by Box Set
He rolls his eyes. “Please tell me you don’t have them all bookmarked.”
“What if I did?”
He shakes his head. “What was it you were saying about it being me who owned a lot of wank fodder?”
“Possession wasn’t the issue. The remark was about how often you get laid. Which is,” I say touching my index finger to my lips. “Not very often.”
“I get laid. I’m just not a man-whore.”
I blow him a kiss. “Yeah, well this man-whore might just be testing your carnal knowledge later. Wouldn’t want you to go getting all squeamish by something that crops up in the show.”
“As long as it’s not your dick, we’ll be fine.”
If it was my dick, he’d be more than fine. I guess my grin scares him, as he backs up a step. The man’s not going to know what hit him once I wrap my lips around his pole. I crack open the bottle of whisky and add a generous splash to what remains of my coffee. Half of it is now swilling around on the tray. The tray I lower to the floor. Alcohol seems like a sound option at the moment. Teasing him is turning me on, maybe it’s turning him on too, but I’m not ready to show my hand yet. Not until I’m certain I’m reading the signs right.
“How soon do you want to start discussing the script?” Jasper asks after we pass a few minutes of almost companionable silence. He’s twitchy over the lack of noise. Me I love it. Love the fact that there’s zero chance of being interrupted. “We may as well get on with it, right? Considering there’s bugger all else to do.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to hunt tentacle monsters?”
He shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure they inevitably hunt you.”
“Okay.” I lift my mug, which I now have balanced against my abs and roll onto my side. “If you’re sure work’s what you want to get on with.” We both find our marked up scripts and start flipping through the pages for the ideal place to start.
“So, the relationship is a complicated one.”
“Agreed. We’re both going to need to throw ourselves into it completely. If we don’t, then the audience isn’t going to buy into the emotional drama, and they need to be invested in that. It’s what makes the script so utterly compelling.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “The physical relationship is pretty intense. I guess a lot of the focus for the weekend ought to be on portraying that adequately.”
“Not just adequately.”
“Effectively,” he corrects himself.
“We both need to commit to going for it and not getting squeamish about being a little hands-on.”
His back stiffens and his broad shoulders hitch up towards his ears, but he fights back, taking a deep breath and blowing it out along with much of the tension. His shoulders return to a normal position.
“Have you done anything like this before?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Never. You?”
“Sorta. It’ll be fine once we’re over the initial hurdle of the first take. After that it’ll be plain sailing.”
He nods, but I’m not sure he believes me.
“Jas, we’re going to totally nail the chemistry. Nothing else about this is going to be an issue.”
“I like your optimism. Let’s hope it’s justified.”
It is. We’re going to make this work because the chemistry is already there. I can see the product of it banked behind Jasper’s eyes. I’ve spent years vetting who got to get close to Dare Wilde. I can read intention and need in people. I’ve clocked the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m unaware.
“So, where do you think a good place to start is?”
You might think we’d read through from the beginning, but that’s not always the best place to start, and filming rarely occurs in order. “This part,” I jab a finger against my open script, which is already marked up with highlighter pen and annotated with stage directions. It’s a scene towards the end of the opening episode that depicts the first showdown between our respective characters. It also happens to culminate in their first kiss, but that’s not until over the page.
Jas nods his head in agreement. “All right, let’s do it!”
Chapter Two
Jasper Frost
This is nuts. I’m pretending to fall for a man I’m pretending I’m not completely turned on by. I don’t know what it is about Lorne Everett that’s got me so riled up in this way, but something happened the day we met. It’s like everything I thought I knew about myself flew out the window, and where I was all girls, girls, girls before, now I’m hot for the man I have to build a professional, and hopefully long-term, acting relationship with.
My stomach is in knots as we start the scene. At least the printed words on the paper lend me some focus. Without the scripted lines, I’d have nothing to ground me. It sounds topsy-turvy that playing make-believe would function that way, but it’s the truth of it. I couldn’t ad lib this interaction to save my life. There’s too much I want to say, but can’t, and a whole lot more that I want to do, but if acted upon would jeopardize everything.
Our timing is far from perfect. We both pause in the wrong places and stumble over sentences that are imperfectly memorised. Still, there’s something about the rhythm of the words that means the potential to create something awesome shines through. We run through the first page twice before we progress over the page and add movement and real expression to the interactions. The scene is kind of a fight. We’ve conflicting goals and there’s this glorious sexual tension sizzling away between us, which makes everything crackle. I swear there’s steam coming off my skin by the time Lorne grabs hold of the front of my shirt and reels me in so that we’re nose to nose.
Oh, bugger, he’s so close. Too close for this to be remotely comfortable, and yet, that’s exactly what the scene demands. Also, if I’m honest, it’s what I want. If he takes the first step, this will be so much easier. Only, why would he? He’s a guy, one acknowledged to be a player. He’s dated a myriad of beautiful women. All that’s happening here is that I’m allowing myself to be seduced by emotions that simply don’t exist. He’s just playing his part. Lorne Everett doesn’t want me. He’s just convincing enough in the role he’s stepped into to make me believe he might.
His hand drops down and snags briefly on my belt. I can’t stop staring into his eyes. They’re like twin fires burning with naked blue flames. I make a noise that’s definitely not part of the script, and my skin floods with heat. Everywhere is hot: my cheeks, my biceps, all around my collar. This feels way too real, but it’d be a mistake to imagine I’m anywhere close to getting what I really want.
Shit, I don’t even know what that is.
I’m not genuinely into guys. I think I’d have figured it out by now if that were the actual case. All I’m experiencing is a temporary infatuation. Who wouldn’t see this guy and all the talent he possesses and fall for him? It’s hard to believe when you come face to face with him that he’s lived so long in Dare Wilde’s shadow. He’s the absolute equal of Wilde any day.
The air of our mixed exhalations heats up the inches wide chasm between our mouths. Lorne’s eyes remain unreadable, fathomless pools. Is he too anticipating the action at the bottom of the third page?
I want to pre-empt the script so badly. What I actually do is stop the action shy of that point. We’ve both been through drama school. At least, I have. That means we know how to screen kiss. Even if that’s not true for Lorne, it’s not exactly a tough action to grasp: part lips, lock together, maintain a clinch, then step apart after a moment or two. We don’t need to practice. Only Lorne doesn’t follow my cue, maybe he thought I was still acting. Instead of backing off after he delivers his penultimate line, he moves his body closer. “Don’t,” I say, not meaning it now, and my character not meaning it either. “It’s a bad idea.”
“It’s not a bad idea, it’s the best, the only good idea I’ve had since I got out of bed this morning.”
Aw, fuck! His lips touch mine. I taste the whisky infused coffee on his
breath. His stubble drags against my jaw. It shouldn’t feel this good.
Probably best not to think about how badly I want this to be real. If I do, I might be tempted to do something unsanctioned, like grabbing hold of his tight arse and forcing our loins together.
Fuck, I’m hard! So very impossibly hard.
I’m trembling with need as his hand comes up around the back of my neck and then into my hair. Heat spreads swiftly over my scalp as he tugs me, dictating where I stand and how long for. A whine escapes my throat. It makes me sound desperate. If I can reproduce it for the camera, hell yeah, it’ll prove just exactly how intense our physical relationship is going to be. Right now it’s totally out of place and a sharp blow to my sanity. Fuck knows what Lorne is thinking. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed that I’m a wreck because of this fucking kiss.
I turn away the moment we part. There’s no way I can look him in the eyes.
“Do you want to run through it again?” he asks.
Do I? It’s a toss-up between that and running for the hills.
“From the exact same place?”
“Yes. Let’s really blow some life into these characters this time and get the actions nailed.”
Blow…Nailed…I’m immediately seeing more than the pair of us kissing. Instead, we’re stretched across the bed making out. It’s a script reality a bit further into the series, but one we should probably opt out of practicing.
I follow Lorne’s lead as we race through the words. It’s like we’ve been sped up. We both know we need to slow shit down, but neither of us makes an effort to do so. All too soon, Lorne’s hands are on my waist again, pulling me close. Then he’s breathing fire into my veins.
I’m so fucking hard it’s starting to hurt. I might need a bathroom trip before we attempt another run through. Scratch that. I definitely need a bathroom trip. NOW!
Never thought the prospect of a trek through the ice and snow would seem like a godsend.
We pull apart, but somehow our bottom lips end up snagged, like we’re neither of us ready to let go. I can’t believe that’s the truth. Does he…could he possibly feel remotely the same way I do? Our gazes lock once our mouths are no longer in contact. We’re both of us breathing hard. I wait, anticipating a rejection, maybe a warm rumbling laugh from him that brushes what just happened between us into a dingy closet. Instead, I watch him strip his pullover off.
“Getting a bit toasty what with all this moving around.”
“Yeah,” I agree nodding dumbly.
“Third time for the win?”
“What do I win?” Fuck! That just slipped out.
A crazy-ass smile plays over his lips.
It makes my stomach cramp. He looks at me, and I swear he knows exactly how desperate I am to both jack off and for this scene we’re playing to be something more than a rehearsal.
“Unless you think it’s time for a break?”
“I don’t know. I guess we could. If that’s what you think.”
“Jeez, I’m still hot.” Hot—he’s not fucking joking. He snags hold of his T-shirt at the back of the neck and tugs it off over his head in one smooth motion. My heart thuds hard enough to make my chest ache. My mam would have a fit if she saw him treating his clothes like that. Me, I’m too distracted by what he’s exposed to worry about the fact he’s just pulled the neckline out of shape on some ancient shirt he probably hand dyed himself before Glastonbury a decade ago.
No, it’s his body that has my attention. The man is cut like he’s been an action hero his whole life, lean abs taper down to his hips. There’s not a hint of hair. Guess he’s a natural blond. A single, tattooed strand of barbed wire winds around his right arm from wrist up to shoulder, where it’s looped around an ornate key. I’d kill for his biceps, and mine aren’t bad. It’s no wonder everyone remembers his performance in Sunsetters. We were all entranced by his physique. I’m not sure anyone has ever worn a towel with such panache. The man is a fucking god made flesh.
“Might be time to check out this wet room.” He sniffs at his pits. “What do you think? We could practice the next scene over there.”
I can’t for the life of me even remember what the next scene entails. Pretty sure it doesn’t involve playing with rubber duckies or soaping one another up, mores the pity.
“Are you suggesting we bathe together?”
He rolls his eyes at my tone. “It’s a whirlpool tub big enough for four sumo wrestlers to soak in if the literature they sent out is to be taken at face value. It’s not like I’m suggesting we sit at opposite ends of a standard sized bath.”
“Yeah, but—”
Oh my fucking God! He slides his fingers into the waistband of his jeans and pushes them down leaving him in a pair of microscopic briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. The wedge of his cock tents the front of them, straining against the holding power of the elastic.
“Got a better suggestion as to how to pass the time?”
Is he coming on to me? Is he testing me, or just teasing?
Getting blind arse drunk sounds like a good option at the moment. I can’t be seeing him like this. No, no, no, not the briefs as well. He turns his back and shimmies out of them. I mourn the chance to ogle his cock, while simultaneously drinking my fill of his arse, which is muscled in all the right places, firm where a butt should be and yet still soft enough to have a bit of curve. As for what all this naked is doing to me…I can’t breathe. It’s like I genuinely forgot how that works. It’s supposed to be automatic, right?
“Makes sense to check out the facilities, since we haven’t done so yet.”
Good point. Still, that doesn’t mean my brain hasn’t fixed onto what else might happen if we go hanging out in a hot tub together.
“Come on Jasper. Straight across the snow and into the bath.”
“It’s not filled.” I protest.
But, whoa…naked! Lorne is naked. He’s going naked into the snow, and he wants to be naked in a tub with me.
What’s all that naked going to lead to?
Maybe all the things I want but am too fucking chicken to admit.
“Coming?” he asks, throwing open the door from the bedroom that leads straight to the wooden hut that houses the bathroom.
Coming? Yeah, maybe, but possibly not in the way he means. My cock is pushed up so hard against my zip there’s gonna be teeth marks along it from root to tip. “I’d have to be nuts to follow you out there in my birthday suit.” The world outside is pure white, with only tiny dots of green and brown of the woodland showing through the layer of snow. The wind whistles, and snowflakes sprinkle over the threshold. He turns, waiting, hand outstretched, like some nature deity.
Fuck. Fuck! “You’re fucking insane.” But it’s a kind of craziness that’s addictive. I strip paying no attention to where I fling my clothes or the fact his gaze is raking over me as I reveal all.
The snow beneath our feet is bone-chilling. My breath clouds in the air before me, yet despite the cold, my dick remains solid. I reach for it instinctively, maybe the intention was to cover it from the cold, but somehow my palm ends up wrapped around the shaft instead. Shit, that’s good. I give it one squeeze, then another. My palm brushes over the delicate head. It’s hot, while the rest of me is freezing.
Lorne brings me back to reality, when snow strikes me mid-chest. I wake from my momentary stupor, bend, scoop, and retaliate. Bastard ducks in time, so that the snowball goes sailing harmlessly over his head. For the next minute or so we frenziedly pelt one another. When he strikes me inches from the bull’s eye that is my cock, I retaliate by rubbing snow into his scalp. Then somehow we end up turned about, and I’m caught in the snare of his gaze, unable to turn away. My face fills with fire.
The cold is seeping up into my feet. The air is bitter, and the wind nips at my bare skin. I’m covered in gooseflesh and everywhere is chilled, but inside I’m ablaze.
“Time to take this inside?” he says.
There are snowflake
s caught in his eyelashes, and a gold hoop ear-ring gleams among the sandy blond of his now ice encrusted hair. He throws a glance back towards the still open door into the bedroom.
“Thought we were taking a bath.”
“That’s one option.”
I feel the heat radiating off his body. His long eyelashes kiss his cheeks when he blinks.
“What’s the other?”
“How explicitly do you want me to spell it out?”
“How do I answer that when I don’t know what you’re going to say?”
“Don’t you?”
“Lorne, I’m fucking freezing. We need to go in. Pick a door, I don’t care which one, but let’s go in.”
He curls his hand around the top of my left bicep. Then his mouth is on mine again, only this time we’re not stage kissing, and there are tongues involved. Immediately, my dick rises. It knows what it wants and, naked, there’s no hiding the response.
Lorne’s hot breath tickles my ear. “I can scrub your back or blow you like you’ve never been blown before, your choice.”
I swallow hard, seek out his gaze, concerned I’ve misheard him. Surely he didn’t really just offer to suck me off.
“Look, I swing both ways, in case you didn’t realise that.”
“You do?” I sound surprised but on a cellular level it’s not really a revelation. It kind of makes sense. His dismissal of societal norms is a major contributor to his appeal.
He bows his head, so that his silky hair spills over his brow.
Sheesh! I ought to be jumping up and down with glee right about now. Instead, I’m numbed. This is what I’ve been fantasizing, or rather, attempting not to fantasize, for the last fortnight. Why not grab it with two hands now that it’s being offered? The thing is; I never expected this to happen. What happens if it turns out I’m not actually into it? Lorne’s the only guy whom I’ve ever felt a tug in my dick over.
He cocks his head to one side. “It’s that difficult a choice is it, Frosty?”