by Asta Idonea
We were both panting, watching each other. Kane’s pupils were huge colorless disks that pulled me in like black holes. He trailed his hands over my arms and torso, then along my thighs, the touch turning from a butterfly kiss to a gentle massage. I mimicked the actions on him, and little by little, we came to know one another’s bodies through our clothing. The prospect of doing the same thing skin on skin sent my desire spiraling. Kane must have been thinking along the same lines because he reached for the hem of my T-shirt.
At which point I remembered my costume.
I jerked out of Kane’s grasp. “Bathroom?”
“Huh?” Kane looked confused. It might have been cute if I hadn’t been so alarmed.
“I, uh, just need to nip to the bathroom before we, uh, you know.”
“Oh?” Comprehension dawned. “Oh. Yes. Upstairs. Second door to the right.”
“Thanks. I won’t be long.”
I surged off the sofa and scrambled up the stairs. After closing the bathroom door behind me, I turned the lock and looked around.
Damn. Kane’s bathroom was huge. It was probably a slight overestimation to say it was larger than my whole flat, but it certainly felt that way. Shower, bath, sink, and toilet all fitted into the room with space to spare. Remembering the comment about the secrets in his bathroom cupboards, I was tempted to open a few and take a peek, except I didn’t have the time. I was well aware that my abrupt departure had ruined the moment, and I worried Kane would change his mind and call the whole thing off in light of my odd behavior. I wouldn’t blame him. Then again, surely faking an urgent need to piss was better than him discovering my superhero costume beneath my clothing. Harder to explain that than a call of nature. Speaking of which, I ought to hurry if I wanted to avoid any awkward questions or, worse, Kane coming up to check on me.
I kicked off my shoes and yanked at my outer layers until I stood in nothing but the costume. With a few choice murmured expletives, I rolled the skintight material down my arms and torso, then sat on the edge of the bath to drag it down my legs. Thus decostumed, I quickly redressed.
Obviously I couldn’t leave the costume lying there, where Kane would see it when he entered the room, and I hesitated, considering my options. My gaze fell upon a small three-drawer unit. The top drawer, once open, revealed toothpaste, spare toothbrushes, condoms, and lube. That potential hiding spot was out since it seemed likely Kane might have cause to go in there shortly, assuming he didn’t chuck me out. I moved to the middle drawer, but that was too full to accommodate the fabric, even rolled up as small as I could get it. That left the bottom drawer.
I sighed in relief when the maxim “third time lucky” proved true. The bottom drawer was empty, so I thrust the costume inside, closed the drawer, and checked that nothing looked amiss. I’d need to find a moment to retrieve it before I left, but for the time being, it should be secure there. This feat accomplished, I flushed the toilet and ran the tap for a few seconds, in case Kane was listening for such sounds, then returned downstairs.
“I’m so, so sorry,” I said as I reentered the lounge, my words too fast, my tone just on the wrong side of desperation.
Kane patted the empty seat beside him. “It’s fine, Oswell, really. When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go. Sit down and we’ll see if we can’t pick up where we left off. If you still want to.”
I couldn’t get my butt into that seat fast enough. At first I was stiff, still worried I’d made a bad impression, but soon Kane’s kisses and caresses sent my troubles skipping away and I recovered my earlier lust and euphoria. This time when Kane tugged on my T-shirt, I let him, and once free of mine, I made short work of removing his.
Thus stripped to the waist, we continued our amorous explorations. God, Kane was sublime, every muscle perfectly toned, and every inch of skin soft and unblemished. I particularly loved the oh-so-sparse smattering of curly hairs between his pecs. I might have grown ashamed of my own less-than-Greek-godlike physique, except Kane’s expression told me that, by some miracle, he approved of what he saw. His gaze was hungry as he followed the movements of his hands, staring at his fingertips as he traced goose bump-inducing patterns over my flesh.
I was so turned-on, I knew I wouldn’t last long. One wrong (or rather one right) touch and I’d blow. From the sudden furrowing of Kane’s brow into a look that mingled concentration with consternation, I deduced that he was in a similar boat, and I suffered a little less humiliation over my personal lack of stamina. We fumbled at each other’s belts. I growled in frustration when his zipper stuck. In the end, he had to brush away my hand and lower it himself.
Now in charge, Kane chose to hold on to that authority, while he also grabbed ahold of something else. His touch made me loose an embarrassing needy mewl as my cock throbbed in his hand. Smearing our precum to ease the way, he squeezed our shafts together and pumped. Once. Twice. Thrice. The third time proved my undoing. I yowled as I came, my release splattering our bare chests. Kane was right behind me. He moaned my name as he shot his load, and upon hearing that, my orgasm extended, wringing every last drop from me.
I slumped forward, smushing our combined jizz between us. The vague hope that we hadn’t soiled the sofa rose in my mind—an unpleasant surprise for the angelic Anna—but the thought was fleeting. Besides, I currently lacked the physical strength to stand and investigate; my bones had turned to jelly.
Only once stickiness turned to crustiness did either of us stir. My knees ached a little, as did my thighs, but no way was I complaining. I got to my feet and stretched. My back made an audible click of protest.
Kane stretched his arms in a yawn-like manner. “How about a shower?”
It sounded blissful; nonetheless, I was a gentleman. “You can go first.”
“Oswell, there’s plenty of room for two. I was rather hoping you’d help soap me up.”
Now that was an offer I wouldn’t dream of refusing.
Needless to say, we got messier before we got any cleaner, every second a delicious, dirty delight. I was like a schoolboy again, discovering masturbation for the first time. It was the same heady rush, each sensation novel and utterly overwhelming. There was something addictive in Kane’s touch: a magic in his fingertips… and lips, and tongue, and teeth, and cock.
He invited me to stay the night, and we collapsed into bed together, fully naked, our skin rosy from the hot water. Kane pulled up the covers to our chins and we lay on our sides, staring into one another’s eyes. Neither of us spoke; there was no need for words. However, after a few minutes of this silent contemplation, Kane reached for my arm and encouraged me to turn. Once I faced the other way, he spooned against my back and threw his arm protectively over and around me, his hand on my chest, keeping me pinned in place.
We fell asleep like that, and in the morning, we woke still entwined, Kane’s erection digging exquisitely into my buttcheek. It was time for the next round.
Chapter Twelve
SEVERAL WONDERFUL weeks passed. Kane enjoyed his downtime before the start of his next shoot, and I enjoyed Kane. Or rather we enjoyed each other—often and in many ways, some of which I would never have believed possible until we tried them. Not that I’m suggesting that all we did was fuck. We spent just as much time together out of bed talking, eating, and watching films. Kane’s DVD collection was impressive in both size and scope, so we never wanted for something to watch that suited our mood.
We mostly met at his place, either during the day or late at night, after I’d finished work. We’d visited my flat once, when I feared it would start to look rude if I didn’t invite him there, but we came to a swift and unanimous decision that his home was preferable in every way. I could count on one hand the number of nights I’d slept in my own bed since Kane’s return. I didn’t miss it.
Naturally, I knew it couldn’t last. In six weeks Kane would jet off. They were starting in the US, at the studio, for this one, followed by four weeks on location in Norway and two in Iceland. It was a spy thr
iller, based on the first in a series of books by some Scandinavian author. I’d never heard of him when Kane mentioned his name, but apparently he was a big deal, and the studio had high expectations of the film adaptation, especially in light of the current public demand for Nordic noir. After spending so much time together recently, it would be hard not to see Kane every day. I was trying not to think about it too much. Why spoil the time we had left with melancholic brooding?
It wasn’t that I feared the relationship—Damn, it was both amazing and surreal to say that!—would end; it was just that I’d be lost without him by my side. Between my shifts at the restaurant and Kane’s desire to avoid unnecessary media attention, we rarely went out out. Not that I minded. It had given us peace and quiet in which to really get to know each other. When I looked at Kane now, I no longer thought of him as Kane Teague, movie star, my former idol. I simply saw Kane, the lad from Kent, as he’d wished from the start. Kane, the man I loved.
This was no longer puppy love and hero worship. What I felt now was earthier and centered. It was less about his looks, or even his acting, and more about his kindness and compassion, his sense of humor and his honesty. I loved him with all my heart. I’d never felt this strongly about anyone before; I was practically euphoric. From all the things he said and the way he acted, I believed he shared my feelings. On one of the occasions when we did venture beyond the front door, he took me to his favorite local restaurant, where the owner knew him well and helped guard him from unwanted scrutiny while he dined. There, he held my hand under the table as we waited for our food, caressing my palm in a way that suggested more intimate touching still to come. I’ve never eaten so fast in my life! I nearly gave myself indigestion.
Tonight I didn’t have to work, and Kane apparently had something extraspecial planned since he’d instructed me to arrive at his place no later than five. So, at four forty-five on the dot, I jogged up to his porch and rang the bell.
When he opened the door, my jaw dropped. He was suited to the nines and looked dapper and amazing. His mode of dress would not have been out of place at a posh wedding, or even a meeting with the Queen. The only possible way for him to look more formal would have been to exchange his suit jacket for tails and add a top hat. In his present attire, he was, regardless, as close to absolute perfection as a mere mortal could hope to get.
I shuffled and glanced down at my faded jeans and my scruffy trainers with the hole over the right big toe. It was another of those chalk-and-cheese moments, and I racked my brains, wondering how I’d managed to get it so wrong. I had the sinking feeling that I’d missed an important text or voicemail message somewhere along the way.
“Did you say to dress up? ’Cause, if so, someone shredded the memo.”
“Nope.” Kane gave a cheeky grin. “And don’t fret. I have something for you to wear. Come on in.”
I followed Kane to the bedroom. There, beautifully laid out upon the bed, was a designer suit, complete with all necessary and desirable accessories. From the looks of it, it cost more than I paid in rent for a year. I glanced at Kane.
“Tell me it’s only rented.”
“It’s all yours.”
“Kane!”
Kane raised his hands and took a step back. “Now, now, don’t get like that. In over two months together, the only thing you’ve allowed me to buy you is the occasional meal. Let me treat you to this, Os. Besides, purchasing the suit outright was far more cost-effective in the long run. This won’t be the only premiere you ever attend, after all.”
“We’re going to a premiere? As in a full-on, Leicester Square, screaming crowds, red-carpeted premiere?”
“Got it in one. Colin Cromwell invited me, and I get to bring a guest. That’s you, in case you were wondering.”
Blood rushed in my ears in an echoing roar. We were going to a premiere as Colin Cromwell’s special guests. Colin was one of the hottest up-and-coming action stars making the UK to Hollywood transition. I figured I must have died and gone to heaven! Until I crashed back down to earth.
“But the press?”
“As nice as it was to avoid them for a few weeks, we can’t hide forever. They will all fall over themselves to report on my stunning new boyfriend. Which is why I suggest you accept the suit. Unless you’d rather appear on page one of the tabloids and Internet news sites in your current ensemble.”
I shuddered. “I’ll take the suit.”
“I thought you might.” Kane crossed to me, sporting a smug grin. Then he gripped my threadbare T-shirt and yanked it over my head.
Twenty minutes later, I stared at my reflection, unable to believe what I saw. I looked… good. Better than good, I looked hot. Both the tailoring and the colors were a perfect fit. Had I made the purchase myself, I’d have gravitated toward classic black and white, but Kane’s choice of charcoal worked well with my skin tone and didn’t leave me looking washed out, while the green shirt really popped.
Kane had also combed and gelled my hair better than I’d have managed alone, and for the first time in my life, I was a movie star about to walk the red carpet. Even if the film wasn’t my own, I still looked, and felt, the part. In that moment, I had a sense of true belonging: to the attire, to my place at the premiere, and to Kane.
“How did you know the right sizing?” I asked, twisting to check out the back view.
“I measured you. You really are a very deep sleeper, Os.”
Kane looked me up and down one last time in a manner that reminded me of Ellen; then he nodded his approval. “And it seems my measurements were accurate. You’re a vision. The press will love you.”
“I’d rather you loved me.” I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. It hadn’t come out the way I’d intended. Did it sound as I was fishing for a declaration of some kind, putting him on the spot?
Kane laughed. “I’ll prove that to you when we get home. Peeling you out of that suit will be even better than coaxing you into it.” He winked. “So, shall we go? The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll be back.”
We covered the first few blocks on foot. Kane was a vicious guard dog when it came to concealing his home address—and with good reason—so both taxis and limos picked him up and dropped him off at a prearranged spot a couple of streets away, rather than at his front door. A limo was our mode of transport on this occasion. I’d never been inside such a sleek, slick vehicle before and had to resist the impulse to fiddle with the impressive array of internal devices and luxuries. Kane, on the other hand, displayed no compunction about opening the minibar. After a quick review of the contents, he poured a small bottle of bubbly between two champagne flutes, and we sipped those as we commenced the short drive to the West End.
Even with our eyes shut, we’d have known when we neared Leicester Square. Screams and chanting filled the night air. Clearly Kane was not the first celebrity to arrive and grace the crimson runway. Alcohol and conversation had kept my nerves at bay during the journey; however, when we pulled up and someone opened the door, they spiked, the panic pinning me in place. Only after Kane gave my arm a reassuring squeeze did I pull myself together and follow him out.
The roar intensified when the crowd spotted Kane. He smiled and waved, utterly relaxed, and I tried to do likewise. Wasn’t this what I’d always wanted, to be seen and bask in the acclaim? It was just a shock—the noise and the constant flashes as people pointed cameras from all directions. Kane jogged over to the barriers and posed for selfies with several fans. Then he returned to my side and slipped his arm through mine, and we walked the length of the carpet, waving to the left and right as we went.
The press had gathered near the cinema’s entrance, and a couple of reporters called us over. After a few questions about Kane’s forthcoming features, they asked about me. Kane’s smile widened and he hugged me close, kissing my cheek.
“This divine fellow is my boyfriend, Oswell Outterridge. He’s an up-and-coming actor, too, so I’m sure you’ll see more of him in the future. R
emember his name! Now, we really must head in. I’m sure Colin and the rest of his crew will arrive soon. Oswell and I are greatly looking forward to seeing their new picture. Thank you and good night.”
When the doors swung shut behind us, the drop in noise level was a blessing. I could have sighed in relief, if I hadn’t had other things to contemplate.
“So, I’m divine and a future star.” I must have spoken too loudly in the sudden quiet because several people looked my way. In my defense, my ears were still ringing.
“Hey, don’t knock it! I’m Kane Teague, remember? If I say it, it must be true.”
“Any other prophecies, oh mystical one?”
“Yes, actually. At the after-party, I’m going to introduce you to a few people, and you’re going to let me.”
“Oh, I am, am I?” I had mixed feelings about the idea. I knew Kane only wanted to help, and I did appreciate it, conscious of how instrumental it could be in launching my currently floundering acting career. Nevertheless, it grated on me to think that I’d then be successful only thanks to Kane’s influence, rather than due to my talents and desserts. It would be akin to sleeping my way to the top, and that didn’t sit well with me.
“Well, I hoped you’d simply accept the gesture, but if you won’t, I guess I’ll have to bribe you.”
“With what?”
“With this.”
Kane grabbed my lapels and pulled me into a kiss he doubtless knew would make my entire body tingle. The bastard. When he stepped back, it felt as if there were a million eyes upon us. Under the scrutiny—imagined or otherwise—I smoothed my rumpled tie.
“We should take our seats.” I was impressed with my poise.
