Chapter 7: Closed Set
Eddie sipped his coffee in the back of his limousine. He glanced at his watch and considered walking back up to the motel. Finally, the door on the second floor opened, and a blur raced out of the room, down the stairs, and straight to the car.
Waylon opened the door himself, not waiting for David. "Sorry sorry," he said as he plopped down onto the bench across the backseat. "I overslept."
"Understandable," said Eddie.
The soft hum of the limousine filled the cabin, and the car lurched. Waylon yawned loudly before slapping a hand over his mouth and blushing.
"Sorry…"
"No need to keep apologizing," said Eddie. "I trust you have fun last night."
Waylon turned and studied Eddie's face, before shrugging. "The guys had a lot of fun. Drinks and dancing. A few might have gone in the back, but you didn't hear it from me." Waylon smirked, and Eddie quirked an eyebrow. "Not me! Were you thinking me?"
"You seem awfully alert for someone who spent a late night at a brothel."
"I wasn't drinking," said Waylon, grinning. "I knew I had to be in top form. For, ya know, today."
Eddie hummed quietly. The conversation faded away, and neither man attempted to revive it. They pulled up into the parking lot of The Sultry Peach and David came around to open Waylon's door first.
"I guess I'll, uh, see you there then," said Waylon, giving a nervous smile before walking toward his designated trailer.
"Action!"
Eddie slammed against the black velvet bench. He barely noticed. His eyes focused on Waylon.
Waylon's body glistened with oils and glitter, shimmering in the sparse lighting. Eddie felt lost, staring helplessly as Waylon danced against his lap.
It wasn't the first take. More like the twentieth. Dennis continued to change the angles, the lighting, the movement. But no matter how many times they filmed the scene, Eddie remained transfixed.
Waylon faced Eddie and put one leg up on the bench, his foot just outside of Eddie's thigh. He resumed dancing, grinding his groin directly at Eddie's eye level. Waylon wore his shiny costume, and Eddie was back in his jacket and unbuttoned shirt ensemble from the previous day.
During the first shoot, Waylon kept his crotch a respectable distance away, miming the actions enough that it resembled grinding from a certain camera angle. But Dennis was unsatisfied, demanding more takes with each adjustment bringing Waylon closer and closer.
"Y-ya know, you should be in porn," said Eddie, as Felix. "You're wasted here, stripping. You could be a star…"
Waylon rolled his eyes, never ceasing his gyrating hips, metallic briefs glinting in Eddie's eyes. "Lemme guess, if I blow you, you can get me work," he said, as Randall.
"Imma, uh, a-agent," said Eddie, licking his lips as he gazed up at Waylon. Eddie was acting. He wasn't really attracted to Waylon. Felix was attracted to Randall.
"CUT," said Dennis. "Okay, again, but with Eddie stuttering less. Felix convinces Randall that he can get him work. How can anyone believe that when he's stuttering and blushing?"
Eddie fought his discomfort. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Got it."
"Alright, take it again from Felix's line, 'you should be,' and Felix, you're trying to convince this guy that you're a capable manager, not talk him into a pity fuck."
"I'm onto you, Eddie," said Waylon, dropping his voice to a whisper. His mouth quirked as he propped his leg back up on the bench. Eddie raised an eyebrow. "You're making these mistakes on purpose, so I have to keep dancing longer."
Eddie's mouth fell open, but he had no retort. Did others see it that way? Waylon laughed and gave an exaggerated wink. "Just kidding."
"Alright, come on people, this is a closed set, quiet," said Dennis. A hush fell over the few people present for the intimate scene. Waylon's face turned back into that of a concentrating dancer, but Eddie's remained one of nervous determination.
"You should be in porn," said Eddie, as Felix. He moved a hand to Waylon's ankle and allowed his fingers to trail up Waylon's calf, slowly. His skin was soft under a layer of sweat and devoid of all body hair. "You're wasted here, stripping…" Eddie turned his head, pressing his lips to the inside of Waylon's knee. "You could be a star on video…"
Waylon chuckled, rolling his hips in slow, exaggerated movements, bringing his scantily covered groin dangerously close to Eddie's face. "Let me guess, if I blow you, you can get me work," Waylon smirked down at Eddie, "haven't heard that before."
Eddie leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Waylon's bare thigh. Waylon inhaled, sharply, his fluid movements disrupted for a split second. Eddie stared up Waylon's body with dilated blue eyes.
"I'm an agent," said Eddie, before opening his mouth, and dragging his lips across the lump in Waylon's metallic briefs. "And I never made an offer like that to anybody before. You inspire me."
Waylon moaned. Unscripted. It sounded sincere. Eddie mouthed at the front of Waylon's costume. There were modesty briefs, and padding, allowing Waylon some modesty. But Eddie was sure Waylon could feel something through the fabric from the way he was whimpering.
"CUT, okay, just like that, I want to go back to the first angle, that's what I'm talking about, Eddie, great job, you're the seducer now…"
The takes continued, and Eddie's portrayal of Felix became more and more physical. Eddie knew he was convincing because of Waylon. His face flushed bright red, his dialogue spoken in increasingly breathy tones, and the most telling sign of all—the swell in Waylon's costume.
Waylon discreetly adjusted himself to keep his privacy from springing free from his costume. During the last takes, Eddie's mouth rubbed up against an unmistakable hardness.
"Okay, moving on, Waylon push him back and take it from, "watch it, okay, action!"
Eddie sat on the edge of the bench, staring up at Waylon while gripping his thigh. Waylon put his foot down on the ground and pushed both of Eddie's shoulders. He fell back against the bench with a befuddled oof.
"Watch it, mister," said Waylon, bending at the waist to speak close to Eddie's ear. "You're dangerously close to crossing a line."
Both paused as a boom lowered too quickly, and both flinched before the boom raised back out of the frame. Eddie and Waylon shared a brief grin then immediately delved back into their roles.
Waylon climbed onto the bench, thighs straddling Eddie's. He leaned forward to kiss Eddie, lips working in exaggerated movements for the camera. It reminded Eddie of their practice kiss back at his house, the day Waylon had shown up, uninvited.
"More, bigger," said Dennis.
Waylon responded with a loud moan into Eddie's mouth, lips opening wider. A soft gasp escaped Eddie as he allowed Waylon to nip at his bottom lip.
"Tongue," said Dennis. "Get in close, I want close-up tongue shots."
Eddie's tongue pushed into Waylon's mouth, and his fingers on Eddie's shirt went limp as though the kiss had rendered him a boneless mess. He melted into the kiss. Waylon's hands pawed Eddie's shirt, encouraging the motions.
"The camera needs to see the tongue, this isn't your first time, boys, come on," said Dennis.
Waylon pulled away and stuck out his tongue, Eddie followed suit. It was an unnatural sort of kiss, having tongues outside of their mouths, rubbing one another. A parody of a kiss—something seen in porn; not real life. Waylon must have had plenty of experience with those types of kisses.
Eddie sucked Waylon's tongue into his mouth, causing Waylon's entire body to shudder.
"Fuck, Eddie," said Waylon.
"His name is Felix," said Dennis, before giving a long, irritated groan. "Dammit, that was just what I wanted before the slip, still rolling, try again."
"Sorry," said Waylon, obviously flustered. Eddie ignored the flub and continued the dramatic kiss. They tilted their heads in unnatural ways to ensure the camera got the best shots of their intertwining tongues.
Kissing Waylon's wasn't bad. The softness of his lips. The movements of his tongue suggested skills Eddie should not imagine. Waylon's body was warm, despite being near naked, and the noises he made were intoxicating.
The kiss broke and Waylon pressed his forehead tight against Eddie's. "What's your name, mister?" He rolled his body against Eddie's lap as they remained together.
"Felix," said Eddie, pausing to nip at Waylon's lower lip. "Felix Carter."
"You feel like getting your dick wet, Felix Carter?" asked Waylon, his voice dipping several octaves. The stuttering moan from Eddie's lips was only partially acting.
The lighting, the oil, the way Waylon's brown eyes flashed darker than ever. Waylon's gaze was an aggressive challenge. Eddie had an urge to rise and meet it.
Waylon's hands were deft as they reached down and ripped Eddie's shirt open, sending buttons flying in all directions.
"Hell yeah, perfect," said Dennis, from behind the camera. "Great, great shot, did you get it? Perfect, get another shirt on standby, still rolling."
Waylon's hands splayed out across Eddie's chest, and he leaned in to kiss across Eddie's collarbone, and down his chest.
"Bite him," said Dennis.
The next time Waylon's mouth opened, he nipped painfully at Eddie's chest.
"Fuck," said Eddie.
"Not actually bite him, it's called acting," said Dennis.
"Sorry," said Waylon, biting his lip to stop a cheeky grin. He snickered softly before leaning back down. This time his nips were gentle, teeth scraping against heated skin, a tongue tracing a long, slow stripe. Eddie gasped and his stomach trembled as Waylon descended. His body's reactions were genuine.
Waylon undid Eddie's pants and struggled to pull his black belt out of the loops. He took several attempts before Waylon stared into the camera with a pleading look.
"Cut, set it up again, rougher this time," said Dennis.
It was a couple takes until Dennis was satisfied. Waylon roughly pulling out the leather belt, and opened Eddie's pants, sliding down just enough to allow his boxers to show over the top. Eddie delivered a flawless moan.
The camera repositioned to behind Waylon's shoulder focused on Eddie's face. Waylon began to mime the action of bobbing his head up and down on Eddie's lap. It was up to Eddie to sell it with his reactions. He stared down with an open mouth, moaning softly, closing his eyes, dropping his head back.
Eddie grabbed a handful of Waylon's hair and pushed him down. The enthusiasm earned a stifled laugh from Waylon as his face was pushed against Eddie's boxers. Eddie, yelped, releasing Waylon's hair as both hands flew to push his shoulders.
"Cut," said Dennis, with a long-suffering sigh. "It's getting late, we gotta clear out soon, please, just, focus on your micro-expressions. I need to believe that Felix is getting blown right now. Come on, Eddie, show us your 'O' face."
Eddie muttered and snapped back into the moment. He barely noticed the call to action. Eddie stared down at Waylon with lidded eyes.
Waylon continued his mimed actions, leaning closer. His lips nipped at the front of Eddie's boxers. The reaction was immediate. Eddie groaned and reached around to hold Waylon's head again. This time he held him firmly, nails scraping against the back of Waylon's skull as Eddie watched licking his lips.
"Much better, more reactions like that," said Dennis.
Waylon looked up from Eddie's lap, and smirked. He continued to nuzzle his nose and mouth into Eddie's boxers where the camera couldn't see. Eddie suddenly found it difficult to sit still. His hips flew off the bench, as he pushed Waylon's head down. Heat returned in the form of Waylon breathing against the front of Eddie's underwear. His moan was obscene.
Eddie conjured up an imagine in his mind. No modesty briefs between them. How hot and wet Waylon's mouth would feel. The mouth currently hanging open as Waylon stared up Eddie's body.
There were several camera repositions, lighting adjustments, and even a makeup retouch necessary because of how sweaty they both became. No matter how significant the disruption, when the cameras started, Waylon and Eddie easily resumed rubbing, touching, and panting.
Annoyance flared at exactly how pleased Waylon looked. No doubt because of the tent in Eddie's underwear. Or the wet spot forming near where the heat of his cock rubbed into the fabric. Waylon's tongue extended to rub directly onto that wet spot, dragging across the blunt head of Eddie's cock.
Without prompting, Eddie cried out, hands grasping the edge of the bench for support.
"Cut," said Dennis, clapping his hands once. "Okay, that was hot. Is it hot in here? I'm feeling warm. Great job, you two. That's it for today, I think we got this scene, bravo. We pick up here tomorrow for the big climax," Dennis paused as a few crew members groaned, "bad joke, sorry, alright, get the cameras outside, we need to get some outdoor shots with the sunset."
Eddie stood up, and quickly adjusted his pants. He tucked his erection up to minimize the effect and fixed his pants and belt back into place. Waylon stood up and made no similar movements to hide his own arousal. The tip of his cock peeked over the edge of the metallic briefs, ruddy and wet.
No. Eddie can't stare at that. Needed to scrub it from his memory. Waylon was quick to accept a thin, white robe from an assistant.
"Thank you, Dennis," said Eddie, straightening his back. "Good job, everyone. Thanks for your hard work."
Eddie walked off set, some crew members returning his sentiments. Only the most necessary crew members were allowed on set during the intimate scene. It comforted Eddie that only a handful of people had witnessed him panting and moaning under Waylon. Though the whole world would, soon enough, when the movie was released.
"Uh, thanks, and stuff," said Waylon, tying his robe as he rushed after Eddie. The knot hung sloppy and crooked in front of his robe. He caught up with Eddie in the hallway outside of the club's back room.
"Eddie, hey, good job," said Waylon.
"Likewise," said Eddie, not bothering to turn around. He pushed the door marked "Exit Only" and walked out of the strip club and toward his trailer.
"Hey, um, you want some help?" asked Waylon.
Eddie stopped short, turned around, and leveled a profoundly confused glare at Waylon. "Help?"
"Yeah like, do you want me to come back to your trailer?" asked Waylon, staring into Eddie's eyes as if this was a common thing to say to another actor.
"I prefer to be alone in my trailer," said Eddie. "If you'll excuse…"
"No, I mean, I know, no one's allowed in there unless you ask, whatever, but, I mean," Waylon leaned in close, and lowered his voice, "you're hard."
Eddie's eyes flew wide, and he stood, scandalized.
"It was, ya know, kinda hard to miss, from where I was uh, kneeling," said Waylon, when Eddie continued to stare in silent outrage. "It's okay, I'm not upset or anything, I'm hard, too."
"It's a sign of good acting if the scene was titillating. The arousal is an indicator of good acting abilities that will translate appropriately to the audience…"
"Uh, yeah, sure, but I was meaning like, maybe we could help each other out with this predicament?" Waylon's blush extended beyond his cheeks his neck and the V of his chest left exposed by the robe. "Lend each other a hand?" Waylon used his hand to gesture so there would be no mistaking his meaning.
Eddie's throat bobbed as he swallowed and leaned in closer to Waylon's ear. "I'm going to walk away now, and pretend we never had this conversation."
"Oh," said Waylon, chuckling awkwardly at himself. "Yeah, cool, I'll just go take care of this myself." Waylon walked around Eddie, and straight toward his own trailer.
Eddie stared at Waylon walking away, apparently unperturbed about the fact that he was wearing only a robe in a public parking lot. Waylon turned around and caught Eddie watching before he could look away. Waylon grinned and waved.
"If this trailer's rockin' right?" called Waylon, grinning.
Eddie quickly walked toward his own trailer, slamming the thin metal door safely behind himself.
"Some of the guys are walking next door again, you in?" asked Keith. He was one of the dancers, so tall Waylon had to crane his neck to meet his eyes. Keith had the musculature of a Grecian statue, dark skin, and a bright smile.
"Nah, thanks, I was really tired this morning, need to make sure I get enough sleep," said Waylon.
"Won't be the same without you," said Keith, winking.
Waylon stood in the parking lot of The Sultry Peach, watching Keith walk to join the rest of the dancers. Waylon leaned against the outside of the club in comfy clothes, trying to keep an eye on Eddie's trailer door without looking like a total creep.
As soon as the door opened, Waylon's face lit up. He waved until he caught Eddie's eye. He looked refreshed in a clean gray shirt over black slacks. Waylon couldn't stop the smile that naturally appeared anytime Eddie looked his way.
"Eddie," said Waylon, adopting a strange half-skip to catch up as Eddie walked toward his limousine in the parking lot. "Dude, I'm so sorry about earlier, there wasn't a lot of blood left in my brain after that scene, you know what I mean? Hope you're not pissed at me."
"Nothing to worry about," said Eddie, keeping his eyes straight ahead, and his strides long.
"Are you sure?" asked Waylon, struggling to keep up. He finally had to stop, limping slightly as he watched the distance between them grow.
"I thought we agreed that conversation never happened?" Eddie glanced to his side and noticed Waylon's absence.
"Don't worry, I'll catch up, err, that is, if you don't mind giving me a ride, still?"
Eddie sighed, slowing down until his steps matched with Waylon's limping. He put a strong arm around Waylon's back and allowed him to lean into his side.
"What happened?" asked Eddie.
"Nothing big," said Waylon, chuckling. "Holding that position all afternoon for the private dance scene, my groin's just feeling kind of sore."
"You injured yourself on set?" asked Eddie. "You're sure it wasn't your activities after the shoot?"
"My inner thigh is hurting, not my dick," said Waylon. Eddie stumbled at the crass language, and Waylon couldn't help laughing. "Sorry."
"No apology necessary," said Eddie. "You should ice it, tonight, and get some rest. I would hate to delay any of the shooting. A day extra in this mangy place, and I may lose my sanity."
"This must all be so horrible for you," said Waylon, exhaling through his nose. "Staying in this shit hole. Shooting these raunchy scenes with someone like me."
"I told you last night," said Eddie, his arm tightening around Waylon, "I don't dislike working with you. Today's scene was…intense. You handled it well."
David materialized around the side of the limousine and held the door open for both of them. Eddie sat down first and helped Waylon down onto the bench seat in the back. The door slammed closed behind them, leaving them alone in the dim car.
Waylon kept quiet. He flicked his finger at the lock mechanism of the door, instead of talking about more embarrassing shit. He had hoped that apologizing would make him feel better, but instead, things only seemed more awkward. He never knew when to keep his fucking mouth shut.
"Is something the matter?" asked Eddie. "Is it your injury?"
"What? Oh, no," said Waylon, chuckling to himself. "It's not a big deal, don't worry about it."
Eddie leaned into Waylon's side. "I've said it before, but I am genuinely impressed with your acting abilities." When Waylon turned his head, he met concerned blue eyes. "I'm proud to be working with you."
"Thank you, Eddie," said Waylon, sighing.
Fuck. He was going to jerk off again, he already knew it. He was going to spend all night in his motel bed, beating his dick and thinking about Eddie's teeth on his thigh. Waylon's spank bank overfloweth.
The remainder of the ride was silent. Eddie kept his eyes trained out the window, and Waylon stared down at the limousine's interior. Not very interesting.
Back at the motel, Eddie helped Waylon with the stairs and walked him safely to his room. Waylon leaned into Eddie's side, wrapping one arm loosely around him.
Waylon was trying to be good, but he couldn't be expected not to get in some innocent touches when it was allowed. Invited, even. Desired?
"Thanks, you're the best," said Waylon, smiling.
Eddie nodded, disentangling himself, before walking to his own room next door. Waylon groaned and hit his head loudly against his own door.
Stupid. Why was he so stupid?
Was it not enough that his childhood idol, teenage crush, and acting role model was encouraging him? Mentoring him? That Eddie was friendly to him and treated him with respect?
And what right did a lowlife like Waylon even have to wish for more than that? It was already more than he deserved.
Waylon opened the door and almost tripped on a strange duffel bag.
"Uh…what tha?"
"About time," came a familiar voice.
"What the hell are you doing here?" asked Waylon.
"You see the article?" asked Miles, grinning.
"Yeah," said Waylon, sulking. He limped over to his bed and sat down on the scratchy comforter. Miles had already made himself at home on the other double bed, sprawled out in dark jeans and a blue plaid shirt. "How did you even get in here?"
"I told the front desk my name was Waylon Park, and that I was a huge slut, and that my room key fell out of my thong in a truck stop bathroom while I was blowing some dude."
"And that worked? Jesus Christ, there is no security in this place…"
"Security, look who's big time," said Miles, snickering to himself. He sat up, rubbing his hands together. "So, what's the word? What's the dirt? What's going on? You gotta give me something, we got bills waiting back at the house."
"There is no dirt, I told you after Trager's, I'm not gonna get my career started if scandals and rumors follow me around, I won't help you…"
"That's fine," said Miles, grinning. "I can just run that story." Miles held up his fingers, framing an imaginary headline. "Road Head: Eddie Gluskin and his male co-star share a sex-fueled ride home…"
"That's not what happened," snapped Waylon.
"No one gives a shit," said Miles.
Waylon leaned over toward the nightstand between the two beds and picked up Miles' phone. "I'm gonna delete that photo."
"It's on the Cloud, muffintop," said Miles, grinning. "Besides, you don't know my code."
Waylon effortlessly unlocked Miles' phone and began sifting through his recent camera images. Selfies of Miles wearing sunglasses and staring away from the camera. A dick pic. Plenty of photographs from Trager's that night, but the incriminating photo was missing.
"How'd you do that?" asked Miles, sitting up and grabbing for his phone.
"Your code is 6969, real mature," said Waylon.
"Doesn't matter," said Miles, laying back down on the bed, and stretching out. "Like I said, it's in the Cloud. The only thing keeping me from running that story, and receiving a fuck ton of cash and praise, is my loyalty to you. And your continued cooperation with getting me stories…"
"Fine," said Waylon, sighing. "Um, we're shooting at a strip club, and there's a brothel next door. Some of the crew went there last night. Some went back today. They're probably there right now."
"You sure?" asked Miles, jolting upright.
"Yeah, I'm sure, I was there last night, I turned them down tonight," said Waylon.
"I gotta get to this place," said Miles, shoving his hand through his hair. "Did Gluskin show up?"
"Nah," said Waylon, shrugging. "Not his scene."
"Still worth a look," said Miles, waggling his eyebrows. He stood up from the bed, grabbed his phone, and another slim digital camera, and started toward the door. "You coming?"
"Nah, I'm too sore from today, and I gotta get up and do it again tomorrow."
"Suit yourself," said Miles, shrugging before walking outside. The door shut, and Waylon heard the echo of Miles' footsteps in the breezeway. Then, Miles' voice drifted from down the way. "Oh, hey, wow, big fan! Can I get a picture?!"
Waylon cringed and tweaked his groin in an attempt to stand up too quickly.
"Just amazing to meet you, loved Outlast man, great flick, keep up the great work," said Miles.
A soft knock on Waylon's door. Waylon hobbled over and peered through the cloudy peephole. Eddie Gluskin stood in the breezeway, holding a bucket of ice. Waylon took a deep breath and opened the door.
"Eddie," said Waylon, trying, and failing, to keep it from sounding like a whispered devotion.
"Ice," said Eddie.
"Y-you brought me ice?" asked Waylon, his voice catching in his throat. "That's…that's so thoughtful of you."
"May I come in?" asked Eddie. Somehow, Eddie had found time to change into relaxed, black slacks and a plain gray T-shirt. Holy shit, it was hot.
Waylon nodded quickly and motioned with his hand for Eddie to enter. His heart jumped into his throat and he worried he might choke if he attempted conversation. The door closed, too loudly, behind them.
"If you didn't have any other plans, I thought maybe we could talk," said Eddie, staring at the two beds, both in various stages of being unmade, and the different luggage. "You seemed distressed, earlier in the car. I know tomorrow we have to finish our intimate scene, and I thought it would not bode well to allow any issues to fester between us."
"Oh," said Waylon, blushing. "Sorry, fuck, I made it an issue, didn't I? Sorry, I know I was out of line, acting like a horny teenager, and afterward, I guess I just felt, self-conscious."
"It's your first major role in a movie, well, a feature film," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "I assumed, due to your previous projects, that you wouldn't have a problem with this type of scene."
"Oh, I don't have trouble getting naked, or performing, but I'm not really used to the scene ending without getting some kind of relief," said Waylon, snickering. "Know what I mean?"
Eddie frowned. "I can make some educated guesses."
Waylon grinned. "You're so uncomfortable talking about porn." Waylon hobbled to sit on his bed and patted the comforter beside him. "It's okay, you know? Everyone watches porn sometimes…"
"I don't," said Eddie, sitting down stiffly, as though afraid to touch more of the comforter than absolutely necessary.
"Really?" asked Waylon, ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest. So much for that fantasy that Eddie Gluskin might have already seen some of his work, and enjoyed himself.
"I had some bad experiences in the past," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "I suppose porn is fine when you go into the scene knowing…"
"Oh," said Waylon, turning to meet Eddie's eyes, "your video that leaked? I mean, that's different than porn, that was, well, a crime first off, but the videos where I performed…"
"I intended no disrespect, I know your previous work required considerable skill…"
"It's okay, I know it's different," said Waylon, grinning. "I'm not trying to pretend my dozens of porn videos are major motion pictures. I mean, I didn't know it all the time, but all that work perfectly prepared me for this role. I like to think these things happen for a reason."
"Lovely sentiment," said Eddie, nodding.
"You disagree?" asked Waylon.
Eddie stared down at the ice in the bucket he held. "You should use this before it melts."
"Good idea," said Waylon. Eddie had brought a motel washcloth and a plastic bag to assist with the DIY ice pack.
While Eddie assembled the ice pack, Waylon shimmied out of his navy track pants, leaving him in black boxer briefs. Eddie turned around with his completed ice pack and frowned. Waylon took the pack without missing a beat.
"Thanks," said Waylon, sitting with his back against the headboard. He leaned back, keeping his legs spread wide. He pressed the cool cloth against his bare thigh and sighed.
"How's that?" asked Eddie, standing beside the bed.
"You're handy," said Waylon.
"I've pulled my groin several times on productions," said Eddie, chuckling. "Never know what kind of strange position you need to be in for the director to get a shot."
"I'm sure it's just a minor thing, probably just overworked, dancing that long," said Waylon, adjusting the pack in his hand. "Should be fine in the morning."
"I hope so," said Eddie, sighing. "I can't wait to get back to LA."
"Still a few days out from that," said Waylon, grinning.
"As long as everything goes according to schedule, tomorrow is my last day here," said Eddie, turning to stare in the direction of the tiny bathroom. "I'm traveling to Hong Kong for interviews and press meetings. Apparently, The Seven Rings of Europa did great in Asia."
"That's awesome," said Waylon, face lighting up. "That movie wasn't as bad as the critics were saying, fucking idiots, I knew you were already on your way back up to the top."
"It's millions away from breaking even, considering the budget," said Eddie, shrugging. "Hardly my fault."
"Nah, you did great in that movie," said Waylon, sighing dreamily, and pressing the cold compress harder against his thigh. "I really liked that space uniform you had to wear. You looked so fucking sexy."
Eddie chuckled, diverting his eyes. "Too bad Felix only wears cheap suits."
"Mmm, I like Felix, no matter what he's wearing," said Waylon, grinning.
"Randall likes Felix," said Eddie, as though correcting a toddler.
"Sure, but I like him, too," said Waylon. "He's loyal and aggressive, and he looks just like Eddie Gluskin."
Eddie's ears turned bright pink, and Waylon's smile turned wicked. Eddie looked back and seemed to notice Waylon's spread crotch first. Interesting.
"Are you blushing?" Waylon smirked, making a show of dragging the pack even further up his thigh, pushing the cotton leg of his boxer briefs up higher. "You had your mouth on my crotch earlier, but now you're shy?"
"I should get back to my room. I need a shower. I think most of your body oil rubbed off on me, earlier."
Waylon chuffed softly, "I'd say I'm sorry, but…I'm not."
Eddie paused at the door, eyes moving slowly as they took in the room and Waylon on the bed. "Drive you in the morning?"
"Thank you," said Waylon, waving from the bed with the hand not clutching the ice pack.
Eddie walked out of the room, shutting the door behind hi. Waylon collapsed back onto the mattress.
Why was he incapable of not harassing this kind, patient man?
It was pitch black in the room when Waylon heard clicking at the door. Light from the parking lot filtered in through the crack as a black silhouetted figure entered the room. Waylon sat up and fumbled for his phone.
"Miles? Fuck, what time is…"
"Sorry," said Miles, his tone not sorry at all. He made his way over to the other bed and kicked his shoes off against the wall with a bang. Waylon buried his head in his pillow instead of watching as Miles removed the remainder of his clothing.
"Did you go to the brothel?" asked Waylon, voice muffled by the pillow.
"Oh yeah," said Miles, whistling happily in the dark.
"You found a story, I can tell by the way you're acting," muttered Waylon, lifting his head up slowly.
"Oh, I found a story, alright," said Miles, chuckling to himself. The bed jumped as Miles dropped down on Waylon's bed and began forcing his way under the covers.
"Are you going to tell me?" asked Waylon.
"Nope," said Miles, sliding both arms around Waylon's body and pulling him close, spooning around him. Waylon allowed it, despite the fact that Miles reeked of cigarettes and sweat.
"You're a bastard," said Waylon, sighing. Miles clung tighter to Waylon and nuzzled his head into Waylon's curls. They both settled into even breathing.
"Everyone says you're doing really well," said Miles, voice already drowsy and ending in a long yawn. "You're full of so many surprises, you know that?"
Waylon smiled without opening his eyes. "Thanks, Miles."
A/N: Thanks Ria'Latsyrc! Still plugging along here, next chapter we finish up this scene and things reach that boiling point ;) ;)
