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Patrick sighed, frustrated by this exercise, but Simone’s stare remained casual, as if she were between thoughts at a nail appointment. He was the one to look away first.
“I said…” He folded his arms. “I came here to be a leading man.”
“Not quite.” Simone leaned forward in her chair. “You said you wanted to be the leading man. And I believed you. I saw that for you, and I still do.” Her gaze softened into something that might pass for affection, before cooling as she reclined again. “The question is, do you still want that for yourself?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then what’s changed?”
“I think I like him, Simone. And…he might like me.” It felt like a betrayal to be saying this to Simone before he and Will had even had a proper conversation. Things were so fragile and new. He stopped himself from saying, We haven’t even slept together. He didn’t need to tell Simone that. She already knew. And before he and Will took that step, Patrick needed assurances. Simone had coached him well.
“If that’s the case,” she said, “then…” She raised an eyebrow.
“Will.”
“Then Will is going to have to get on board. If he really cares about you, and not just sleeping with a celebrity, then he’ll understand.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” Patrick knew how petulant he sounded, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Sweetie, I’m just as queer as you are. But I’m also a realist. I know what kind of industry we’re in, and let me tell you, it’s not one that’s particularly fond of change. We work with what we have. You want to tell the world their favorite superhero knows what dick tastes like? I’ll support you, and I’ll do my best to get you work on Ryan Murphy’s next project. But if you want longevity in the Richard Ranger movies, a five-year contract, freedom to choose any project you like after that, a legacy? All the things we said we were going to make happen? Then this is simply the cost of doing business.”
There were monsters in the Captain Kismet comics called the Ravagions, a race of semi-giants with long, clawlike fingers they used to wrap around entire torsos and squeeze the life out of people. Patrick felt like he was in the grip of those talons right now. The tightness in his chest, the quivering uncertainty in his stomach.
He had no idea how to broach this with Will, how to possibly ask so much of somebody he had just met. But if he didn’t…
He thought of every phone number he’d been given by a man and then thrown away, every smile in a bar he hadn’t returned for fear of what it might lead to, the risk it might bring. All of it in pursuit of a single goal, an opportunity like the career he was building. Putting work before a personal life for so many years, choosing to be alone even when it felt like it might kill him? It had to be worth something.
If word got out about Patrick before filming on Kismet 2 wrapped, if the studio decided to recast him while they still had time, or to bury it in streaming, then what was all of that for? All that sacrifice, all that loneliness?
It was another compromise, he knew. But something had changed these last few weeks. A part of Patrick that had lain dormant and undernourished for so long was now wide awake and ravenous. He thought back to the almost painful gentleness of Will’s touch as he’d dressed Patrick, those soft moans of desire he had made in the cinema. The sweetness and the salt of him. Patrick wanted more. He wanted to see how far the hair on those arms and legs went, to feel Will quiver under his touch, to take those whimpers and coax them into screams.
If he had to sign a piece of paper to ensure all of those things remained a secret, that was an easy compromise. He only hoped that Will would see it the same way.
“Fine,” he said.
Simone nodded. “Send me his full name. I’ll draw up the paperwork.” She ended the call without another word.
Chapter 18
Axel limps into Ranger’s quarters, still sore from their battle against Omega’s automatons that afternoon. They’d been unable to capture Omega himself, who’d absconded while his mechanical minions kept the two of them busy, but Axel knows it is only a matter of time before they’ll see that psychopath again. There are three things he is learning you can count on in this part of the universe: death, taxes, and assholes who call themselves geniuses refusing to leave well enough alone.
I’m going to feel this for a week, he thinks, rubbing his sore shoulder, before he is jolted from his reverie by the sight of Ranger’s muscular back. His comrade sits stripped to the waist on the edge of the couch, doing his best to clean and bandage his own wounds, occasionally muttering a pained “ouch” or “dang it.”
Axel can’t help but smile. He has reveled in learning every curse word this planet has to offer, in as many of its gorgeous languages that he can comprehend. He has collected profanities from across the galaxy, luxuriated in their foulness, savored how they feel in his mouth. Ranger’s strict adherence to propriety, in contrast, baffles him. But he also finds it charming and a comfort. Ranger is the physically strongest man on this planet: He could crush his enemies like insects if he so wished. His constant gentleness, then, is a choice. And to choose kindness, in the face of the countless horrors and injustices the two of them have witnessed together, to lead continually and defiantly with love, takes real strength.
“Here,” he says softly, although he is sure Ranger heard him approach. “Let me help.”
Ranger turns gingerly to face him, and Axel steps forward to tend to the many cuts and scrapes that mar his torso. They will heal quickly, and in all likelihood be gone by morning, but in this moment, they look like they smart.
“Thanks,” says Ranger.
Axel tries not to notice the warmth of Ranger’s chest beneath his fingers as he swabs the disinfectant, or the way his muscles tighten and harden as Ranger winces in discomfort while he dresses the worst of the cuts.
“All done,” he says, and is about to pull away when Ranger’s hand closes around his own.
“Thank you,” Ranger says again.
“It was nothing,” Axel replies.
