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“I think I’m in the mood to try out some of my new … inspirations,” he breathes against my lips.
I grin. “Let’s get to work, then.” And joined by my muse with the sparkling blue eyes and wisdom beyond his years, we head to the studio, ready to continue this dream I thought was a word away from falling through my fingers. Now, I’m just as certain it’s here to stay, to grow, to thrive.
[ EPILOGUE ]
Zak hops briskly down the stairs of Piazza Place in his simple gray hoodie. He’s got a long night’s shift of dancing to look forward to at Aubergines, but before heading out, he figures he ought to drop off his rent early, since it’s the end of the month. He heads down to the door of Dante’s basement apartment and gives it a knock.
ZAK
Dante doesn’t answer his door right away.
I’m guessing he’s in the middle of a shoot. I probably should have called; I know how annoyed I get when I’m interrupted in the middle of a cam show in my apartment.
My phone buzzes with a message: Hey it’s Mack. Can I take your shift tonight? I need the $$$ and Larry is fucking with my hours.
Larry and Mack aren’t on great terms. I know exactly why Mack’s hours have been cut.
But that isn’t a skirmish I wanna get myself caught in. I text him back: Sorry man, I can’t change the schedule, you know how Larry gets.
I knock on Dante’s door again.
Mack replies: Dude I’d do it for you. C’mon. Larry will forgive you for giving me your shift. He hates me. Can’t you call in sick and suggest me?
I lean against the wall, pensively pursing my lips, as I consider it, then respond with: Ask Larry. Tell him you’ll do green room clean-up before closing.
His reply is lightning fast: I fucking hate green room clean-up!
I chuckle to myself. This guy has no concept of tit-for-tat. I type back: You want the shift or not? Then I knock on Dante’s door a third time.
After a lot of apparent typing and erasing and typing again, he finally replies: Alright, I’ll do it.
Good—I reply—Let me know if he takes the bait.
I lift my hand up again.
The door swings open. Dante stands before me in all his muscular glory, wearing nothing but a red and gold leather harness across his chest, two red cuffs on his wrists, a black-and-red leather thong, and two fat leather boots that could crush stone.
I lift my eyebrows. “Interrupted something?”
“Nah, just another Saturday,” teases Dante with a smirk. “C’mon in.”
“Oh.” I lift the envelope of cash. “I was just dropping off my—”
“C’mon in,” Dante repeats from inside, where he rounds the corner of the front entryway, going out of sight.
I enter his apartment, which I’ve only stepped foot in twice before. I take in the spaciousness of his place, surprised at how huge it is. Though, to be fair, it’s basically the combined size of the two or three apartments you’d find on each of the five floors of the building.
I follow him to his desk, located right by his studio where all the magic of his photography happens.
I do a double take at the studio, something catching my eye.
Stretched on a wooden rack against the wall is a slender, muscled, gorgeous-faced young guy with a buzzed head and … not much else on his body. He’s got a leather studded blindfold over his eyes and a shiny black thong that complements Dante’s. His ankles and wrists are bound spread-eagle to the rack, but he doesn’t seem to be struggling.
Though at the sound of my entrance, he seems to be glancing around, as if trying to look through the blindfold somehow. And then: “Uh, hello …?”
Dante smirks. “Don’t worry, Tye. Just a visitor from the fifth floor, here to drop off his rent. Tye, meet Zak. Zak, meet Tye.”
Tye smiles, then wiggles the fingers of one of his bound hands, as if in an attempt to wave. “Hey there, Zak,” he greets me cheerily.
“Hey there, Tye. Didn’t mean to interrupt … your, uh … photo shoot?” I then presume, lifting an eyebrow at Dante for confirmation.
He only shrugs unhelpfully, then says, “Sure, that’s what this is.”
Then it clicks. “Hey, I remember that name. Tye. Was he that standout model in that big fetish gallery a month ago? Sorry I couldn’t be at your big opening,” I add. “Had to work that night.”
“No prob, man.” Dante takes my rent, files it away somewhere on his desk, then shakes my hand, which catches me by surprise. “If I never said it before, I’m damn glad to have tenants like you, who are never, ever late on their rent. In fact, I might even say you’re the most reliable tenant I got in this building.”
