/"Blue eyes are better than green."/ Andy's words rolled through Martin's head as he poured wine into two glasses. One for him and one for Andy. What was he doing with this stranger? He'd only just met Andy, an accident with a cat and a visit to the vet's had formed a strange sort of friendship between them. Andy had taken to describing Martin's pictures and enticing him to movies that he could not see. He did not trust anyone, not his mother, the strangers he passed on the street, not even his housekeeper, Celia. So why, now, was he so willing to trust Andy? Why had he agreed to go to the drive-in theater? He'd even invited this stranger into his home for a drink.
"How do you do that?" Asked Andy as he watched Martin deftly fill two glasses full of red wine.
As Martin explained that he listened to the sound of the wine filling the glass, Andy watched the long fingers deftly lift one of the goblets from the table and pass it forward. Andy was completely captivated by Martin. His independence, his obsession with photography, and the way he remained in control. Andy wondered what it would take to make his friend lose control.
"What are you thinking about?" Martin could feel Andy's tension and curiosity. He seemed so open, so innocent to Martin's hypersensitive senses. He should not trust Andy, but he did.
Andy flinched when Martin asked the question. His mind was roaming far and wide, unable to focus on one thing. A lock of blond hair had floated over Martin's brow and Andy found that he wanted to brush it aside. "Nothing." He winced at the lie.
Marin frowned. He'd already warned Andy that he must never lie and Martin wondered what the younger man was covering. "Andy," he warned.
Andy's face colored and he gulped a sip of wine. The cool liquid went down wrong and he choked. Recovering his composure, Andy took a deep breath. "I was thinking about you, really. You are so different than anyone I've ever met. Different from what I thought a handicapped person would be like."
"How did you expect me to be? Did you think I would suddenly change from the man you met to someone different now that you are in my home?" Martin's voice dripped sarcasm and aloof confidence.
"No. But you have to admit you are different, don't you? I don't mean about your eyes, mate, I mean you. On the outside you are so cold and self-confident. Inside, though, inside you are completely different."
Martin's face turned even colder, if such a thing were possible. The wide mouth, which could be mobile and expressive, flexed down every so slightly; his only sign of displeasure. Andy's assessment was far too close to home for him and, since he'd been the one to broach the subject, he had no idea how to shift the conversation. /"Why do you hide your eyes?"/ The truth was that he felt naked and exposed without his dark glasses. As he felt naked and exposed under Andy's unusually perceptive observations. He sipped his wine and said nothing. He'd learned to use silence as a defense. As a weapon.
Feeling somewhat stupid, Andy looked around the room. The furniture was utilitarian and lacked personality, as though the decorator had purposefully chosen to erase any sense of the person who lived there. Andy was instantly struck by the thought that, perhaps, that was as Martin intended. Even in his sanctuary, the blind photographer hid himself away. From whom was he hiding?
"Like now, even," Andy pressed, suddenly becoming bolder. "Your house is not you. Nothing but your photographs reveals anything about who you really are. You hide behind your sunglasses and you hide behind your cold smile. You hide,Martin, but I can't figure out why."
Martin swallowed. How close Andy had come in so short a time to discovering what Martin had always known but never wanted to consider was nothing short of unnerving. Martin had no close friends, only acquaintances that he dealt with on a regular basis, such as his dog's veterinarian and the woman at the photo shop. Celia his housekeeper was not in that group, for he detested her. He would not admit why, either to her or to himself. Hell would freeze before he'd admit it to Andy and run the risk of losing the closest thing to a friend he had.
"I can't see the room, Andy, therefore how it looks means nothing to me."
Andy shook his head. "I don't mean that, Martin. I am talking about you. You are hidden away, where no one can find you. Everything about you screams 'no admittance' but I think you are lonely." He watched as Martin's Adam's apple bobbed and the strong shoulders went rigid.
"I don't need anyone, Andy. I don't need pity from strangers. I do not need, do not want, special favors because I have this disability. I will not have people lying to me, telling me one thing, when the exact opposite it true."
"But you do it all the time. You are doing it now."
Martin's glass slammed down on the coffee table with so much force that the remaining liquid sloshed across his hand and pooled on the polished wood. "I will not be seen as helpless. I won't have people pretending to like me, to be my friend, to pretend to love me when they don't care. I won't be hurt that way."
And that, thought Andy, lay at the heart of who and what Martin was. His fear overrode his loneliness because he was afraid of what? Andy thought back to the day when Martin asked him to describe his photographs. "You told me that I must never lie to you and I haven't. I've been honest with you about what I see. For some reason that has made you angry. Maybe I should go."
Martin heard the glass bottom clink softly against the table as Andy set aside his drink. Vinyl creaked as Andy rose from the couch. Martin's tongue was frozen against the roof of his mouth, refusing to unleash the words screaming through his brain. Floorboards squeaked softly, so softly that only the most sensitive ears could have heard them. The soft snick of the door handle being turned jarred so loudly that Martin actually jumped in place.
"Andy." He croaked at last.
Andy paused, hand on doorknob, but he did not turn around. "Yes?"
"Please stay." The plea was ripped from Martin. He did not want to admit this weakness, this need. Yet, what choice did he have? He could not see Andy, but he could feel him. Could feel the warmth, the humor. The kindness and gentleness that was Andy's heart was an allure that Martin could barely resist.
Swallowing, Andy took his hand from the door. Was he making a mistake? Should he just leave and never look back, tell the photographer to find someone else to describe those damned endless photographs? He turned, at last, and looked at Martin sitting in the chair with his broad shoulders straight and his spine rigid. Those gorgeous hands rested atop his thighs. He was perfectly still.
Andy crept towards the chair but as quiet as he knew he was, he also knew that Martin heard him. "Why? Why do you want me to stay? You said you did not need or want anyone. So why me?"
"Because you are different. Because," the photographer swallowed. "You have lovely green eyes."
Andy's laughter rang around the quiet room. "You can't see my eyes."
"No, but you said you had green eyes, in the car. Don't you remember?" Martin's mouth stretched in to a smile that lit up his whole face.
Standing now behind the chair, Andy looked down at the top of Martin's blond head. His hand trembled as he rested it on the back of Martin's chair. "Yeah, I remember."
Martin twisted his upper body so that he appeared
to be looking up at Andy. He reached around and took Andy's hand in his own.
His hands were large, dishpan from his job as a dishwasher at the Italian
restaurant. They were warm and he smelled of garlic and soap.
His thumb stroked over Andy's flesh.
Light fingers brushed aside his bangs and stroked lightly over the side of his face under his chin. The smell of soap grew stronger as the hand hovered beneath his nose. Martin felt as though, if he were to lick his lips, he would be able to taste Andy's hand. His lips parted involuntarily.
Andy was frozen. He couldn't believe he'd stroked Martin's face. Could not believe Martin had allowed such an intimate touch. His hand was warm where Martin gripped it. That, too, was a shock to Andy. The force of the grip was crushing, but he had no desire to pull away. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against Martin's.
At first Martin was too surprised to react. He
smelled wine and popcorn and cigarettes on Andy's breath. The lips brushing
his were cool from the wine and slightly moist.
Martin swallowed. He did not know what to do. Part of him wanted to respond
and another part of him whispered that this, this, was wrong. He stiffened
and drew back as his confusion overwhelmed him.
Andy instantly retreated and tried to pull his hand from Martin's grasp. Fingers loosened their grasp and Andy stepped back, confusion showing in the depths of his eyes. What was he doing?
Reaching out, Martin found Andy's jacket and pulled him. "Don't go. Please." He'd not begged since he was a child. He loathed appearing helpless and lost. His mother had always made him feel as though he was a burden and he'd determined that he'd not be one as an adult. Yet, Andy had something the he, Martin, needed. Beyond the mind games, beyond the self-doubt, and loathing, he needed something that he'd never before defined.
"I can't, mate." Andy watched as the handsome face closed over and realized that he'd hurt Martin. He felt badly, for he had not meant to harm his friend. He was confused and torn. On the one hand was his friend, one he had quickly learned to cherish. On the other, was lust and Andy had no idea which pull was stronger.
"No. You can't. I know." Martin released Andy, his voice sounded hollow. "I'm not asking you do something you can't do. I just wanted you to stay."
"I can't." Andy whispered as he retreated to the door. "You've locked yourself away, refused to trust anyone, even me. I want to be your friend."
"I know, Andy." Martin felt something in side him break. He wasn't sure that he'd ever felt like this before. Certainly he did not expect to find himself wanting someone like Andy. And he had to ask himself why. He turned his back and settled more comfortably in his chair. Martin took a deep breath and schooled his features.
"Martin?"
"What, Andy?" He sounded annoyed. He wanted Andy to believe he was.
Andy tucked his hands in his pocket and ducked his head. He did not know what to say or do. Being Andy, he chose the same course he always did. He leaned forward and kissed the back of Martin's neck.
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