Secret Things

by Andrews, Nazarea

Fuck.

  “Can we at least bring Dimitri?” I ask, meekly. The girl doing Cari’s makeup makes a noise like a cough, and I give the back of her head a dirty look.

  “No, sweetie. I want a date night.”

  I open my mouth to protest, and her eyebrow arches.

  “Okay, Cari,” I say, sighing just a little.

  Which is how I end up with Cari in a small, overpriced boutique. Andre trails us, a silent watchful presence that is slowly becoming familiar at our back.

  He settles near the door as Cari is swept up by the waiting sales girls, tugged toward rows of dresses that she eyes curiously. They’re asking about Small Things, and her family, and Cari laughs, playing the part of a socialite and celebrity with ridiculous ease. I snag a glass of champagne and sink into the plush couch.

  “You know we’re going to get your suit fitted after this, right?”

  “I assume you have our masks already?”

  She gives me this bland look, and I nod. Cari always plans our masks, putting us into a theme that works with Dimitri. I never ask and she never tells—I just don whatever ornamental thing she concocts the night of the masque.

  “You aren’t dragging Dimitri out for a suit fitting,” I grumble, sipping my drink. She emerges from the dressing room in a long, blue sheath that makes her eyes shine and frowns critically at herself.

  “Don’t pout, sweetie. Dimitri didn’t wait until the last fucking minute to take care of it.”

  “Bastard,” I mutter and she grins at me.

  “This is all wrong,” she says, decisively, and turns back to the dressing room.

  I sigh. It’s going to be a long fucking day.

  I'm a little drunk when we finally go to lunch. Carissa is happy, a dress secured and my suit fitted, and I smile at her. "Are you ready now?" I ask, affectionately, and she nods.

  "JC still has some stuff to do, of course, but at this point, I just show up and look pretty and talk to people." She grins. "This is the easy part, babe."

  She's not wrong. I like this part, when we get to chill.

  "I ordered a limo for you and Dee so you don't need to worry about that. Jeb and Andre will be there as well. KP is insisting on extra security."

  "Wait, why--where are you going to be?"

  "When?"

  I stare at her, and she huffs. "You arrive at things like this with your romantic partner, Cam. You know that."

  "And the whole world thinks that's you," I say.

  "Maybe it's time we change that," she says, soft and gentle.

  I don't want to. That's the thing that's tipping on my tongue, and I think she knows.

  She's waiting for me to say it.

  So I swallow the words and I stare at her, waiting for whatever she's thinking.

  Because Cari is always thinking. She's not here to have lunch and shop. She didn't miss me. This was an ambush from the first move.

  "You could have been honest," I say.

  "It's your choice, Camden. But tell me why you're keeping this a secret. Try and help me understand why the fuck this is such a big deal."

  "I'm straight, Cari."

  "No, you're passing," she says, and I flinch. Because I am. We both are, both have been for years.

  "It might not matter to you right now. Maybe it never will. But it'll hurt Dee. He's used to being with someone who didn't try to hide him."

  "I'm not trying--"

  "You are. And I understand why. But secrets are going to kill what you have before you have a chance to have it. Do you really want that?"

  She stares at me, a challenge in her eyes. and I have no idea how to answer her.

  It bothers me. It’s bothering me while I drive home, while I dodge the persistent, little fuckers who camp out across the road from the house, waiting for god only knows what because really, you’d think the paparazzi would lose interest after a while.

  We’re boring when we’re at home.

  They get a really great shot of Mochi peeing and Buttons sniffing it, but aside from that—boring.

  I think about it while Dimitri makes dinner, and while Cari and he discuss seating arrangements and how to announce the attendees for the Gala.

  I think about it while I brush my teeth and while I’m lying in bed, reading the next script while Dimitri texts his sister.

  I think about it after he flips the lights off and tugs my script away, rolling me on my back and smiling at me in the darkness.

  “Dimitri, do you dislike being a secret?”

  He freezes just before he kisses me. His eyes are wide and curious and cautious.

  “What brought this on?” he asks.

  “Answer me,” I say, dodging his question. “You never hid what you and Victor had. Does it bother you to hide us?”

  “If I thought that’s what we were doing, yeah, it’d bother me. But you’re still getting comfortable with being bisexual. This is your first relationship with a dude. And we’re both kinda visible. We go out there and say we’re together, we don’t get hassled by a few friends and relatives, we get taken apart on Fractured Realm. We get talked about on social media and in the forums, and on entertainment blogs. We get hate mail and more guards and this? What we’ve got right here, between the two of us. It gets harder. So no, babe. I have no problem keeping this thing secret and ours, because we lose some of it, when we tell the world.”

  He’s staring at me, patient and waiting, and I swallow hard. Shove down the urge to whisper I love you.

  Dimitri’s expression smoothes out and he smiles, this soft thing that I love, just the corner of his lips curling up. Leans down to kiss me softly. And I don’t need to say it. I’m pretty sure he knows.

  Chapter 18.

  Enders Masque with Carissa Aukes, Interview by Cecile Cruz. Published on Fractured Realms.

  The Gala is in two days. Is it going to top last year?

  We like to think we’re always able to surpass our previous efforts. But the Gala isn’t about surpassing anything. It’s about rewarding the Small Things family.

  And it’s about raising money. You can buy your way into the Gala.

  It’s true there are ways to donate that will secure a ticket. But this is a charity function—I don’t think it’s that surprising we’d use it to raise money.

  Do you have anything to say about the recent convention in Atlanta, where so many fans were let down in regards to autographs and photos?

  I’m not sure what that has to do with the Gala. There was a safety concern. It’s been addressed. As much as we enjoy our time with the fans, we have to be aware of security and safety. Unfortunately, if that’s all you have on the Gala…

  What will you be dressed as?

  Oh, Cecile. Darling. You know I won’t answer that.

  --

  Here’s the thing I always forget.

  Camden? Looks fucking hot in a tux.

  When he steps out of Cari’s bedroom, he’s in that damn, fitted black tux he only wears for formal events, and even then, the upper end of formal. He’s got a gray bowtie on and he’s twirling a mask in his hand, and a tiny smile is twisting his lips.

  Cari left before either of us got home, and I know her well enough to know it was planned.

  She’s being a sweetheart. Once we get to the Gala, we’ll be pulled apart, pulled into the spectacle of it all, but for now. As he saunters down the stairs in his tux. We’re alone and he’s mine.

  He grins when he sees me, this wide, sexy thing, as much Camden as it is Josef, and it turns on desire like a hot living thing in my gut. I step into his space and kiss him, because the house is empty and I can, and because I couldn’t not kiss him if my life depended on it.

  My tongue flicks over his lip and fucks into his mouth when he gasps, and I sway into his hold when his hands fist at my hips, hard and possessive.

  “We’ll be late,” Camden murmurs against my lips and I nip at his lip.

  “You can be on time, or I can give you a blow job.”

  He pulls b
ack, his eyes narrow and considering.

  I’m almost offended, that he’s even thinking about this. I mean. It’s my blowjob. There’s no question here.

  “Or,” he licks his lips, and I lean in to chase it with my own. “we could be on time and you could blow me in the limo.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  I pull back and nod. “By all means, let’s go.”

  He watches me for a long minute and then he smirks, and leads the way from the house. And I let him, nodding at the driver whose waiting at the base of the driveway with an obnoxious, black limo. Camden slides in and follow suit, landing a little too close, but it’s dark and the partition is still up between us and the driver. I can feel Camden’s attention on me like a hot brand iron.

  I pour two flutes of champagne while he watches me and hit the intercom for the driver. “I need to make a phone call, if we can have some privacy?”

  “Of course, sir.” He said, and I smile as the connection goes silent.

  Then I turn to Camden.

  He’s staring at me still, and I pass him the glass. “Dimitri,” he whispers, and I lean over, into his space, and press a quick kiss to his lips. He whimpers under it and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s hard and ready for me to suck him off, or if it’s because we’re here, a half inch from a stranger, and I’m kissing him, sinking to my knees.

  “Hold this for me, I murmur, and he hisses a curse as I press my still full glass of champagne into his hand. I go to my knees easily, rocking up so that his dick rubs against my belly as I lean in, kneeling there between his thighs and kiss him hard and filthy.

  My hands are in his long, ridiculous hair, and he groans as I lick into his mouth, this filthy, hungry noise that makes my own cock twitch, desperate for more.

  This is about him though. So I gentle the kiss and pull back just a little.

  “Don't spill the champagne,” I whisper and reach for his belt. He groans when I let the curl of my fingers brush over him, let the base of my palm press down against his cock, rubbing rough and he groans, arching into me.

  “Camden,” I murmur, gentling my touch. Until he blinks at me, all big dazed eyes and wet wanting mouth that begs for my kisses.

  “You have to be quiet,” I say, soft and firm and he shudders. “And you have to stay,” I press down and he shudders, “still.”

  I meet his eyes, cool and vaguely remote, and he capitulates, nods almost frantically and I smile.

  I kiss him, these deep filthy things as I undo his pants, and tug at them just a little. He shifts, lifting his hips at my silent request, and I slide them low enough to free his cock.

  Just low enough. And then I take him in hand, smile at him and whisper. “Remember.”

  Then I sink down and take him in my mouth, taking him deep, until he hits the back of my throat and he’s making these impossibly hot, little noises, choked off curses. I swallow around him, and he gasps. I smirk and slowly lick up his shaft, letting my tongue twist around the head, and lick at his slit.

  I love giving head. I love the weight of a hard cock in my hand and on my tongue, I love the rough hands in my hair and the moans that I can wring free with nothing but a feather light stroke of my tongue. I love the taste and the rough, dirty feeling from having my face fucked, and I love looking up through my lashes to find my partner staring at me, eyes wild, and panting as I take him apart with nothing but my mouth.

  And right now, I love all of that, and I love that I’m sitting three feet from a stranger, and this is a secret. Camden’s panting and straining, squirming just a little as I pin him to the seat and proceed to take him apart, sucking him hard and fast and dirty, while we drive to a place where we will be surrounded by people.

  I jack him slowly and whisper, “I want to taste you when I’m on the red carpet, Camden. Wanna feel your cock on my lips when I’m facing all of our fans.”

  “Fuck,” he groans, thrusting into my mouth as I sink back down and I smile around him, swallowing and trailing a hand over his balls. Lower. I trace around his opening and suck hard on his cock while I press in, just a little, and that’s it. I smell champagne and hear his low groan, and his cock pulses once, twice, filling my mouth and splashing down my throat, hot and salty and I swallow around him, taking it all and licking his cock clean as he twitches in my mouth.

  Camden is slumped against the seat, the champagne flutes listing dangerously in his grasp when I finally pull back, lick my lips to catch the last bit of him, and tuck his dick back into his pants. I take my glass from him and smirk. “You didn’t spill a drop.”

  “Dimitri,” he whispers and I lean forward, pressing a quick, light kiss to his lips.

  “Drink the champagne, Cam. We’re about to face the lions.”

  He does as he’s told.

  That surprises me, still. That he is so willing to listen, when I give an order.

  “What about you?” he asks.

  I smirk at him. The limo slows and I lean forward, adjusting his collar briefly, and murmur, “You can take care of me later.”

  He shivers, but nods, and I sit back as the car stops.

  Slide my mask on, and flash him a quick grin. “Ready?”

  Camden nods, and the door opens to the flashing cameras.

  The Enders Gala is our biggest charity drive of the year. It goes hand in hand with the art exhibit that Cari organizes and the triathlon I run. Together, the three events raise a few million dollars a year. Small Things turns around and dumps the money into schools in underdeveloped regions, impoverished families, and community outreach and education.

  I didn’t really care what we did with the money, as long as we were continually challenging fans to think beyond themselves. I mean, I care. I just am more content to let Cari plan that with JC, while I think of stupid, ridiculous challenges to raise money and social awareness.

  It’s why we worked so well together.

  But the Gala. It was an open invitation to fans who purchased tickets. There were ways to earn your way in, through the year, and ways to bid on tickets, and a few that were placed in a lotto. It took a while to make sure that no one was ever excluded. Doing good for the world doesn’t always mean big things. Sometimes it’s five dollars.

  I repeat it all on autopilot, smiling and thanking reporters and photogs for being here as Camden plays the supportive friend and boyfriend, lavishing praise on Cari and me, self-deprecating and amusing.

  And then we’re past them and we’re inside, and the whole room pauses, taking us in. Cari appears from nowhere, and I smile when I see her.

  She’s wearing a silver dress, long and full, almost a princess gown. Feathers drip from her sweetheart neckline, pours down her bodice and into her skirt, going from the lightest of silver to a deep shining thing that’s almost gray. Her mask is avian, silver with hints of green, almost simple compared to her gown, and I recognize it immediately.

  She is a mourning dove, and we, in our black tuxes and cruel-beaked black masks, her carrion crows.

  It’s eerie and perfect, and I hear the gasp of surprise running through the crowd as I school my instinctive smile, smoothing into a cold indifference under my mask. She claps her hands together, small but sharp and the room goes very quiet.

  “Welcome, Enders, to the third Enders Gala.”

  The party is in full swing when I find myself alone. I’ve abandoned my mask, and Camden has been tugged away from me by a persistent and slightly drunk Carissa, and my table full of adoring fans has scattered, however briefly. I’m considering the party, and how it’s devolved into knots of excited fangirls and fans dancing with cast and crew, and the wild smile on Cari’s face, when a heavy body lands next to me.

  I look over, and I’m only mildly surprised to see Tristan Emery.

  He looks drunk. “You,” I say pointedly, “look drunk.”

  “And Camden looked freshly fucked when you climbed out of that damn limo. Are we really gonna point fingers?” Tristan says, giving me a leering g
rin.

  I shrug and swallow the vodka I’ve been swirling in my glass for the better part of an hour.

  Tristan always leaves me feeling vaguely like I need to be drunk.

  It’s not that I don’t like Camden’s best friend. It’s just…

  I don’t like Camden’s best friend.

  “He’s happier,” Tristan says, and it’s so damn surprising I actually look around, like maybe he’s talking to someone else. He’s not. Of course he’s not. I’m the only one sitting here, and Tristan wouldn’t talk to a random stranger about Camden. He’s even more protective of Camden than I am, something I’ve never understood. Camden doesn’t need to be protected.

  “That’s a good thing,” I say calmly, and Tristan shrugs.

  “Until you fuck it up.”

  Irritation sparks along my skin, and I look away. “You say that like it’s an inevitability.”

  Tristan shrugs and tips back his beer. We’re at a freaking, black tie event, and this bastard is still drinking PBR. I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing Cam requests at the gala and only because Tristan would pitch a fit if we didn’t have his swill.

  I almost admire that. Except he’s an annoying little fuck, so no.

  “You just got out of relationship that lasted more than a decade, Dimitri. Excuse me if I think you’re rebounding the fuck outta Cam.”

  I swallow hard. Swallow the vodka and the rage and the words that want to bubble up.

  Because I’m in public and I won’t hit him.

  Because he’s Cam’s best friend, and I won’t hit him.

  Because he’s fucking baiting me and I won’t hit him.

  “You,” I say, clearly and coldly, “have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

  I stand and Tristan leans back, all compact and threat in his thick limbs. I’d be intimidated if I wasn’t so fucking angry.

  “Explain it to me.”

  I lean down, fury pushing common sense aside. “I don’t have to explain it to you. He’s your best friend, Emery. You gonna trust he’s a big boy and knows what the fuck he’s doing, or are you going to treat him like a fucking child?”