He’d seen that. He’d seen it earlier today, in a hallway between clamoring press. And more recently, in this hotel room, on a sofa, with an unrequested apology.
He said, “I love you,” and curled his hand around Leo’s calf, not exactly a massage, a careful rub. Leo looked up, happy, and said instantly, “I love you. I’m going to say so quite often, I’m warning you now. Because I like hearing it. And saying it. You’ll grow tired of it, I suspect.”
“I like hearing it too. And saying it. And no, I won’t.” And Leo was doing fine. More than fine. Moving easily, meeting his gaze. More relaxed, in some indefinable way: not only from the s*x, but from something about the s*x, Sam decided. Not the physical release, though that’d been fantastic.
Something, he thought, about being seen, being known.
