“I’m in my forties now, you now,” Bunny told him. Of course Reuben knew, and he was getting better with every passing year. “But when I was growing up, gay men on TV were either saints, victims or lunatics. My first agent said to me, Don’t come out. You’ll end your career. But I did and it didn’t and…a couple of Captain Firths each year pays for me to do theatre or produce my own stuff. A lot of people got in touch after that show aired. I didn’t expect it to have the impact it did.”
“It was fantastic.” Reuben swallowed. He’d dusted innumerable nipples, male and female, with rouge, but these were Christopher Manners’. Bunny’s. Captain Firth’s. He took his smallest powder brush and spun it against the rouge before saying, “Nipple time, I’m afraid. This might tickle!”
Bunny gave an apologetic grimace. “It will, but pretend not to notice. I’m terribly ticklish. Not very Captain Firth!”
No, ticklish certainly wasn’t something Reuben would have associated with the strait-laced captain.
Reuben hummed under his breath as he leaned in to exaggerate Bunny’s rosy nipples. Up close, they were beautifully shaped, and Reuben did his best to suppress a smile as he thought about taking one of those nipples between his teeth.
For God’s sake…
Reuben shook his head, but it didn’t dislodge the thought.
“That okay? Not too bad?” Reuben asked, his voice slightly higher-pitched as he tried to concentrate. On a very hot pair of nipples.
“God,” Bunny gasped. That did nothing to help Reuben calm his thoughts. He imagined one of those gasps heard in a very different situation, one involving dashing captains and rolling in the hay. “Sorry, ticklish…”
“Never mind! Nearly done…” Reuben filed that gasp away in the corner of his mind where the scene in the Edwardian summerhouse lived. Then he put aside the rouge and dashed powder over the foundation with his biggest powder brush. “Apologies if this makes you sneeze!”
Bunny lifted his chin and said, “Do your worst.”
A cloud of powder rose up as Reuben whisked the brush over Bunny, setting the makeup on his body. When it was done, Reuben wafted his hand in front of his face. “How was that? I’m going to add some dirt once I’ve worked on your back too. Touch up your face, and we’re done.”
“It’s getting easier and easier to make me look rough with every passing year,” Bunny teased. It was nonsense, of course, and he must know it. Rough was the last thing anyone could call Christopher Manners. “Should I stand so you can get at my back? Bedroom scenes are such a bind, aren’t they?”
Yes, what a pain…
“Yeah, if you could stand…” Reuben busied himself with his palette again. He knew from experience that the chest was the important part of a love scene for a male actor, and with a man as toned as Bunny, the stomach was essential. But the back didn’t get as much attention and so wouldn’t take as long.
Bunny rose to his feet and turned his back to Reuben. And what a back it was. And what a bottom, contained by those figure-hugging breeches.
Reuben dragged the sponge over Bunny’s back, enjoying every second. Then he dabbed in some shadow around Bunny’s shoulder blades and down his spine, before once again sending clouds of powder everywhere.
“Back’s done. You can sit down again. Just your arms now.” Reuben rolled his eyes, pretending it was a hard grind, despite it not being a challenge at all.
Bunny didn’t need telling not to sit back in the chair—he’d done this plenty of times. Instead he perched on the edge and asked, “What have you got lined up next? When you’re not making up politicians or tickling nipples?”
“Oh, this and that.” Reuben grinned happily as he sponged Bunny’s arms. Oh, do I have a good gig coming up! “Get this… England rugby team charity calendar, later next year. Not the naked one, but still, it’s a whole week of muscly blokes. Are you jealous?”
“Muscly blokes…” Bunny looked thoughtful. “Now, if you’d said toned and willowy, I’d have asked if you need someone to carry your brushes!”
Reuben raised an eyebrow. Interesting. He caught his own reflection in the mirror and wondered, Am I toned and willowy?
And he decided that he was.
But this was Christopher Manners. He probably had a hot guy waiting for him at home, a hot guy who was not only toned and willowy but so radiant and handsome that he glowed. The only person waiting at home for Reuben was Sanj, his flatmate, and that wasn’t quite the same.
“But before that, I’m booked onto a film. Amy arranged it,” Reuben explained. “Not sure if I can say anything yet, and I haven’t been told very much—I don’t even know who the cast are—but it’s going to be amazing. I am really, really excited about it.” Reuben paused, hand on his hip as he contemplated Bunny’s arm. “Let’s just say, Soho in the 1970s and leave it at that.”
Bunny chuckled. “I’m pretty excited about that too.” He pointed to himself. “I’m producing it.”
Reuben nearly dropped his sponge. “You never are! Wow, that’s so cool. Are you…? Erm…” Reuben couldn’t ask, not if the cast was being kept under wraps. But he pictured himself pressing mutton-chop sideburns to Bunny’s cheeks and he rather liked the idea.
“I’m in it,” Bunny confided in a whisper, putting him out of his misery. “I have to be, really. I wrote it too.”
“You’re in it—and you wrote it?” Reuben got his little brush out again and gave some added definition to Bunny’s arms. Now this was exciting news. He chuckled. “Go on, tell me, are you going to grow huge sideburns or will you need me to stick some on?”
“I’m going to try to grow them, but I’d appreciate it if you get some ready just in case!” He turned his arm a little for Reuben’s benefit. “You’ll have to take my number before we finish today, so we can kick some ideas about. Amy’s the boss, obviously, but…maybe take it anyway?”
Reuben’s stomach did a star-jump. Take it anyway? Bunny’s number?
“Yeah! Okay, yeah, that’d be great!” Amazing! Fantastic! Brilliant! ‘Draw your sword, sir!’ “Wow, it’s such an exciting project, I— Back to Captain Firth for a moment. I’ll give you some smoke stains on your face. Do you want bruises or lacerations or anything like that too? I cut my teeth on A and E, so I can handle any injury, large or small!”
“Of course, you won’t have had a chance to look at the script,” Bunny said. “It’s pretty standard Firth stuff. Fled a burning tavern, legged it over half the county into my girl’s arms… I think a few smoke stains should do the job. Just general rugged stuff, you know the drill.”
Relieved he wasn’t going to have to apply fake injuries to Bunny’s fine figure, Reuben set to work. He used his tried and tested tricks—smudged eyeliner in browns and black, a streak of mascara buffed with a brush, and puffs of heavy blue-black eyeshadow.
“There we go…” Reuben stood aside so Bunny could see his reflection. “Ta-da! Are you ready for sauce with your girl?”
“That’ll do!” Bunny sprang to his feet. “You’d better bring all your bits and bobs. Linda’s a bit heavy-handed, I’ll need touching up.”
Linda. Or Captain Firth’s swooning and feisty love interest, as the British viewers knew her.
“Right, okay then!” Reuben gathered his things up, stowing them safely in his toolbox. It really was a toolbox, bought in a DIY shop, but it was perfect for his work—hard-wearing and roomy, and it didn’t hurt that it was just a little bit butch. “Just one thing before we go—can I sort out your lips?”
“Of course, whatever you need.”
Reuben produced a dusky pink lipstick and swiped just a touch to Bunny’s lips and smudged it with his thumb. For a moment he was tempted to let his thumb linger, and he glanced up at the expression in Bunny’s blue eyes. Something sparkled there. A look of mischief and fun and—
“You lads ready?” Amy peered round the door. “Good job, Reuben!”
Reuben pulled his glance away from Bunny’s. “Thanks! One captain ready to
be ravished.”
“Again,” sighed Bunny ruefully. “If only real life were so exciting, eh?”
“Yeah!” Reuben laughed. But that sparkle in Bunny’s eyes came back to him as he picked up his toolbox and followed Amy and Bunny.
Being ravished by the captain. A lad can dream.
As they approached the set, he had a sudden thought that he might be about to see the room. That humble little cottage where Captain Firth and Tamsin, aka Bunny and Linda, had schemed and seduced, fought and frolicked over the course of the years and the on-again off-again romance that had held viewers so enthralled for so long. People wrote fiction about them on the Internet, carried bags that declared I Heart Captain Firth and even tried to mimic Tamsin’s famed Cornish curls, with the Tamsin featuring in more than a few wedding photos that Reuben had provided makeup for during his training. And he was going to be there in that little cottage on that closed set, adding powder to the captain’s broad chest.
The door opened and Reuben found himself inside the wooden-beamed cottage. It was just as it looked on television, except it was missing a wall. And perched on the side of the bed, with a towelling dressing gown, was Linda Catchpole. Or Tamsin, as she was known to her millions of fans.
“Who’s this?” she said, indicating Reuben.
“Morning!” Reuben replied. He tried to disguise the fact that the lack of a hello left him a bit deflated. “I’m Bunny’s makeup. Ignore me, it’s like I won’t be here.”
“This is Reuben.” Bunny stooped and kissed Linda’s cheek, giving Reuben a grandstand view of that bottom. “I’ve known him for years, darling, he’s on the Soho project.”
“Oh, that…you do understand why I had to turn down the tart-with-the-heart role, don’t you?” Linda yawned and scratched at her famous hair. Bunny smiled as he glanced towards Reuben, then turned his attention back to his co-star.
“I do, but I wish you hadn’t.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “Next time, whatever the project, I am determined to get you on board. Ready to be needlessly aggressive about snogging?”
Linda rolled her eyes. “As ever.” She stood up, shrugged off her dressing gown and held it out to Reuben. Reuben wasn’t sure if he was meant to take it or not, but he did. Underneath, Linda was wearing a petticoat and stays, one shoulder exposed. She raised an eyebrow at Bunny. “Will I do, Captain Firth?”
Reuben struggled to understand how someone could appear so bored at the prospect of romping with Captain Firth. Linda was one of the most envied women on television.
“Always.” He laughed, then dropped into a low and courtly bow. And Reuben did his best not to look at Bunny’s bottom as he did. “Right, let’s get it done, then we can start thinking about Christmas.”
Amy took Reuben’s elbow and shuffled him back into the shadows of the set. Bunny and Linda huddled together with the director, looking down at the script, and Amy whispered, “How was he?”
“How do you mean?” Reuben asked. “He seemed perfectly happy to me. Not that I’ve worked with him before, but he’s hardly a prima donna.”
“He’s not any trouble,” she whispered, casting a meaningful look at Linda. “But he isn’t doing his first topless scene after maternity leave, is he? Hence the closed set. The Mail’d love to get their hands on pictures of this.”
“Hey, I don’t do that. I wouldn’t,” Reuben told her. “I got the impression Linda wasn’t very pleased to see me here. But you know me, I’m not interested in anyone’s boobs.”
She chuckled then fell silent as everyone moved into position. Reuben had seen this more times than he could count in his career, but watching Bunny at work was a real Christmas present.
Linda was ready for the scene. She clutched onto the bedpost as if for dear life and turned, her eyes flashing, her hair tumbling about her shoulders, as Bunny approached.
Linda wrung as much emotion from her line as she could when she implored, “Do you…do you…love her?”
Bunny stood before her, his presence somehow filling the space. He put his hands on his hips and replied in that familiar, sonorous tone that was uniquely Captain Firth, “Don’t be a bloody fool, woman. And don’t make me ask about the lieutenant.”
“You’re lying!” Linda wailed. “You speak false, and you break my heart!”
“You’ve no heart to break, Tamsin,” he replied. “Not anymore.”
“And it’s all your fault, you bastard! You baseborn cur!” Linda turned and struck Bunny across the face.
Reuben winced, then he was on point in case Linda had smudged Bunny’s makeup. Amy nudged him and grinned as Bunny caught Linda’s wrist and pulled her to him for one of those kisses. The kisses that people would be talking about around the office coffee machine after the Easter bank holiday.
Linda melted into Bunny’s embrace, responding to the kiss. Even if Bunny wasn’t kissing a man, the effect of such a passionate clinch left its mark on Reuben.
Imagine being held in those strong arms and devoured by his kisses. Imagine being tumbled back onto the bed by him as Linda was now. It’d be the best thing ever.
Linda moaned and sighed, roaming her fingers through Bunny’s hair and up and down his back. Reuben tried to be professional and keep an eye on the contours he’d drawn on Bunny’s back, but his mind was constantly invaded by the thought—What would it be like to moan and sigh under Bunny?
“I love you,” Bunny gasped. “Though the devil sent you…”
Linda gripped his shoulder. “You blaggard!” she cried, but her voice was soon lost in more of that groaning and carrying on that seemed to be Linda’s trademark and kept viewers tuning in.
“Cut!” the director called eventually. “Okay, let’s get Bunny’s arse done, then under the covers for the montage. Linda’s robe, please, and a genital whatsit for the captain!”
Bunny pushed himself up from the bed and declared, “Lucky old Bunny, eh!”
Reuben looked for a discreet corner for Bunny to disrobe in. I’m going to see him naked. And not on a screen. “I’ll…just get the makeup ready…”
“It’s that shot,” Bunny told him as he left Amy and Linda to their own powder and brushes. “You know the one. The slow peel out of the breeches and into the saucy montage. I should ask for one of those stunt bums when it’s as cold as this, shouldn’t I?”
Not that Reuben had been looking, but the front of Bunny’s breeches looked amply stuffed to him.
“Do you need a hand getting the breeches down?” There’s something I never thought I’d ask.
Bunny shot him a smile and murmured, “Maybe later?”
Reuben blinked at him in surprise.
Have I just been propositioned?
Maybe it was a joke. But then again, Bunny had wanted to swap numbers with him. Maybe—no, it couldn’t be true. Reuben opened his toolbox and got to work mixing a paler shade of foundation for Bunny’s buttocks. As he did, Bunny took a small piece of cloth from one of the wardrobe women then disappeared behind Tamsin’s screen to prepare himself with the world’s least sexy bit of costume. Not that Reuben would see it, of course. Nobody would—it was there strictly to preserve the decency of Bunny and Tamsin once the breeches fell away.
“Let me know when you’re ready!” Reuben called. Amy and Linda were leaving the set, he noticed, calling something about the coffee machine as they went. The door was just closing behind them when Bunny emerged from behind the screen, his breeches in place but loosely fastened.
“Where d’you want me?” he asked.
“Where would you be comfortable?” Reuben asked in his best soothing tones. The kind that one actor had said made him sound like a nurse approaching with a giant syringe. “Face down on the bed?”
Bunny nodded, already strolling with his natural assurance towards the rumpled bed. As though it was the most natural thing in the world, he unfastened his breeches and, a moment before he settled atop the covers, glanced back to ask, “How loose is that powder? Do you need them pretty low?”
“How about down to your knees?” Reuben suggested. He was glad Bunny was face down, otherwise he would’ve seen Reuben blushing. Hurrah for closed sets. Bunny gave a sound of acknowledgement then wriggled the breeches down to reveal his bottom. He was entirely unselfconscious. Unlike Reuben.
Reuben pressed the sponge to Bunny’s bottom and narrowly suppressed a sigh. It was perfect. Round and firm and peachy. He stippled away, asking, “Is that all right? Not too cold?”
“Not at all.” Bunny cradled his chin on his hand and glanced over his shoulder at Reuben. Then he asked in a grave voice, “So, what did you do at work today, Reuben?”
Please don’t notice that I’m blushing.
“I’m the envy of half the country because I wiped a sponge over Captain Firth’s bare arse. Not too bad a day, all said and done.”
Bunny laughed. “I bet you trained for years to powder my bum, didn’t you? Time well spent!”
“I could make a joke here about the politician’s face that I was supposed to be making up today, but…I won’t.” Reuben dabbed some rouge on his finger, then paused and wiped it onto another sponge. He gave Bunny a couple of pink highlights on his buttocks, relieved he’d stopped himself in time from touching Reuben’s bottom with his bare hand. Not the done thing. A face, yes. A bottom, absolutely not.
“Is it going to survive the unpeeling breeches?” Bunny asked. “My bottom makeup, not the politician!”
‘Draw your sword…’
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