Damage Control

by Lynn VanDorn

  Yes, it was only sex, but nevertheless it was so damn good. Good enough to almost forget that it meant nothing at all.

  Tyler pulled out of Josh’s mouth and slid down his body. “I can fuck your ass until you wince when you have to sit.” Tyler kissed the corner of Josh’s mouth, liking the look of his wet, swollen lips. “I can be whatever you want.”

  Josh wiped his face on a corner of the sheet. He was quiet for several moments, then he finally said, “Just be yourself. Don't be or do what you think I want. Be what you want. Do what you want.”

  Tyler’s heart stuttered in his chest. He wondered if Josh had any idea what a gift those words were. Probably not. He gave Tyler a serene smile and waited, patient as a saint, for him to speak.

  Tyler took a moment to consider. He wanted to be free of the video, to have the scandal behind him in the form of old, boring news, to have a new and larger part in a movie that would be a hit. But he also wanted Josh, who was sweet and sexy and earnest and handsome, and was also hopelessly mired in a life so different from Tyler's that they might as well live on different planets.

  Tyler wanted to have his cake and eat it, too. That was what came of being an intrinsically selfish person. However, there wasn't anything he could do now about any of his wants except for Josh, so he bent down and kissed him with all the sweetness he could muster, his tongue sliding with careful delicacy into Josh’s eager mouth. He tasted his semen on Josh’s tongue, and a wave of possessiveness swamped him. God, how he wanted this man. Stop it. Just stop. He rode out the wave of want and need and brought himself under control.

  “I want to fuck you, and I will,” he said, making his voice sound light and carefree, “but not tonight. It's late and I'm tired and nervous about the interviews, and what I want, since you asked so very nicely, is not to be alone.”

  Josh ran a hand through Tyler’s sweat-dampened hair, brushing it away from his forehead. “I think I can manage that,” he said, reaching past Tyler and turning off the light. Then he lay on his side and tucked Tyler in front of him. “Don't worry,” Josh said into his ear. “You'll be great. I just know it.” He was quiet for a while, then he added, “I've been meaning to tell you. I don't want the money. I'm not going to take it.”

  “I just fucked your face and you want to discuss finances? Your pillow talk sucks.” Tyler didn't want to talk about the money. The promised salary was a combination barrier and safety net, reminding them both that what they were doing was in no way personal.

  Even if maybe it was.

  “Tyler, I'm serious.” Josh tugged on him so that they faced each other again, even if it was difficult to see much in the darkened bedroom.

  “So am I.” Tyler more sensed than saw Josh’s frown. He ran a finger over Josh’s lips to try and reverse it. “You should take it. It's yours.”

  “No. I can't—won't—accept it. I never meant to. Even before we started… whatever this is that we're doing.”

  Tyler was afraid to think too hard about the implications of that. “But—”

  Josh leaned forward and kissed him. “No. Shut up and let me say this. Firstly, I don't want the money in any way, shape, or form. And secondly, I was thinking about something Tom said.”

  “What? Or am I still not allowed to talk?”

  Josh kissed him again, nipping at his lower lip. “Smartass. I wasn't paying attention to everything he said, but I did catch that he wants you to attach yourself to a charity.”

  Tyler made a face. He hated the idea of using charity for publicity. It seemed super sleazy to him. It wasn’t that he didn't donate to several charities, he just preferred them being anonymous donations.

  “You want me to donate the money to charity so I can be all ‘look at me’ about it? You donate it to charity if you feel so strongly about it.”

  “I was thinking that instead of donating to a charity, you could maybe start your own. What about a legal fund to work on getting places like Bridges banned or shut down, or something like that? It would be a better use of that money than handing it over to me. I don't need it.”

  Tyler thought of how he had tried, and failed, to get Bridges shut down. How Brad had tried, and failed, to help him. They had been too young, probably, and no match for their father, who had a vested interest in keeping what had happened there to his son quiet. It was one thing to pay a nice, stiff fee to ensure your troublesome son was discreetly tortured “for his own good.” It was quite another to have that dirty laundry aired in public. Peter Chadwick had made sure they failed. Bridges stayed open and the torture kept on happening. But not to him. Not anymore.

  Closing down Bridges and places like it would go a long way to assuaging his guilt that he'd managed to escape after having spent only twenty-two days there. Some of the boys had been there for months and months. Like Trev. Tyler shoved that thought away. No. He was not going to think about that tonight.

  “Well, if you're determined to reject my generous compensation, I can't force you to take it,” Tyler said. “The money wasn't my idea in the first place, you know. I just wasn't going to have Ryan pay you to be with me.”

  Josh winced. “No. I don't know what Rachel was thinking. That was beyond… it was…” He made a sound of disgust.

  “Yeah,” Tyler agreed. “Okay, I'll talk it over with Ryan and Tom. See what they think. Hell, I'll get Ryan to fork over matching funds. I think you’re right. Fucking with places like Bridges would be money well spent.”

  “Good. Now try to get some sleep.” Josh let Tyler turn and arrange himself into a comfortable position. When he'd settled, Josh’s arm went around his waist and his lips brushed the back of his neck. He let out a hum of what Tyler could only think was contentment.

  Tyler allowed himself to be held and thought, I might be in serious trouble here. But even that thought wasn't enough to pull him away from the warm, solid body at his back.

  What I really want is to have my Josh and eat him, too, Tyler thought, and that isn't possible.

  –—

  Wednesday, September 21st, 5:46 a.m.

  Josh’s extremely tidy bedroom and very boring guest bathroom

  Evanston, IL

  Tyler woke sweating and shaking, his heart pounding like it wanted to escape his chest. Between the recurring nightmare he'd just experienced and the uncertainty of the future, he needed solace, release, and escape. He'd put it off as long as he could, but he'd reached a tipping point. He was going to break his promise.

  He glanced at the red numbers of the alarm clock and saw it was 5:46 a.m. He eased away from Josh, snagged his underwear that had been discarded in the hallway, and crept to the guest bathroom. Instead of beautiful blue and gray tiny glass tiles, this bathroom was done in generic but inoffensive beiges and browns. Tyler turned on the shower, setting the temperature as hot as he could stand, then recovered his blade from its hiding spot.

  It bothered him that there was only one. He’d grabbed two, he was nearly certain, but later he'd found only one in his pocket. He wondered if he'd lost one and if Josh had found it, but if he had, why hadn't he said anything? Tyler added this on top of his already heaping pile of potential disasters.

  In the shower, Tyler let the water beat down on his head, and he contemplated his options. In the end, he chose a spot in between his groin and thigh. He made a careful cut, less than an inch long and no more than a quarter inch deep. He couldn't see the blood well up, but he could imagine how it looked—dark, thick maroon beads that became lighter and thinner as they mixed with the water from the shower. The blood from the cut ran down his leg and then hit the water pooling in the tub, making bright red swirling designs that slipped down the drain.

  Watching it, his mind went blank, forgetting the nightmare and his nerves and his anxiety. His hand went to the cut and worried it a little, coaxing both more blood and stinging pain from it.

  Stop. I should stop. I will. In just a second. Stop.

  It wasn't until he started to feel the water cooling that he cam
e to his senses. He turned off the shower, grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wedged it over the cut. He dried himself off and when he checked his makeshift bandage, there was only one tiny spot of blood on it. That was good.

  He dried his hair, shaved, slathered on moisturizer, and thought about getting dressed, but after the blood and the shower he felt relaxed and sleepy. They didn't have to be at the airport for several hours, so Tyler put on his black boxer briefs (all the better to hide blood, my dear), carefully slid the cardboard sleeve back onto the blade and hid it with his things, then went back to the master bedroom and Josh.

  The sun was just starting to rise, but the room was still shrouded in darkness. Tyler felt his way over to the bed and slipped under the covers. Josh’s arms found him and folded around him, enveloping him in heat and comfort and the illusion of safety, as if nothing could ever touch him or hurt him in that space.

  It was a dangerous fantasy, but Tyler allowed it to wash over him and pull him back down into, if not sleep, at least a comfortable doze.

  He pretended that the drowsy word Josh whispered against his neck was just his imagination. “Mine.”

  Then he added that, too, to his growing pile of anxieties.

  –—

  Wednesday, September 21st, 1:50 p.m.

  O’Hare Airport

  Chicago, IL

  Purvi: Talk to me. How was it? Dish the dirty details already.

  Tyler: I don't want to talk about it.

  Purvi: :( that bad?

  Tyler: NO!

  Tyler: Yes.

  Tyler: No.

  Tyler: Maybe.

  Tyler: It's complicated.

  Purvi: Since when did your life become a Facebook status?

  Tyler: Screw you. This isn't funny.

  Purvi: It's a little funny.

  Purvi: Stop sulking.

  Tyler: I had the dream again. And

  Purvi: And what?

  Purvi: Tyler?

  Purvi: Dammit. Fuck you. Fuck you very much.

  Tyler: Sorry. Had to go through security at the airport.

  Tyler: Purvi?

  Purvi: Sigh. I'm still here.

  Tyler: P, I did it again. It's a really small one, though. Barely an inch long. But if Josh finds out he's going to be pissed. I promised him I wouldn't.

  Purvi: You dumbass.

  Tyler: I know, I know.

  Purvi: Why, ffs?

  Tyler: Shit, if I knew the answer to that, I wouldn't do it. Why do you eat chocolate even though you're supposed to be on a diet?

  Purvi: Fuck you.

  Tyler: I rest my case.

  –—

  Thursday, September 22nd, 11:00 a.m.

  An expensive hotel suite

  Manhattan, NY

  “We're going to have to do something about your hair. It's a disaster. You look like a fairy fallen on hard times.” Sydney, Tyler’s stylist, made a disgusted face. She looked a bit fae herself, with her small stature, blond hair cut in a pixie style, and huge blue eyes. Tyler thought she resembled Tinkerbell minus the wings, but had enough of a sense of self-preservation to never say it out loud in her presence.

  Josh laughed at her assessment because he was an asshole. “Skittles and Pixy Stix,” he chimed in, then snickered. Tyler wanted to toss something at his dark, curly head.

  “No one asked your opinion.” Tyler turned back to Sydney. “What do you suggest?”

  “I've got a friend who lives in the area and does hair. I'll give her a call and get her to come here.”

  “Good idea,” said Tom.

  It felt like a million years since they’d left Josh’s condo. Yesterday had passed in a disorienting blur of airports, dodging paparazzi, taxi rides, and finally collapsing into bed in the suite at the hotel Purvi had booked them into. Even Josh had been too exhausted to do more than snuggle into him last night.

  When I leave, I'm going to have to get that man a giant teddy bear, Tyler thought.

  “TMZ has pictures of you on their website,” Tom said, looking up from his laptop.

  “Are they flattering?” Tyler asked.

  Tom turned the laptop toward him. It was a photo of Tyler and Josh sitting in the first-class lounge in the airport, waiting for their plane. Tyler’s head leaned on Josh’s shoulder while Josh rested his cheek against the top of Tyler’s head.

  “There’s a few more, mostly of the two of you walking through the airport. Here's what they have to say: ‘Despite the recent scandal over a certain video leaked showing Tyler Chadwick in a compromising position, Dr. Joshua Rosen, a dermatologist in the Chicago area and longtime family friend, is staunch in his support of his boyfriend. Here the two are seen traveling together to New York. When asked about the video, Dr. Rosen said that it was ancient history and had no bearing on his relationship with Chadwick.’”

  “Well, that explains the plethora of emails I've been getting,” Josh said. “How do these people even get my email address, anyway?”

  “Have you answered any of them?” Tom asked, his sharp gaze lasering in on Josh.

  Josh gave Tom a look like he thought the other man was crazy. “No. Why on earth would I?”

  “Can you show me the emails? Some of them we might not want to ignore.”

  Josh looked a little sick. “We? Does this mean you're my publicist now, too?”

  “You and Tyler are effectively a unit, at least for the foreseeable future. This is what you signed on for.”

  Josh opened his mouth, probably to say something along the lines that he hadn't signed anything, and if Tom realized that Josh wasn't on contract he'd probably have an aneurysm. It was interesting, now that Tyler thought about it, that Ryan hadn't insisted on there being a formal contract drawn up. What with the flurry of activity that had gone on, Tyler hadn't even considered the idea until now, and it seemed very out of character for Ryan to have ignored such a detail. Granted, Josh was Josh. Practically family, but it would be for the best not to let Tom know that Josh was helping Tyler merely out of the goodness of his heart.

  “I did warn you that helping me would be a pain in the ass,” Tyler told Josh. He leaned down and said near his ear, “But I'd like to think there are compensations.”

  On cue, Josh blushed. “The thing is, though, that I never talked to TMZ. I have no idea where that quote came from.”

  “Oh, about that,” Tyler said. “Ethan, my ex, works for them. He texted me last night and I might have mentioned that we were flying to New York, and I might have mentioned Josh, and I might have given him a quote from Josh.”

  “Might?” Josh asked.

  Tyler grinned at him, momentarily forgetting his nerves. “Ethan really is the best ex-boyfriend a guy could have.”

  “Should I be jealous?” Josh asked, not looking in the least threatened.

  “Let me see. Should my fake boyfriend be jealous of the guy I broke up with almost two years ago and who is so happy with his fiancé that it's borderline gross? That would be a big fat no.”

  “Can you trust him?” Tom asked.

  “Of course. He's the one who called me in the middle of the night to tell me about the video in the first place. Also, that blurb is all him. Totally his writing style.”

  “All right,” said Tom. “Ryan has gotten a start on your foundation idea, Tyler. You need a name for it, though.”

  “That’s easy. Call it The Chadwick Foundation. That’ll piss my dad off, plus it sounds very official. Like the sort of thing that would sponsor programs on NPR.”

  Josh snorted, but Tom nodded. “Good. I'll contact your brother about it and make sure to start getting the word out about it.”

  “Tyler,” Sydney said, “I want you to try on a few things for me that I brought so I can see what's going to work best with the blue hair. Does it have to stay blue? I can have Sam color it when she comes to cut it.”

  “The studio wants it to stay blue for now, at least until the interview with Entertainment Weekly, since they're planning on taking pictures,” Tom sa
id. “They want the visual reminder that he’s portraying a well-loved character from an extremely popular series of books. The blue stays, at least for now, end of discussion.”

  Sydney sighed. “If we have to keep the blue, can I at least have Sam freshen up the color? The navy bits still look okay, but the lighter areas are going grayish-green and right now it’s all very fairy crack whore.”

  “She can blue me up, I guess. You're right, my color is fading, but I'm sick and fucking tired of blue hair, so hands off my roots. I promised Brad that I'd cut the blue off for his wedding and I can't wait.” Tyler turned toward Tom. “After tonight, if the studio wants me in blue hair for anything short of filming The Golden Key, they can eat a bag of dicks, okay? Or get me a wig. A wig would be acceptable.”

  Tom made a somewhat affronted face but didn't comment.

  “Now that's settled,” Sydney said, “let's see what I have that works with blue hair and doesn't make you look like a fairy junkie.”

  “Elfin prostitute,” Josh corrected.

  Tyler glared at him, but Josh had gone back to playing with his phone. “I hate you,” Tyler said. “You are a terrible fake boyfriend.”

  Josh shook his head but kept his eyes on his phone.

  Tyler flipped him off, not that Josh even noticed, then headed for the bedroom. When he opened the door, he looked back and Sydney was still in the suite’s living room, staring at Josh. “Do you want me to try on clothes or what?”

  “Right,” Sydney said, and grabbed everything she'd brought with her. She pushed past Tyler and laid it all on the bed before pulling him into the room and shutting the door behind her.

  “Okay,” Tyler said. “What do you want me to try on first?”

  Sydney smacked the back of his head.

  “Ow! What the hell, Syd?”

  “I might ask you the same thing, Tyler. What the hell do you think you're doing?”