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“Ángel!” Ramiro called out.
Ramiro was having trouble locating Ángel in the house they now lived in. The home was entirely too large for Ramiro's tastes. But Ángel had insisted upon it. According to the realtor they had purchased it from, the manor had belonged to a man named Diego de la Vega, who once upon a time had been a very wealthy man. Mr. de la Vega was now dead and, having been well into his 90s, hadn't bothered to keep up the property in a number of years prior to his death. Both the manor and the acreage it sat on had fallen into a state of disrepair, such that the property was being passed over by most buyers in favor of newer, trendier homes. Ángel took one look at the place and immediately put an offer on it, calling it “practically highway robbery” at the price it was going for. Meanwhile, all Ramiro saw was the amount of cleaning he would have to do on a regular basis.
A year later, and they still hadn't finished fixing everything up. The house was livable now, at least. Ángel had proved to be much more helpful than Ramiro ever would have expected out of him. Ángel had installed the new kitchen cabinets himself and even arranged to have the property hooked up to the electrical grid. But the manor still needed a lot of work. The house desperately needed new flooring that wouldn't keep tracking dirt all over the place, the windows needed replacing, and it required some way for them to do laundry that didn't involve them spending hours scrubbing their clothes over a washboard. That was to say nothing of the acreage, which was overgrown with weeds and had a dilapidated barn that was filled with God knows what.
There were benefits to the property of course. Mr. de la Vega had liked his privacy it seemed, so the manor was far removed from any neighbors, which was perfect for Ángel and Ramiro. It also had a beautiful view of the ocean. Ramiro hoped he would come to appreciate it one day, even though right now he was too exhausted to do so.
“In the cellar!” Ramiro heard Ángel call out.
Ramiro found the cellar door open. “What are you doing down here?” Ramiro called, making his way down the stone steps. “The work upstairs isn't enough for you?”
“I just wanted to see what was down here, is all,” Ángel said as Ramiro reached the bottom of the steps. “A whole year and we've never been down here. It's a pretty nice wine cellar. I even found a couple of unopened bottles. They should still be good.”
“You did not call me down here just to look at wine bottles,” Ramiro sighed.
“Of course not,” Ángel said. He planted a sloppy wet kiss on Ramiro's cheek, something he had taken to doing as a way to distract Ramiro from housework. “I think this house has a secret passageway or something. Knock on the wine racks.”
Ramiro did as Ángel directed, though he felt silly doing it. Sure enough though, whereas most of the sound was muffled by the thick adobe behind the racks when he rapped on them, one of them echoed. Ángel sensed Ramiro's confusion immediately.
“Weird, right? I think the wall behind that one is fake. Like a secret room or something.”
“Should we knock the wall down?” Ramiro asked. “Hopefully he wasn't hiding any dead bodies. That's the last thing we need.”
“Well if we're going to knock down a wall, we should at least put these wine bottles somewhere. No sense in letting them go to waste.” Ángel started grabbing bottles off the wine racks and tucking them under his arm. With the third one Ángel grabbed, Ramiro swore he saw the wall move a little.
“Did you see that?”
Ángel set the bottles down on the floor. Tentatively, he pushed on the wine rack. What Ramiro had previously thought was a wall turned out to be a door, which swung away from them to reveal another room.
Ramiro stepped over the threshold into the secret room. It was well lit from a set of windows on the opposite wall, something Ramiro would not have expected from a basement room. That was not the only thing unexpected about it, however. One of the walls was completely covered in weaponry: swords, knives, whips, pistols, and things Ramiro couldn't even identify but he could only assume had to be deadly.
“What was this guy, some kind of masked vigilante or something?” Ramiro remarked.
“Whatever he was, he was into some real kinky shit,” said Ángel. Next to Ángel was a display of clothing: all black and none of it looking terribly practical. Between Ángel’s fingers was one such item, that appeared to Ramiro to be a blindfold.
Ramiro eyed the set of clothing up and down again. “Are those leather pants? How do you even wear leather pants anyway? Wouldn't that be awfully tight?”
“Only one way to find out,” Ángel replied with a smirk on his face. He grabbed the pants from the display and, wasting no time, removed his own. Somehow, Ángel managed to slide the pants on with complete ease.
“Perfect fit,” Ángel said, admiring his lower half. Ramiro didn't say anything. He was too busy admiring Ángel himself.
“Maybe I should put on the whole outfit. What do you think?” Ángel asked.
“Only if I can take it off you after.”
Ángel sauntered over to Ramiro, his pants accentuating his every move. It was like they had been made for him. Ramiro couldn't help but stare.
“Glad we bought this house now?” Ángel whispered to him.
Ramiro grabbed Ángel by the waist of his pants and pulled him closer. “Very.”