Page 44 of Tribute Act

“I thought we could watch a movie.” I was already searching options, clicking through a menu of recent releases, most of which we’d seen already. “I don’t fancy any of these.”

Mack settled on the couch beside me and reached for the popcorn. “How about we watch something different for a change?” he suggested. “An independent film maybe? If I have to watch another superhero movie, I’m going to start thinking I’m a superhero.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to answer that we could just watch some porn instead, but I knew that wasn’t a smart suggestion. Instead, I tossed him the remote. “Pick whatever you like. Just no gay tragedies please.”

He laughed. “No Brokeback Mountain, got it.”

He flicked through the menus for so long I zoned out. Finally, though, he stopped. “Oh, I heard this was good. Let’s give it a try.”

“It’s Spanish,” I whined. “I’m too tired to read the subtitles.”

“Oh, give it a go,” he groused. “I’ve watched practically every Marvel movie with you over the last few weeks. It’s the least you can do.”

“Movie snob.” I sighed, reaching for another beer. “Fine. Put it on.”

We’d got into the habit of switching off the main lights when we watched movies at night, sitting in the dark with my big plasma screen lit up like a minicinema. Now, as the opening titles ran, I stole a glance at Mack, watching the play of the flickering lights and colours on his face, quickly averting my gaze when he looked my way.

There were a lot of characters in the movie. A complicated plot too, everyone talking in rapid Spanish. Despite my whinging, it was a lot better than I’d thought it would be and I was reluctantly drawn in, almost forgetting that Mack was sitting beside me . . . until the sex scene started.

The hero stripped his clothes off—he was a beautiful man, his naked body smooth and golden, his eyes burning with emotion as he approached the heroine. The camera kissed his body, lingering over every perfect line, pausing on his perfect, sculpted back, then drifting down to take in his taut arse and long legs.

“Christ, that’s hot,” Mack muttered beside me.

“Yeah.” I shifted in my seat to ease the pressure at my crotch.

“He looks a bit like you,” Mack added without taking his eyes off the screen, making me glance at him in astonishment.

“Maybe if I lost two stone,” I scoffed.

He turned to me, frowning. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down like that. I don’t know why you do it—you must know you’re gorgeous.”

Pleasure flooded me, and for a moment I couldn’t look away from his penetrating gaze. For some reason, though, my stupid mouth kept running on. “Oh, come on, I need to lose a stone. My stomach . . .” I touched my belly, self-conscious.

Mack stared at me for a couple of beats, then he said firmly, “Take your shirt off.”

“What?”

“Take your shirt off. Let me see.”

My mouth went dry, but I did as he said, reaching for the hem of my T-shirt and drawing it slowly over my head. My cheeks were warm by the time it came off, my stomach knotting with mingled desire and embarrassment. In the background, the movie played on, but neither of us was watching anymore.

I dropped my T-shirt on the floor and sat back, letting Mack look me over, He gazed at my torso, his eyes tracking me all over. I couldn’t breathe as I withstood his scrutiny. At length, he said quietly, “How can you think there’s anything wrong with your body? You’re amazing.”

Jesus.

I cleared my throat awkwardly. My cock had filled as he examined me, though it wasn’t yet obvious with the loose joggers I was wearing, and the way I was sitting. “I used to be leaner.” The tightness in my voice betrayed my tension. “My diet’s gone downhill though and I don’t exercise as much as I used to.”

“I think you look great,” he murmured. “You have great shoulders and for someone who claims he doesn’t exercise enough, your muscle tone is really good.” He licked his lips and my cock pulsed.

I stroked my hand over my belly. Swallowed. “I just need to lose some of this.”

He glanced back at my face then and gave me a wry, one-sided grin. “Don’t be a spoilsport. I like a little meat on a guy’s bones.”

We stared at each other in silence. Despite his lighthearted words, the mood between us had subtly changed. In the background, the characters on screen panted and kissed, muttering to each other in passionate Spanish as violins soared.