Closer by Morning

by Thom Collins

  But when they had been introduced at the rehearsal studio in London, Aaron had known the stories about Dale were more than rumor. His body language, his smile, the way his gaze lingered for a fraction too long. Telltale signs, imperceptible to anyone not looking for them, but a sure giveaway to anyone in the know. Aaron’s gaydar had never been wrong.

  He was not in the habit of seducing actors on the shows he worked on. There had been the odd short-lived traveling affair but nothing as major as blowing the star. The more time he had spent alone with Dale, Aaron had got a sense that Dale wanted it as much as he. And he had been right. It had been the briefest of seductions. Three days into shooting and Dale was his.

  There was nothing like it. Taking a man in your mouth. Rendering him helpless. Feeling his body react, listening to his desperate breathing, taking him to the ultimate release. Aaron prided himself on his skill. Untroubled by a gag reflex, he could deep throat without effort. He gave the very best blow jobs.

  Everybody said so.

  No teeth. No hands. He could get a man off with the skill of his mouth alone.

  Dale hadn’t been able to get enough in the beginning. Aaron had offered to mix it up, making his juicy ass available, but it was his blow jobs that had driven Dale crazy.

  Maybe it was stress-related. Or guilt—not uncommon with sexually confused guys—but Dale had gone cold on him lately.

  Not for much longer. It had been over a week. Aaron needed cock and he needed it tonight. One way or another, Dale would give up that hot ejaculate.

  “God, is there nothing decent to eat?” asked Jess, the wardrobe assistant, as she knocked back her third glass of champagne. “They force us to come to this butt-kissing party but don’t bother to cater for the little people.”

  “Looks that way,” Aaron said.

  The waiters with the canapés attentively circled the upper echelons of the company but didn’t come near the unimportant people.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Jess said. “We’ve done our duty and put in an appearance. I want a pizza. There’s an Italian place five minutes from here. What do you say?”

  The rest of the group nodded in agreement.

  “This will be done by nine,” Aaron said. “We should wait.”

  “Stuff that. I’ve got to be up at five-thirty. I want food and an early night.”

  Aaron helped himself to a fresh glass of champagne. His fourth. “Go ahead. I might catch you up later. I’m not really hungry yet and, you know… Free booze.”

  Jess and a group of ten left him alone. Aaron didn’t mind. He could hardly make a move on Dale with that lot around. Discretion was key with the closeted types.

  He bided his time around the edge of the party, never letting Dale out of his sight, careful not to get drawn into another group of colleagues.

  Time moved slowly. Dale looked as bored as Aaron felt. Roxanne and Elton had yet to put in an appearance, so Johan and Edward guarded Dale, not letting him wander too far from their cherished reporter, dragging him back into her orbit whenever he looked as if he were making an escape.

  Aaron was happy just watching. It had been a long time since he’d fancied a man as much as this. Dale was perfect. Ridiculously handsome and funny, with a lovely big dick and meaty ass. Aaron had to be careful. He wouldn’t fall in love, tempting as that was. Falling for Dale, an actor with a ton of emotional baggage, could lead to a lot of heartache.

  But if they kept it light, fuck buddies with a bit of spice… The end of Blood Falls on Stone was being kept open. If the show was a hit, they would all be back to film a second series. Who knew where their on-set romance could go from there?

  And if it didn’t develop, the sex alone made it worth the effort.

  Patience finally paid off. Roxanne Maxwell and Elton Weaver made a grand entrance together. Roxanne looked amazing. She had really gone to town with the glamour. Big hair, overstated makeup, a dress that showed plenty of bronzed and toned flesh. For a woman approaching fifty, she was an absolute knockout.

  The entire room stopped to watch, then burst into rapturous applause. Even Aaron was entranced, taking his eyes off Dale to cheer the leading lady. This party had been all about the journalist Keeley Rank. Not anymore.

  Roxanne, often so aloof on the set, greeted runners and third assistants like her dearest friends. Smiling beatifically, she crossed the room, shaking hands, flashing jewelery. The photographer assigned to accompany Keeley rushed forward then began to walk backward in front of Roxanne, cameras flashing to capture every moment. It was some spectacle.

  Dale took advantage of the distraction to slip from Johan’s grip and head to the men’s room.

  At last it was Aaron’s chance.

  Dale was at the urinal when he followed him in. He went right up beside him. “I was beginning to forget what that thing looked like,” he said, staring at Dale’s pissing cock.

  Dale started. “Jesus, Aaron.” He shook and shoved his dick back into his pants.

  Not the reaction Aaron had hoped for. “You should relax. You look tense.”

  “I could do without all this,” Dale said, washing his hands. “I feel like I’ve been pimped out to the press.”

  “Roxanne is here now, so relax. She’s a natural at this kind of thing. You saw how she came in. No one will notice if you and me slip away. What do you say? Back to your place? It’ll be nice to do it somewhere other than your funky little trailer.”

  Dale shook his head. “Don’t you get it? That’s not going to happen. Nothing else is ever going to happen between us.”

  “Why not? I give great blow jobs. You said so yourself.”

  “No.”

  “C’mon, Dale. I’m damn horny. Slip me some meat. I want you to fuck me.”

  “Forget it.”

  Dale headed to the door. Aaron beat him to it, blocking his exit. “Why not? You were all over me a week ago. What changed?”

  Dale looked him straight in the eye. His mouth was set in a tight, angry line.

  “C’mon,” Aaron pleaded. “What did I do to piss you off? I know you enjoyed the things we did. Why are you being so cold to me now?” It took a lot of restraint not to grab Dale right then. To force a kiss upon him and prove just how hot he was.

  Dale closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ve met someone else, okay? It’s nothing you have or haven’t done. The truth of the matter is I’ve met someone and I really want to give it a go. So that means no cheeky blow jobs or whatever else you had in mind.”

  Aaron looked at him incredulously. “Who is it?”

  “Nobody you know.”

  “It’s Mike from carpentry, isn’t it? I knew he’d been making a move in your direction.”

  “What? No. Mike? Of course not. It’s no one involved in the show. You really don’t know him. He has nothing to do with the industry. Aaron, you’re a great guy and you do give incredible head. In other circumstances, I’d accept your offer in a heartbeat, but not anymore. I want to give this my best shot.”

  Aaron slowly deflated, accepting defeat. “When did you meet this guy?”

  “Last week. It’s early days.”

  “Monday?”

  Dale nodded.

  “That makes sense.” Aaron sighed, stepping away from the door. “It was after Monday that you started to go cold on me. Okay. I won’t push it. Good luck. Tell him he’s a lucky man.”

  “No, I’m the lucky one,” Dale said as he left.

  Shit! He felt like an idiot now, making his stupid passes. Why hadn’t Dale said something before, instead of letting him play up like this? Despite what people sometimes thought about him, Aaron always had complete respect for other people’s relationships. He wouldn’t have interfered with that, however much he wanted Dale.

  He wondered who the other man was, this rival. Someone young and gorgeous no doubt. The ve
ry best. Aaron wouldn’t be able to compete, however great his blow jobs were.

  There was nothing else for it. He would forget about Dale. Get drunk and find someone else to blow.

  It was a short-term solution but better than nothing.

  ****

  Dale’s plans for an early exit came to nothing. Johan Turner intended to wring every ounce of publicity from the paid talent. The photos seemed to go on forever. It was worse than a wedding—solo portraits, two shots with Keeley, group photos and every variation in between. With Elton already steaming drunk and Roxanne well on her way to joining him, he began to regret his decision to stay sober and drive.

  It was almost ten. Damn it. Next time Johan took his beady eyes off him, he was out of there. He wanted to be with Matt. More than ever. All of this was bullshit. Unnecessary bullshit. If they had only taken charge of the situation last week and put out an appropriate statement then.

  Keeley Rank made him uncomfortable. She was a crazy lady and kind of creepy.

  It may be paranoia, but she spent a lot of time looking his way. Not in an obvious way either, kind of slyly. Like a cat with the canary in its sights.

  Roxanne’s words came back to him. ‘I just hope you don’t have any secrets in your closet.’

  Was that a direct warning?

  Dale wasn’t out to anyone in the crew. Not officially anyway. There was Aaron, but that was a private matter. As an actor, he wasn’t out at all. He didn’t want to be. There were rumors, he’d heard them all but said nothing to confirm his sexuality.

  Except that wasn’t true either. He played up the fact that he’d once been married, that he was a dad. Suggesting, without ever saying as much, that these gay rumors were nothing more than bitchy gossip. He couldn’t afford to be an out actor. Maybe if he was more famous, or acclaimed for his acting rather than his looks, he could take the risk. But when the bulk of his work came from playing heroes and boyfriends, he couldn’t be a fag actor.

  Rightly or wrongly, he was a closet case. And that was how it had to stay, at least for now.

  He should find out more about Keeley Rank. Was she a serious journalist or a gossip hound? Know your enemy.

  He saw Aaron across the room. He was with some of the other production assistants. He looked as if he were getting steadily drunk, along with everyone else. At least he’d had the good sense to come on to him in the privacy of the bathroom and not here in front of everyone.

  But how much could he trust him? What if he decided to get his own back and tell everyone what they used to do in his trailer? And he’d just confessed to being serious about another man. How much would Keeley pay for that exclusive? God, what an idiot. Could Aaron be trusted? He barely knew him. He’d been careless this time and allowed his dick to get the better of his brain.

  Roxanne left the group that had gathered around Keeley and sauntered to the bar. Dale followed.

  “She’s quite something, this Keeley,” he said, coming up behind her.

  “Something? Oh, she’s that all right.” Roxanne signaled the waiter and ordered a large vodka and tonic.

  “Still not a fan?”

  She licked her glossy lips. “I can’t stand the woman. But that’s all right because she detests me. I can’t believe they were stupid enough to bring her on board. As if we weren’t in deep enough shit already.”

  “Why does she hate you so much? Have the two of you got history?”

  “No. She hates me because I’m a woman. And a successful one. There’s no sisterly solidarity with her. Other women are the enemy. All women.”

  “I can’t say I got the warmest reception from her myself.”

  Roxanne dramatically closed and opened her long lashes. “You’re a handsome man, Dale. If you can muster a hard-on to fuck her with, you might do all right. She’ll go easy on you. You might even come out of it okay when she writes her story. But if not…” She mimed a bullet to the head.

  “Now I’m worried.”

  “You should be. That article she wrote about my play—complete character assassination. Not just me. The director, writer, my co-stars—she trashed us all. Affairs, drink, drugs, attitude, there was nothing that didn’t make it into print.”

  “Fuck, the worst kind of hack.”

  Roxanne laughed softly. “She gives hacks a bad name. Most of them would be mortified by the comparison.”

  “Why the hell did Johan invite her?” he asked angrily.

  The waiter brought Roxanne’s vodka. She took a long, grateful drink. “For some bizarre reason they seem to like each other. I don’t know why. I can tell you right now how her article will go. She’ll dish the shit on all of us, then conclude by saying that, despite all of our failings, and incompetences, the strength of Johan’s writing means that we’ve still managed to produce a great series. But how much better it would be if they had cast Rosamund Pike and John Hamm instead of us. She’ll spread it over eight pages or so, but that is basically what she’ll say.”

  Dale laughed bitterly. “So we’re fucked.”

  She shrugged. “Who gives a shit? She’s tried to stitch me up so many times in print. It hasn’t done me any harm. No one really takes any notice of her columns—only those in them. Sweet Bird was a hit at the box office, despite what she wrote. It might not seem that way now but we’re making a good television show. I know it. I’ve got a sense for these things. I’ve acted in real crap before and I know this isn’t it. The elitists who take any notice of Keeley’s column don’t watch this kind of TV. She won’t harm our ratings in any way. Trust me.”

  Dale was reassured but it didn’t stop him worrying. Maybe Keeley couldn’t do much to harm the fortunes of the show but she could sure as shit do some damage to his reputation. To his career. He would have to play her very carefully.

  “Have a drink. Relax,” Roxanne said. “You look like you’re at a funeral.”

  “I just want to get out of here. I might make a move now. Where is Johan?”

  Roxanne glanced over her shoulder. “Still kissing Keeley’s arse. You know, I’ve often wondered about him.”

  “Johan?”

  “Hmm. He’s fruitier than a fruit cake, and I know he’s a fan of the cock, but even still… I don’t think he’s sniffing round Keeley’s fanny for the good of the show. There could be something going on between them.”

  “Johan and Keeley? No way.”

  “It’s a ghastly idea, I know. And once you’ve got the image on them going at it in your mind, you can’t get rid of it. But I don’t think it’s that far-fetched, do you? He’s a funny one. They both are.”

  “You’re right.” He laughed. “That’s not a picture I want in my head. On that note, I think I will split.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Roxanne put two very strong hands on his waist.

  “Don’t rush away so quickly,” she said.

  “I really need to go.”

  She moved in closer, moving that tight body of her against his, pushing her tits against his chest. “Don’t you think it’s time we got to know each other a little better?” She swayed her hips against his.

  Oh God. Please tell me this isn’t happening. What’s got into everyone tonight?

  “I’m staying right here in the hotel,” she drawled. “Why don’t we go up to my suite and get better acquainted? You’ve got a mighty fine arse that I’m just dying to see in the flesh.”

  “Roxanne, stop.” He tried to remove her hands but her grip was tight.

  She moved closer, reaching up so her face was close to his. Her warm breath on his face. “C’mon, Dale. Don’t be so shy. I like to screw all my leading men.”

  Her lips covered his and she shoved her tongue into his mouth. What the fuck is happening?

  There was a sudden flash and the awful realization that Roxanne’s stolen kiss had just been
caught on camera.

  Could this nightmare evening get any worse?

  Chapter Twelve

  “You interfering bastard.” Brian ‘Lugz’ Mosley was waiting on the steps of the courthouse when Matt came out. Lugz was a six-and-half-foot wall of muscle, fat and attitude—bad attitude. He had a large football-shaped head with Toby jug ears and no discernible neck, just a colossal set of shoulders. A serpentine tattoo slithered from the open neck of his shirt to twist around his left ear. His face was distorted into a mask of demonic rage.

  Matt was in trouble.

  It had been an arduous morning in Crown Court. He had been defending Akram Khan, a post office manager. Akram’s wife had been working on the counter of their family business when Luke Mosley, the seventeen-year-old son of Lugz, had held up the counter with a large ax. Akram had come to the assistance of his wife, tackling the teenager to the floor while getting in a few well-placed punches, breaking Luke’s nose and two of his ribs in the struggle.

  As well as an assault conviction for the post office manager, the Mosley family was hoping to claim a hefty compensation payout. It wasn’t to be. At this morning’s plea and directions hearing, ahead of a trial, Matt and Devon Morris, the barrister acting on their behalf, had managed to convince the judge that there was no case to answer against Akram Khan.

  His case had been dismissed while the trial of Luke Mosley for aggravated robbery would go ahead regardless.

  Matt, in a hurry to get back to the office and prepare his next case, thought nothing of leaving the court on his own. A big mistake.

  Lugz’s bald head was red with anger, his huge ears, one of which had a partially chewed lobe, was even more livid. “You Paki-loving bastard.” He came closer, clenching his tattooed fists. “No fucking case to answer. No case to answer. Did you see the state of my boy when that Paki bastard had finished with him?”

  “Mr. Khan was acting in self-defense. Luke held up his store and threatened his wife. With an ax!”