemed compelling before, now they were like magnets, pulling on the iron in Felix’s blood and making it race faster around his body.
“None of your business,” Andrew said. “Come on, let’s get this out of the way before anyone else wants to use the room, okay?”
“I really hope you’re talking about my mouth around your cock, Andy-baby.” Felix walked over, right up into Andrew’s personal space so he was trapped in the corner by the door. “I’m determined not to leave until I’ve had a taste.”
For a moment Andrew looked like he was about to pass out, but then the dazed expression cleared and something steely replaced it. Felix felt strong hands close around his biceps and he allowed himself to be steered until he was standing in the centre of the room.
“Okay, that’s good. It’s nice to have a bit of room to do my thing,” Felix said, sinking to his knees and reaching for Andrew’s fly.