Dee’s gaze darts to my eyes, and then back to hand, rubbing over my cock.
And he fucking growls, this low, hungry noise.
When he strips, it’s with quick, economical movements, kicking off his shoes and shoving down his jeans and yanking his shirt up and over his head. I stare at him, and the last thing I want is to tease.
Dimitri Fucking Blackwood is standing in front of me, naked and hard and crawling over me, staring at me like he wants to devour me.
I swallow my groan when he stretches out, and presses against me, all of that hot naked skin pushing into mine, begging for hands to smooth against it.
I hold him, grip his hips hard enough to bruise and drag him down harder against me.
I’m done fucking teasing.
So is he.
When he kisses me, it’s filthy. A filthy fucking kiss that drags up a moan, soothes that fission of unease that had spiked. This I know. Kissing him, is easy. Giving up a breathy noise of want, is easy. Letting Dee’s hands catch in my hair, letting him lick deeper, catching my groan and swallowing it down—is easy.
It’s always been easy.
Dimitri has always been so goddamn easy to love.
He pulls back and pouts as he straddles my hips, and I swallow that thought, because it’s fucking terrifying, even if it’s true. Arch an eyebrow as I sit up and lick over his throat. “Problem?” I mumble against his skin.
“You’re still dressed,” he whines, and I laugh. He rolls against me, huffing unhappily, and I snag his hips, hard, and roll us fast, before he can complain, pinning him with a quick rough kiss that forces him to make a quiet, pleased noise, before I jerk away from him and pull my shirt off. I reach for my jeans, but Dimitri is there, the impatient and demanding fucker. His short nails dig into my back, and I groan, falling into him, this long, drawn out sound that is somehow his name, and I’d be embarrassed by how fucking needy I sound except—I hiss, Dimitri, his cock rubbing against mine, still wrapped up in heavy denim.
He laughs against my skin, and plants his feet, arching up and into me. I push down and his laugh dies, becomes this choked noise in his throat, and he kisses me, sucks hard against my shoulder, while I rub against him. I whine, shivering and he hums a soft noise, against me, tucking his face against my throat, pressing soft, almost chaste kisses there, soothing me as I shudder.
It’s so fucking sweet I can’t keep silent. “Dimitri.”
“What is it, sweetheart? What do you want?” he murmurs and I moan. I want him.
I kiss him hard, a press of teeth and lips and sliding tongues and whisper against his mouth. “You. Want you.”
He goes very still, watching me and I dip down. Mouth at his jaw, until he forces me to look up. “We can stop, Camden, if this is too much.”
I shove down my nerves and shake my head. No.
“I don’t wanna,” I whisper. “Just. Um. Can I?”
His expression clears and he nods, relaxing into the bed, his hands going gentle and sweet against my skin. I kiss him, light, licking in the taste of Dee while he pets me, soothing away the tiny tremors. Until I’m almost purring as I arch and rub against him. I startle, a slight whimper slipping free when his thumb slips under the waistband of my jeans and boxers both, but the shudder this time is all want and hunger, and my kiss gets harder as his fingers press down and in.
Brushing, teasing and light while my kisses get heavier and I thrust against him. It’s this steady, blinding pressure that makes me want more, want to slip into him, finger him open, until he’s begging and I can fuck him.
I want to fuck him.
My orgasm rushes up, suddenly, at the thought of that, and I jerk away from him, snarling, fighting it down.
“Camden,” he groans, and my hands are fumbling at the button of my jeans. The rasp of the zipper is almost obscenely loud as I slide it down, hitching my thought for a nanosecond one last chance and then he’s there, and I can feel the heat of him, so damn hot it’s almost unreal.
I kiss him again, and he bites my lip, hard.
It breaks something.
It’s been hungry and sweet, and that one small violence—it shatters the reserve between us. I shove him down, rutting against the curve of his hip, my hands hard and heavy on his wrists and Dee snarls, fighting against it.
But I need this.
I need him to let me control this.
My grip tightens, too hard, and all the fight drains away from him, leaves him limp, dizzily fast.
I smile. Press a kiss to his lips and whisper softly, “Thank you.”
And then I drag his arms up, over his head and pin them there with one hand. With the other, I jerk my boxers off.
Take a breath.
I’m naked and so is Dimitri.
I’m naked in bed with a man.
A man I’ve got pinned to the bed.
He smiles at me, and it’s sweet and patient and I smirk, shoving that aside because Dimitri Blackwood is fucking naked in my bed.
I reach for him, and he groans, hissing a breath and scrambling for a grasp on the sheets, and I laugh as I stroke him, a low dirty noise that makes his dick twitch and he spits a curse. His hands twitch and I tsk. “Don’t move, Dee,” I tell him, “let me.”
“Cam,” he gasps, but he relaxes some. Kisses back with hungry enthusiasm when I kiss him.
And then I slide down his body, pressing wet, open mouth kisses as I go. I suck and lick at his nipples while he groans, and spits curses at me. I laugh against his hip bone when he squirms, lick up the salty sweat that’s beading there. And the whole time, I’m stroking him, slow and long. It’s not so different than when I jerk off, even if the angle is wrong. And from the way Dimitri is chanting my name and gasping, it’s working. When I rub over the head of his cock, gathering the pre-come and smoothing it down until his dick is slippery and he’s panting. “Cam, please, baby please!”
I lean up and stare at him, my mouth dry while I watch him coming apart. “You look so gorgeous like this,” I whisper.
“More,” he rasps, rolling his hips up into my strokes.
He’s giving me control. But this is Dee, and I’d be an idiot to think he wouldn’t push.
“Want you inside me, Cam,” he growls. “Wanna feel you inside me. C’mon, baby, fuck me.”
I shudder, and my eyes close. There’s a split second of hesitation, of panic, and then.
I want it. I want this.
I want everything with him.
I shove his legs wide, dip down and—
He shouts, his hands dropping into my long hair as I take him in my mouth.
I jerk my mouth off his dick, and rip his hands from my hair. Glare at him and his dick twitches, hard enough that it bobs against my cheek. “I said don’t move,” I say slowly and he shivers.
Slowly, he puts his hands back above his head.
Only when he is back in his original position, do I relax and sink back down.
It’s not good. As blow jobs go, I know it’s awful. It’s messy and my jaw aches and I can’t get the fucking rhythm right, so my hand is never going the right way with my mouth. He twitches when my teeth graze against him, and makes this noise that I want to hear every damn day.
“Fucking perfect,” he breathes and my dick throbs at the unfettered adoration in his voice. “Wanted this, baby. Wanted you for so fucking long.”
I hum and his head falls back, and that’s when I reach for the lube.
He gasps when I brush over him, and groans, a noise that’s pure filth when I push a finger into him.
It’s tight, and for a heartbeat, his body is hard and resistant, and then the slick slip of spit and lube eases the way and I slide inside.
It’s so fucking tight. I groan around his cock and he gasps, I push deeper, retreat and push back. Fucking him.
I’m fucking him.
Dimitri keens, this wild noise that is all animal hunger, when I add a second finger, and I fuck him harder, wanting that noise again. He’s thr
ashing now, moving against the bed and me like he can’t decide if he wants to fuck into my mouth or down on my fingers, and so he does this weird shivery combination of the two and goes tight and tense, his hole fluttering around my fingers.
“You’re everywhere,” he whispers, awe and arousal shaking his voice. “Cam, you’re everywhere.”
I groan and take him deeper, gagging. I pull back and breathe a second and he whines, high and wanting, before I swallow around him, and add a third finger.
Dimitri screams. Fucking honest-to-god scream, shrill and wordless as he comes, hot and wet and fucking weird and perfect across my tongue and down my throat. My fingers are still in him, still stroking and thrusting and rubbing over that fucking spot.
I stroke him until he whines and arches away. When I slip free, he pulls me up and into his arms, pulls me impossible tight, and I can feel the wet on his cheeks. “Stay,” he murmurs. “Don’t leave me alone.”
I kiss him and he licks into my mouth, licks the taste of us from me, and it’s perfect.
And when he pulls me into him and kisses my hair, and falls asleep holding me close,
I realize I have never wanted anything more than I want this.
There is something digging into my back. I open my eyes, and see the green sheets that Cari would never use. Roll my head to stare at the walls. Slate gray, with pictures from concerts and set and Cons scattered in chaotic disarray on the walls.
It's the scent though that clicks it all back into place.
The room smells clean and spicy and complex, somehow. And familiar. Utterly familiar. A smile turns up my lips and I twist my head and he's there.
Sleep rumpled, soft and peaceful, lips still swollen from our kisses, his face pushed into the pillow and my shoulder.
He looks peaceful. Adorable. Happy.
I keep waiting for panic to hit me. I fucked a dude last night. And not even a random, means nothing dude. I fucked Dimitri.
But all I feel is this low hum of contentment and the more urgent desire to do it again.
I shift and his grip on me--we’re tangled together, a mess of legs and arms tossed over torsos--tightens. “Too early.”
“We've got a 6am call time,” I murmur against his shoulder and he huffs his annoyance.
I lean over and kiss him. Deep and hungry, until he whimpers into my mouth and his hand on my hip clenches, compulsive, pulling me to him. Then I roll away and he snarls. “You get five more minutes. Then shower and coffee and waiting for Jeb.”
By some minor miracle, we're dressed and semi-caffeinated, and the dogs have been fed and walked when Jeb pulls up. Cari is curled in the front seat, sleeping under the bodyguard’s oversized coat, a cup of coffee steaming near her head. She doesn't stir as we climb in and Jeb doesn't say anything about Dimitri being at our house.
He's a smart dude and a better bodyguard. He knows how to keep his mouth shut.
Dimitri promptly crawls across the seat and presses against me and I don't really think about it. I wrap an arm around his waist, tugging him closer and pressing a kiss into his hair.
“We gonna talk about it?” he murmurs into my throat. I shrug and he makes a low, displeased noise.
The thing is. I don't need to. I don't need to take it apart and put it back together to know what this is. What he means to me and all that there is at stake. I don't need to talk about it.
I think there is a part of me, a small part, that is afraid. Because to talk about it will ruin it. So I squeeze him closer and murmur, “Stop thinking so hard, babe.”
Reluctantly. He relaxes against my side with slow reluctance and a tiny smile.
---
It goes like this. We work, filming together and sharing space in the trailers and on set. We do interviews and promo that the network insists on. There are a few award ceremonies that we attend, Cari radiant between us on the red carpet.
And when we are not working.
Then, we’re together.
At his townhouse, and our home. In hotels and bars, and parks, walking the dogs.
I learn how to wake up, in his arms, and despite already knowing him, I learn new things. I learn that even though it’s summer, he can’t sleep without a blanket, and that he compensates by running three fans and sleeping naked. I learn that he likes to eat oranges in bed, and reads way too late, the light shining in my eyes. I learn that he cuddles and snores, but only when he’s been doing action scenes, which exhausts him. I learn he takes quick showers because he likes to wake me with wet kisses, and languid baths, while I’m held against his chest. I learn that he loves to let Zed in his bed but Gil is a hard limit, and that his sister texts at the most random fucking times, but he never turns his phone on silent for her or his mother.
I learn that he cuddles after sex, and that when he comes, it’s with a soft sigh, and that his usually filthy mouth is surprisingly tame when we’re fucking.
Which, actually.
We haven’t done.
It’s brilliant and easy and wonderful, being with him, and I revel in it. Cari gives us a week of staying as far away as she can, and then she shows up at the house, with a big bottle of wine and a frown. “I miss my friends,” she says, abruptly, and crawls onto the couch beside us.
She says we’re in love, in the honeymoon stage.
I try to explain that we’re a bit too manly for that shit, and she laughs her ass off, while Dimitri stares at me with this aghast expression.
I keep my opinion of our collective manliness to myself after that.
“It’s easy,” I say, one afternoon. Dimitri is jogging because the fucker loves to jog, and it’s a habit I can’t seem to break him of, and I’m lying on Cari’s bed, my head pillowed on her legs while she plays with my hair and reads a script.
“Is that a problem?”
“Course not. It just...surprises me?”
She frowns at me, upside down and still severe. “You and Dimitri have always gotten along well. Why should this be hard?”
We didn’t though. There was that six-month stretch, when he first joined the cast, when I didn’t like Dee. When I barely tolerated him, and was borderline rude.
It was when Cari and I did an outdoor shoot in the dead of fucking winter, and spent almost six hours in the icy rain. She got a cold, that developed into bronchitis and dragged production to a halt while she hacked up her lungs.
Dimitri showed up on our doorstep, while I tried not to panic that my best friend was going to die, with a big pot of potato soup and a six-pack. He fed us, tucked us into Cari’s big bed, and then cleaned the house, did laundry and walked Cari’s dogs. When I woke, fifteen hours later, the worst of her fever had passed, and Dimitri was dozing on the couch, snapping awake to ask if I needed anything, when I wandered downstairs.
He stayed for three days, until she was moving around enough that we could resume filming, never pushing, but just there. A helping hand if either of us needed anything.
It made me look at him differently.
Made me realize that he might mean a change for the show, but it wasn’t a bad change.
I didn’t become friends with him that day. But it was the start.
“I’ve never been with a guy. And I mean. We’re both technically with other people. It’s…complicated.”
Cari snorts. “As long as I don’t have to listen to him fucking you, I think we’re good.”
I tilt my head up, to look at her. “What about us?”
She keeps her face blank, but I know her well enough that she isn’t hiding. “We always knew that we weren’t a forever thing, Cam.”
“I worry about you,” I admit, and she laughs. Leans down to kiss my forehead. “That’s sweet. But it’s also not necessary. You’re happy with him. I’ll be just fine.”
I am happy.
So damn happy it doesn’t seem real.
As I lay in her lap, I wonder how long we get to keep it.
--
A month.
We get to ke
ep it for a month.
Then it all goes to hell.
Chapter 10.
The Power of Persona and the Veil of Reality: Social Media and the Relevant Celebrity, by Kate Peterson (excerpt) Cross posted to Fractured Realms.
Victor Vanes, front man of Silence of Screams, is best known for his ballads and his foul mouth on stage.
Dimitri Blackwood, Farley Anders on Fractal Ends (TeSX, Thurs, 9) is an actor best known for causing trouble for Josef Grimm and doing charity work with Carissa Aukes.
But before either became pop culture sensations, they were worming their way into your hearts by falling in love for the world to see.
Victor and Dimitri attended Hardaway High School in Illinois, a small town both men remember fondly, before they began touring together. Dimitri, a poet, wrote some of Silence of Screams earliest hits, and performed with them for years before he moved to LA. to pursue acting. Both maintain active social media accounts, and it’s through this that fans of both men, and their respective work, are invited into their personal lives.
While most celebrities are very intentional and careful with the social media presence they maintain, following Dimitri (@DimitriBlackwood) and Victor (@VicVanesScreams) is a delightful mix of chaos—one never knows if Vic will share a picture from an afterparty, or a clip of a new song, or even just a really gnarly cut from fucking around with the band, while Dimitri tends to be more introspective, sarcastic, and socially conscious, without being afraid of making fun of himself.
And when they interact, it’s like watching a married couple arguing affectionately over the newspaper.
It’s interesting, that Dimitri, with a supporting role in a cult show on a smaller network, is followed by as many people as Kelvin Rembrant, the lead on TV’s number one drama (Accidental Death, ABC, Mon at 9.) It is even more interesting that Carissa Aukes has followed Dimitri into the world of Twitter, and they often work in tandem to bring their fanbase together for acts of charity.
Dimitri and Vic may joke about ruling the world, but social media’s favorite power couple are well on their way to doing just that.
Secret Things Page 8