Stalwart

The night bathed the scene and everyone involved in shades of gilt. Creamy bed-linens, amber lighting, solid wooden posts, swooping draperies. Even the privacy screens framed the scene with tall composed bones and billows. Colby Kent, out of clothing and into the least amount of fabric possible for preserving modesty, dove into sheets. Jill had commanded heaters to be brought, but the air was cold. Filming, he thought. Filming this scene. This s*x scene. With Jason. With Jason, with whom he’d more or less rediscovered s*x. Wanting. Desire. The way his body could feel. He had wanted Jason. He still did, though that was complicated. Even now, memories of that morning—and the night before—lingered. They sent shivers down his spine, delicious and bright and amazed. He and Jason were…something he did not yet have a name for. Whatever it was, they were having it together: a promise that there’d be more than just the one night, a gentleness in Jason’s hands, a shared bed and ridiculous sing-alongs in a stairwell and hope. Above all, hope. He’d be professional. They’d be professional. He wanted to be. He hated the idea of causing any extra delays, any more work. For any reason. Distress or self-indulgent pleasure. He wasn’t feeling terribly distressed at the moment. Perhaps he ought to be, but instead he kept thinking about Jason Mirelli and tenderness and brilliant world-shaking orgasms and waking up in that aforementioned shared bed. Jason peeled off his own robe and came over. Colby watched the motion of those muscles, aware that he wasn’t being terrifically subtle but unable to stop. Jason got into the bed beside him, no real hesitation now, only a brief meeting of eyes for the avoidance of surprise. The crew had thinned out again, mostly just Jill and Andy and Brian behind the camera and Hamid the boom mike operator in what must be a dreadfully uncomfortable position behind the screens. Jill had wanted to make this as easy as possible for Colby. For Colby and Jason. Jason, of course, hadn’t done s*x scenes with men before, on camera. Though he seemed at ease with the idea; more so, Colby’s head observed, than Colby himself, at least at the moment. Though that wasn’t true either. Because this was Jason, and this was him, and he had the memory of that morning. Very much so. Very detailed. Very distracting. Very unprofessional to be remembering and growing more and more interested in doing it again, right this instant if possible. Drat. No helping that now. Perhaps if he thought about the scene as a series of sequences. A dispassionate checklist of positions. Ways Jason would fit their bodies together. No, not helping either. Possibly food? Cornish pasties, late-night mysterious take-away pies, very American cheeseburgers, sausage rolls? The sausage rolls did not solve the problem. The bed creaked a bit, not complaining but accepting their weight. Jason leaned on an elbow, not coincidentally between Colby and other bodies in the room. “Ready?” “Ready.” “Tell me if I touch you anywhere you don’t want. I’ll start off with your stomach. And I won’t hold you down. I remember.” “I’m doing all right,” Colby said, which was more than true. “I know you have to be on top of me, a bit, after I touch you…we can handle this.” “I know you can.” Jason’s eyes held happiness like a supplicant at an altar: finding a revelation. Encountering the divine. “I know. Just letting you know in advance.” “Mmm…thank you.” “Ready,” Jill called their way. “And…action!” She hadn’t given them point-by-point directions, though they had gone over the general rhythm of this extended scene: shots they needed to get, close-ups and caresses and bodies moving. Editing would handle the cuts and the stitching together, later. They just had to get enough. Colby at the moment wasn’t worried. He could take on the world. No: they could. Himself and Jason. Jason said the first line. Skimmed fingers over Colby’s stomach, sketching ships and sails and seashells. Colby’s whole body responded to the touch, to the call back to the morning, to the music of the afternoon. He managed to remember to make jokes about piracy and boarding vessels. He let Jason gather up his hand and coax it lower, out of frame. He laughed and rolled over atop his lover, as Will Crawford, as a man given entry into a magnificent universe he’d never previously known. This position bled into the next. Lying naked, Colby’s leg thrown over Jason’s hips. Jason’s hand stroking his back. A kiss, and another. Will’s love and need wove themselves into Colby’s, inextricable. Will knew about numbered days and possible doom. Was choosing instead to throw himself into joy, without reservation, for as long as they had. Colby clung to Jason. To his own joy. To that marvelous body, all of Jason, which made him tingle with desire. At least Jason was also hard; no one said anything about it, either because Jill was feeling tactful or because everyone was aware that, well, physical reactions did happen. Besides, they’d look impressively convincing on camera. The motions flowed together; the desires flowed together. They moved naturally, easily, as if anticipating each other’s movements. The dialogue worked. More rolling over, shifting, Jason atop him. Jason settling between his legs, using that stunt-man’s knowledge of bodies to take most of his own weight in ways the camera wouldn’t notice. Colby smiled, rubbing a foot along Jason’s calf. They had to do more. Simulated thrusts, new angles, more intimate and more passionate. Jason took a deep breath and got up on both knees; Colby said softly, “We’re still fine,” as much for himself as for Jason, and moved to hands and knees. Jason got behind him, brought their hips together, simulated f*****g him: hard and deep, plunging into Will’s no-longer-virgin body. Colby moaned for the camera and clutched at sheets and let his mouth fall open in ecstasy. Acting, and not. It wasn’t real, but it was. He had to think about visibility and close-ups and how they’d look for an audience, and the s*x wasn’t happening as such, and the climax was pure showmanship. But the quivering, the heat, the gasps he couldn’t hold back at the feeling of Jason’s body and hands: those were true. They rolled around some more. Lots of flashes of skin. A few pauses for adjustments, sound and lighting and camera. Jill only had Brian filming, which Colby appreciated—fewer eyes, and friendly ones—but that meant some delays for discussion and multiple angles. The night got warmer. Possibly because of the heaters. Colby rather thought it had more to do with Jason. With those big cautious hands and that low voice, telling him before any drastic movements or spontaneous ideas about touching. So much touching. Hips, thighs, chest, face. Skin to skin. Kisses, scattered across them both. Jason asked before bending to kiss Colby’s hip. Colby nodded. More footage. Dream-washed and richly colored. Topaz light caught in Jason’s hair, and ran along Jason’s back like water. The rain rippled and ribboned down old glass windowpanes around them. They moved again. Colby ended up on his back; Jason murmured, “I’m going to get on top of you, stop me if it doesn’t feel good,” and did exactly that: settling between Colby’s spread thighs, letting the camera capture legs and hips, Jason’s backside, thrusting. Colby’s head spun. Real, and not—and those motions, Jason rocking against him, atop him— And they were both here together, both wanting this, and that was want, that was undeniable— But abruptly something wasn’t right. He didn’t even know why. The tipping-point arrived without warning: the near-naked weight on him became too much, or Jason moved at the wrong angle, or the pressure of Jason’s arousal against Colby’s own was too shocking, too intense— If Jason stripped away the last bit of modesty cloth and pushed harder, the way he already was, with Colby’s legs spread and Colby’s body up against that massive shaft—it’d be too easy, and the awful part was that Colby wanted it, would eagerly invite the invasion, because it was Jason; but that was frightening, because it was too new and too soon and if Jason did anything like that it’d hurt so badly— But they were filming, and Jason wouldn’t— In any case Jason wouldn’t do that without asking, he knew that, he knew— “Wait,” he whispered. Or he tried to; no sound came out. Jason was kissing his throat, head bowed, Stephen theoretically enjoying Will’s response. Colby found himself shaking. “Jason—wait, wait, I—words—” Oh God, what were the words for—“Yellow. Red. Something. I can’t.” Jason had frozen at the first audible wait, and now threw himself up and away, across the mattress. Colby fought down a sob, grabbed a pillow, and hid in it, trembling. “Colby,” Jason whispered, horrified. Not touching him. “What—what did I—no, I know, I know what I did. What can I do? To help? Please.” “Colby?” A different voice. Jillian. A dip on the side of the bed as she sat. “Oh, God, Colby, I’m sorry. Just don’t move for a minute, just breathe, you’re okay, okay?” To someone else—probably Andy—she added, “Someone get some water, and an extra blanket, please?” “God.” Jason’s voice cracked. “Colby, I—Jill, what can I do? Please tell me what he needs.” “He mostly needs us to not do much.” Jill touched the pillow. “Colby, I’m going to cover you up, okay? Keep you warm? Can I touch you enough for that?” The blanket folded around him. “He’s still here,” Colby muttered into pillow-fluff. He wasn’t outright crying, though he couldn’t quite breathe evenly, but it was getting better. The panic had faded almost instantly; he mostly felt indistinctly embarrassed and grateful for the understanding. The miniature cloudburst of weather outside had trailed off. “I’m…I only need a moment.” “We can be done,” Jill said. “I think maybe you should be.” “…don’t…we…need that shot? More?” “We can make it work. We’ve got enough from other angles.” Something else made the bed quiver. Not Colby himself. A broken sound. He peeked up from the pillow. Jason. Another blanket over those broad shoulders. Jill’s hand on one of those shoulders too. Jason had his face buried in both hands. Muscles full of anguish. Well. That wasn’t good. He breathed out, breathed in, considered himself under heavy eiderdown. Gathered up shards of self: splintered, recovering, needing to help Jason: his knight, who right now required comforting. He sat up. Both Jason and Jillian stared at him. Jason swiped a hand across his face, awkward and afraid. “Well,” Colby said. “That ended…unexpectedly dramatically. Like being boarded by pirates. The metaphorical kind. Big swords. Lots of pistols. Hand-to-hand combat. I believe I’ve won, though, so that’s all right.” Jason’s lips shaped Colby’s name. Jason’s eyelashes were damp. Rain over hewn wood. “I’m okay,” Colby told him, told them all. “Slightly cold. A bit tired, but then again it is a night shoot.” “Yeah…and, besides…you’ve been fighting off metaphorical pirates…” Jason’s voice stumbled, found dry land amid the shipwreck. “Is there anything I can do? Swords, shields, cannons?” “I was thinking more assistance with invisible bandages.” He made his way across the expanse of bed to Jason’s side, did not allow himself to think about the gesture beforehand, and put an arm around those shoulders. “Yours. And mine. But I’m more concerned about you, at the moment.” Jason shut his eyes. “Colby…that’s not…you shouldn’t have to be…” “No, listen.” He rearranged blankets. Tried to coax those unhappy muscles to lean more against him. “I’m all right. I said stop, and you heard me, and you did. We’re all right, Jason, I promise.” Jason swallowed hard. “Are we?” Plaintive, wistful, frightened: that voice hit Colby’s heart like a metaphorical pirate’s cutlass-point. “We’re testing safety-nets,” he offered. “They held.” “Colby,” Jill said, “you shouldn’t’ve needed to. I could’ve found you a double. Made a different call. I’m sorry.” “Oh, Jill, no.” He kept the arm around Jason; he stretched the other hand out to catch Jill’s, and held them both. “I told you I could do it. I can; it was fine until it wasn’t. We’re in this together, aren’t we? Storms and pirates and Leo’s tequila hangovers and that time Andy grew the moustache. We can weather anything.” A hint of a smile tiptoed in; Jill shook her head at him, but with appreciation of the effort. “It was a pretty terrible moustache.” “Hey,” said Andy, from somewhere very close behind the privacy screens. His hand had delivered the extra blankets, and now held out a bottle of water. “Adrian liked it.” “He’s hardly unbiased.” Colby did not have a spare hand to take the water; Andy ventured over enough to set it on the bed, and hovered, shifting weight, plainly not wanting to intrude. “He loves you. Look, everyone, if we really want that shot…me on my back, looking up…Stephen and Will caught up in each other, at that moment…I can do it. We can do it. Let’s just do it slowly. And I’d like to be able to see Jason’s face. I think that was part of it. All right?” “I don’t know,” Jill said. “You don’t have to. I said we could work on it in edits, and we can.” “I know. But I really am sure about this.” “Safety-nets,” Jason said softly. “They held, you said…” “They did. I said something when it didn’t feel good, and you heard me, and you listened.” He held Jason a bit tighter. Those shoulders didn’t entirely fit under his arm, but he wasn’t about to give up. “You did absolutely nothing wrong. You didn’t hurt me. I trust you.” He waited a beat, threw in, “And I trust Zak Starfighter. Saving the universe and all.” An astounded laugh spluttered out of Jason’s mouth. Jill glanced from him to Colby, said, “I don’t need to know, as long as you two’re all right,” and squeezed Colby’s hand more. “If we do this it’ll be the last shot of the night. I’m not asking you for more.” “Agreed.” He wasn’t certain he wanted to do more, in any case; but this felt important. More, it felt like something he could do. Jason nodded, looking at Colby. “Okay.” Jill got up. “Okay. Brian, you can come back. Colby, you tell us when you’re ready.” “Colby…” Jason said. “I’ve got a lot of historically accurate pillows at hand to hit you with if you ask me whether I’m sure.” “You said once that you weren’t good at people,” Jason said. “But you are.” “And you’re being nice. I talk far too much and at the wrong times. It’s just that for some reason some people put up with me. Jillian. Andy. You. If I lie back down, you can come over and be, er, on top of me, and I think it’ll work if you carry on looking at me and I can see you and you don’t move too fast?” “I don’t put up with you.” Some other emotion flared in those forest-pool eyes, and vanished too soon for a name; Jason sighed. “You don’t believe me.” “I might. You let me stay and sleep in your bed, this morning. You—you held me as if you wanted to.” “I did,” Jason said. “I do.” “Well, then…” He wasn’t sure where that sentence was headed. He knew where he wanted it to go. But he couldn’t confess his own love to Jason out of the blue, on a film set, in a bed. “Shall we? We can do this.” Jason cleared his throat. “Okay.” “Right, then.” Colby offered him a bracing nod, a bit more cuddling, and a smile. “I’m just getting back into bed…all right, come here.” He even held out arms in welcome. He felt the tiny frisson of skittishness scamper down his spine, but it was tiny, and ignorable. Jason came to him, moving cautiously. Large muscles and that broad back and those powerful thighs covered Colby’s body; he lifted legs, wrapped them around Jason’s waist. Neither of them felt terribly aroused, in the wake of torrential emotions; but something else odd happened, then. Jason kept looking at him, as requested: steady and true and strong, gaze an anchor and a reminder of who they both were; Colby became clearly aware of each defined encounter of skin against skin, Jason’s weight and Jason’s hand on the mattress, next to but not pinning down his wrist. He did not think it felt like arousal as much as relief: a communion, a serenity, a comprehension. He forgot to inhale, remembered, gazed up at Jason in awe. Jason bent that head, paused a breath away, whispered, “Can I kiss you?” Colby whispered back, “Yes, please,” and Jason did, lightly but resonant as a reprieve, as if the kiss stood between him and drowning; Jason’s hips rocked into his as if unable to help it, though only briefly because Jason instantly got control over himself and his reactions. That felt like a rescue as well. In more ways than one. Colby pulled back enough to see Jason’s face, and then threw both arms around his sea-captain, his space commander, his hero, and yanked Jason down atop him: out of character, but certain and exhilarated and clinging tightly. Jason let out a startled huff of air at the unexpected participation, eyes going wide. Colby discovered a whole fleet of giggles at this, and gave up and just held onto him, needing all the weight and the shape of him, learning it all and loving it. Someone applauded loudly from behind the camera. Colby didn’t bother looking round to see who. “You’re laughing.” Jason was laughing too, not from amusement but from amazement, and obligingly leaned on him a bit more and dropped a kiss on the corner of Colby’s mouth. “You’re happy.” “I’m…” He didn’t have a good word. He lay comfortably under Jason and liked it. His mouth liked being kissed. “Yes. I am.” * * * * Jason thought he must be dreaming. He’d thought that once before, waking up with Colby in his arms; he thought it again now. Colby smiled at him. Jason’s heart spun and wobbled in its spot inside his chest. They’d gotten out of bed, on set. They’d gotten dressed—separate dressing spaces—and met up again outside the bedroom doorway, bashful and wordless under the weight of what they’d just done. Jillian had hugged Colby briefly, given the nod and the permission to do so. They’d talked about schedules and the next afternoon’s in-character argument, which Jason was looking forward to: Colby’s passion and talent opposite him. After that, Jason had more to do: delivery of information, the out-of-sequence discovery that Will had fallen gravely ill, a decision to make. Colby wasn’t in that scene, but would be around, since they’d all be heading out to that historic estate together the day after. Time for ballroom dances and first meetings. For Colby’s shouting matches with his on-screen father, played by a very specific living legend name who’d agreed to join the production for a few days. For Colby to lie in bed and pretend to be deathly ill as Jason came crashing in, defying orders. For simulated s*x in a library, thunderous and tumultuous as instant electricity. All of that mattered. Right now it felt far off. Real, but less so than other immediate conversations. He was speechless, bewildered, ecstatic. He lingered at the historic staircase and waited for blue eyes; he felt like a schoolboy with a crush, like a fantasy hero finding the doorway to a new land, like a man seeing color for the first time. Colby had laughed, and held onto him, and wanted him. Jason. Incredible. Unbelievable. He’d said before that Colby was the heart of this film. That was true, and more than true. That castles-and-kitchens voice swept them all up in commitment and courage, and carried everybody along. And maybe Colby could talk for overly enthusiastic hours about pens or pizza, but that only made him even more himself: a person who loved the stray small pieces of the world so deeply that everyone else ended up in love with them too. They held hands in the elevator, back at the hotel. Jason hadn’t been sure whether Colby wanted to in the car, not certain how open they were being, aside from with friends like Jill and Andy. Colby had been quiet, looking out at the night. No rain at the moment, though the presence of it tantalized skies and city lights. Jason had mentally urged the storm to hurry up and get going again. Colby liked rain. Colby now, back in Jason’s room, shut the door and ran a hand through night-rumpled hair. “Jason?” Even with the hurt, even with the pain, Colby was here. Those movie-poster eyes knew exactly how vicious the world could be, and still came over to put an arm around Jason’s shoulders every time: in a bedroom, in a swimming pool. Jason pleaded, kicking off shoes, looking at him, “Do you need anything? Coffee, water, late-night—early morning—food?” Something he could do for this man. Anything. “I want you.” Colby stepped out of his own boots, came closer, collected both of Jason’s hands in his. In tranquil hotel light, he was a paradox: slender and tidy, neat blue pants and that rainbow-decorated grey sweater, with Will’s mop of hair and that sneaky secret stripe of darker blue in those famous irises, the color that required looking closely to see. “You said we should talk about what we’re doing, and we should. I also would like to keep doing it? If you would. I’m trying not to assume, but you did say.” “I meant what I said.” Jason played with those hands in his, a little: swinging, tugging, wiggling fingers. “Not just a one-time thing. Not for me.” “Not for me either,” Colby agreed, eyes alight. “Can we be naked? I’ve concluded that I quite like you naked, and—” “Totally yes. Get naked for me.” He lost his own clothing as rapidly as he could. Flung it at the loveseat. He’d clean up later. Colby, with more consideration for Jason’s tidiness, took off and folded sweater, shirt, pants. Jason’s eyebrows shot up. “Red underwear?” “I like color.” Colby peeled those off too, already trustingly unselfconscious. “I suppose I could’ve not worn any. Isn’t that how seductions normally go? Whispering that I’m not wearing any underthings, inviting you to check and see for yourself?” “I like you in layers. I like you in colors. Um. Want me to tell you to get into bed?” “Is that an order?” “I want you to be warm. So…yeah. I mean. Or not. It is if you want it to be.” Colby laughed, hid the laughter behind a hand because Colby Kent was kind to others, and ran over and threw himself into Jason’s sheets. That single collarbone freckle twinkled, before he pulled up enough blankets to turn himself into a fluffy mountain, and then peeked out at Jason through a crack in fabric, smiling. “Well,” Jason mused, “you’re definitely warm, but that might not work real well for seduction…” and sat down beside him. “I mean…I could pet this very nice sheet…” He was pretty sure that was a shoulder; Colby was laughing. “Or this blanket, over here…it’s a very attractive blanket, look at those shiny stripes…maybe the blanket and I should just spend some time together.” “But,” Colby said, “I’m under the blanket.” “Well, yeah, but you’re all covered up, and if you want to stay that way…” “Jason…” Colby attempted to disentangle sheet-folds. “Please!” “Oh, you want me to touch you?” The question carried at least two layers. “Is that what you want me to do? You might have to tell me.” “Jason!” Colby was begging through amusement. “Yes, all right, yes—I love your hands on me, please touch me, I want you.” The end of the blanket-mountain went flying. “Did you only want to make me say it? Yes, yes, very emphatically yes.” “Just making sure.” He wrapped arms around Colby, both of them naked. “So you want me.” “I want you.” “You want me to…” He sorted out words. He’d tried to think, on the ride back to the hotel, in the elevator, with Colby’s hand in his. Rationality had been difficult, but one of them had to, and Colby shouldn’t have to always solve the problems. He wriggled down so they were nose to nose. “I want you. But we should talk about this. Just now you asked me if something was an order.” Colby bit his lower lip, apprehension not quite surfacing in blue tides. “No, look, I like that. I like that you want to.” He stroked back an adventurous strand of Colby’s hair. He was half-hard and growing more so with each second, each meeting of bodies; they both were. But this mattered, before they did anything again. “You said that your ex…at least one of your exes…was into some kink…” “Tony, yes. And Liam, a bit, toward the end. When he wanted to make things more interesting. But Tony knew more.” “But you didn’t like a lot of it?” “I…” Colby thought this over, lying in Jason’s arms: taking the question seriously. “I don’t like being hurt. I don’t like being humiliated. I didn’t like hoods and earplugs and things that meant I felt alone in the room. I do like interesting sensations and I like being told I’m being good. I like belonging to someone, if I can. I actually rather like some denial—making someone else happy, while I have to wait, letting them decide what I can have. I’m being honest about this, by the way, not saying what I think you might want to hear. If you were wondering.” “I believe you.” Punctuated with a kiss. “And thanks for telling me. It’s about the emotions for you, isn’t it? Not as much physical?” “Probably?” Colby didn’t seem quite done with this answer; Jason waited for more. “I know I’ve never felt the way I did with you. I don’t think I’ve in fact got a good point of comparison. Is that a problem?” “Nah. Or yeah, but only because I want to kick all your exes in the face. You said you’d looked some things up when he asked you to. You know what I mean when I ask if you’re submissive, right?” “I…think so. I haven’t thought about it that way exactly. But I suspect the answer’s yes. Especially given last night and this morning. Are you…er…more of a dominant? That’s right, isn’t it?” “I can switch, sometimes, once in a while.” Jason tried to work out words, explanations, how best to make no demands while figuring out how much Colby knew and also liked, which might be two different answers. “But yeah, if you want to use the word. I’m not like super-experienced or big into the scene or anything formal. I do like being in charge, and I like knowing everything’s set up how I want, and I like taking care of people. And that plus the muscles, and the reputation…” “People assume you are,” Colby agreed, understanding, because of course Colby understood; Colby would. “But it’s not about the size and strength for you, is it? It’s about making certain it all goes right and no one gets hurt and everyone gets what they need. The way you are when you’re walking round a film set before shooting.” Those eyes held memories of water and hope. “It’s the way you care for the world.” Jason drew a breath, let it out. “You…could put it that way, yeah. So we should talk about what we both want. Limits. All of that. You don’t want me to give you orders outside the bedroom, do you?” “Mmm…aren’t we? Remembering to eat, texting you, all of that?” “…guess we are. Is that fine?” “That much, yes.” Colby offered a self-reflective eyebrow-shrug, even lying down. “I like it. You can. I think…not much more than that, though. We both have jobs to do, and also I would never remember to ask you first about clothing choices or permission to run out for coffee.” “Wouldn’t want you to. No getting between you and cinnamon mocha cream, right?” “Precisely.” Colby slid a leg between his, casual and astonishing. “What else?” “I guess…what do you want? I mean…how far do you want to…” He gave up. “About s*x. Do you want to just…keep doing what we’re doing, as far as hands and where I can touch you? I mean, tonight, filming…that was…” “Oh.” Colby’s tone was more interested than upset, or so Jason hoped. “Are you asking if you can actually…have your way with me? Oh, no, that’s a terrible euphemism, you already are. Do you, ah…want to…oh, drat…do you want to f**k me?” “Well,” Jason said, “I do, yeah, especially if you’re gonna say it out loud,” and ran a proprietary hand over Colby’s bare arm and hip, and cautiously down to his backside; Colby did not object. “But I get it if that’s not on the table.” “You’d want to do that on a—” “Metaphorical table!” “Yes, I gathered that. Any of the options in here would never survive. Though perhaps if I went shopping…” “Be serious.” “I am. I admit I was rather hoping that one night with you would magically cure everything.” Colby did a little nose-scrunch at him: joking, or ninety-five percent so. “Unfortunately we don’t live in a fantasy.” “I don’t know.” Jason kneaded a hand over his delectable round ass. “Feels pretty fantastic to me.” “You always do know what to say,” Colby said. “You know there might not be—there might be some things I just can’t do. Or not often.” “So we won’t do them. Or you can tell me when it’s not a good day to try.” More kisses. Colby’d sounded too lonely. “Anyway, we’re already having the best s*x ever.” “I suppose so, yes…certainly for me…but you might want something more?” “I don’t care. I swear.” He tugged Colby closer, needing to feel that warmth. “This is good. And I’m good with whatever you want.” “Hmm…” “What?” “The problem is, having said that, I rather do want to try.” Jason lay there being stunned by this, and forgot to say anything. “Not if you don’t want to.” Colby was blushing now, and ducked that head to hide against Jason’s chest. “I don’t know. I only thought…I think I could. With you. And the more I think about it the more I do want to. Like learning to bake bread.” “Might have to explain that one.” “Not easy, and a lot depends on your equipment and the weather, but certainly possible? I initially had to attempt it quite a few times, but each time made me want to try again. And eventually I ended up with a really lovely simple crusty loaf, and then I got to experiment with more flavors, and shapes, and sourdough, and braided knots with cinnamon and raisins in…I’ve either lost track of this metaphor or it’s become amazing.” “Knots I get. Not sure what the raisins are, unless I’m feeding them to you—” “You do have fascinating ideas.” “—but okay, yeah, that makes sense.” He did not ask Colby to look up, only kissed the top of that head. Some part of him enjoyed this: being a shelter, a comfort. “You told me once you could be pretty damn persistent. If you think something’s important. When you’re trying to help someone. Like me.” He wavered over adding the last thought, and finally did: “Or us. Yourself.” “Or if I’m trying to talk ciabatta into behaving, and the amount of air in the dough is—no, sorry, deflecting. That one was on purpose.” Colby peeked up at him, and did not otherwise move, being cuddled. “Once again, I’m not very good at this. I was attempting to convince you to have s*x with me.” “I know it was on purpose,” Jason said. “It’s not as random when you’re thinking about it. More going back to something you’ve already mentioned. I’m keeping up with you okay. Depends on the equipment and the weather, you said. How’s the weather right now?” “Quite lovely, in fact,” Colby decided. “Nice and warm. Helping me feel safe. I’m surprised you didn’t aim for the obvious joke about equipment.” “I thought about it. Figured you already knew how much I appreciated the equipment.” “And you didn’t want to make me nervous.” “Kinda, yeah.” “Well, I am nervous, but I’m also not.” Colby set a hand on Jason’s chest. Over Jason’s heart. Where it beat under his fingers. “I trust you. Make all the jokes you’d like.” “It wasn’t really,” Jason said, honest. “Just that I like your equipment.” “I like yours. Especially the size.” Colby paused, grinned, admitted, “I am a bit nervous but I’ve also told you I used to like sensation and being filled up with it…” Jason’s d**k liked that idea. Jason’s whole body liked that idea. Jason’s entire personal universe sizzled with the need to put that idea into practice. He forced himself to say, “You know that doesn’t have to mean me, um, bending you over the closest metaphorical table. You like my hands. I can do a lot with that.” “I do like your hands,” Colby said. “But I think I’m in the mood for…exploring. Testing the equipment in question. Unless you’re not, and you’d rather do something else. Which is perfectly—” “Colby?” “Oh. Yes?” “Do you, um, ever top?” “…me?” “It’s fine if you don’t, I don’t care, I’m just asking—” “No, I only didn’t expect the question. Most people simply assume. But you’re not most people, of course. Er…I’ve done it twice. No, three times. Two and a half. Both of us were fairly tipsy that middle time and it didn’t work out well. Ah, it’s not precisely my usual preference, but I can attempt it if you’d like?” “But it’s not what you like?” He ran a hand over Colby’s thigh, marveling at the fact that he could. “Just thought it might be easier for you.” “Oh.” Colby visibly thought about the idea and the caress, watching Jason touch him. “I see. But…no, I think not. I’m not opposed to trying if it’s something you want, but when I’m thinking about, er…when I picture myself wanting someone—if I do—or if I’m reading a very interesting romance, getting lost in that sort of fantasy, imagining…I, ah. Definitely don’t top. Rather distinctly the opposite. As it were. Is that a problem?” “Nope. Told you I like being in charge.” He squeezed Colby’s leg: not hard, but enough for affirmation. “And I like you having preferences about things. And telling me about them. Interesting fantasies?” “Not—” Colby cut himself off, eyes startled. “Not what?” “Not lately, I’d been going to say, because I hadn’t been, but that isn’t true.” All that blue twinkled at Jason. Abruptly conspiratorially tempting. “You and the muscles. You and the niceness. You with a hand between my legs in that stairwell, not pinning me down—I could get away if I wanted—but you’d kiss me and you’d have that hand, er, doing what I said, and you’d simply make me come for you, right there, because you wanted to see me…” “Would I.” He coaxed Colby into adjusting positions, deliberate and unhurried; they ended up with Colby on his back, Jason leaning just a little over him, hand venturing higher. “You want me to do what I want with you? Get you to come for me? Tell you you’re so good, listening to me, letting me play with you?” He paused, breathed, “Say stop and I’ll stop. Say yes if you want more.” “Yes.” Beckoning as horizons. As unfurled sails, catching a breeze. History and sailing-ships, in that voyager’s accent. “Yes, please. You’d stop if I asked, but you know I want you to keep going, I’ve told you, so I don’t ask and you don’t stop…” “You wanted that? Being mine, like this…” Colby’s c**k, long and nicely curved and full, fit delightfully into his grip. Colby’s breath skipped; Jason waited without doing more, only holding him. “Yes,” Colby murmured. “Yes, yes…this…ah, perhaps not in public…that was the fantasy of it…but in my trailer, maybe, only the two of us, after you’d made me wait, after you’d teased me with it…” “I can do that.” One stroke, another, assertive but not enough to hurt; they were both paying attention. Colby’s arousal slid through the circle of Jason’s hand, up and down; the tip, flushed and dark, grew wet with want. Jason leaned in more, kissed his shoulder, vowed against that ear, “I’d love to do that. You said you like denial…waiting…being good…so I’d touch you, play with you, get you all on edge and ready, and then stop, because we wouldn’t do that, not in public, not when you’re all well-behaved and proper and professional…” “Oh God,” Colby said, though this was less a sentence and more of a gasp. “Yes, Jason, please…” “And you and I both know you’d be thinking about me taking you back to your trailer and getting a hand on you and making you come on the spot, in your pants.” Faster, not rough but clearly in charge, claiming Colby’s desire with the caresses. “Because you want it so badly. Because you can’t wait. Because you know I want you to. Just letting go, letting me tell you when and where, letting me make you feel good.” “Jason,” Colby begged. “I—I—this feels—” “You want me to do that now? Get you off like that?” Colby bit that lower lip again. “Or not,” Jason said. “Anything you want. Or don’t want.” “It’s more that I want you,” Colby explained. “I want to—to feel what it’s like with you inside me. And if you continue doing this I am going to, ah…” “Come for me,” Jason filled in helpfully. “In my hand.” Colby shivered a little, head to toes: a shimmer of want, painted in stray freckles and honeyed lamplight and shining beaded-up drips of need. “Yes.” “And you want me to f**k you.” He rubbed a thumb across the tip of that nice stiff c**k, liking the eager wetness; Colby whimpered. “You like being mine.” “I am,” Colby whispered. “I already am.” Jason had to close his eyes at that. To breathe in, and breathe out: letting the thrill and the weight and the awe land square and solid in his chest. A part of his heart, now. He opened both eyes. Looked at Colby. “I want to make this amazing for you.” “Please,” Colby said. “Please take care of me.” Colby had said more than once that Jason knew what to say. Jason, one hand playing with Colby’s hair and the other fondling Colby’s c**k, thought that the opposite was true: Colby Kent, made of blue eyes and bravery and bruises, had all the right words. Exactly what Jason had always wanted: someone to cherish and care for and be good to. His body craved closeness. Covering Colby, plunging into him, accepting that charge and that sweetness: yes. God, yes. He kissed Colby again because he didn’t have a better way to express all the feelings. Colby promptly kissed him back: welcoming, shyly flirtatious, accepting Jason’s claiming of the initiative and also pleased about it. Jason could’ve kissed him for hours. Days. Decades. Whole historical eras. Drinking in that fabulously complicated combination of surrender and anticipation and surprises and stories. He stopped long enough to swear out loud. “You, um. We. f**k. I don’t have any, um—” “I do.” “You what?” Colby blushed everywhere. Pink right down to the freckle on his collarbone. “Left trouser pocket. I, er. I did think perhaps I’d ask you to—to do this with me. I wanted to. So when we went off to get dressed after shooting, I asked Andy. Who said, and I quote, hell yeah, climb that mountain, and also that I should ask him if we ever need to borrow a feather boa.” Jason couldn’t bottle up the laughter, mostly because Colby was so goddamn fantastic. Preparation and forethought and flawless comedic delivery. While naked in bed. And smiling. “The even more entertaining part was,” Colby finished, “he didn’t in fact have anything on hand—Adrian’s still at home in Los Angeles—and he told me to wait right there and then he ran away and ran back and quite literally threw things at me and then cheered. I’m not certain I want to know how he acquired them. In any case, the point of this story was that I’ve got…well, supplies.” “You’re perfect and we owe Andy a drink. Stay put. Left pocket, you said.” “I did.” Colby propped himself up on elbows, shamelessly observing Jason’s sprint across the room. “I would rather…er…that is, about using condoms. If you would. I haven’t been with anyone since—well, since. And given that he’d been cheating on me, I did go and get properly checked out. And I’d trust you if you said everything was fine; it’s only that…” “It is and I’m glad you trust me, but I get why you’d worry. I don’t mind.” He came back over to the bed, sat down next to Colby. He had a handful of condom packets and lube in one hand; he was still naked and impossibly turned on. Somehow a discussion about supplies and prevention had become the best thing ever. Something about the honesty. The care. Doing something to make Colby more comfortable. Flinging a lure right from his heart to his d**k. “Got a question for you, though.” “Oh, yes, of course—” “How do you feel about my mouth?” “As in…in general?” Colby’s eyebrows went up, evocative dark wings over oceans. “I quite like your mouth?” “I mean on you,” Jason clarified. “Like, if I wanted to taste you. Here, I mean.” He skimmed a fingertip of the unoccupied hand along the line of Colby’s c**k. Colby’s eyes got even wider. He opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. “You do?” “Hell yes. You know how hot you are?” He tapped the finger against Colby’s shaft. Colby appeared to be speechless. “I like doing that, and I want to do that for you, but not if it’s on your not a good day list.” This resulted in a noise that was more a squeak than anything else. Jason waited. “Ah,” Colby said. “I…ah…you…it’s…yes? I mean yes you can, not that it’s a no. I mean thank you for thinking of that. I mean…I don’t know what I’m saying. I normally…I…I can’t recall the last time someone, er. Offered. I generally do. You don’t want me to?” Of course you do, Jason thought. Making people happy. “Totally into that too, whenever you want. But right now I kind of want to get my mouth on you. Find out how you taste. Maybe get you right up to that edge, and stop, the way you like.” “Oh. Then…yes?” Colby glanced around the bed and the bedroom, maybe for assistance. Friendly light limned his eyelashes. “What do you want me to do? Should I move, or—” “Nope,” Jason said happily. “Stay put.” He considered this phrasing, and added, “That’s an order. If you want.” “Jason…you do keep surprising me.” Colby’s smile could’ve illuminated the world. “I think that I would like that. The order. Listening to you.” “Good. Stay just like that. I want you to watch, if you feel up to it. And tell me if you’re getting too close. You’re not going to come yet.” Colby nodded meekly. His c**k got a bit more wet at the tip. “So f*****g gorgeous,” Jason told him, and bent down. He left a kiss on the nearest hip first, over one of those unexpected random freckles. He made certain to move gradually; he pressed lips to the base of Colby’s c**k, one more kiss. Breathing in the heat and scent of him. He glanced up, found Colby watching, and dove in. He’d always loved this. He loved it with everyone he’d shared this with: the taste of pleasure, the fun of finding the places that made a partner gasp or groan or grow wetter with desire. The knowledge that he could make someone feel this good. The control, the way he liked it, in this: more and more, over and over, licking and sucking and learning the way the person felt in his mouth, on his tongue, as they shook apart in release, because of what he was doing to them. Colby felt spectacular. Wonderfully male, long and thick and already leaking; Jason lapped that up assiduously, and took him in deeper, swirling tongue around, testing more pressure. Colby gasped, and his c**k jumped in Jason’s mouth. More drops of ready need. Delicious. Jason slid all the way down, taking the whole length, and sucked at him. Colby made the world’s best sound, frantic and quavering, and his hips jerked. Jason pulled back enough to say, “No coming yet. I want you to feel good, but I want you to be good, too, for me. You can wait.” Colby’s shaft bumped his mouth; he nuzzled words into silken skin. “You are, you know. So good. So sweet, just staying put like I told you, while I do this to you.” Colby was still blushing everyplace, and shut those beautiful eyes for a second, as if looking at Jason along with those words might be too much. “I like that you don’t do this a lot,” Jason informed him. “All mine. And if I want to spend a whole day using my mouth on you, making you come over and over, then I will.” “An entire day?” Colby said weakly. “Good heavens.” “Yep. I’d tell you to stay put in bed, and you’d do it, because you’re so good when you’re listening to me. Nothing holding you down, nothing tying you up, just me telling you and you wanting that. And I’d suck you until you came for me the first time, and then play with you more, every part of you that you say is okay with that…you did say you like toys and being full…” He paused to pay some more attention to Colby’s c**k. So nice. Fat and flushed and shiny from ministrations and want. Fantastically lickable. Colby opened one eye—hair had tumbled into the other one—and then squeezed it shut again, but his body arched upward. Jason would’ve grinned, but his mouth was occupied. He wrapped a hand around the base of Colby’s shaft. He found the twin weights below with the other hand, and explored those too. Colby shivered; Jason paused. “Still okay?” “Yes…” “You sure?” “I’m thinking about you and using toys on me,” Colby confessed breathlessly. “I—I want—I don’t know. Everything you’ve just said. But wouldn’t you be rather bored? If I’m not doing anything for you?” “You think you’re not doing anything for me?” He wriggled around. Waved vaguely at himself. Let Colby get a good look: lots of desire. Proudly jutting out, on display. “You’re doing exactly what I want. What I told you to do. So obedient. And you like that, don’t you? Doing what I say.” “Oh God,” Colby said. “Yes, I—yes, all right, yes, Jason, yes, please. I—I like doing what you say. When you tell me I’m doing what you want—that you think I’m being good for you—” “So good.” He reaffirmed this with lips and tongue and a few slow thorough strokes and sucking. “Just lying there where I want you, taking everything I want to do with you, everything I want you to feel…” Colby shivered more; his body tensed and then softened, that same sort of physical melting into surrender that Jason had seen when he’d knelt and touched himself at Jason’s command. More, then. A fraction more demanding, more assertive. Unquestionable. Colby, after a particularly drawn-out deep sinking to the hilt, held there and surrounded by Jason’s mouth, whispered, “Jason…” His voice shook, uneven. Jason stopped, and sat up. “I’m not sure,” Colby whispered this time. “I—I feel—it’s almost too much. I can’t think, and I don’t want to think, I want to be yours, but then I—I’ll end up lost in it, floating in it, only it’s like the molasses and it’s all dark and rich and there’s so much and I want to feel you and I’m sorry but I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe—” “Shh. I’ve got you. I’m stopping, we’re stopping, you’re okay.” He was feeling kind of shaky too. He put a hand on Colby’s bare chest. Lightly so. “You can breathe with me. In. Out. One more time. I’m right here.” Colby did as asked, eyes midway between anxious and molten. Not afraid, or Jason thought not, but that’d hit the point of too much. He wasn’t sure whether that was only that Colby wasn’t used to receiving in this sense, or whether some specific shark’s-fin memory’d resurfaced, or whether those blue eyes simply deep down felt off-balance at the whole concept of accepting pleasure without having had to earn it. He said again, “You’re safe. You’re all right. You’re breathing. Listening to my voice.” “I am.” Colby blinked, sounded suddenly drowsier, reached for him. “Jason?” “Yeah?” He tucked that hand into both of his, rubbing it. “What do you need?” “I don’t know exactly. You. I need you. I feel…it’s like before. Floating. With sparkles. Are there sparkles in molasses? Possibly glitter. Edible. I might be made of edible glitter.” Colby rolled his head to gaze Jason’s direction. “I feel quite a bit better. I only couldn’t seem to find air for a moment.” “I know. And you’re perfect, baby, don’t worry about it. Glitter and all.” He wasn’t certain how the tipping-over into that space had happened. More accurately, he knew when it had; he’d heard it in Colby’s voice. But he wasn’t quite sure why that’d been what worked. Something about the orders, maybe. The consideration and comfort, talking Colby into anchors and security and consequent letting go. He kissed Colby’s fingers. “Not too much?” “No,” Colby said. “I like being made of sparkly molasses. Are you going to have s*x with me?” “Probably, yeah,” Jason agreed, grave and fond and so in love he thought his heart would break, except it already had, and reshaped itself twenty times over: every damn day since meeting Colby Kent. “I would like to.” Colby gave him an adorable subspace-fuzzy frown. “Then why wouldn’t you? I brought supplies!” “Just making sure you’re still here enough to say yes.” He rubbed a hand along Colby’s upper thigh; both long legs spread obligingly for him. “I lo—I like it when you talk during s*x, you know.” “You do?” Colby appeared to be thinking a lot about this. “But I’m not certain I’m making much sense. And I think I talk about food quite often.” “You do. Still perfect.” He nibbled lightly at said talkative mouth. “And edible.” “Oh,” Colby said. “Is that why you like putting your mouth on me? Tasting me? Though you didn’t want me to finish like that. But does that count as edible?” “Your word, not mine. But I do like tasting you.” To underscore the point, he bent and licked at the closest n****e. Colby gasped, moaned, and spread those legs more. Right, Jason remembered. Sensitive. How fun. He employed more suction this time. Teeth, the absolute faintest hint, but promising as far as sensation. Colby made a noise that absolutely did not contain any words, a sort of plea and cry and sob made up of stimulation and need. Jason exhaled, warm over that pretty pinkened n****e, then got fingers on it and played. Colby just about shrieked, ecstasy rippling through those lean swimmer’s muscles. “Oh, very nice,” Jason told him. “So gorgeous, aren’t you? Feeling so good.” Colby sighed softly, eyes open but hazy, dreamy and dark. He looked the way he had before: submerged in bliss, experiencing pure instinctive pleasure for the first time. Jason internally discounted every single other time Colby had ever had s*x: if nobody else had made Colby feel this way even once—Colby, who was so sweet and so damn responsive, reacting to every word of praise and every considerate caress—then nobody could’ve ever deserved him. Jason wouldn’t claim to deserve him either. But Jason was here, and Colby somehow had said yes, kept on saying yes, to him. So he’d do everything he could. His best. For Colby. Because Colby made him want to be the best he could. In bed. On a film set. Rehearsing in a stairwell. Jumping off a ship’s deck into unknown waters. Kissing Colby Kent. “I do want to have s*x with you,” Jason told him, still playing with that n****e. Colby squirmed against the bed, eyelashes fluttering, lips parted. “Colby? Still with me, baby?” “Yes,” Colby breathed, entire body a portrait of rapture: framed by Jason’s bed, dark wood and forest-floor sheets. “Yes, please, please…Jason…” Jason rapidly sorted through the random collection of supplies. Andy had evidently wanted to give them options, and also evidently had a favorable opinion of Jason’s d**k size. But Colby hadn’t done this for a while. Relatively simple, then. For now. He found a label that he recognized among the lube sample packets. That’d work: smooth and slippery and reliable. It pooled over his fingers like stars in water, gleaming and serene. His fingers against Colby’s skin left light like comets over those creamy thighs, reflecting lamplight. He traced fingers back to that delicate furl of muscle, the place where he might fit into Colby. Colby’s breathing quickened, but he was watching. Watching Jason’s hand explore his body. Jason rubbed one index finger over his hole, slowly: a suggestion, spreading slickness, getting them both used to it. The room grew hotter, unless that was Jason’s own skin. He’d never felt like this before, either. He slipped a finger into Colby, as those blue eyes watched. He let them both see it: the push in, disappearing, taken inside. Colby’s breath came in a shuddering exhale. “Jason…” “Still good?” He did it again. Colby’s body was tight, no longer used to this, but softer and more willing to stretch open than he’d expected. Subspace would do that, though. Relaxation. Pliancy. Like molasses. He wanted to laugh, to cry, to make Colby shriek with pleasure again. “So good,” Colby murmured, hands clutching Jason’s sheets. “But almost…it’s…it’s not…” “Not what, baby?” He stopped everything. “Talk to me. Please.” Colby blinked at him. “You like me talking. I can do that.” “Yeah, I do. Answer the question.” “The—oh. Not enough, I meant. I want…you feel so wonderful, and please don’t stop, but I want more. I need—it feels so close to something, as if I’m right there and I just need—I don’t know! More of you, opening me up, being inside me, please…” Colby’s body clenched around Jason’s finger; his eyes were plaintive. “Jason, please do something. You said you’d take care of me, and I need you, I want to feel all of you, more, please.” Those words, in that accent. Colby’s tumbled melody of England and France and Germany and southern California, storied and fantastic, unlike anyone else ever. Jason had had partners with more explicit or more practiced mouths, partners who begged or who didn’t, moaning and wordless; but Colby trembling and coming apart, unguarded and unashamed and talking, pleading for Jason’s care— He’d never had this. He’d never felt this. He repositioned the hand. Two fingers. More lube, easing the way. His voice came out rough. “How’s that?” Colby moaned, legs falling more apart, taking Jason’s large stunt-calloused invasion into himself. “Sparkly…” “Like glitter,” Jason agreed, entertained; his c**k throbbed with arousal, though his vision blurred a little, as if some raindrops had turned up in his room for a fleeting second. “I am taking care of you. And you’re being so good. You just let me do this, and tell me how you feel, okay?” He crooked fingers. Searching. Stroking. And finding: Colby gave a kind of airless tiny scream and those hips snapped upward and all those muscles tensed. “Jason, Jason, that—” Both eloquent hands were buried in Jason’s sheets now, clinging. “Oh God…” Jason grinned down at him. “Good.” Colby relaxed a fraction after, given a respite. He was panting; that extravagant dark hair was sticking to his face, and he licked his lips, leaving them shiny too. “I—I—please do more to me. Touch me more. Or—or—you said you’d let me feel you in me, and I want that, it’s so big, so thick, I want you to fill me up with it, make me feel like this always, make me come for you, like you said…” “Jesus Christ,” Jason said, amazed; Colby in subspace absolutely did talk, and holy f**k Jason never wanted him to stop. “Yeah. Yes. You can have that. You’re gonna feel it, though, baby, even all soft and sweet like this. Still good?” “Yes.” This was utterly certain. The word became a rock for them both amid waves of bliss. “I—” Jason cut himself off. I love you, he didn’t say. I love you so much I don’t know how to tell you. “I need you to keep talking. Tell me how you want me to do this. What position you want me in.” Colby seemed perplexed by this. Jason tried to narrow down the question, hand poised with a condom. “You want some options? The angle might be easier if you turn over, but you said you feel better if you can see me, so I’m thinking not that. You could stay like this, but I know you don’t like feeling pinned down.” He took in every flicker in the horizons of those eyes. “I could lie down and you could get on top of me and ride me, baby, how does that sound?” Colby gave this the consideration of someone lost in sparkles, and informed Jason seriously, “I may not be coordinated enough for that. Glittery molasses isn’t.” “Keep comparing yourself to food and I’m gonna have to taste you more.” He did. A swift lick over that tempting tip, the flavor of Colby’s c**k and Colby’s want. “Okay, something else?” “I want to feel you. Not—not too much weight…but can I look up and see you?” “Got it. Holding your legs is fine, right? Holding them up, I mean.” Colby figured this out right as Jason began wondering about clarifying, and said, “Yes please.” “So good.” Fingers teasing Colby some more, slipping out at last; condom on, hasty but secure. Himself kneeling between Colby’s thighs. Himself reaching down, stroking fair smooth skin, soothing. Pulling Colby’s hips closer. Colby moved with him fluidly, no hesitations now. Wanting him. Jason lifted those endless legs, got them up and into position—good for thrusting, too, this would be so deep—and waited, c**k nudging at that entrance, where Colby had been opened up and made ready for him. “Please,” Colby whispered. “Please…” Jason moved. Sinking into him. He knew he was large, and Colby hadn’t done this in some time; despite preparation, that space was so tight around him, and Colby’s next breath landed more like a sob, or a gasp, or a cry. Jason froze, though every inch of him screamed for more: Colby felt so damn good, gripping him as if made for him, fitted around him… “I’m…I…” Colby panted more, found words. “You’re so…huge, and I…I like it, Jason, my God…” “I like that you like it.” He could stay in this position if Colby needed that, not stirring; his arousal argued but he clung to rationality with heroic determination. “Tell me how you’re doing.” “May I have more?” Jason choked on a laugh, then: because Colby was perfect, not fearless but willing to hold onto him and reach for happiness despite the fears. Because Colby always had the right words. “Hell yes, you can have more,” he whispered back, meeting those shining eyes; and moved. Each thrust glided a fraction deeper, a little harder, more of him inside Colby’s heat. He drew back and felt the drag and clutch of muscle; he pushed in further and felt Colby open and yield beneath him, surrounding him, squeezing him. He did it once more, reverent and wild, and sank to the hilt: bodies joined completely, him and Colby. Like this he was mostly holding his own weight, those long legs thrown over his shoulders; Colby, folded under him, could gaze up at him, and did, lips soft and parted. Colby’s c**k was rigid and hot between them, leaking need all over his flat stomach, tangible uncontrollable evidence of want. Jason, still gazing down at him, thrust. Hard. Colby cried his name, clenching around him. The gold of the light streaked his face; Jason felt the mirror of it along his spine, in a prickle of heat and sweat and fierce radiant desire. He whispered, “So good, so good for me, the way you feel, Colby, f**k—” and did that again, and again, finding that same spot and pounding into it, earning more tiny screams and moans and babbled words, Jason’s name and yes and more and, deliciously, a string of pleases, because Colby was the sweetest person ever, ever, even or especially while delirious with ecstasy in Jason’s bed— He groaned. Shuddered. Fought down the rising climax. Too soon, so fast, but Colby’s eyes were so blue and Colby’s sounds were so luscious and Colby’s surrender to pleasure was so profound— Jason, at the brink, got out, “I want to see you come for me, baby, the way you said you wanted to, with me inside you, f*****g you, filling you up—so good, you’re so good, you can do this, one more thing for me, come for me—” and got a hand back on Colby’s c**k and stroked, clumsy with imminence but gentle, so gentle, despite the lack of rhythm. Colby gasped, “Yes, Jason, yes—” and tensed everyplace, back arching, muscles taut, drawn to the peak. His c**k began to spill itself, thick white streamers over Jason’s hand and over himself; the release swept through him in pulses, over and over, extended. His eyes never left Jason’s: enormous enchanted blue. Jason’s mouth made a noise, and his hips snapped forward, and his c**k—buried in Colby’s quaking euphoric body—thrust once more, deep-seated and final; and he came open-mouthed and silent and stunned with glory, the flood drawn out of him in response to Colby’s eyes, Colby’s trust, Colby around him and with him. He didn’t know how long it lasted. It shook him to the core with light. He slumped forward, exhaling in the ebb. He caught himself on both hands. He trembled as the motion reverberated through them both; his c**k twitched and found another drop to spill inside the condom, oversensitive. Colby’s eyelashes drifted down, and up: gaze not quite focused, out in that billowing all-encompassing submissive ocean. Jason whispered, “You’re wonderful, you’re so wonderful, thank you, Colby—God, Colby, you’re everything I want, everything,” and eased out of him as tenderly as possible. The condom was dangerously full. Colby whimpered, despite the caution, as he did. “I’m sorry,” Jason said desperately, “I’m sorry,” and disposed of the condom and grabbed a towel and warm water, and thoroughly checked him over: gently cleaning lube from that newly-used hole, ensuring no injuries, stroking a leg or a hip for contact and affirmation when Colby tried fumblingly to get closer to him. Acts of devotion. Acts of loyalty. His oath, written in hands and cloth and care. Written in his soul now too. Across his bones. Words mattered also, low and reassuring. Colby, coming out of that headspace, would need anchors. More than most submissives, even, Jason guessed. He knew how much this meant. Reclaiming this. He promised, “You’re fine, you’re all right, you’re safe, I’ve got you,” and tucked Colby into his arms in bed. Not holding tightly. An echo of the way they’d woken up together, though. The way they fit. “I’m here. You’re here. You’re mine. And that was fantastic. You’re fantastic.” Colby, after a moment, answered, “I rather think you’re fantastic, you know.” His voice wasn’t loud, but surprisingly coherent. Jason, not expecting a response this soon, smoothed a hand over Colby’s exertion-damp explosion of hair. “You don’t have to talk yet.” “You like it when I do. And I feel like it. I feel as if I’m made of champagne-bubbles. I could make a champagne trifle. With strawberries. And vanilla cream. Would you like that? Speaking of cream and things you like, you do seem to like tasting me. I wouldn’t mind trying that with you. The other way round. I’ve also just had terribly filthy thoughts about cream and porridge. Did you say thank you, just now?” “So you’re feeling okay.” “Oh God yes.” Colby wiggled back enough to look at him, and then laughed a little, and shook his head, laughed more, pounced in to land a kiss on the side of Jason’s jaw, and blinked a few times. “Possibly slightly tipsy. Is that the aftermath? Should I always expect this? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you didn’t answer me, about the thank you.” “Not every time.” He rubbed Colby’s back: grounding. For them both. “You remember you cried some, last time? It’ll hit you differently sometimes. But…you in particular, so far, yeah. You do seem to get the whole being energized, kind of elated, after. I like you like this. It’s cute.” More than cute. The same feeling he’d had when rescuing Colby’s scribbled calligraphy gift for him, lingering in the private cracks and corners of his heart. The places where he held onto every one of Colby’s smiles, the moments when blue eyes danced because of Jason. “And I didn’t think you heard that.” “Yes, but I did hear it.” Colby grinned at him: tired and triumphant. “So tell me. Er. Please. Only if you’d like. I mean if anyone should be thanking anyone—” “You gave this to me.” Jason tapped fingers over his back. Movement, because the distraction helped. Kept prickling confessional raindrops at bay. “You trusted me with this. You let me be here. So, yeah. Thank you.” “Oh. But…I wouldn’t’ve done it with anyone but you.” Those wide eyes were sure about this; Colby’s accent echoed surety like stone walls under sunlight. “I didn’t think I’d ever want to again. And then you bought bagels, and you wanted me to eat, and you kept on noticing everything I was feeling. And I—well, the weather got quite a bit better. Less grey. More alive. So thank you.” Jason, in the overwhelming grip of emotion, said, “Good—good weather for, um, porridge, then? With cream?” Colby’s mouth actually dropped open. “You don’t know precisely how filthy those thoughts were.” “Want to bet?” “No. I’ll never be able to look at a breakfast table again.” “You thought of it, not me. And it’s too late for the tables.” He had to ask. “I know you’re still kind of busy being champagne—” “I appreciate you appreciating my metaphor.” “Told you you were delicious. Seriously, though, under that, as much as you can, can you think about how you’re feeling, for a sec? Nothing hurting, nothing sore, nothing I didn’t notice?” Colby went quiet, looking at him. That gaze held a wealth of understanding: their roles, Colby’s own past, Jason’s recent past and loss and showing up early to inspect a set and safety precautions. One of Colby’s legs snuck itself between Jason’s. “Nothing. Well—only the general sense that it’s been a while and you’re very impressively sized. I’m certainly glad to not be sitting in a period-accurate wooden chair all day tomorrow. But in the sense you mean it, no, I’m not hurt. I think I’d know. You’d know; you’ve been checking on me.” “Part of taking care of you.” Part of loving you. Wanting to cheer for you. For us. “You’re going to need to rest, even if you’re sort of fizzy right now. It’ll catch up to you. Want food? I’ll order room service. You don’t have to get out of bed.” “I…could be hungry, yes. And you’re not wrong about needing to rest. We both will, given the hour, which I’m noticing is later than I would’ve guessed. Though I clearly wasn’t paying any attention to the time, just now, so it’s not as if I’d be able to make a reliable guess in any case. At least we’re not on set until the afternoon. About that…” “What about that?” Jason had lunged for the room service menu. Just about dropped it on Colby’s shoulder. Pitfalls he hadn’t anticipated. Opening up underfoot. “You—is it something about the arguing with me? On camera?” He’d been wanting to see what they could do together, colliding and crackling, but if Colby didn’t feel good about even fake arguments—if that was finally some fallout from the submission and the headspace, wanting to please, or else from the past, wanting to please for a different reason— “I’m rather looking forward to it.” Colby sparkled at him more. The room service menu, and Jason’s heartbeat, calmed down again. “It’s just there’re some lines I’m not sure about. Unwieldly. We’ll see. I know you’re fine with some improvisation; we’ve done it before. Would you mind terribly if I went off script a bit? Or played with some phrasing?” “I’ll try to keep up with you.” And now he was vaguely worried, not so much about Colby but about himself. Not with regard to dialogue content as such—he knew Stephen Lanyon, knew Will Crawford, knew or was starting to know how Colby thought—but with regard to spontaneous phrasing. Colby might be some sort of enthusiastic nineteenth-century steampunk magical librarian at heart, but Jason himself had the vocabulary of a Hollywood backlot third-generation spaghetti-western stunt team. “Um. Food. What do you feel like?” “Nothing too large—” Colby’s expression got more mischievous. “Though I’ve already had that, haven’t I?” Jason tried not to feel extra-proud of this. “You can have it again whenever you want. But food first. Still an order. Pick something or I will.” They ended up with lemon grilled chicken, which would be both relatively light and something Jason could cut up and feed Colby bites of from a fork, and onion-garlic scones because Colby had been reading down the menu and got professionally fascinated and concerned about the entire concept, and also a slice of ginger-pumpkin tart because it was the closest to cinnamon Jason could find. Colby gave him an amused glance, but then yawned and settled deeper into bed. “Evidently now I’m getting the needing to rest part. Will you wake me when food exists?” “I need to feed you, don’t I? Go ahead and sleep.” He tucked a sheet around slim naked shoulders, keeping them protected; he’d stay next to Colby until he had to get up and answer the door. He’d stay next to Colby, guarding that courage, forever. “I’ll be right here.” “Mmm…I know you will. Jason?” “Yeah?” “I’m very happy.” One big blue eye opened and caught his; the other was shut, nestled into pillow-fluff. Colby put a sleepy hand out, set it on Jason’s thigh. “I wanted to tell you that.” Jason’s heart threw itself into his throat and stuck there: trapped by the words it wanted to say, the words he wasn’t sure Colby would be ready to hear. The lump hurt like broken rainbows, magical and treasured. A waltz of sound found rhythm on the glass windowpane. Colby’s rainstorm. Arriving right on time to wrap them up in an oasis of silver and gold, water and lamplight. He set his hand next to Colby’s. Laced their fingers together. “I’m happy too. Being with you.”