by Tsukizubon Saruko (月図凡然る子)
“Rental,” was the first thing Col managed to gasp when he finally separated their mouths, wheezing into Gary’s, “rental, rental, god damn you, rental.”
The message sunk in eventually, and Gary paused, actually easing up a blessed little bit on where he’d been grinding Col’s back into the elaborate backstage scaffolding. “…Wait, it is? Seriously?” He drew back a few more inches, to where he could run a critical eye down the front of Col’s tux. …Lingering in certain places more than others, and Col tried and failed not to blush. He probably looked like he’d stuffed one of the stupid statuettes down his pants. “Pardon me, but you know, I’m an old man, I forget things sometimes, maybe you can remind me how much it was that Thanksgiving at the Reynolds’ grossed on its first weekend. Something like 40 million, wasn’t it?”
“My dad keeps telling me to just invest everything,” Col muttered, looking at his fingers tangled in Gary’s lapels. Gary probably owned his tux. Gary had probably owned his tux for longer than Col had been alive. “I live in an apartment.”
“Oh, no. I had no idea. When has anyone ever suffered as you have suffered.” He softened the sting of that, though, by pressing a kiss into the top of Col’s hair, where it crinkled slightly in the gel. “For the love of God, though, can you please stop reminding me of how old you are?”
The first time they had ever been introduced, on a downtown lunch date, Col had beamed from ear to ear and burst out before he could think about it, It is such an honor, sir, Ward is one of my favorite shows of all time. When I was ten I used to bug my mom for hours so she’d let me stay up past my bedtime to watch it. He had never, ever been allowed to forget it. “Sorry. I don’t know. Just — careful.”
Gary looked over his face again, then smirked. “What if I just pay your deposit?”
He would’ve thought up some answer to that, Col was sure, but he never had time.
Gary smelled like some heady, spiced aftershave or cologne; his mouth tasted like whiskey, which gave Col the distinct sullen feeling that there were some green room antics the teen heartthrob still got left out of, even when he’d been over twenty-one for a good fourteen months now. Stubble scraped against Col’s cheeks and chin when Gary pushed harder, plunging his tongue deeper, although it mostly just made him shiver. There were big, heavy, square-knuckled hands running down the small of his back again, down further to first grip his ass and then knead it, a bigger thicker thigh shoving in between his; and the thought of returning the suit wrinkled was rapidly becoming secondary to the thought of returning it with a precome stain on the front of the pants. Let alone being shepherded through a throng of screaming teenaged girls outside like that. Let alone the thought of walking out across the stage like that. …Not to mention —
He pulled back again to try to protest, but this time Gary took having his mouth freed up as an opportunity to nip the base of Col’s throat right above his bowtie. Which lost Col his chance immediately, since he had to clap a hand over his mouth just to keep quiet. One of the little closed-circuit TVs showing the stage was right over their heads, faint echoes of Billy Crystal’s voice drifting to them from the sound equipment even in this relatively secluded little corner. Scaffolding and a swag of curtain were all that stood between them and the main corridor, though, where crew and other presenters passed by every couple of minutes, and even that barrier was just a matter of glancing around a corner to overcome.
Col bit his lip, and pulled his hand away slightly to try to say something else — which of course was when one of Gary’s hands slid around his hip, and took a firm squeezing palmful of the front of Col’s pants. The squeaking gasp that came out of Col turned out to be very loud, considering, and he was pretty sure he was roughly tomato-colored as the wrenched his head wildly over his shoulder to check the gap. He hadn’t heard anything but he was half-expecting Meryl Streep or somebody to be standing there, even though she was actually a nominee this year, you couldn’t help it, wasn’t it everybody’s worst nightmare to have Meryl Streep disappointed in you? “You’re doing this on purpose now,” he hissed, and then had to try to look at anything else except Gary’s stupid handsome face grinning up at him from around his collarbones.
“You just need to relax, kid. You’re way too easy.” Which Col definitely wanted to argue with, but with Gary straightening back up and pressing his mouth into his ear, his palm working in a warm, rubbing circle over the clothed shape of Col’s dick, it was pretty much impossible. “It wouldn’t take much to just get you off like this, huh?” he muttered, hot air stirring inside Col’s ear and lips barely moving on its cup, making him squirm hard and bite his hand again. “That might be interesting. Send you out on stage, it’d be the high point of the show for sure. All the tabloids’d tear each other to bits, fighting over who it was out in the wings who made you come. …But you’d know. And I’d know.” He paused, grinning, the shape of his teeth clear on Col’s ear, while Col shuddered and his breath made a wet sipping sound past his palm. “Or if you’re really worried, we could stop. And then they’d be wondering who got you looking as pretty as this.” A soft, wet kiss on his ear, an extra squeeze of his cock. “All red and wet and hard as fuck.”
“You’re an asshole,” Col managed, after swallowing at least six times, his voice a faint plosive muffle against the palm of his hand. His knees had entirely buckled by now; he was practically limp against Gary — all except for his cock, anyway, ha ha. Gary’s laugh, tickling much harder into his ear, came panicky-close to making his grip slip. His balls actually tightened for a second, and it took biting his tongue hard in his mouth and focusing his whole mind on the thought of Meryl Streep staring at him with folded arms and deep sorrow in her eyes to ease back off the brink.
“Well, all right, if that’s how you feel about it — ” And he did start to pull back, sending Col into a second’s raw panic — but instead of pulling away any further, tugged Col forward with him, glancing over his shoulder until he found a stepladder that had been behind them both. Gary sat down on one of its lower steps, and his hands cupped around Col’s hips, pulling him stumbling in until Gary was smirking up at him from the vicinity of his cummerbund. …Which, it was just now occurring to Col, was a terrible name for anything, whoever had thought up that name should have been shot.
“Take it easy,” Gary said, smoothing his hands around to the front of Col’s pants again, but this time to undo their fly. “I won’t get any on you.”
And before Col could offer any other protest, Gary had worked his dick out through the slit in his boxers into his hand, and taken it about as deep as he could into his mouth.
Col yelped, strangled through his closed teeth, before he could stop himself, and fell forward until his hands found a fumbling grip on the rails of the ladder, clinging for balance. Gary was holding the wings of fabric apart with one spread hand from underneath, but there was still only so deep he could take Col without pressing up to it; so he made up for it by lavishing all his attention on Col’s head, sweeping his tongue around in smooth circles and sucking close and tight enough to make stars flicker behind Col’s squeezed-shut eyes. Col pressed his face into his arm, where it hung clinging to the ladder, biting a little crease of his tailcoat’s fabric without thinking — counterproductively enough. He was already so close, this was going to be so embarrassing, maybe a max of forty-five seconds —
Footsteps, out in the corridor: a click of heels, heavier men’s shoes following behind. The pair who’d been on stage the last time Col had gotten a glimpse of the TV: some young starlet he barely knew and a slightly older actor he didn’t at all. His eyes sprang open, seeing nothing but the out-of-focus folds of his sleeve that he was panting into. They were coming closer, on their way back to the dressing rooms, chatting in half-whispers, the woman laughing — they were going to walk right by this little alcove, in this position they could probably see the edge of his back around the corner, they might look, they might —
Gary’s mouth slowed for a moment, and then soft breath huffed from it at the edges, feathering around Col’s dick — a laugh, God, was he laughing? And then the hand that had been holding Col’s pants and shorts open slid into the gap of his pants instead, over his underwear, cupping his balls through the thin material, squeezing them; his mouth sped up again and then into double-time, his head bobbing back and forward, his tongue drawing an obscene alphabet in cursive right on the wet oversensitive slit tip of Col’s throbbing, aching cock —
He came, right there, right then, at the exact second that the presenters walked past their hiding place, maybe two feet away from where they stood. Biting as hard as he could on a fold of his sleeve, filling his mouth with it, strangling the shout to death in his throat behind a cushion of expensive wool. His whole body shaking, but trying to hold himself as stil as possible, not even daring to twitch or breathe as Gary licked and worked him through every last shudder, teasing out every single one he could, trying to get him to crack.
The footsteps and voices passed by without ever hesitating, moving away up the corridor and fading out of earshot. Which at least was a little like a win. After a good two minutes or so, Col could even kind of breathe again.
“You are the worst.” Heaving, on every breath, reeling his hands back in in spite of how he wobbled on his feet, so he could scrub his face with them. “You are the worst, you are the very, very worst, you are a horrible man, you’re — ”
But then he’d interrupted himself before he could finish, by dropping to his knees in front of where Gary sat and kissing him again, as hard as he could. And, well, in spite of the somewhat heavy-breathed sound of it now, he thought Gary was laughing too hard to be listening anyway.
He could see the wisdom in Gary’s approach, now that he was thinking something a little more like clearly, and just pulled Gary’s cock out through his fly too, fumbling with it since he wouldn’t stop kissing long enough to look. Gary made a thick, heavy little sound in his throat, against Col’s mouth, as he went to work in long squeezing strokes — using both hands, mostly so that he could curl one of them around the head as a preemptive shield. God damn it, he was going to keep both of them presentable, or die trying.
Tinny echoes from the stage went by as he worked his hand, his face pressed into the salt-and-pepper skim of Gary’s hair, Gary’s breathing hot and thick and fast and stubble-ringed against the side of his throat: bits of patter, bits of the audience laughing, a cut to commercial break. All of it distant, and unimportant-seeming, now — even the stagehands passing by grunting and carrying something, out in the corridor, they seemed preoccupied and noisy enough not to worry about. He wound up pushed up on his knees almost over Gary, pressing him back into the ladder, Gary lying back mostly lax and languid but craning up to nip hungrily at his throat, one hand curled gripping around the ladder’s railing and the other cupped around the back of Col’s neck, digging into his hair. Gary thickened in Col’s hand, shifted restlessly where he sat, and then he took one last half-lidded, greedy stare at Col’s face, where it hovered watching his own… and then let his eyes flutter shut, let out a thick, half-voiced sigh through parted lips, and came pulsing and wet into Col’s stroking hand.
And then they just collapsed together, and sat there, panting hard into each other, rising and falling slightly on the crests of each other’s breath. Overheated and sweaty and disarranged and spent, and something like peaceful.
Which was when the disembodied voice from onstage that had been washing over Col like comforting radio babble finally said something that caught and held, like a fishhook, in his ear: “…to present the nominees for Best Original Song…”
“Oh shit,” Col said, overlapping Gary’s murmured and totally unnecessary, “Whoops, that’s you.” He lunged off Gary and up to his feet, staggering, doing a lot of hasty tucking and zipping and patting down in the process. “Oh God, oh God, fuck. Do I look okay? Do I look okay?”
“Sure, fine,” Gary said, even as he was getting up too, with a wince and grunt of effort. “Perfect. Just like you just got laid.” Before Col could even splutter, though, he’d already grinned again and kissed him, and then turned him by his shoulders toward the corridor. “Go get ’em, kid.”
He sprinted up the corridor, full-tilt, smacking into a flat as he took a corner and practically bowling over a couple of sound guys in his way. He was completely out of breath and probably dripping sweat by the time he came scrambling up the last steps and stumbled his pace down to fall into step with Kody, who was already marching her way through the wings without him, wearing a long shimmery silver backless gown and an expression of pure murder. “Where the fuck were you?” she hissed under her breath, just before a broad dazzling Disney-princess smile sprang into life on her face, the second they crossed onto the edge of the stage.
“…Colwyn Holmes and Kody Marner!” Billy was finishing, sounding slightly relieved, over applause and some distinctly feminine cheering from the crowd out beyond the glare of the lights. Col flashed the easiest-going star grin he could out at them, considering he was still gasping for breath and had a sidestitch, and bent down a little to pant back at her.
“Sorry. I’m really sorry. Something came up.”
“Eat a dick,” Kody said, under her huge sweet smile and wave. Things had always been sort of up and down between them since Varsity Angel, but she also smelled like she’d taken a bath in vodka, so he guessed he shouldn’t take this too personally.
They reached the podium, and read their patter off the teleprompter, pretty much on autopilot. Col had even managed to catch most of his breath by then, and it was fine, everything was fine.
Right up until the point when Kody handed him the envelope — and he handed it right back to her, grinning weakly. Prompting an unscripted seriously?! look from her, and surprising one of the evening’s probably few genuine laughs out of the audience. But she opened it for him anyway, while he watched and waited, with his frozen smile plastered up on his face as hard as it would go.
And his right hand, still stickily coated with Gary’s come, hidden as best he could behind his back.