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It's an ordinary enough night at first. Nick's sitting on the futon in his jeans and undershirt with his contacts out, his glasses on, and a beer in his hand, and Daniel's poking around in the refrigerator, and Santino has flopped down across Andraé's bed, which is the only other article of livingroom furniture. He doesn't ask permission to do this; he just sprawls there like he has an automatic claim on whatever space is big enough to hold him, and to be fair, Andraé treats it as if this is the case as well. He never shoves Santino out of his bed to sit down--sometimes he gently lifts Santino's elbow and slides in under it or nudges him over to make space, and sometimes he doesn't even sit down. The truth is that most nights in the boys' club's room wind down this way, with Andraé and Santino at the bed and Nick and Daniel at the futon and everything lit in the warm yellow glow of lamplight. If Santino and Andraé aren't always cuddling, well, it's often enough that they barely notice it now.
Andraé's arm is around Santino's waist, Nick's feet are folded and tucked under him, and Daniel's picking at the label on a beer bottle now and explaining why he doesn't like plastic wrap, and no one notices when Santino covers Andraé's hand with his, but then suddenly he slides their linked hands up under his shirt, and while he doesn't notice at all, Nick and Daniel definitely do. There's just a tiny little pause in what he's saying, but he manages to pick up the thread naturally and finish the sentence.
"That's what takeout is for, isn't it?" says Santino, managing to sound like he's hinting something nasty about someone even when he's not.
"Or dogs," Nick adds, and Andraé laughs and rolls up on his side, and settles against Santino, wrapping around him, and again, Santino and Andraé don't even seem to notice, but Nick and Daniel exchange a Look. Are you getting this? is what Daniel's look says; Nick's is more of an Oh my god.
"Yeah," says Daniel, "um. Yeah," and the pause is long and pregnant, "we always had a lot. of leftovers, and it was always Tupperware..."
Nick is occupied pretending not to look at the little smile on Santino's face that he doesn't need to see and the angle of Andraé's chin and cheekbone tucked against the side of his neck, the little settling motions they're making.
Daniel halfway chokes and turns it into a cough.
Santino says, far to late, "Yeah, I always hate Tupperware, because I hate fucking Tupperware parties uh--"
"Relax, I'm not going anywhere," Andraé murmurs, "I'm just..."
Nick and Daniel stand as one. "Well, I'm out of here," says Daniel.
"Yeah," says Nick.
"Girls' room?" says Daniel.
Nick is halfway out the door already, barefoot, and he doesn't look back. "Let's go."
They go.
*
"Oh okay," Santino's saying into the new silence, and Andraé finishes shifting his weight closer to the head of the bed and wraps his arm snugly around Santino's ribs again. It's so still for half a second that it's like the whole room holds its breath, and then he bends his head and touches the back of Santino's neck with his mouth, and the oxygen rushes back into everything with a dizzy rush. Santino shudders and arches his neck, and Andraé's mouth trails under his ear and around his jaw, and then Santino turns his head and they're kissing, and touching, and Santino turns too fast, suddenly clumsy, and leans over Andraé, presses him back into the mattress.
Andraé touches Santino's hip reassuringly and smiles, and says again, deeper, almost a whisper, "I'm not going anywhere."
*
In the elevator, Daniel and Nick are still contemplating their narrow escape. "Ugh," says Daniel.
"Oh my God," says Nick.
"Oh my God," Daniel agrees.
*
The next week, Santino gets eliminated and has to move into isolation in the Loser Hotel (as he likes to call it) for the rest of filming. It's not so much being out, though, as the lack of surreptitious sex that is getting to him.
*
Andraé is the last one out, which makes him the decoy fourth finalist. He goes back to LA to start working on his dummy collection. He's puttering around his empty apartment with some bolts of polka-dot jersey, not even having unpacked his suitcases, when Santino shows up.
He asks almost first thing (after some other things like "How was your flight?" and "Are you okay?" and "Which way is the bedroom?" and "Can we just stay here in bed all week?"), "Are you in or are you out?"
"You know I can't tell you that," Andraé grins.
"No, seriously," says Santino. "Are you in? Did you make the final three?"
Andraé distracts him with sex.
Santino orders a vegetarian pizza while Andraé is napping and wakes him up with the smell of it right under his nose, and after they eat he flings the box on the floor and pretends to find a smudge of sauce on Andraé's lip and licks it away in between enumerating the ways that Andraé's apartment is ugly. Later they drink coffee standing in front of Andraé's kitchen sink, and all in all Santino asks him again about five times before he's even been home for twenty-four hours. Andraé gets good at ignoring it.
But finally, after about a week, he retorts, "Look, Santino, your ass isn't worth a million dollars, which is how much Bravo could sue me for if I told you."
"Only if they found out," says Santino indignantly, but Andraé doesn't budge. Santino's response to that is a stubborn and dick-headed thing to say, which is not a surprise. It's also, however--which is more surprising--equally inconvenient for him. "You won't tell me? Fine. No sex for you."
Andraé points out, "That means no sex for you, either."
Santino crosses his arms over his chest. "Says who?"
Andraé just rolls his eyes.
*
He thinks it's all hilarious at first, but of course he gets tired of it pretty quickly. Well, anyone would. Now that he finally isn't being followed around by cameras and could use the distraction, he can't have sex, just because Santino's more dedicated to being an asshole than to thinking with his dick?
He's hoping Santino gets tired of it before he does, but he underestimates Santino's stubbornness.
Santino holds out for a week and a half, during some of which time Andraé engages in downright underhanded maneuvers to try to get him back into bed.
In the end, it's more the fact that Andraé is really busy with the collection that does it, because the less attention he has, the more Santino craves. He does have to get a little tipsy to make up his mind, but then he magnanimously announces, "I've decided to give in. We can have sex again before Fashion Week."
Andraé snorts. "Well, don't do me any favors!"
Santino doesn't appreciate this, and even tipsy he produces a scowl.
But Andraé is having fun. He goes on, "It's not just that. I think you should have the courage of your convictions."
Santino thinks about this. "You want to teach me to have the courage of my convictions... by withholding sex back."
"Yes," says Andraé primly, and turns back to the hem he's sewing.
"Andraé--I do believe you're being a dickhead!" he says, in his best Tim Gunn voice. He sounds delighted. "Santino must be rubbing off on you!"
"Santino isn't rubbing off on me," says Andraé, desert-dry. "That's the problem."
Santino ruminates for a moment, and then he grabs Andraé and drags him off the mannequin, and says firmly, "This is me having the courage of my convictions."
[the end.]