Beautiful Box Set

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Thursday night, Brett stays over at Johnny’s for the first time. It’s hard to believe it’s only been a week since they met—every little thing about the photographer excites Johnny, from the way his eyes light up when he smiles to the two inch black and red star tattooed on the inside of his left ankle. They go everywhere together—the grocery store, the post office, the studio. Johnny makes sure to keep a wide distance between them so no one thinks they’re a couple, but the first moment they’re alone in private, Brett drapes an arm around Johnny’s shoulders and reels him in for a hungry kiss. When they have s*x, their bodies meld together perfectly, Johnny’s ass backed up in the curve of Brett’s pelvis, those large hands strong on Johnny’s hips, that big c**k wedged deep within him. When Friday morning rolls around and Johnny wakes beside Brett, he studies the tanned brow smoothed out in sleep, the full lips slightly pursed, the shock of hair that stands straight up from Brett’s temples. In the pale sunlight that falls through his window, Johnny feels a pang in his heart, so sudden, so unfamiliar, so real, that it terrifies him.

He thinks he might be falling in love.

Maybe it’s just the impending audition, he tells himself. His stomach is a mess of nerves, writhing like snakes within him. He thinks he might be sick, and he suspects he’ll throw up before he even leaves his apartment. He hasn’t done an audition in years, and part of the reason Brett stayed the night was to help Johnny prepare himself for the role. They spent hours acting out the sample script Lou provided, Johnny playing through the gamut of emotions required for the part, and at one point he grew so frustrated, he tossed the script aside, pissed. Brett retrieved it, but instead of forcing Johnny through the scene again, he stood behind him, massaging the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders, and within the hour they were in bed, cuddled together, having s*x.

Making love.

Johnny doesn’t let himself go there. Curling into Brett’s embrace, he traces one of the photog’s eyebrows with his thumb. He watches the way those eyelids flutter in sleep, and that mouth parts in a barely audible sigh Johnny silences with a kiss. Nuzzling Brett’s nose with his own, Johnny murmurs, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Brett’s response is a slow stretch. He rolls onto his back, away from Johnny, his arms rising above them to bump the wall before falling to the pillow. His cheek now rests on the top of Johnny’s head, and he moans, a contented sound that warms Johnny down to his toes. The tension in Brett’s body fades as he drifts back to sleep.

Johnny waits. When he’s sure Brett’s not getting up any time soon, he slowly extracts himself from his lover. The bed sheets slide sinfully over his naked body, caressing him in all the right places. His lower body tingles with the memory of their coupling, and in his mind, he’s already standing over the toilet, m**********g away his morning wood, when a hand catches his beneath the sheets. He glances over his shoulder at Brett, whose wide eyes have no trace of sleep in them. “Where you running off to?”

“I’ve got that audition,” Johnny reminds him. But he lets the hand tug him back to the bed, and he falls easily into place in Brett’s arms again. Picking at one pert n****e, Johnny snuggles against his lover and murmurs, “I can’t be late.”

“You’ve got some time.” Brett holds out his right arm to show Johnny the watch on his wrist—it’s only a little after nine. “Where’s it at again?”

Johnny kisses the n****e, grinning at the shiver that runs through Brett when his teeth close over the tight bud. “I told you, DreamWorks.”

“No, I mean where.” Brett gasps in delight as Johnny tongues his n****e, and he fists his hand in Johnny’s thick hair. “Like physically where? Their studios? A hotel?”

Johnny shrugs, settling himself closer to the photog. “I don’t know.” With one final bite, he lets the n****e go and wraps his arms around Brett’s waist, holding him close. “Lou’s sending a car.”

“Hmm.” Brett’s hand slips down to cup the back of Johnny’s neck. His fingers feel ephemeral, like spider webs. “You want me to come along?”

Here it is—the question he’s been dreading. The answer is yes, of course he wants Brett there with him, but Lou said specifically that he should go alone. After those pictures online….

He shifts uncomfortably. His silence answers for him. With a peeved sigh, Brett sits up and Johnny falls away from him. The magic of their touch evaporates in the morning sun. “Never mind.”

“Don’t be like that,” Johnny chides. “Lou said to play it down, you know? At least at first. No assistants, no bodyguards, no entourage.”

“I’m not a f*****g hanger-on,” Brett snaps. “I’m your goddamn boyfriend.”

He swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, out of Johnny’s reach. The sheets puddle at his waist, obscuring his genitals, but despite the anger that threatens to erupt like a summer storm around them, the bony nubs of his spine and his tan skin, so dark against the white linens, cut out an erotic moment from the flow of time. The word “boyfriend” hangs between them like a meniscus, waiting to be snatched up and analyzed, waiting to be poked and prodded and burst. It’s the first qualifier either of them have used to describe what lies between them, and it both thrills and terrifies Johnny at the same time. He’s glad he wasn’t the one to say it.

Reaching out, Johnny touches Brett’s elbow. The muscles are taut beneath his touch, and his fingers work into the tenseness, trying to dispel it. “Brett, please,” he sighs. He wants to call him ‘baby’ but his mouth won’t form the word. “Don’t be like this.”

Brett’s response is simply, “You should get in the shower. You’re going to be late.”

Johnny rolls off the opposite side of the bed, an ignoble pout tugging at his mouth. “Now you’re mad.”

“Not at you.”

Somehow, Johnny doesn’t believe that. He lets the sheets fall away as he stands and stretches, ignoring the open curtains that stare out over the bustling street below. He doesn’t have time for this, and God knows, he doesn’t need it right now. He has to get in the zone, clear his mind, be the character if he wants to get the part. He’ll deal with Brett later.

But on his way to the bathroom, a hand snags his arm and his next step twirls him into the span of Brett’s embrace. “Hey,” his lover murmurs, kissing his forehead.

“What?” Johnny asks, petulant.

Their nude bodies press together, skin so soft this early in the morning. With a finger curled under Johnny’s chin, Brett raises his face until they’re staring at each other, and the anger he’d heard in Brett’s voice hasn’t spread to his eyes; they’re warm like melted chocolate, and Johnny thinks he could drown in their dark gaze.

“I’m not mad at you,” Brett says again. This time, Johnny believes him. He kisses the tip of Johnny’s nose and smiles. Between them, Johnny feels a familiar stirring at his groin. “Lou’s an ass. No one’s going to give a s**t who you sleep with in this town. This is Hollywood, for Christ’s sake.”

Johnny sighs. “He’s just looking out for me.”

“So hire someone else,” Brett suggests. “This place is crawling with managers and agents, any one of whom would cream themselves to get a shot at you.”

“Lou’s all right.” Johnny tries to turn away but Brett won’t let him, and those lips touch his, wiping his pout away. “Let me get this part, okay? Once my career’s back on track, I can shop around a bit. But he helped me the last time—”

Brett kisses him again, cutting him off in mid-sentence. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

Why doesn’t Johnny buy that?

* * * *

The shower is quick—Johnny doesn’t think to ask Brett to join him until he’s turning off the water. He doesn’t have the time to fool around anyway. Thankfully he doesn’t need a lot of maintenance, but now that he’s out of bed, the morning seems to be running away from him. It’s already quarter to ten by the time he gets out of the shower. He wraps a towel around his waist and uses another to dry his hair; while he’s rubbing it over his scalp, he reaches out with one foot to pry open the bathroom door. He’s about to call out and ask Brett to get him some underwear from the top drawer of his dresser when the sound of his lover’s voice draws him up short.

“No,” Brett’s saying out in the bedroom—who’s he talking to? “He doesn’t know where it’s at. DreamWorks, okay? There’s an open audition today at noon. Call them if you have to.”

Johnny’s hands freeze, the towel half-obscuring his vision. He pulls it back and peers through the crack in the doorway. Brett stands at the window, still naked, cell phone to his ear as he stares at the street below. His back is to the bathroom and he doesn’t see Johnny.

“He’s leaving here in a half hour,” Brett says into the phone. “Taking a limo, I assume. He should get there an hour before the public arrives. I want—”

The bathroom door creaks beneath Johnny’s weight and Brett whirls around. For a moment they stare at each other, faces devoid of expression. A heartbeat later, Brett smiles, and Johnny feels a sudden rush of relief for no real reason. “Listen, Tish. I got to go. I’ll be there by eleven, how’s that sound?”

Tish. His assistant. That makes sense to Johnny. He resumes his rigorous rubbing to dry his hair, turning from the open door to watch himself in the mirror. A few seconds later, the door’s hinges squeal as Brett enters the tiny room. “You shouldn’t stand in the window like that,” Johnny says to Brett’s reflection. “People on the street can see you.”

“No one ever looks up.” Brett tugs at the towel around Johnny’s waist and the cloth falls away, exposing his still damp ass. With both hands, he begins to towel dry Johnny’s backside. “Tish says to break a leg.”

Johnny grins. “So you’re heading down to the studio?”

Brett leans against Johnny’s back, pinning the towel between them. His arms ease around Johnny’s waist to hold him tight, and his chin rests on Johnny’s left shoulder. The look he gives Johnny in the mirror is one of contentment, as if there’s no place he’d rather be than here, with him.

“I sort of hoped we’d catch up after I’m done,” Johnny says. His voice is light and nonchalant, but his heart hammers in his chest and his stomach churns anxiously. It’s the audition, he tells himself. Nothing more.

Brett kisses his neck. “So swing on by. You know where I’ll be.”

“I wish you could come.”

Another kiss, this one behind his ear. “Tell Lou,” Brett says, “not me.”