One Take Only

by Lynsey M. Stewart

  I looked away, couldn’t keep up with the twists and turns this night had taken us on. I wanted to hurt him but knew I had no right. We were friends and I wanted to keep it that way.

  “Night, weirdo,” I said, in an attempt to bring us back to where we were comfortable.

  “I don’t know how you dare,” he replied, laughing lightly, but it was frustration wrapped in a sound. I’d heard it before. The vocal equivalent of taking one step forward and two steps back. “Night.”

  I watched as he walked away and wondered how I would ever get to sleep without replaying the entire evening in my mind. Had I imagined those stolen glances, the heavy breathing, the magical thrusts? Was it a reaction to his arousal from the porn scene? My body in the right place at the right time? Or a show for Margot?

  I settled back onto the sofa bed and a picture frame on his fireplace caught my eye. It was of the two of us, laughing together looking happy and natural. It was taken on holiday last year. The three of us went to Ibiza and our tans, smiles, and sunglasses reminded me of how hot it had been. But there was someone missing from the picture. Stacey’s arm was peeking out, but her face had been cut out of the photo. Her red hair just visible, a reminder that Will and I hadn’t been alone. I threw myself back on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. I was sick of this. Sick of the backwards and forwards, the constant questioning of what those small glances and touches really meant. Hidden meanings or just two friends who would do anything for each other?

  I couldn’t sleep.

  Didn’t have a hope of rest.

  I was twisted.

  I was sick.

  Because I was going to spend the night questioning why Will hadn’t cut me off at the shoulder too.

  8

  Skye

  I managed approximately twenty-eight minutes of sleep. I woke up to a noise, a squeak of a bedspring, wondering if Will’s libido had got the better of him and he had taken his cock in hand to pound it to the memory of my uninhibited grinding and his poetic thrusts. The photo of Stacey’s shoulder and us lay beside me on the bed and I’d spent too much time looking at our faces, the adoration we showed each other, me with my wrinkled nose and open eyes and him with his wide smile and tipped-back head. To the untrained eye, we were lovers right bang in the middle of falling. Heady with lust and excitement of what could be and what was to come. A trick of the brain, possibly? Was I conjuring up stories I wanted to be true only to downplay them as the morning light started to trickle through the blinds at the window? I pushed up, resting on my elbows. Gav and Will would need to leave for work soon and I’d make my excuses and go back to Brighton. We’d never talk about this night or those little thrusts again and when I wanted to drive myself mad, I’d think about the photo and picture us laughing like familiar lovers instead of platonic friends.

  The wooden floor was cold on my warm feet, making it even harder to leave the comfort of the duvet and pillows that belonged to Will. I wondered if this would be as close to him as I would ever get?

  I pulled my hair into an elastic band I found on the coffee table, slouching the curls over my head like a giant bow. I needed a shower and pronto. Gathering my clothes, I tip-toed down to the bathroom, careful not to wake Will or Gav in the process. I slid my hand to the handle of the bathroom door and jumped a mile as it opened, and I was greeted with an alarmingly almost naked Will.

  “Morning,” he said as I raked my eyes over the dips of his chest. The towel was slung low over his hips, hugging the outline of his very impressive cock. I groaned, unsure if I was too turned on or too weary to fight myself from looking at it again. Jesus, it did something to me. Changed my psyche and common sense.

  It’s a Magic cock. Put a spell on me.

  “Can I grab a quick shower before I go?” I managed to say.

  I never thought I’d be a woman to pine.

  “Sure. Let me get you a towel.” He opened a door, reached up and I was seeing back dimples and the tip of ass crack. Oh, boy. “Did you sleep OK?”

  I twisted my lips. “Not great.”

  “We could have swapped beds,” he said, and I was having a hard time not imagining him spread out and dreaming. A soft snore and a smile of his lips. One arm over his head leading to the sheet that was lightly covering his most private places to have slipped and left him on full, delicious display. “Skye?”

  “Yep,” I answered, jerking out of my daydream only to find that the image in front of me was even better than my imagination.

  “Never mind,” he replied. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

  I spent far too long in the shower, the water beating down over my shoulders, my breasts. I tried to think of some goodbye banter that would leave this awkward chapter of our friendship closed. I thought of the words, the snark. A way for me get back into my role of buddy with the cruel tongue and heart of gold. My mind closed off. Wandered elsewhere. I thought back to last night. The electric current that snapped and crackled. What if we’d given in to our desire? Used each other? I couldn’t help but wander back to how sex could change everything. Friendship ruined. No going back. Irreversible.

  Doomed.

  I needed a Will cleanse. To rid him of my body and mind like a demon. Brighton would surely have a working exorcist somewhere.

  I dressed slowly as my mind raced. Will was in the kitchen opening packets and pouring milk into a pan, but I noticed him glance at me as I started to smooth out the bed sheets and put the sofa bed away.

  “I put the photo back,” he said. “I found it on the bed. Great memories.”

  I sighed, hoping he didn’t put two and two together and picture me cradling the frame to my chest as I tried to fall asleep. “Ibiza, wasn’t it?”

  Act cool. Aloof. Think of something witty to say.

  “Last year.” He laughed. “Don’t you remember?”

  “Must have blocked it out.”

  Liar.

  “Tequila will do that,” he replied, before we fell into silence. He watched me cautiously, waiting for me to say more, but I couldn’t find words that didn’t involve me vomiting out my feelings. He threw up an orange, catching it with alternate hands, repeating the process until I wanted to catch it myself and throw it against the wall. “You seem quiet,” Will said. “Everything OK?”

  “Yeah, I’ve just got a lot to think about.”

  He pushed up his glasses with a slender finger and started serving out cereal. “I wondered if last night would put you off. It feels like the film is getting bigger by the day.”

  “I’m not put off,” I said indignantly. “In fact, I emailed Margot this morning.” In between sessions of ceiling staring and photo analysing. “She said she’d put me in touch with a woman who’s appeared in a couple of her films. She messaged me just before I went in the shower. She’s willing to do a scene with a friend of hers, but I’ve been thinking.” He glanced at me before dumping the pan in the sink. “We need to make a decision. Two men or two women?”

  “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation over breakfast,” he said, pulling up a stool and sitting at the kitchen island. I joined him. Damn, he smelt good. Clean and everything I wanted to melt into. “What shall we do? Toss a coin? Roll a die? Heads for lesbians, tails for…well…tails.”

  “That joke is terrible,” I replied. “Let’s move on before you embarrass yourself further.” I knew my lips were betraying my tone. A small lift. A bite to stop it increasing.

  “What about both?”

  “That’s a lot of work, Will.”

  I waved my hand at the sugar pot, and he pushed it over to me. I tried to ignore how domesticated and homely we looked. “Think back to why you’re doing this,” he said. “For the clinic. To educate and inform young people. To offer safe sex advice and lead the way in sharing how awesome sexual relationships can be when it’s mutual and consenting.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” I replied, wondering when he became so beautiful. He got me. He understood the drive I had, knew what w
as hiding behind this. Elliott’s memory. A chance to keep him shining.

  He took a sip of his coffee. “If you film two men, you’re losing a vital piece of your audience. Two women, you’re doing the same.”

  “Sexuality is much bigger than that, though. What about people who are bisexual or trans? Are we losing them too?”

  “Skye, we can’t please everyone. Whatever their preference they’ll still appreciate a good cock or a lovely vag.”

  “Insightful as ever.”

  “You got it.” He pulled a trigger finger and winked.

  “This is getting complicated.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” He pushed his stool back and poured himself a glass of milk. “Two sex scenes, two women, two men, one message.” He leaned back against the worktop and folded his arms. He’d dressed when I was in the shower. His light blue shirt stretched across his muscles, pulling it taut where he’d rolled up the sleeves to his elbow. I bit my lip at the sight. “Safety, consent and sex is amazing.”

  “Amen,” Gav said as he draped his coat over the back of the sofa. “Any coffee left?”

  “Go for it,” Will replied.

  He filled a plastic cup and clicked a lid in place. “What are you talking about?” He smirked as we both smiled. “There I was thinking you were in separate beds last night.”

  “What the hell, man?” Will said drawing his eyebrows together. I couldn’t read the look on his face. Was it disgust at his assumption or annoyance that he was showing me zero respect?

  “I slept on the sofa bed,” I replied. “Although, it’s none of your business.”

  “Alright,” he sniffed. “Calm down. Just a joke. Ready to go, mate?”

  “Yeah. Two steps behind.”

  We watched as Gav disappeared through the front door.

  “Dick,” I said as Will nodded in agreement. I pushed my arms behind my head and started a weird rocking on my heels motion. “I’ll head back to Brighton, then. Start planning the next steps.”

  “OK,” he replied as he grabbed his leather laptop bag. “Just…message me when I’m needed.”

  “You’re still on board?” I asked, hopeful and a tiny bit anxious. “You’ll do this with me? For the clinic, for Elliott?”

  “No, Skye,” he replied as he threw me his keys. “I’ll do it for you.”

  9

  Will

  “What are you doing? This is madness. She’ll question your sanity and tell you to fuck off,” I mumbled to myself. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I’d travelled from London to Brighton on a late-night train, spent an hour eating dinner by myself, still weighing up what I was doing here when I knew I’d have to be back in London for work the next morning. But the truth was, I hadn’t seen Skye all week and I was missing her. I had an ache in my chest that nothing seemed to ease. A portion of myself that felt…lost.

  “Will. What are you doing here?” Skye asked as she opened the door. She looked pissed, and shocked, and…green.

  “What’s that…stuff on your face,” I asked as I walked through to where Stacey was lying on the sofa, also green.

  “Avocado facemask. Fancy a lick?” Stacey asked.

  “Not hungry,” I muttered as Skye dropped herself next to Stacey.

  “Can I interest you in some wine?” Stacey asked.

  I glanced at Skye but she ignored me.

  “Yep. Wine. Alcohol is always good.” I sat down on the other sofa, putting my feet up on the coffee table. What was I doing here? What would I say if they asked? I missed the girl with the bubblegum hair. I’ve thought about her ass grinding into my cock for the past few days and needed to see that ass again. “Is this what women do when they’re heartbroken?” Stacey and Matt had ended whatever it was that was going on between them and the conversation was dominated by her heartbreak. My attempts to bring clarity to the situation were not appreciated and I decided to give it up as a bad job.

  “Can I crash tonight?”

  “The sofa has your name on it,” Stacey said.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I was doodling,” I replied. “Can I have a shower?” I’d already started making my way down to the bathroom.

  I shouldn’t be here. I’m making the ache worse. The only relief would be if Skye agreed to be mine.

  “Sure, help yourself, don’t you worry about it.” I heard Stacey shout. I curled my hands around the silver doorknob and lightly bashed my head on the door.

  “I don’t need a shower, I just need her,” I mumbled to myself. You had a shower after the gym because you were trying to forget about the ache and that didn’t work either, did it? I needed to see her, speak to her, be in her company. Just being beside her was enough. Who the fuck are you kidding? It’s not enough, not anymore. I could hear low conversations and I panicked, wondering if Skye had told Stacey about my inability to stop touching her the night of the porn shoot. Did she notice the boob graze? The erection to her ass?

  “Skye, do you have any spare towels?” I shouted from the bathroom, my head still resting on the door. She appeared like a vision and I closed my eyes for a second wondering what I was going to say next.

  “Why are you slumped against my door?” Skye asked. I opened one eye and she was smiling, the green slop missing from her face. I closed it again before I groaned. “Have you been drinking?”

  “I had a whiskey with my dinner.” I opened one eye again and whispered, “Maybe two.” She laughed. Bloody laughed and the sound didn’t do anything to help my obsession.

  “Drunk Will is my favourite,” she said, and I wanted to take her by the hands and ask her why.

  “Just drunk Will?”

  She ignored me. “Towels are here, shower is there.”

  “Thanks.” I sat down on the edge of the bath.

  “Do you think you can sober up a bit?” she asked. “I need you tonight.”

  A rush of blood leapt from my heart right down to my groin. “You do?”

  “I started a storyboard for the film, but it’s not coming together very well. Fancy brainstorming?” It wasn’t at all what I had in mind, but we could be burying a body and I’d still be by her side.

  “Come here,” I said, pulling her to me. She giggled and I smiled, and life felt good again. I wasn’t suffering the exhaustion of chasing something, I’d been caught. Caught by her, by her spell, her magic. “I know we’re not usually nice to each other, but I want you to know I think you’re amazing. This idea, this goal.” I sighed and I felt like a winner when she held my head in her hands.

  “Why are we horrible to each other?” she whispered as she watched my mouth.

  “It’s well-meaning banter.”

  She laughed, a light chuckle. The sound I imagined I’d hear when I reached the pearly gates. “Is that what it is?” When was the last time I felt this happy? I was searching but came up with nothing apart from all the times I’d been happy with Skye. She featured in all of my moments, the good, the bad, the everything.

  “Have a shower,” she said, trailing her fingers down my scruff. “Meet me downstairs in ten.”

  “Pass me the cake,” I said as I sat down at one of the tables in Turnip the Beet. “I’m going to need it.”

  “We haven’t got long,” Skye replied cutting off a chunk of fudge cake and sliding the plate along the table in one smooth movement. “Stacey will be due a pep talk in about half an hour.”

  “How’s she doing?” I asked.

  “Not great. Matt’s been messaging her, and she’s stuck her phone in the spider plant to stop herself from replying.” Stacey and Matt were at a crossroads in their relationship. He’d asked for more than she was willing to give. Throw in a bat-shit crazy boss and a startling reminder that Matt sold sex for a living, and she wasn’t in the best place. Skye held up a large piece of card with pictures and words floating around a love heart. “What do you think?”

  “Great,” I replied looking at an image of a porn still with a big black cross through it.

  “Margo
t said Cal Dixon, the romance author, has written short stories they are going to film.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Well, we’re going to write one too.”

  “OK.”

  “We need to treat this like we’re planning a movie,” she said.

  “But without the million-dollar budget,” I replied. “Or in fact, any budget.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I want real women. Real men. Nothing surgically enhanced. Plus size. I want the film to be ethical with feminist values and…it needs to look good.”

  “Of course,” I replied. “With an awesome soundtrack.”

  “And real orgasms.”

  “Storyboard sorted, then. I’ll be off”

  “Not so fast,” she said, holding my arm. “You’ve just got here, and we need a trope.”

  “I cannot measure the intensity of the fucks I do not give.”

  “Stop being so Will-like and let’s get started,” she said, rubbing her eyes. She was tired, I could tell. Planning this film was taking its toll. I could usually pick up when she was stretching herself too far. We’d go to the cinema under the guise there was a film I just had to see, and she’d fall asleep against my shoulder halfway through. I’d lean in and listen to her soft breathing, happy that she’d let her tiredness finally take over.

  “I’m lost. You want to plan a story?” I asked.

  “Margot said Cal Dixon writes a scene and Margot films it.”

  “There isn’t usually a plot in a porn film. At most it’s a handyman or a gardner who turns up unexpectedly and oops, his penis finds its way into her vagina.”

  She laughed. “Why sacrifice a plot for great sex? Why can’t porn do both?”

  “It can. If you want to show a real, romantic relationship then how about friends to lovers?” I said, feeling vulnerable as she looked up.

  “Go on.”

  “A lot of people meet at college or university and a friendship is formed first. Surely that’s good grounding for great sex?” She dropped her eyes and smiled before finally nodding.