Lennox
“Ryan, you can’t keep doing this,” Jace says in a lower register than his normal voice, masterfully matching James’ intonation and tone. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t fucking need help. Stop trying to help me,” I say, brushing him off. “Everything was fine last night.”
“Fine?” He marches toward me. “Fine? I found multiple women passed out in your room. I couldn’t even wake you up!”
“I’m awake now. The women are gone. It’s fine,” I reply, annoyed but groggy. Pulling all the sensations I can recall from a morning-after hangover.
“I—I can’t do this.” Jace hangs his head, flopping his body against the wall. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Do what?” I step urgently toward him.
“Watch you kill yourself. The drugs…the—women.” He looks away, avoiding my gaze. “It’s too much.”
Stepping directly in front of him, I tilt my head, attempting to meet his gaze. Gripping his chin, I turn his face toward mine and force him to look at me.
“What is it, James? The drugs or the women. Because you’ve never had a problem with either before.” He pulls from my grip and squeezes his eyes shut.
In the script, James and Ryan are friends from childhood.
They created the band Iron Horizon in high school and played in local bars and clubs until they were discovered by a music producer.
They flew into the spotlight, similar to how I did, with no understanding of what to expect or what kind of lifestyle they’d find themselves navigating through.
According to multiple interviews with James and Ryan, there was never anything between them until fame introduced them to an expendable income, desperate fans who would do anything for them, and their own personal pharmacy of recreational drugs.
It started with sharing women in hotel rooms, growing into orgies, and over time, James, the more straight-laced level-headed one, started seeing Ryan in a different light. He discovered he had feelings for him and had no idea how to work through them.
He said he had secretly hid how he felt from Ryan for years. He watched him sexually with other people, slowly dying inside, but he never had the courage to make a move or desire to risk losing the band or their friendship.
James would never confess. It’s Ryan that pushes him.
I lean further into him, reaching out and gripping the side of his shirt. “Are you jealous?”
He snaps his gaze to mine. “No.”
“I think you’re lying.” I reach under his shirt and wrap my hand around his waist, tugging his hips closer to mine.
His skin is warm, his face is flushed, and his eyes are hooded with lust.
“What do you want, James?” I say, locking gazes with him while staying on script.
I don’t blink. I don’t allow my eyes to stray as I bring my lips closer to his.
“I don’t know.” His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and it takes everything in me not to lean down and lick it.
My entire body is on fire. It’s thrumming with desire, a need so bloody strong I’m hardly registering that we’re just rehearsing.
This is not real.
I remind myself, but my brain is already deciding that I’m using this as an excuse to make it real.
Our lips are nearly touching. They’re so close.
“Tell me to stop.”
His eyes widen in surprise as he peers back at me. We’re still in character but what I just said is nowhere in the script. In the scene, Ryan takes what he wants and kisses him now. I should have, but I couldn’t. I want his approval. I need Jace to tell me it’s okay.
His stuttered breath floats over my lips, his jaw tightens, and he squeezes his eyes shut as if blocking out reality.
“Tell. Me. To. Stop,” I repeat, giving him a way out.
“I don’t want to,” he says, barely a whisper.
Fuck yes.
Maybe he just wants to rehearse the scene, but I think a little part of him wants this just as much as I do. Either way, I’m taking full advantage.
I cup my hand around his jaw, pushing him further into the wall, and press my lips against his. It’s soft at first, cautious and calculated.
My tongue grazes along the seam of his mouth, and when he moans, I can’t hold back. My hand becomes more possessive, my body feral with need and I swear to god my brain chemistry is altered with the amount of electricity buzzing between us.
I kiss him hard with all the need I’ve been holding back these past two days and this hot-as-sin, normally level-headed man is kissing me back with the same fervor and flaming desire I have.
“Fuck,” I whisper with an unavoidable smile, as I kiss the corner of his mouth then continue back over his lips.
I’ve lost any sense of control or the scene and my brain is desperately trying to fight for both.
My hand grips the side of his body and I pull him against me, simultaneously pushing into him.
The bulge in my trousers is impossible to hide and my hips roll as I let out a moan of my own.
His hands trail up my abs and his touch is intoxicating. A need my body is already craving. His palms land on my chest and suddenly our lips tear apart and I’m an arm length away, breathless, as he pushes me back.
He blinks with wide eyes pulling us both out of the moment. “That was a good run,” he says, head down as he pushes himself off the wall and walks away.
I can physically hear him lock the door to the bathroom, which I’m grateful for because every bone in my body wants to march over there, kick it open, and continue where we left off, but I refrain.
I palm my face and wonder if I just fucked everything up between us. I completely lost control, went off script and forced us both into this.
But it was so fucking good.
I don’t know him well enough to know how he’s going to handle this. I don’t care what he’s in there telling himself, that kiss was fucking real and there’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.
He exits the bathroom, still brushing his teeth, his face fresh with a light sheen of moisture. Like he has to wash away our kiss from his lips and my touch from his skin.
Great. Instant denial.
Or maybe it’s just me. He’s been doing this a long time.
Am I just looking more into these scenes?
Our chemistry. Maybe he’s just so good at acting that I’m warped into this story, conjuring up my own crush and implanting them in the scenes because I have no idea how to handle myself as an actor when I like someone.
Fuck.
Do better, Lennox. This is your livelihood and you need to get your shit together.
He grabs a small towel and walks back into the bathroom, spits in the sink, then steps out.
“All yours,” he says, giving me that paparazzi smile he gives everyone else.
“Thanks,” my reply is just as awkward as we brush past each other and I step into the bathroom and start the shower, attempting to wash away all the feelings of what just happened.