He sifted through the keys until he found the right one for the handcuffs.  It wasn’t hard to figure out which ones those were, since they were the odd ones.  Alex was still shaken, so he moved slow, holding onto metal instead of soft, warm skin as he freed the man’s wrist.  The urge to crack a joke was there, but Andreas decided it wouldn’t have been very tasteful.  He didn’t know how much had gone down before he’d made it there, though he’d definitely caught a glimpse of bare ass in the heat of the moment.<br/><br/>“Yeah, of course,” he murmured.  “How could I not?  Guys like that are a waste of life.”  That was no lie, no attempt to play the game; Andreas felt that to his core.  He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them back into his pocket, then slid out of the sleek leather jacket.  Underneath was nothing but a simple grey t-shirt stretched tight across his chest with scratchy block letters that spelled out<i>RAY OF FUCKING SUNSHINE</i>, which was about the most accurate as a t-shirt could get his personality in four words.  He’d always thought that, anyway.  Others might’ve called it ironic.  Whatever.<br/><br/>He moved a little closer, again with slow, purposeful movements so as to not startle a skittish victim, and draped his jacket around Alex’s shoulders.<br/><br/>“Come on.  Let’s get out of here,” he urged, offering his hand and trying to coax Alex out of the stall.  “Do you need a ride home or anything?  I mean… I could take you, but it’d be on my Harley.  Or I could call you a cab or something.”