"Not bad, Andy. You live here alone?" Paul sounded impressed.
Andy opened the gate and motioned for Paul to precede him through it into the garden, then stood looking at his home, trying to see it as Paul probably did. He wasn't glib or artless enough to pretend that this was just a place to live, although it was that, as well, and had been for all 42 years of his life. The house had been built in the mid-1950s, a one-story, minimalist brick structure that also referenced Greek traditional architecture in the light gray stone from Pelio covering one wall and the wooden shutters. Unlike his neighbors to either side, who in the past twenty or thirty years had torn their homes down in order to construct two-story buildings with garages to fit their growing families, Andy, an only child with no prospects of having children of his own, had maintained the existing structure and renovated the interior, tearing down walls to enlarge the living areas and installing new plumbing and greener heating and cooling solutions. Calm and sedate in the middle of a large garden and shaded by pine trees, the house bore testament to his family's successful ascent into the affluent upper middle classes.
"Yeah. My parents moved to a seaside condo in Rafina a few years back. My mom grew up right outside Newport, and as she got older, she wanted to be closer to the sea again. Anna lives two blocks away here, and she also has a summer home in Rafina, so it's convenient all around."
"Sounds like you're all on top of one another," Paul commented.
"Well, yeah. It's the Greek way, right? Greek-American families can't be too different, I'm sure."
"No, it's pretty much like here. My brothers' and sister's families and our parents all live within ten miles of each other in New Jersey, as well as my dad's two brothers and mom's first cousin and their families. I was the black sheep of the family, because I lived in Manhattan."
"Here, you can leave your bike next to mine in the entrance. Did they cast you out?" Andy asked curiously. He'd met a number of what he thought of as "real" Greek-Americans, that is first and second generation Greeks living in the US as opposed to him who happened to have one Greek and one American parent, and while some were progressive, many seemed to hold even more traditional and narrow-minded values than the villages they'd left behind, forming tightly-knit communities that could be very supportive, but also hellishly judgmental if you broke their rules in any way.
Paul propped up his bike and then dropped his bag next to it. He'd seemed in an odd mood since they'd left the tennis club, subdued yet also somehow excited. Andy wanted to ask him if he was okay, but that seemed presumptuous. After all, it wasn't like he knew Paul well enough to read his moods or attempt to actively address them.
"Would you like something to eat or drink? I was thinking of ordering in souvlaki, but we could get something else, if you want. There's plenty of choices."
"Aren't you going to show me the rest of your house?" Paul asked. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the small rug in the hallway. "No offense, but this doesn't look very new or thick enough to comfortable."
Andy grinned, both at the mischievous smile on Paul's face and at the thought of what his father would have to say if he ever found out that his son had fucked another man on a 19th century family heirloom.
"So that's a no on the food?" he asked innocently.
"Well, if you're hungry I can give you something to nibble on," Paul said suggestively.
Andy groaned at the bad joke, but then found his arms full of man intent on sealing their mouths together. He cupped Paul's ass and lifted him, and Paul helped by wrapping his arms and legs around Andy, his ankles crossing behind Andy's back. Paul's tongue filled his mouth; he tasted sweet, as if he'd been eating watermelon, and Andy chased the flavor with his own tongue back into Paul's mouth. After a while, he reluctantly let Paul slide down onto his feet again.
"I'm sweating like a pig," he said. "Lemme take a quick shower."
Paul licked his throat and nuzzled into the curve of his shoulder. "I don't mind. In fact, I like it."
Generally speaking, Andy liked it too, but he'd already had a full day before jumping into his tennis clothes to go meet his mother, Anna and Kostas. He gently shoved Paul back.
"I won't be five minutes," he said, backing away. "The bathroom is on the way to the bedroom, so it's not even like it's a big detour."
"Three minutes," Paul said firmly, trailing close behind and groping him all the way to where Andy firmly shut -- and locked -- the bathroom door in Paul's face.
"What if you have an accident in there? How will I help you?" Paul yelled from outside, but Andy was already stripping and ducking into the shower, not even waiting for the warmer water to flow through the pipes, and didn't bother to answer. His erection refused to retreat despite the cold dousing, so that was good, anyway.
It was more like two and a half minutes by the time he was headed down the hallway, still damp and his hair dripping. Paul had put the time to good use: he'd shoved the top sheet down to the foot of the bed, flung his clothes in pretty much every corner of the room, and was now lying naked on the bed, his shoulders propped against the headboard, stroking his cock. Andy paused at the doorway to admire him and wondered if Paul had any idea just how hot and sexy he looked lying there, his tan dark against the white sheet and a paler narrow strip at his groin, his long limbs loose and relaxed.
Andy had to clear his throat to speak, but his voice still came out a little choked. "Hey."
Paul stopped jacking himself and flung his arm out, his whole posture open, an offering Andy couldn't refuse. He moved to the foot of the bed and kneeled on the mattress, crawling up Paul's body, until he was looking into those honey eyes. Paul smiled at him and ran his hands slowly up Andy's arms, over his shoulders and cupped his face. "Hey, yourself," he said, before pulling Andy's face closer to kiss him.
**********
Paul wasn't naïve enough to believe that he'd moved out of closet and was now ready for an out, loud and proud life, simply because he'd faced down one 23-year-old jerk. The whole walk to Andy's house, he'd been trying not to think of the next day, when he'd have to go back to a workplace, where the news would have spread. He was fairly certain that the tennis club couldn't fire him, even if they were inclined to do so, but he could lose his private pupils. He wondered if little Libor's parents were homophobic. Losing the other kids would cost him money, but losing this one would hurt that part of Paul that still secretly wanted to achieve something in the world of tennis, even if it was only coaching one small promising boy for a summer.
Still, he couldn't really regret what he'd done either. He'd made the first step, and, as he lay there on Andy's bed, Andy's hair dripping cool water on his wrists, he felt the same elation that he had right after he'd walked away from Zois. He didn't know where things would lead with Andy, but for the first time in his life, the prospect of a normal relationship was there, within his grasp. And if he regretted waiting so long to make this move, well then, Andy was a hell of a consolation prize.
"Honey eyes," Andy murmured, and Paul, who'd never thought of himself as somebody that liked to be called by pet names, particularly not corny ones like "honey eyes", nipped at Andy's lips in order to hide the fact that he was turning into a pile of goo. He rolled them both over, so he was lying on top of Andy, propped himself on his elbows, and kissed along Andy's hairline, then the bridge of his nose, his gray eyes so that they closed, blond lashes fluttering over flushed cheeks, and finally his lips, lingering there, waiting for Andy to open his mouth for him and then diving in, tasting him. He rubbed his body along Andy's, his dick trapped between their bellies and leaking.
"You promised me something to nibble on," Andy said, when Paul lifted his head for a necessary breath.
"I did. What would you like?"
Andy reached between them and grabbed Paul's cock. "This'll do for the time being. Why don't you bring it on up here." He tugged hard, and Paul's hips necessarily followed, until Paul was straddling Andy's head. He reached down and petted Andy's silky blond hair. He wished he could see the expression in Andy's eyes more clearly, but he'd taken his glasses off.
"I've never done it like this, before. You sure this is okay?"
Instead of answering, Andy simply squirmed a little further under Paul, raised his head and damn near swallowed Paul whole. Paul leaned forward against the headboard, so that the angle felt more comfortable, and thrust into the wet heat. He heard Andy's choking cough, and tried to pull back, but Andy grabbed his hips and he held him in place, then actually pulled him deeper. After he seemed satisfied that Paul was going to stay put, Andy let his hands wander, one cupping Paul's balls and squeezing gently, the other tickling at his crack. Paul gripped the headboard with both hands, trying to hold off his orgasm, but he didn't really stand a chance against Andy's determined onslaught.
"Andy, let go, I need to cum," he gasped, pulling back with more determination now, and Andy let him go with a final strong suck. Paul tried to turn away, but his first spurts painted Andy's face, before he covered his dick with his hand. "Shit, I'm sorry," he mumbled afterward, and he moved one leg so as to kneel next to Andy's shoulder, rather than straddle him.
"You did it, you clean it up," Andy grinned, then hooking a hand around Paul's neck, pulled him down and kissed him, and Paul obligingly licked Andy's cheek, chin and throat clean.
Afterward he stretched out next to Andy, one arm resting across Andy's stomach. Andy laced their fingers together and turned his head to look at him. It was darker in the bedroom now, the last of the daylight fading, and Andy's features were in shadow.
"Why didn't you just cum in my mouth?"
Paul shrugged. "Too many one-night stands. I'm clean, but I'd like one more test, if we're going to be doing this."
Andy remained quiet, but his fingers tightened around Paul's momentarily, as if he was flinching, and Paul's cheeks went hot at the realization that maybe he and Andy weren't on the same page about what 'this' was. "I mean, not that I mean we have to do this-"
"We don't have to, but I certainly want to," Andy interrupted him firmly.
Paul let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.
"Yeah. I want to, too."
**********
Andy was still hard as stone, and planning on doing something about it that involved lube, a condom and Paul's ass, when Paul's stomach grumbled loudly and at length. He figured Paul wouldn't object to pushing dinner back a while longer, but it would take thirty minutes minimum from the time they called for the food to even show up, and he didn't feel like rushing things or fucking to the musical accompaniment of Paul's belly. Their first time had been too quick. This time around, Andy wanted to take his time, drive Paul crazy and keep him coming back for more.
"Listen, why don't we take a break, place our order, and get something to drink? Can you stay a bit longer?"
"I don't know. The thing is, I've got the bike, and I'm not too sure how well lit some the streets on the way home are."
"No problem, I can drive you home. Or you could stay over, if you want."
