Between the Lines Ch. 02

"Jeff!" Daniel interrupts, calmly but very loudly and clearly. All our heads turn to him. None of us expected that tone of voice from quiet, sensitive Daniel. Jeff chokes on whatever he had been about to say next.

"Jeff," Daniel repeats, more gently this time, but with emphasis, "this isn't about Timothy. Timothy's old news. He played his hand and lost. He's out of our lives. And that has nothing to do with Shawn Fletcher. If it hadn't been Shawn, Timothy would have cast someone else. It's not a reflection on you. Why don't we at least see what Shawn can do?"

Jeff's jaw is set, but he's not saying no. Daniel stands, goes to him, and puts his arms around his shoulders—a rare public gesture of affection for him.

"You know whoever plays this role, you're always gonna be my leading man," he murmurs.

This piece of Hollywood writing elicits red faces and averted eyes all round from me, Scott, and Angela. But it seems to do the trick with Jeff, who relaxes and slumps toward Daniel until their foreheads are touching.

"And do I need to show you again how we calm down overwrought leading men around here?" Daniel archly inquires. Scott and Angela both stifle laughs. Clearly I'm missing out on some inside joke—the proverbial fifth wheel.

"Maybe you do—and I'll hold you to it," Jeff answers him with a faintly wicked grin.

"You do that," Daniel replies.

And just like that, the awkward moment appears to be past and we are ready to hear Mr. Fletcher's audition. Angela greets him when he steps onto the stage, coolly professional, giving no hint of the drama that preceded his arrival.

"Mr. Fletcher," she says, "thank you for taking the time to meet with us. You and I will be reading a scene from Act Two ofLikeness of a Sigh."

I suppress a gasp as Fletcher turn to look out at us. He's tall, handsome, well-built, and blond-haired. At this distance, he bears an uncanny resemblance to Jeff, who snorts and grumbles something under his breath.

"Before we begin," Fletcher says, his voice a tone or two higher than Jeff's, but still commanding, "can I just say thank you for agreeing to let me read? I know this might be a bit awkward under the circumstances, but I caught the performances in Lexington and fell in love with these plays and this role. I appreciate this opportunity more than you can imagine."

Daniel surprises me again by taking charge. Well, of course. He's the director now. We're all having a little difficulty adjusting to that. "Thank you, Mr. Fletcher. Why don't we begin and let you show us what you can bring to this role?"

Fletcher is superb opposite Angela. They don't have the easy natural rhythm together that she shares with Jeff, but that actually helps the interpretation. This is supposed to be a couple in the process of learning they are really strangers to one another.

After the scene is finished, Daniel and Scott huddle in conversation a moment. Then Daniel stands up and walks toward the stage.

"Okay, Shawn, thank you," Scott says. "Your co-star Tom wasn't available to be with us today, but we'd like to see you read through one of your scenes together with Daniel standing in, please."

Jeff, who despite his promise of good behavior has been hunkered down and glowering at the stage throughout the process, stands up and leaves the theater.

I wait long enough to ascertain that Fletcher is doing a more than credible job with the love scene from the end ofLamps by Daybefore nodding my approval to Scott and going in search of Jeff.

I find him pacing the lobby, rubbing his face with his hands. I draw a breath, preparing to once again play the patient and supportive mentor, and instead to my surprise find myself seething with anger toward my favorite student, itching to kick him in his pretty ass.

"Jeff, for God's sake, what's the matter with you?" I scold. "Your lover is in there facing his first directing job. Daniel must be terrified, however well he's hiding it. He needs your support. And instead you're sulking like a spoiled child!"

He looks up at me, startled. I'm startled myself to discover that his blue eyes are swimming with tears.

"I'm jealous," he whispers. "So fucking jealous." He looks away again. "And ashamed of it."

I swallow my anger and wait. Now that he's said it, now that the issue is out there, now is the time for patience and support.

With ass-kicking to follow as called for.

"I've wanted this so long," Jeff explains. "Ever since we first read those plays. Every time I said those lines, every time I stepped into that character, Daniel was my Henry. It was his face I imagined, his voice I heard, his body in my arms.

"And then we finally made it into production and Daniel wouldn't play it opposite me. He'd be perfect for the role, you know he would, you know how talented he is. But he did what he always has done, chose the backstage role, chose to work with Scott instead of acting with me. I can't tell you how much that hurt. I know it's irrational, but it made me feel like I wasn't good enough for him. Like I've never been good enough for him.

"And now he's in there, playing one of our love scenes... and with Shawn Fletcher of all people, Timothy's second choice! I just couldn't sit there and watch them do that, couldn't listen to them say those words to each other. It... hurts too much."

My anger is back. That ass deserves kicking.

"And what do you think it's like for me?" I demand. "How do you thinkIfeel, seeing scenes Ron and I played, conversations I remember as if they were yesterday, his goddamn death played out in public like that? Do you think that I don't hurt? Remember that role was written for me—thatisme in that script, up there on that stage. Do you think I don't know jealousy?"

Jeff looks stricken. He has known this all along, of course. I haven't kept my feelings hidden. But I never expressed them this forcefully. He needs to be shaken out of his self-pity so he can start seeing the people around him. And shaken he clearly is.

"Jeff, Daniel loves you. He loves you just as fiercely as you love him. And he needs you. He may be the brightest, strongest young man either of us knows, but he has to know that you have his back or he will crumble. Your love for him is what keeps him strong. Haven't you realized that yet? So be that strength for him, damn it! Don't make it about you, because it never has been. Make it about the two of you. Together."

I grab his head and force him to look into my eyes. He swallows, intimidated. Good. Let him be intimidated. I summon all the considerable authority I can muster into my voice.

"Right now you have one job to do, my boy. And that's not to be an actor—you can save that forQueen Mab. And it's certainly not to be a diva—you've always been above that. Right now you are a... a... ahusband. And it's your responsibility to supportyourhusband. So stop feeling sorry for yourself, get in there andbe Daniel's husband.Now!"

Jeff skedaddles, posthaste. But before he reenters the theater, he turns to look at me. He even musters a wan smile.

"Husband," he says huskily. "You know, I kinda liked the sound of that."

"Go!" I bark.

He goes.

Once I'm sure he won't be returning to see, I allow myself to grin. That felt good.

* * *

My subconscious seems to have developed a creatively obscene bent. Tonight's dream of Ron—my first since returning from Lexington—finds him rousing me from my slumber by giving my balls a slow, thorough, and painstakingly slow tongue bath. By the time he surfaces to talk to me, it feels like there's a sizable pool of precum collecting on my belly beneath the tip of my cock.

"Evening, lover. Shawn did a fine job playing you, don't you think?"

I wish I could see him. I wish I could open my eyes and look at him, at that face I remember so well. I know exactly the expression he's wearing, an adorable mixture of lust, affection, and mischief that never failed to charm the pants off me. Which, incidentally, he seems to have once again managed to do while I was sleeping.

But I can't look. If I open my eyes, the dream ends.

Instead I answer, as casually as I can manage, "He was good, yes. Not as good as Jeff, but he'll do nicely. A good balance of naturalism and theatricality. Though I was never as melodramatic as you write Thomas... aargh!"

He's sucked one of my testicles into his mouth, where he plays with it, gently and lovingly, before releasing it with a soft pop.

"No, my love, you were worse. No audience would ever believe the amount of drama you can bring to a situation."

"If you weren't doing such a good job down there, I'd smack you," I retort. "The least you can do to atone for such blatant slander is give me a proper blowjob, not just a tease."

"Oh, you object?" He knows me better than that. The teasing and the banter are the best kind of foreplay. I hiss and writhe feebly while he subjects my other ball to the same treatment.

Eventually he relents, leaving me panting, and comments, "And speaking of Jeff and drama, weren't you a bit hard on him this afternoon? After all, you yourself said you've had exactly the same sort of feelings."

Oh, he's sneaky, getting me all worked up and blissful and then attacking like that.

"You know, he told me once I was the closest thing he had to a father figure. If that's the case, I figured it's my duty to do the most important thing a father can do for his son: Show him what it means to be a man."

Ron's hands slide up my torso to caress my face. "Which you did admirably. If dramatically."

I seize his hands and blindly turn to kiss each of them in turn. "And do you know why I could do that, love? It's becauseyoutaught it tome."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Romeo."

I pause for a moment, considering a new idea, as best I can when Ron is nuzzling at my neck, my hands are stroking his back, and his penis is nudging delightfully against my thigh.

"I think I may have planted a seed there I didn't intend," I confess.

"Hmmm?"

"With Jeff," I clarify. "You could practicallyseethe wheels turning in his head the moment I used the word 'husband.' You know, I'd only intended it metaphorically." I sigh. "Times are changing, Ron. Gay people are getting married in Iowa now.Iowa!Back in the day, you and I never would have even considered doing something so bourgeois and... domestic."

Ron backs off me. I push my hips up to maintain contact with him, eyes still tightly closed against cruel reality.

"Would you have?" he asks softly. "If you were given the chance?"

"What, married you? We were already married in spirit, Ron, as much as any two people could be. We didn't need any government's permission or approval to validate that."

Ron says nothing and waits.

"But yes, I would have," I finally admit. "In a heartbeat. If only to say 'fuck you' to the Anita Bryants of the world."

He kisses me, long and slow and tender. "And I would you. If only to discourage some of your more persistent students from hitting on you quite so hard."

"You know about those, eh?" I laugh.

"You're not the only one who can get jealous, Larry," he laughs, his long hair tracing its way back down my torso as he descends toward my waiting groin.

Thirty years dead and he can still make me light-headed.

When finally he engulfs me in his hot, wet, inviting mouth, I'm more than ready to explode. It doesn't take long before his eager suckling brings me roaring to a climax. My eyes involuntarily fly open as I peak and tip over the edge into ecstasy. I realize my mistake and close them again immediately.

Too late. Once again, I am truly awake, and Ron has vanished.

But this time he leaves at least one trace of his presence behind. My pajamas are soaked through from what must be the first wet dream I've experienced since I was twenty.

—————

* Doug *

"Aw, fuck, man!"

Letting his thick, stubby cock slip from my mouth, I cautiously open my eyes and look up at Aaron. He's slouched back against the piano, breathing heavily, with a hint of shuddering laughter in his voice that tells me he released a whole lot of tension along with the sizable load he just blew all over my face.

Speaking of which, I reach for the hand towel strategically placed nearby and start wiping Aaron's cum off my forehead and cheeks. Reluctantly, because it feels and smells amazing enough to leave me dizzy with lust, but we still have one more demo to lay down, and a dripping facial will only get in the way.

"Here, let me help you with that," he says, chuckling, lifting me to my feet, pulling my face down to his, and using his own tongue for that purpose. I feel a little like a kitten being cleaned by its mother, but in my state of arousal it's a surprisingly pleasant sensation. Particularly when that exploring tongue finds its way into my mouth and we share the flavor of his spunk while he kneads my aching crotch.

Aaron McBride is a hot, humpy baritone I've had the pleasure of knowing (and screwing around with) for more than a decade now. As if his powerful voice, excellent musicianship, and easygoing personality weren't attraction enough, he's also well-muscled, fuzzy in all the right places, and perpetually unabashedly horny. These days he's sporting a beard that makes him look like a pirate, for added appeal. It's chafing my face (and other parts) when we make out, but I find a little beard burn sexy now and then.

I've finally scraped together enough material for the Ron Gordon project to send Larry Ryan some recorded demos. Aaron might not be quite the ideal physical match to the character, but he has just the type of voice I was looking for. Being an old friend, he was delighted to lay down a few tracks for me.

And, as I'd expected, the incidental benefits of having him over to my private studio aren't too shabby either.

Without breaking our lip-lock, Aaron whirls me around—God, he's strong, even though he's nearly a head shorter than I am—and backs me up against the piano, reversing our positions. He then nibbles his way down my neck and chest, pausing to pay extra special attention to my nipples and navel before ripping open my button-fly jeans. He jerks them and my boxers down to my ankles in one move, and dives down on my dick with growling enthusiasm.

I growl back, planting one hand lightly against the back of his head and fucking his face as forcefully as I dare. He responds enthusiastically, taking me deep—no gagging, that singer's training has taught him how to relax his throat—then backing off with a flourish of his tongue and lips around my cock head that makes me weak in the knees.

I lose track of how long we stay like this, me feeding him the man-meat he craves while he devours it like a starving man, but I finally I start to feel my nuts tighten up, getting ready to shoot. And as sweet as Aaron's mouth is, I know something even sweeter. I pull him off me, ignoring his yelp of protest.

"I can't take it any more," I explain, groping for the condom and lube I set aside earlier. "I have to get at that ass of yours."

His cock-entranced daze immediately shifts to enthusiastic compliance. "I thought you'd never ask," he says, turning and draping himself over the piano bench, presenting his tight, well-furred butt to me like a good boy.

A very good boy, I amend, once I'm suited up and sunk deep inside his well-trained hole.

Aaron's making appreciative, encouraging noises beneath me, urging me on to completion. It adds spice to the fuck, but it's really not necessary, since I'm already right on the edge. There's no way I'll be able to last as long as his warm, pliant ass deserves. Instead I surrender to the inevitable, pull out, strip the condom off, and let loose my own load in big, thick streams across his butt and back.

Then I collapse to the floor, panting and laughing, pulling him down on top of me with his head against my chest. I guess I must have had a good amount of tension in need of release myself.

"God, I needed that," I tell him.

"It felt like it. How long have you been saving that up?"

"Two weeks. Alex is engrossed in mid-terms."

Aaron nods sagely. "Too bad Todd couldn't be here. He'd have loved to be part of this."

Todd Molina is Aaron's partner, a gentle, burly bear of a fellow who has the distinction of being one of the very few men with standing permission to top me. Believe me, it's no hardship being the meat in the sandwich between the two of them! I've been friends and fuck buddies with both Aaron and Todd since before they were a couple, and somehow my "with benefits" status wound up getting grandfathered into their relationship. Not that I'm complaining.

"Tell him I missed him. Where is he again?"

"Austin. He's got a part time position there, so he's setting up a condo for us. With a guest room, so you can come visit us whenever you feel up to dragging yourself away from this studio and your little college friend for a while."

"Texas is an awfully long way to travel for a three-way," I complain.

"Aw, c'mon, Doug, it'd do you serious good to get out of Lexington now and then. Shake things up a bit. In fact, why don't you come down and visit us this spring? We'll help you find yourself a nice cowboy to shack up with for a long weekend."

I scoff at the suggestion, then concede that it sounds like it might just possibly be fun. Aaron doesn't press the issue. He knows me well enough that, having planted the seed of an idea, he can trust me to work it through in my own time. Not everybody gets me that way.

We lie quiet a little while longer, enjoying our companionship in the afterglow of hot sweaty sex. Alex is a dynamo in the sack, but he's got nothing on Aaron when it comes to a good post-coital cuddle.

Finally, the hardwood floor starts to become too uncomfortable with Aaron's well-muscled weight on top of me. "Well, I suppose it's time to get back to work," I conclude.

We clamber to our feet, both groaning a little and sharing conspiratorial smiles as we wipe off the worst of the cum and lube and gather our discarded clothes. I step back into my jeans, forgoing underwear, but remain shirtless. Aaron chooses to record this final track in nothing but a well-worn jockstrap. It adds an extra bit of titillation to the proceedings, knowing no one who hears the finished product will ever dream the performers recorded it while mostly naked after screwing each other silly.

I can't help trying to imagine Larry Ryan's face if he ever found out. The man acts like the proper gentleman, but something tells me there's a raunchy streak buried somewhere behind those glasses and that mid-Atlantic accent. And the sexy leading man voice. Don't forget the voice.

I must be developing some kind of fetish for baritones.

"You know, Doug, this is terrific stuff you're writing," Aaron tells me, picking up the score to the last of the three arias we've chosen to record. "I hope this guy Ryan appreciates it."

I sit down at the piano and throw off a few scales, limbering up my fingers in preparation for the last push of the day. "Oh, believe me," I tell him, "with a voice like yours performing it, he'll be a fool if he doesn't give it the green light."

If only I were as confident as I sound. Ryan's no fool. But will he buy what I'm selling?