They’d walked to Kit’s after the farewell party for Blythe and James, since it was closest to the pub and they’d been drinking enough that none of them felt safe to drive. “I didn’t have the chance to get to know James very well, but I’m going to miss Blythe. I couldn’t have asked for a better Guinevere,” Jonathan had said with a mournful tone in his voice. “She promised to keep in touch, but I know how hard that can be. You start out with good intentions, but then you get caught up in the next role, and the one after that….”
“You think that’s what’s going to happen to us, don’t you? You think we’re going to drift apart when we aren’t living in each other’s pockets anymore,” Kit had said sadly. The final scene between Arthur and Guinevere had been as powerful as anyone could have hoped—regret, contrition, and an enduring love coming across so powerfully Kit would have sworn the emotions were real if Jonathan hadn’t left the set and come home to Kit’s and Devon’s arms. If that kind of connection could fade, what hope did the three of them have?
“I didn’t mean us, Kit,” Jonathan had insisted, pulling Kit into his arms. “It’s the reality for most of the friendships that form during filming, though sometimes you can make them last. But this—what we have, the three of us—this isn’t some casual acquaintance that’s going to wear off just because we aren’t seeing each other every day. We proved that while Devon was gone. Besides, even after I go back”— Jonathan’s voice had caught in his throat, despite how much Kit knew he was looking forward to spending time with Josh again—“you’ll still have Devon.”
“Not for long,” Devon had interjected. “I signed on for The Handler while I was in LA. It starts filming in Prague next month.” Looking a bit guilty, he’d shrugged. “At the time, I thought staying busy would help keep me from missing you both so much. Now I’m wishing I hadn’t been so quick to jump into something else right away.”
Shaking his head to push the memories aside, Kit focused back on the tattoo artist as he finished the scrollwork on Jonathan’s tattoo. He shifted a little in his seat, imagining running his lips over the new mark… and from there up to more intimate locations. The tattooist wiped the area clean, slathered it in Aquaphor, and covered it with a gauze pad. “Leave that on for about an hour,” he instructed, “and then you can take it off and wash it gently with soap and your hands. Don’t rub it with a washcloth or anything.”
Nodding his agreement, Jonathan levered himself carefully from the chair, patting Devon on the shoulder and sliding onto the stool next to Kit as soon as Devon vacated it. “Drop trou there, Devon. You’re next.”
“Same place?” the tattooist asked, stretching while Devon removed his slacks and positioned himself in the chair.
“Same place,” Devon agreed, winking at Kit as he spread his knees so the tattoo artist could move between his legs. “I don’t expect this is the oddest spot you’ve ever had to ink.”
“You’d be amazed where some people want a tattoo,” the artist agreed, looking up from his needle. “You’re the actors from Camelot, aren’t you? I thought I recognized you when you made the appointment, and the design fits with that.”
“We wanted something to remember the filming by,” Kit said quickly, hoping the man wouldn’t read more into the tattoo than that. It was one of the reasons they’d decided on the Grail in the first place. It gave them credible deniability if anyone ever asked them about it.
The artist picked up a marker and copied the design from his stencil onto Devon’s skin the same way he had done Jonathan’s before he began, making Kit squirm in his seat as he imagined the felt tip tickling his skin.
Jonathan draped an arm around Kit’s shoulders, hoping it would look like nothing more than one friend reassuring another. “And we decided on someplace where we wouldn’t always have to hide it with makeup.” He wasn’t sure the tattooist would buy that, though it was certainly true. “Not like that fanboy emblem on Devon’s shoulder.”
“Just because some directors can’t appreciate the glory of Man U—”
It turned out the tattooist was also a fan, and before long he and Devon were engaged in a fervent discussion of this year’s team and their chances in the upcoming match against Chelsea. Jonathan took the opportunity of their distraction to nuzzle Kit’s ear. “You’re going to look so beautiful in that chair. I’m going to be hard just watching you.”
Jonathan’s comment was enough to have Kit hardening in his track pants. “Not a good idea when you’re still just wearing your boxers,” he whispered back. “We’re trying to keep this guy from finding out about us, not advertising our relationship to him, remember?” He couldn’t help but appreciate Jonathan’s effort to put him at ease, though. Knowing Jonathan was watching him, thinking lusty thoughts about him, would help distract him from the needle against his leg.
“Just imagine what it will feel like once it’s healed enough for me to trace it with my tongue.” Jonathan shifted on the stool, the image affecting him just as powerfully as he intended it would Kit.
Kit only hoped the buzzing of the needle hid the moan that escaped his lips at the decadent image evoked by Jonathan’s words. “If you get me hard before I get in the chair, he’s going to notice for sure,” Kit hissed, “and somehow I don’t think he’ll buy that I get off on the experience, since I’ve never done this before to know.”
“Sorry.” Jonathan grinned, leaning back to put some space between them. He’d started to suggest Kit flirt with the tattooist and maybe the man would think the arousal was for him, but the words died on his lips. He didn’t want to think about Kit flirting with anyone but him or Devon, even when it was just playing a role. “Did you like any of the scripts your agent sent you?” he asked instead, steering the conversation to a safer topic.
“There was one that looked fun,” Kit replied, appreciating the diversion. “The Romany Affair. It’s a thriller. They’re looking at me for the role of the Romany prince who’s torn between helping his brother escape from prison and the agent he’s falling in love with.”
“Sounds perfect for you.” Jonathan had no doubt that Kit would prove as convincing a prince as Devon would the lethal bodyguard he’d signed on to play in his next film. He glanced at Devon in the chair, any discomfort overshadowed by the passion with which he was decrying the officiating in the Reds’ last match against Newcastle. “Vidic was screwed—Smith should have been tossed after that hit,” Devon was saying, the tattooist nodding in agreement as he refilled his ink. Jonathan grinned as he caught Devon’s eye, remembering the equal passion Devon had brought to their bed the night before. He’d miss that energy as much as Kit’s still unbridled enthusiasm…. Blinking, he turned his attention back to Kit. “Who are they looking at for your love interest?”
“I haven’t heard,” Kit replied. “It’s not a sure thing. I’d still have to go to an audition, but they asked me to come, so I figure that’s a good sign.” Kit paused and looked up at Jonathan from beneath his lashes. “You could audition for the role of the love interest.”
“Are they casting a male as the agent?” Jonathan asked in surprise before the twinkle in Kit’s eyes let him in on the joke. “You’re the only one who thinks I look good in drag, Kit-Kat.”
“But I’d give a much more convincing performance if I was falling in love with you than if it’s some girl,” Kit said. “I have to admit I’m a little nervous about the sex scene toward the end. It fades to black before it gets too explicit, but I don’t know what to do with a girl.”
“You’re an actor; you act.” Jonathan ached to drop a reassuring kiss on Kit’s lips, but he settled for running a hand through the dark hair, letting it rest at the base of Kit’s neck. “I’ve filmed enough love scenes, some with women I wouldn’t share the time of day with if I had the choice, that I’ve learned to recast my partner in my head when I have to.” He rubbed his thumb over the ridge of Kit’s spine, the warm skin beneath his making him harden again in anticipation of stripping the short, tight T-shirt from
Kit’s body once they were all finished. “Besides, I seem to remember you handling two ‘girls’ and not leaving either of them complaining.”
Kit couldn’t stop the chuckle at the memory of Jonathan and Devon in drag, bearded faces and all. “But that’s because I love you,” he said, careful to keep his voice low. He paused for a second before adding, “I guess that’s what I have to keep in mind when I’m filming. I have to let what I feel for you show on my face when I’m looking at her, whoever she is. Or I could try to convince the director that the film would get a whole lot more attention with a male agent.”
“You might get an independent director on a smaller film to consider that, but with a blockbuster like Romany, that isn’t the kind of attention the studio would accept.” Jonathan had been giving serious thought to what might happen to his career if his relationship with Kit and Devon became widely known. He’d done well enough that he didn’t have to take roles just to pay the bills anymore; if the major studios had a problem with his personal life, he was pretty sure he’d still be able to find parts. Maybe in smaller films with more avant-garde directors, but he wasn’t sure that would even be a sacrifice at this point, if it meant more time to spend with Devon and Kit. “Anyway, the director must think you’re enough of an actor to carry it off, since he’s inviting you to audition.”
Kit nodded. “I know. I’m just nervous. This will be my first big film audition. I did Around Every Corner, and I’ve done a couple of indie things, but this is in a totally different league.” He glanced toward Devon, where the tattoo artist was applying a thin coating of gel and a gauze pad to Devon’s thigh. “Looks like it’s my turn.”
“You’ll do fine, Kit.” Devon clasped Kit’s shoulder, the touch enough for him to tell Kit was anxious about more than just the upcoming audition. Letting his voice lower in tone as well as volume, he added, “Just watch Jon and me watching you. It’ll be finished before you know it.”
Kit couldn’t stop the butterflies in his stomach as he took off his track pants and settled in the chair, the leather warm from Devon’s body. He glanced around the room, trying to find something safe to look at as the tattoo artist started tracing the stencil of the Grail onto his leg. The pen tickled, making it hard to stay still. “Don’t move,” the man said. “It’s not that big a deal if I mess up with the pen, but if I mess up with the gun, it’s a lot harder to fix.”
Kit nodded, his eyes pleading with Jonathan and Devon for help.
“Would it be okay with you if we hold his hands?” Devon asked, hoping it sounded casual. “The lad’s a tattoo virgin. Maybe we can hold him down and keep him from jumping on you.”
“We’ll stay out of your way,” Jonathan added, dragging the wheeled stool he’d been sitting on to a spot at the other side of Kit’s chair.
“Sure, lots of people are nervous their first time.” The tattooist looked up at Kit and smiled. “I promise to be gentle, and if your friends here are any guide, you’ll be coming back for more.”
“They’ve certainly convinced me to come back for more of other things,” Kit said, gamely summoning a smile as the tattooist picked up the gun. The first prick of the needle startled him, and he jumped a little despite the steadying hands, but it didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected. He was able to relax a little, although the steady bites of pain killed what remained of his hard-on from flirting with Jonathan earlier. It was probably just as well, given the way his legs were splayed. The openings of his boxers were loose, and one side was pushed up to give the tattooist access to the skin he was inking. If he looked right, he’d probably get an eyeful. Fortunately he seemed too focused on what he was doing to ogle Kit’s package.
Devon had no such distraction, and he rolled his stool a few inches to give him a clear view inside Kit’s boxers. “Looking good, sunshine,” he said in a jovial voice that belied the anticipation of getting more than his eyes on Kit’s body.
Jonathan rolled his eyes, though he knew Devon was just trying to get Kit to relax. “From here too,” he said softly, watching the Grail’s outline take form under the tattooist’s steady hand.
Kit scowled at Devon for using the nickname in front of the tattooist, but at least he hadn’t called Kit “kitten.” He supposed he should be grateful for small mercies. Despite the nearness of the needle, he could feel his body reacting to Devon’s gaze. He glanced at Jonathan for help or distraction or both.
Constrained by the tattooist’s presence, Jonathan traced the lifeline on Kit’s palm with his thumb, his gaze holding Kit’s eyes. He’d been struck by their dark intensity the first time they’d met, but now, watching the pupils dilate and the ring of golden highlight that rimmed the iris brightening, he could tell without having to share Devon’s view that Kit was getting aroused. Leaning down, he murmured in a voice that would carry no farther than Kit’s ear, “Are you getting hard, kitten? Giving Devon a show, watching your cock fill up?” His own balls were tightening, and he knew he was playing with fire by teasing Kit this way, but he couldn’t help himself—not when they had so little time left.
Devon couldn’t hear what Jonathan was whispering to Kit, but he could make a good guess, based on the way the younger man’s cock was starting to bob beneath the thin veil of cotton. Bending down, he nudged the shell of Kit’s ear with his nose. “Is Jon being naughty? Maybe we should discipline him when we get home.”
“Now who’s being naughty?” Kit hissed as the thought of playing out a discipline scene with Jonathan only added to his arousal. It wouldn’t be long before he had a wet spot on the front of his boxers if they kept this up. “Can I spank him this time?”
If the tattooist heard the sibilant comment, he kept his head down, his focus on the intricate knotwork design. Devon glanced across the chair at Jonathan, but he couldn’t tell if their lover had heard the remark either—Jonathan was whispering something else to Kit, his tongue flicking out to trace the whorl of Kit’s ear when it was clear the tattooist wasn’t watching them.
Between Jonathan’s whisperings about what he’d do to Kit as soon as they got home, most of which involved his mouth on Kit’s dripping cock, and Devon’s silent agreement to let Kit be the one to spank Jonathan if they punished him for his forwardness, Kit hoped the tattooist was either woefully clueless or incredibly discreet, because there was no hope of willing away his erection. They’d be lucky if he managed not to turn his head and kiss Jonathan within an inch of his life just to stop the sinful murmurings.
The whir of the needle fell silent, but only Devon noticed, Kit and Jonathan still lost in whispered conversation. The tattooist set down his gun and raised his head to meet Devon’s gaze with a lifted eyebrow. Devon winked, and the corners of the tattooist’s lips tilted up in a smile. The man slid his stool back and cleared his throat. Kit’s head snapped up as the artist smoothed a coating of cool gel over his heated skin and covered the image with a taped-down square of gauze.
“Leave it covered for at least an hour to let the inflammation go down,” the tattooist reminded him, stripping off his latex gloves. “After that, you can take off the gauze.”
“Will it hurt to get them wet?” Kit asked, thinking about all the things he wanted to do to his lovers.
“Showers are fine, but try to stay out of tubs or pools for about a month. Wash with a gentle soap and only use your hands—don’t use a washcloth or rub too hard.” His lips twitched again, as if he was holding back another comment. “A little flaking is normal for the first few weeks, but use a lotion to keep the skin moist and supple. If you have any problems, you can always give us a call or stop in. I’ll be happy to take a look.”
“None of us will be around after next week,” Jonathan said softly, sliding his stool from Kit’s side but not standing—he didn’t need to make his erection any more obvious than it already felt. “This is the last week of filming, and after that we’re all going on to new projects.” Resisting the urge to glance down and see how badly his boxers were tented, he offered his hand
to the tattoo artist. “Thanks—you do great work.”
Already pulling on his slacks, Devon took several bills from his wallet and handed them to the tattooist as he shook his hand. “We appreciate your accommodating us this way. It’s been a pleasure.”
“Anytime you want to add to your ink, I’d be happy to work on you.” The artist nodded to them all and turned toward the door. “Take your time getting dressed,” he added over his shoulder. “We don’t have anything else booked for the room until tomorrow.”
“You two are lucky I don’t jump you right here,” Kit fussed, getting up from the chair gingerly, the tape from the gauze pulling at the skin of his leg. “I thought we were going for discretion!”
“I was discreet!” Devon protested. “You were the one flaunting your assets once Jon started getting you all wound up.”
“It took your mind off the needle, didn’t it?” Jonathan countered, easing his jeans up his legs with care. “You didn’t jump once after Devon and I started distracting you.”
“Fine,” Kit huffed, “but I’m still taking it out of your arses when we get home. Whose house are we going to?”
“Jon’s is closest,” Devon observed, frowning when Kit pulled his loose pants over his boxers, then cheering up when he realized he’d have the pleasure of removing them again in just a few minutes.
“Works for me.” Jonathan would agree to anything that would get them all naked as quickly as possible. “We’ll work out whose ass belongs to who when we get there.”
THE MUSIC blared loudly as the remaining cast of Camelot gathered to say goodbye. Kit had lost count of how many drinks he’d consumed since arriving at the wrap party, but he was pretty sure it was well over what was wise. He couldn’t seem to help himself, though. The thought of the idyllic months he’d spent in Glastonbury with Jonathan and Devon ending had him more than a little out of control. Bouncing across the room, he flopped down on Addison’s lap and planted a hearty kiss on the older man’s mouth.
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