Windows and Walls
“Would you like me to hold it up while you screw?” asked Brian.
Tristan looked up at him, mouth hanging open, cordless screwdriver in one hand. “I can’t believe you just said that. On second thought, it is you I’m talking about. Were you referring to the piece of trim, or did you have something else in mind?” Tristan was sitting on the floor of the round den of his Victorian brownstone, trying to brace a knee and an elbow against the piece of wooden trim he was replacing.
Brian let his eyes roam down the length of Tristan’s body, thoroughly appreciating the hip hugging jeans with the blown-out knee worn by his lover. He seldom saw Tristan dressed so casually. “I was actually referring to the trim, but I can think of other things, too,” said Brian teasingly.
The window
