AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“One more,” said Dickie. “For the road.”
Chapter 25
“Have you ever been given an atomic wedgie?” Audra asked Patrick as they gingerly left the soundstage. She had good reason to ask: They had both spent the better part of the afternoon and early evening strapped into harnesses and suspended on wires while they performed a portion of the film’s final battle against a green screen for endless takes.
“I imagine it must feel something like this,” Patrick said, aware that his bandy-legged walk was giving John Wayne.
“I have been wearing a bra since I was thirteen,” said Audra. “I have been funneled into every kind of shapewear you can think of. I know the extent to which the human body can be remolded. And I wholeheartedly believe that a person’s ass should never be nestled between their shoulder blades.”
“I can’t wait to shower this day off,” said Patrick, “and go straight to sleep.”
“I am going to make Hector give me a massage,” Audra declared. “The deep-tissue kind that athletes get, you know, where you feel like you’ve been hit by a car but in a good way. And then I am taking a vodka on the rocks to bed with me.”
“Lucky vodka.” Patrick threw an arm around Audra’s shoulder. “Hey, just think. One more day, and we are officially wrapped.”
Audra tossed back her hair and sang: “One! More! Day!”
A single scene remained to be filmed that actually required Patrick’s and Audra’s faces; the rest of the more complicated stunts had already been captured using Corey in Patrick’s stead and Audra’s own stunt double, Honor. There was talk of a post-credit scene that would tease the introduction of Kid Kismet to the franchise—every bright-eyed nineteen-year-old in Tinseltown was rumored to be in talks for the role—but Patrick did not need to be present for that.
They were finally on the verge of having completed something resembling a real movie. At this stage of the process, Patrick was usually filled with that sentimental last-day-of-camp feeling: He would thank every grip, gaffer, camera operator, and runner for their hard work, already heartsick with the sensation of missing the experience before it was even over. Today, he just felt bone-deep fatigue.
Patrick and Audra traveled back to the Grand by car while still in their costumes, too wiped to change, all banter subsiding into exhausted silence. When they reached their floor, Audra retreated to her suite without another word.
“One more day,” he muttered to himself, opening his own door.
Will was waiting for him there, sitting on the floor of the hotel room.
No. Not sitting. Kneeling. In…
“What—what are you wearing?” Patrick sputtered.
The bodysuit was a red mirror of his own, albeit made from far cheaper material, the kind that could be bought online for fifty bucks. An eight-pointed star was emblazoned over the chest. It was an image Patrick had seen countless times over the last few years, whizzing, kabooming, and zap-powing across panels and pages as Kid Kismet faithfully came to the aid of his companion.
“Hello, Captain,” said Will. His hair was slicked back, unruly black curls tamed into an approximation of Axel’s wavy quiff. His lashes looked even darker and thicker under the crimson mask covering his eyes. The scarlet fabric clung to his chest and shoulders, stretched over his muscular quads as he crouched submissively, gathered between his legs in such a way that Patrick knew he was wearing nothing underneath.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
“Captain?” Will asked. He was looking up at him with such wide, eager eyes that Patrick instantly became hard.
“Come here,” he said, the timbre of his voice surprising even him.
“Of course,” said Will. No, said Axel. His lips caressed those hard Rs in a decent imitation of an American accent, and he crawled with slow purpose across the carpet to where Patrick stood. He looked up at him imploringly and, with the slightest of nods from Patrick, reached out and ran his hands up Patrick’s calves, then up to his thighs, squeezing his firm quads and adductor muscles, his breathing growing shorter. His hands came together, cupping and fondling the weight of Patrick, and then, without being instructed, he began to unzip the fly that had been discreetly sewn into the costume.
Patrick grabbed fistfuls of that dark hair, eyes closed, all exhaustion forgotten as he luxuriated in the feeling of soft locks between his fingers, of Will’s warm tongue teasing his head before taking all of him into his mouth.
He grabbed Will by the back of the neck and hauled him up to his feet. Will complied with a soft yelp. Looking into his eyes through the mask, their identical heights had never felt so intimate. Patrick had spent such a long time suppressing his desires, sparing little thought for kink or fantasy, that he wouldn’t have even known, if asked, whether the superhero-and-sidekick thing turned him on. Here, though, right now, was the answer.
“Axel,” he whispered, and the sidekick’s lips parted in desire. “Get onto the bed.”
Axel nodded. “I’ll go anywhere you tell me,” he said. “You know that.”
Patrick shoved him back onto the mattress and crawled on top of him, pinning him down with his forearm across his chest.
“You’re mine,” he growled, pulling at the cheap red fabric until the costume stretched and tore under his grip. “You’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Captain,” Axel said, and Patrick felt himself disappear.
When the master entered the servant, it was gently at first, but it wasn’t long before his thrusts grew more intense, rapid and forceful as the man beneath him gasped in pained gratification.
