“I’m not anybody’s sub,” Kit added, stepping up beside Jonathan. “I make my own decisions and answer to myself and myself alone. Devon and Jonathan are my lovers, not my Doms, not that a freak like you can understand that distinction.”
“I should have known Devon wasn’t man enough to satisfy a pretty thing like you,” Robert drawled. “When my cock’s buried down your throat, you won’t be so mouthy.”
Robert’s sneering insults to both his lovers set the fuse to Jonathan’s temper. Acting without thought, he smashed his fist into the actor’s smirking face, knocking him into a barstool and sending him crashing to the floor. He’d bent over him to haul him up and deck him again when Devon grabbed his arm, holding him back.
Kit glared down at Robert. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man alive,” he snarled. “Devon and Jonathan are ten times the man you’ll ever be.”
“What would a prissy bottom like you know about real men?” Robert ground out, struggling to his feet.
Jonathan fought to shake off Devon’s grip, more than ready to knock Robert’s insults down his throat a second time. “Only an ignorant bastard like you would automatically assume he’s the bottom. You’d never be able to understand what the three of us share, so just shut the fuck up and get out of here. We don’t ever want to hear from you again.”
“And who’s going to make me?” Robert challenged, getting into Jonathan’s face.
“I am,” Devon retorted, tightening his grasp on Jonathan’s arm to prevent his infuriated lover from throwing another punch. He stepped between the two, squeezing Jonathan’s shoulder in reassurance before releasing him to face his former Dom. “I should have done this years ago,” he growled. “Your idea of mastery makes me sick. It ends now.”
Robert snorted. “You didn’t stand up to me then. You won’t do it now. You’re still just a pansy boy with no balls.” He reached for Devon’s shoulder, intending to send him to his knees where he belonged.
Once Devon would have found it unthinkable to stand up to Robert’s insults. Now, in his bone-deep assurance of his lovers’ acceptance, his response was instinctive. His blow knocked Robert back against the bar, scattering stools in every direction and drawing the attention of the group sitting at the other side of the room.
“Do our friends need some help?” Glynn asked, looking around the table. As one, the knights rose to their feet and headed toward the four men at the bar.
“What are you doing?” Rhodri yelled as he approached the bar, though it was not at all clear whether he was addressing Robert or his fellow cast members.
Kit turned at hearing Rhodri’s voice, trusting that Jonathan would not let Robert get the upper hand on Devon. “Old, unfinished business,” he told the others. “Let Devon handle it.” When he had confronted Robert, he hadn’t thought about it, determined to defend Devon, but now, seeing Devon finally standing up to his former Dom, he realized that Devon needed to do this for himself, ending Robert’s tyranny once and for all.
Devon pulled Robert upright until their faces were only inches apart. “You no longer have any place in my life. If you ever contact me or any of my friends ever again, I’ll kick your sorry arse all the way back to LA.”
“Big words from a little man,” Robert goaded. “You wouldn’t want word of your little fling to get out, though, now would you? Wouldn’t help your career, and it would be a disaster for theirs.”
Addison approached the bar, drawing the mantle of Merlin’s dignity around himself like a cloak. “You may want to reconsider that threat,” he said, the mild tone belying the steel beneath.
“What do you think you can do to me, you old queen?” Robert snarled.
“We queens have far more power than you might realize,” Addison replied, turning to walk away, leaving the threat implied. He had no idea what had happened between the four men, and he would not do anything until he knew he would not hurt Jonathan, Devon, and Kit by his actions, but he would not stand by and watch his friends persecuted for their relationship.
Robert grabbed Addison’s arm. “Listen, you—”
The rest of the words never left his lips. The four Orkneys surrounded Robert, glaring at him with clenched fists. “Our friends told you to leave,” Rhodri said, his voice hard. “I used to admire you—if I’d had any idea what you were really like, I’d never have invited you to join us.”
“You gonna get rid of me, pipsqueak?”
“You can’t possibly take on all of us,” Glynn pointed out, his calm, deep voice resonating with reason. “Why not leave before anyone gets hurt?”
Infuriated, Robert swung out blindly, not caring who he took down but determined not to let this group of posers get the better of him.
Devon caught his former master’s arm, bearing it down with a strength honed by months of swordplay. “You forget, I know things that would be as damaging to your career as anything you could say about me.”
“And plenty of your former castmates would be happy to corroborate Devon’s word,” Jonathan added, thinking of Mariselle, certain she wasn’t the only one who had seen and abhorred Robert’s behavior.
“You have no power here,” Kit added. “Cut your losses while you still can.”
Robert’s scornful gaze swept over the assembled group, meeting a unified front of opposition in return. He snorted with laughter as he pulled free of Devon’s grip. “Enjoy your little fantasy world while you can,” he taunted. “You’ve already proven you can’t make it in films if you’ve sunk to working on television. A year from now no one will even remember this ridiculous series, and you’ll all be lucky to find work in dog food commercials.”
He stalked to the door, turning to glare at Devon, who stood surrounded by the entire cast. “And if you expect this freaky little threesome you have is going to last, you’re even stupider than I thought—which is pretty hard to imagine.” He paused for a moment, but no one bothered to dignify his insults with a response. With a final sneer of laughter, he walked out, the swinging doors of the pub rocking behind him at the force of his exit.
Chapter 6: Making Love
A STUNNED silence had settled over the bar at Robert’s words. Suddenly, as if his exit had released them from a spell, everyone began talking at once.
“Are you all right?”
“What was that all about?”
“What set him off, anyway?”
Ignoring the sudden chatter around them, Kit looked directly into Devon’s eyes. “It’s over,” he said softly. “He can’t bother you anymore.”
Devon drew a deep breath and released it, feeling the last of Robert’s influence flowing out of him with the exhalation. “Bloody straight,” he affirmed just as softly, reaching out to take Kit’s arm, turning just enough to clasp Jonathan’s as well. “Don’t know why I didn’t do that years ago.”
Jonathan hoped he knew the answer to that question, but this was not the time to go into it, nor was it his place to provide the answer. He settled for clasping Devon’s forearm in return, a warrior’s greeting to outsiders, his other hand settling on Kit’s shoulder, completing the circle that was their strength. “What do you want to tell them?” he murmured, nodding to the group of concerned friends approaching them.
“Just some old, unfinished business.” Devon answered the questions with a rueful grin. “Sorry to have thrown a spanner into the party atmosphere. Next round’s on me, right?”
Glynn looked around the bar at the assembled cast. “I don’t see any spanners, but if I’m not missing my count, I do see two Oscars, a dozen BAFTAs, and a knighthood among the cast. That prick has no idea what he’s talking about. Another drink sounds perfect.” He joined the three, clapping hands on Jonathan’s and Kit’s shoulders before treating Devon to the same. “We ‘freaks’ have to stand by each other.”
“Are we really that obvious?” Kit asked with a grin, knowing their relationship was an open secret on the set. Nobody talked about it, not really, but everyone seemed to understa
nd and accept it.
“Mate, I just met the three of you, and I can already feel the heat,” Glynn answered. “I bet it sparks like hell on screen.”
“It’s wuv,” Colm teased in his best Princess Bride imitation. “Twu wuv.”
The words set the Orkneys howling, Rhodri and Bevan finding the comment particularly funny. Kit looked away with a pang, knowing that for him, it was indeed true love. If only Jonathan and Devon felt the same way, everything would be perfect, but even now, even after the intimacies of earlier that evening, he dared not speak the words that would commit him to his lovers, not because he doubted his feelings, but because he doubted his reception outside the heat of the moment, like when they’d made love in the beach house.
“All three of them? Really?” Éamon asked Addison, as if fascinated by the idea and sensing the older man would have the clearest insight into what actually went on around—and off—the set.
“You have a problem with that, mate?” Devon retorted, overhearing the question. He hadn’t expected that reaction, since it was common knowledge in the industry that Éamon and Glynn were a couple, but just because Éamon was gay didn’t mean he’d approve of a three-way relationship like theirs. Devon hoped he wasn’t going to cause any trouble. The last thing they needed was friction between members of the principal cast.
“None at all,” Éamon answered, “except maybe jealousy. I was wondering what a guy had to do to get that lucky.”
“I still wonder the same thing,” Jonathan answered honestly, relieved that Éamon’s reaction was a positive one. He would have managed his scenes with the other man if it hadn’t been—he was an actor, after all; that was what he was being paid for—but he was glad he wouldn’t have to work with someone who actively disapproved of him and his choices. The thought made him pause, considering what it would mean if the relationship with Devon and Kit were to continue, to become known outside the fantasy world of this utterly atypical cast. Recognizing that he might not have anything to worry about if the relationship ended with filming was even harder to contemplate.
Devon’s glare softened to a smile at his newest castmate. “Fortune favors the bold,” he said in Lancelot’s confident tone.
“How bold?” Glynn asked, eyes running over Devon, Kit, and Jonathan lasciviously.
Addison watched the interactions with a keen eye. This was the closest any of the three had come to talking, in his hearing, about their relationship. He caught a glimmer on Kit’s face, then one on Jonathan’s, that made him wonder. It was obvious to him—to anyone watching, really—how much the three men meant to one another, but he wondered if it was at all obvious to them.
“Let’s just say they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse,” Jonathan said, surprising himself with his openness. But somehow it felt comfortable, right, not to hide the truth. He’d always trusted his instincts, and he sensed that the newest members of the cast could accept what the three of them shared.
Glancing over at Éamon, Glynn smiled. “I know the feeling,” he murmured. Turning to Devon, he added, “So where’s that round?”
Blythe, their Guinevere, slipped her arm through Devon’s. “You all go sit back down,” she told them. “I’ll help Devon carry the drinks.”
With a nod and much milling about, the group of actors moved back toward the table where they had been sitting before Robert provoked Kit. Jonathan hung back for a moment, listening to the Orkneys each vying to top the others in the stories they could tell the newest members of the cast about the three of them, before deciding this would be a good moment to visit the men’s room. He wanted to wash the last taint of Robert’s touch off his skin.
As he stood at the sink rinsing his hands, he couldn’t help but smile at his reflection in the cracked and silvered mirror. “How the fuck did you get so lucky, old man?” he asked himself, his cock tightening in anticipation of returning home at the end of the evening, of the three of them loving one another without Robert’s specter as an unwelcome fourth in their bed.
“It’s a very good question,” Addison agreed from the doorway, “not because you don’t deserve it, but because most of us search our entire lives for one person to love us. To have found two, who love each other as much as they love you, is luck indeed!”
Jonathan’s first impulse was denial, but as he considered Addison’s words, he thought back to what he had felt when Robert had come on to Kit, to his rage at the man’s treatment of Devon, to what he felt every time the three of them made love. It didn’t matter who was on top, who made the decisions, who took whom—that was what they did, every time. They made love. Suddenly all his reasons for holding his feelings in check each time he was tempted to say the words seemed foolish. If their time together was destined to end when filming did, something he had always tried to avoid thinking about, all the more reason to make the most of the time they had now.
Addison watched the emotions play across the younger man’s face, solidifying his belief that the three had not admitted their feelings to one another. “The time has come, I think, for the king to show his leadership once again,” he observed softly. “They will follow where you lead.”
“I hope you’re right,” Jonathan answered, though even if he was mistaken, if Kit and Devon didn’t love him as deeply as he loved them, he wouldn’t regret telling them how he felt. He was tired of hiding it.
“Trust an old wizard,” Addison intoned in Merlin’s gravest tones. “And if you can’t trust him, trust an old queen.”
“I do,” Jonathan said, pulling his friend into a grateful hug. “Both of you.”
Addison laughed and returned the hug. “Let’s go. Your lovers are probably wondering if I’ve stolen you away.”
“If anyone could, it would be you, Addison.” Jonathan grinned.
“Don’t tempt me,” Addison scolded, stepping out of the restroom and back into the bar.
Jonathan followed, instinctively scanning the room until he spotted his two lovers. Devon was still leaning against the bar with Blythe, their heads almost touching. That didn’t surprise him much. Fortunately for the chemistry required between their characters, Devon admired the elegant blonde who portrayed Guinevere, though judging by the expression on his lover’s face, at the moment she was giving him an earful about something. He was more surprised to see Kit talking with Anwyn, just away from the table where the Orkneys had the newcomers in stitches with their tales. Though Jonathan hadn’t filmed many scenes with her yet, he knew Anwyn had taken her role as mother to Gawain, Gaheris, Gareth, and Agravaine to heart, and by virtue of the actors’ friendship had practically adopted Kit as another of her “sons,” though Kit generally tried to avoid her mothering. Curiosity getting the better of him, Jonathan headed toward the bar, only to see Devon flush and straighten as soon as he spotted Jonathan approaching.
“Need a hand with those drinks?” he asked, wondering what Blythe could have been saying to garner such a reaction. “I’m sure the only reason the others aren’t complaining by now is that the Orkneys are telling them all kinds of lies about us.”
“Remember what I said, Devon,” Blythe declared before turning her attention to Jonathan. “Here,” she said, handing him several glasses and bottles. “We can get the rest.”
With Jonathan’s eyes on him, Devon couldn’t help but feel a flush warming his cheekbones—the curse of being fair-skinned, though there weren’t many things that could make him blush anymore. Blythe had just managed to find one of them, and she’d refused to be put off until she’d said her piece. Trying to divert attention from himself, Devon wrapped his hands around as many bottle necks as he could. “Thanks,” he muttered, hoping Jonathan would think the words were for him as they headed toward the large table.
“About time!” Rhodri cheered when Blythe, Jonathan, and Devon arrived with the drinks. “Telling stories is thirsty work!”
“You don’t need an excuse, Rhodri, especially when someone else is footing the bill,” Devon retorted. He suspected t
elling the truth was thirsty work too, though he didn’t plan to do more than nurse a beer or two for the rest of the night. If he was going to do this—and Blythe’s argument had been very convincing—he wasn’t going to rely on liquid courage to see him through it. He had just stood down Robert, for Christ’s sake! How much harder could this be?
Kit and Anwyn returned to the table just then, Kit looking more than a little shell-shocked. He grabbed one of the shots of vodka and downed it in a single gulp, then reached for another, but Anwyn grabbed his hand. “That won’t help,” she scolded. “Just relax and trust me.”
Kit didn’t say “what if.” He’d used all his excuses already, and Anwyn had shot down every single one. He knew she was right, but that didn’t make him less nervous. He looked at Jonathan, then Devon, letting the sight of their beloved faces bolster his confidence. They wouldn’t shoot him down, even if they didn’t feel the same way. They weren’t that kind of men.
Jonathan wasn’t exactly sure, afterward, how he’d made it through the rest of the evening. He’d chatted with the others, even engaged in a fairly lengthy conversation with Éamon Driscoll, though he couldn’t have said later what they’d talked about. All the while, his attention was drawn to his lovers, always aware of where they were and who they were speaking with, even when they weren’t in his line of sight. A low but constant spark of arousal flickered inside him, like a fire damped down to embers, needing only a little fuel to burst into flame again.
When he judged enough time had passed that they could leave without appearing rude, Devon yawned loudly and rose to his feet, excusing himself to the rest of the table. “Early call tomorrow,” he reminded them, nodding toward the newcomers. “Don’t let us stop you, though—you haven’t lived until you have to make a five o’clock makeup call after a night of partying with the Orkneys.”
“Since we drove in with Devon, we’d better be going too,” Jonathan added, knowing they weren’t fooling anyone.
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