Character Bleed Book 2: Stalwart

Chapter 1: Day 17, Night-2

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.