Character Bleed Book 2: Stalwart

Chapter 1: Day 17, NightThe 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.”