Diarmad watched as people moved through the exhibit, looking at his photos. Some were there for a night out, some to see his work, and some for the food. Almost all gave Matt a wide berth as they moved about the room. Those that didn't made it a point to be seen *not* avoiding the man, in that offensive 'see how correct I am' way that set both Diarmad's and Matt's teeth on edge.

It was easier to assume that people were avoiding Matt because of the deep scowl he wore than for his obvious differences. Diar would have worried that Matt was there simply out of some sense of obligation if he didn't know that if Matt didn't want to do something nothing on earth could make him. No, the man was exactly where he wanted to be, and most likely enjoying the discomfort of the people around him.

Diar finally extricated himself from an involved and boring discussion and made his way through the crowd to his lover. He ignored the eyes following him, knowing that people simply liked to keep an eye on the artist in case he did something interesting. He could have told them the Matt did the interesting things, but Matt loved his solitude to the point of rarely letting it be known who he was.

"You about ready to go?" he asked as he approached where Matt was sitting, busily scaring Santa Clara's population.

"Oh yeah, I'm ready," Matt said with a leer, causing a woman standing near by to stare.

Diarmad decided to play along. It was more fun that way. "You have plans for later?" he asked, letting his voice drop, low and husky.

Matt nodded. Without lowering his voice he said, "I figure on a little rimming, a little sucking, then you can ride me until one of us passes out."

That drew gasps and more stares. Diarmad simply laughed and settled himself in Matt's lap, taking a long kiss. "Let's go then," he said, hearing the clicking and snapping of cameras. They'd be all over the papers in the morning.

Maybe it would sell some photos. He didn't care. He had a lover to make happy.