Fade In : A Tales of Bryant Novella #1 (Tales of Bryant Novellas)

by V. L. Locey

  The alarm on my phone sounded off. I hurried to find it on the nightstand. Caiden flopped around beside me, his hand patting my face as if he were searching for his phone.

  “Time is it?” he mumbled, patting my face lovingly then pulling his hand away.

  “Five.” I moved to my side so I was facing him.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” he whined into his pillow. “Geneva convention…inhumane…fucking brioche at five in the morning?”

  I kissed his bare shoulder. The smell of him made my hard dick even harder, but there was no time for sex. I had to be at the bakery no later than six to get the dough made for the brioche. People liked their baked goods and coffee in the morning.

  “Lots of people like brioche in the morning.” I kicked off the covers, smiled into the darkened room at his growl, threw them back over him, and shuffled into the bathroom. If our routine continued, I’d go downstairs, greet Luis who would make me coffee and something light for breakfast, and then leave for work. I’d not see or talk to Caiden all day until I arrived on set after my eight-hour shift. Then he would merely give me these hard to decipher looks as I ran back and forth fetching. I was quickly becoming a champion fetcher. What fucking fetching had to do with film production, cinematography, or any aspect of making movies I had no clue. Interning on a movie set sucked. The things a man suffered through to buy a damn textbook on American Ethnographic Film.

  His bath was sheer luxury, all blues and grays from the tiles to the towels, with more old movie posters on the walls. These were Charlie Chaplin films. Caiden and I shared a love of old cinema. I’d not seen many of Chaplin’s films aside from The Vagabond, which my professor in my Introduction to Classic Films and Cinema of the Twentieth Century class described as a ‘melancholy and romantic escapade that shows how brilliant a director Chaplin truly was as he gifts the viewer with a juxtaposition of comedic brilliance and glistening humanity’. Glistening humanity? None of us had a clue what the man was talking about ninety percent of the time in that class.

  I skipped a shave but did use the guest toothbrush and deodorant in the second drawer of the dark gray vanity. I didn’t have the balls to ask how many toothbrushes he kept on hand for overnight guests. It wasn’t my business for one thing, and for a second thing, if I found out I’d probably feel like shit about it. Better to enjoy this while it lasted, think of myself as special, and then return to the world of Babette’s and basement apartments when Isamu came back to claim his job. The water beating on my back stung a bit, stirring up the memory of Caiden lying under me last night, my cock buried in his ass, and his fingernails raking over my back with each thrust. Screwing him was like making love to a high-voltage wire dangling from a pole. He wiggled and writhed, sparked and spat, sizzled and shocked you into near death yet you kept sliding your dick into it because you just had to feel that jolt searing along your neural paths.

  “You’re deep in thought,” Caiden said, slipping into the shower behind me. I startled sharply, the oversized bar of goat milk soap leaping from my soapy fingers. “Sorry.” He kissed me between the shoulder blades, then snuggled up close. “You’re so high strung.”

  “Sleep on a few park benches and bathe in a few homeless shelter showers and you’ll see why I’m so jumpy,” I snapped without thinking. Shit. I’d not wanted to share that with him. What did he care about such things? He lived far, far above the cold city streets. “Never mind any of that. I’m just really tired. Forget what I just said.”

  His arms tightened around my waist; his whiskery chin came to rest on my shoulder. Water sluiced down over us.

  “No, I’m sorry for being so elitist.”

  My eyes fluttered downward, the safety of his arms around me so damn appealing. “Nope, you’re not. Totally on me.”

  “You need a day off,” he cooed, pressing on my left hip with his weight until I turned enough to ease us out of the pounding spray of the big shower head. “Sunday will be ours. Sleep in as long as you want then we’ll go to this bruncheon party I’m obligated to attend. After that, we can do a show or dinner out. Maybe some dancing followed by wine and sex and home?”

  I shivered at his words. That sounded so wonderful, like something a couple would do, but we weren’t a couple. We were a two week fling; he knew it and so did I. I had access to the filming schedules. I was fully aware that when Isamu returned, the production company was heading out to Arizona to film Gardenia’s Float. I’d even spoken to Dee-Dee Flame, the drag queen, who was starring in the movie with a newcomer Caiden and the director had cast in the lead role as Gardenia.

  “Okay, sure, I’d like that.” I spun to face him, cradled his wet face in my hands, and rubbed my thumbs along the small gauges in his earlobes. His tired green eyes warmed, and before we could stem it, the passion overtook us. He gave himself to me again there in the shower, which set me back a good twenty minutes. I arrived at Babette’s two minutes before Lou, who gave me a dark look when he saw that the dough machine wasn’t even put together yet.

  Somehow, I managed to get through that first week. When Sunday arrived, I slept until Caiden woke me up with a long, wet blow job. The man knew his stuff. He sucked and fingered me into an orgasm that just about broke me. Then I dozed off again. The second time he woke me up, it was to coffee and a bowl of fruit. We ate in bed, he propped up beside me, his nose in the entertainment section of the Times as Luis pattered around picking up our dirty clothes and making snide comments about the director Caiden was reading about.

  “I never did like his movies. So much talk, talk, talk about nothing but stupid straight people romance problems. Yes, yes, I know you are a romantic-comedy but why must you be so hetero? This is why the films are so boring. No gays!”

  Caiden snickered then flipped the page. “And this is why we now have Budgie in the Dell, to ensure the world has gay coming out of and in its ass.”

  “Oh, you so naughty!” Luis laughed, gathered up the dirty clothes and went on his way. I smiled at his retreating back. He was such an engaging guy, always sunny.

  “So, shall we shave and shower and get around? Brunch is served precisely at two sharp, and knowing Adrian Pontimore, if we show up late, we’ll be subjected to a blistering set-down followed by a dramatic swoon that only a mimosa will rouse him from.”

  I nodded, swallowed my last bite of cantaloupe, and followed him into the bathroom. We talked about this and that as we shaved side-by-side.

  “…career with a second-hand camera making documentaries. His vision was hard to pin down into one genre. That’s one of the biggest things I loved about Kubrick: he wasn’t afraid to dance from one genre to another. He was at home with science fiction as well as dark humor or epic historical dramas.”

  “Spartacus. I mean…fucking Spartacus,” I added, rinsing off my plastic razor. Caiden grinned at me in the mirror that hung over both deep sinks.

  “Yes! Spartacus. My God, have you ever seen a film so expertly crafted? From the screenplay to the casting to wardrobe and props.”

  “Yeah, easily the greatest film he ever directed, although Clockwork Orange is a close second. I love that dark, dystopian world building. I’d give anything to work on a film like that behind the camera. That’s my dream, to be a DOP on some kickass dystopian film. Something gritty and bloody, with a leading man who’s queer as fuck but shitty sick, mentally, you know? He’d be hero and villain all in one. A man who’s trying to save humanity while doing his personal best to fuck his own humanity over at every turn. I can see it in my mind’s eye, the sets and the lighting, the costumes and—”

  His mouth crashed down over mine, the shaving cream left on his upper lip smearing across my face. He danced me back into the wall, my shoulder slamming into a framed movie poster of Chaplin’s The Kid.

  His hand was down the front of my borrowed lounge pants, cradling my balls as he sucked on my tongue. The moment was wild, hot, wet, and intense. He lapped into my mouth over and over, my dick growing harder with every squeeze he gave my
nuts.

  “So much hidden passion,” he growled after the kiss ended. “Fuck me, here, now. Do it, Devon.” He flung himself around, flipped up the hem of his smoking jacket, and bared his tight, pink hole to me. I touched it gently, just the edges, and it clenched tightly.

  “It looks tender,” I said as I rubbed at his puffy entrance. I’d fucked him really roughly last night, at his request. “Are you sure?”

  He wiggled his ass around, pressing back into my finger. Okay, so he seemed sure. “I am positive. Hurry. Get inside me.” The lube and condoms were on the counter now because we seemed to fuck in here as often as we did in his bed. I nudged his legs apart. Caiden mewled like a cat about to get a dish of sardines. “Lots of lube. Yes, perfect.” I coated his ass and balls, then booted up. As soon as the head of my cock touched his hole, he impaled himself, his head flying back then dropping to the counter with a thud. “Fuck yes! Hard now. Ah yes…good boy…such a good boy!” Caiden yelped and shouted as I plowed him madly, my balls swinging and slapping his. “Come on my back. Do it! Shoot all over me, Devon.”

  “Yeah, shit yeah,” I grunted, yanking my dick out of him then peeling the condom off. He moaned long and low when I shot my load on the crack of his ass. He reached back, gathering the cum and spreading it over his ass. “Your turn.”

  I dropped to my knees and pulled his cock back between his legs. With a snarl of pleasure I took him into my mouth and sucked and slurped, toying with his hole as I swallowed as much of his cock as I could. He came with a shout, his spunk coating my lips and teeth and tongue. We were a sticky mess as we nearly fell into the shower, my mouth covering his.

  “Shit, my ass is sore,” he chuckled across my lips. “I’ll have to stand during this stupid affair.”

  “I’ll stand beside you.” I licked along his lower lip and eased us back under the water. He gave me the oddest look, his green eyes dimmed a bit, and then he kissed me with incredible pain and passion.

  “Thank you. I’d love to have someone stand beside me,” he whispered into the steam and water. I wanted to ask but I chose not to, not now, not when we had to be somewhere soon. I’d always assumed the tattoo on his forearm had a story attached to it. Olander. It had to be a name. But whose name? A past lover, a lost family member?

  We slipped apart, reality settling over us, and hurried along in our shower. I found a set of clothes on the bed when we emerged from the bathroom. They looked expensive.

  “I really need to go home soon and get some of my own clothes. If I spill something on this, Luis will hate me.” I lifted the soft blue shirt from the tidy pile that consisted of a beautiful long-sleeved shirt, slim gray pants, and a bright yellow cardigan. A highly buffed pair of loafers sat on the bed, which had been stripped and remade while we’d had our fun in the bathroom.

  “He won’t say a thing because they’re not his; they’re yours. I had him run and do some shopping last night.” Caiden strolled over to a tall wardrobe in the corner, the noontime sun making his naked body glow. “These are yours. Wear them while you’re here, then take them home with you when you…go back home.”

  I stared at the full wardrobe. “Caiden, I really can’t—”

  “Don’t even say a word about them.” He reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a casual looking pair of trousers and a pink shirt. “They’re a gift to you. Close your mouth and get dressed before I’m tempted to shove my dick between those fat lips of yours.”

  There was so much I wanted to say. “Thank you,” I whispered, unable to say anything else right now. This gesture, and the time Brian had opened his home to me, were the kindest things anyone had done for me since I’d come out. New York could be a cold, distant city when you were alone. My heart felt full knowing that I was, just for another week anyway, not a solo act.

  We dressed in companionable silence, both of us seemingly wrapped up in our thoughts. Once we were in the elevator on the way down, Caiden glanced my way, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

  “Someday we need to do it in the elevator.”

  I had to hide my laugh when the elevator stopped and one of his high society neighbors and her tiny dog entered. She gave us both a sharp look over her skinny shades.

  “I love that sweater,” she said, fingering the sleeve of my sweater dangling down from my shoulder. “I was looking at one like it at that little boutique over in Soho. Is that where you got it?”

  I glanced around her to Caiden. He’d slipped into his austere movie producer persona. “I’m not sure where it was purchased. My housekeeper bought it for him since he had nothing but a smile to wear while at my house.”

  The wink he gave the slim blonde was lewd as hell. Heat raced up my neck.

  “You movie types are always so bohemian!” She threw back her head and roared. Her little puffy dog whined at the sound. I was never so happy to get off an elevator in my life. Caiden gave me a small smack on the ass when we stepped out to the curb. “Let’s grab a cab. I don’t feel like pulling up to Simon’s in a fucking Toyota Camry some Uber driver owns.” I nodded, still too embarrassed to speak. With a wave of his hand, a yellow cab was at the curb. “Simon’s West 181st,” he told the cabbie after we were safely in the back seat.

  We rode for two blocks with me scowling before he huffed, took off his sunglasses, and rolled his head in my direction.

  “What?” I asked when he just sat there staring.

  “You’re mad. Tell me why.” I heard his phone vibrating in his shirt pocket. He acted as if it wasn’t even there.

  I glanced at the driver then leaned to the right. “You told that woman I didn’t have any clothes at your place!”

  “And that was a lie how?”

  “It wasn’t, not really, but she didn’t need to know I was naked in your house.”

  “I bet everyone who has seen us together knows we get naked together,” he tossed out.

  “I know it,” the cabbie said in a thick Middle Eastern accent. Caiden waved a hand at the driver. “I see a man in pink shirt and one with a yellow sweater and I think they are a couple of gay men who make hot sex!”

  Caiden snorted in amusement. I wanted nothing more than to leap out of the cab and slither back to my basement apartment to commune with the roaches.

  “And there you have it. We’re a couple of gay men who are making hot sex. Relax. You’re not in Topeka anymore, Devon. This is Manhattan. Trust me, most of the people you’ll meet here are too liberal or too damned wrapped up in their own shit to care what a couple of queens like us are doing.”

  “I’m not a queen,” I huffed, crossed my arms, realized what I’d just done and uncrossed them quickly. “Shit, I really am a queen. Did you see that flounce?”

  “Baby, any man wearing a lemon chiffon color sweater tied and draped artfully over his shoulders is a queen,” Caiden replied. The driver nodded, his smile lifting a black mustache the width of my wrist. “Embrace it and don’t let anyone make you feel less than. The only opinion of you that matters is the one you have of yourself.”

  “Brian told me and Isamu once that the only person who can bring you down is yourself, and that only weaklings let the opinions of stupid shitheads matter.” Caiden gave me an arched eyebrow. “You remind me of him a lot.”

  His upper lip drew back into a look of sheer disgust. “If you ever say that again I’ll paddle that tight ass of yours,” he warned, then stole a quick kiss. Traffic was mental and it took us close to an hour to make it to Simon’s on 181st. Caiden paid the fare then added a fat tip before offering me his arm. I gave the sophisticated white stone and frosted glass eatery’s front a long look. This was the kind of place I’d usually walk past. Not that I walked past places like this often, but when I did, I wouldn’t even try to peek inside.

  “What is your opinion of yourself?” Caiden asked.

  I swallowed down my unease. “I think I’m okay, smart, cute in a cornhusker kind of way, and going into this place with one of the biggest producers of independent LGBT films
in Manhattan.”

  “Damn right.” He wiggled his elbow at me, and I slid my hand under his arm, resting my hand on his forearm. “Smile pretty, bat those long lashes, flash those incredible blue eyes, and let everyone in here know that you’re poised to take my place in about five years. Tell them you’re sleeping with me to wheedle all my creative secrets out of me, then when you’re finished with me, you plan to cast me aside for a sexy script boy.”

  “I’d never do that to you.” It fell out of me. He blinked and coughed at my honesty.

  “I know, and that’s one of the things that sets you apart.”

  He led me into the trendy bistro. The next three hours were a crash course in schmoozing, kissing ass, and artificial smiles. I’d not been under any illusions. A lot of people in the movie business were shallow, sniping sycophants (a comment that Caiden had made just this morning while reading about a snide remark someone had dropped about him at a premiere) but this gathering was packed full of posers and frauds. The only real person I’d spoken to was Adrian Pontimore, the party planner. You could say a lot about a regally tall white man wearing a plum pantsuit with white boots, a white hat with a flower the size of a watermelon, and brandishing a gold lorgnette, but you could not say he wasn’t being himself. Adrian was the most himself person I’d ever met, and I was glad to be able to hide myself away at a corner table with him.

  “Now, I must warn you that I may have to dash if I see someone collecting too many canapés or fingering the foie gras. Don’t take offense. One must keep an eye on things when one’s name is associated with the buffet.” He smiled sweetly, took a sip of his mimosa, crossed an incredibly long leg over the other, and tapped me with his lorgnette. “So, two things. One, where are the clothes I loaned you for the Taylor-Gilles wedding? Two, how long have you and Caiden been a thing?”