TV screen, saw that it was one of the many sad parts of the movie, and then shifted to Mark. The spoon was halfway to the other man’s mouth and slowly began to lower back to the bowl at the same time that Mark’s eyes began to blink rapidly. Zane grinned and reached for the first script, a military/action flick entitled, Unit, Corps, God, Country . He was supposed to get a feel for the character of Captain Avery.
It was meh . The scenes were choppy and uncomfortable and he couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or due to a rush job. He read ten pages and tossed it aside, knowing it was more about abs, pecs, and arms than Unit, Corps, God, or Country.
The second script was a drama and Zane had heard that Sophia Kirkland accepted the starring female role. She was a lot of fun to work with, but he didn’t know if the job was for him. Her part was that of a well-bred politician’s wife who discovers a string of extra-marital affairs involving her husband. There was murder and mayhem and intrigue and evil political machinations, but it wasn’t ringing Zane’s bell. He set it aside with the first script. It was a no-go.
Zane let out a long exhale as he picked up the third entitled, Nowhere, Idaho , and for the first time in a long time, he couldn’t put a script down.
***
From a very young age, Alarik was taught at the school of his aunt and uncle’s supper table. Their home in London invited a near constant flow of guests, many of them dignitaries, and he became used to seeing important strangers across the table for breakfasts, luncheons, teas, and dinners. His aunt had made it a game for him to come out of his shell and interact with men and women that a child his age would normally have no purpose meeting. For the larger parties, he was to decide on a topic, run it by his aunt and uncle, and then pursue that subject with three different guests. When he climbed into bed afterwards, he reported on what he learned.
It was his aunt and uncle’s typical genius at work. Turning a shy child into a young man strong enough to form his own opinions and express them good-naturedly. They had three standards when it came to interacting with anyone: eye contact, attentiveness, and calm.
So far, Alarik was doing a bang-up job with searching for eye contact, and he was practically memorizing the words Damon was saying, but no matter his internal struggle, he wasn’t able to remain calm. He was hiding it as best he could, but he was shifty and on edge in a way completely unfamiliar to him. Reminding himself that Damon was just a man (For God’s sake!) was pointless.
Outside the store, before they’d squeezed into Alarik’s rental car, he’d been a breath away from a display of affection that would’ve alarmed those nearby at the least and at most scandalized them. It was the fresh, never seen before appeal in the other man’s expression—his features didn’t hide his thoughts and Alarik ached with the power of being wanted and wanting back.
Attraction, it would seem, was not going to be an issue. Taking a full breath, however, was.
Damon had chosen a small restaurant, off the beaten path, and they were seated at a table for two in a secluded corner; the best seats in the house when competing with a crowd of churchies just released from Sunday morning service. Across from him, Damon was glancing out the window, his forearms braced on the table and his fingers intertwined. The hair on his arms was light and the musculature beneath the skin, even when relaxed, was the cause of infinite pleasure on Alarik’s part.
“Looking at you puts me in mind of one of those fellows you might see in Outside magazine,” Alarik said, waiting for Damon’s gaze to travel from the view to him. “I can just see you doing dare devilish things in dangerous locations.”
“ Outside magazine, huh?”
“Definitely. Ratty green cargo shorts, frayed at the hem, a harness with carabiners and rope, climbing shoes, bandanna… And,
It was meh . The scenes were choppy and uncomfortable and he couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or due to a rush job. He read ten pages and tossed it aside, knowing it was more about abs, pecs, and arms than Unit, Corps, God, or Country.
The second script was a drama and Zane had heard that Sophia Kirkland accepted the starring female role. She was a lot of fun to work with, but he didn’t know if the job was for him. Her part was that of a well-bred politician’s wife who discovers a string of extra-marital affairs involving her husband. There was murder and mayhem and intrigue and evil political machinations, but it wasn’t ringing Zane’s bell. He set it aside with the first script. It was a no-go.
Zane let out a long exhale as he picked up the third entitled, Nowhere, Idaho , and for the first time in a long time, he couldn’t put a script down.
***
From a very young age, Alarik was taught at the school of his aunt and uncle’s supper table. Their home in London invited a near constant flow of guests, many of them dignitaries, and he became used to seeing important strangers across the table for breakfasts, luncheons, teas, and dinners. His aunt had made it a game for him to come out of his shell and interact with men and women that a child his age would normally have no purpose meeting. For the larger parties, he was to decide on a topic, run it by his aunt and uncle, and then pursue that subject with three different guests. When he climbed into bed afterwards, he reported on what he learned.
It was his aunt and uncle’s typical genius at work. Turning a shy child into a young man strong enough to form his own opinions and express them good-naturedly. They had three standards when it came to interacting with anyone: eye contact, attentiveness, and calm.
So far, Alarik was doing a bang-up job with searching for eye contact, and he was practically memorizing the words Damon was saying, but no matter his internal struggle, he wasn’t able to remain calm. He was hiding it as best he could, but he was shifty and on edge in a way completely unfamiliar to him. Reminding himself that Damon was just a man (For God’s sake!) was pointless.
Outside the store, before they’d squeezed into Alarik’s rental car, he’d been a breath away from a display of affection that would’ve alarmed those nearby at the least and at most scandalized them. It was the fresh, never seen before appeal in the other man’s expression—his features didn’t hide his thoughts and Alarik ached with the power of being wanted and wanting back.
Attraction, it would seem, was not going to be an issue. Taking a full breath, however, was.
Damon had chosen a small restaurant, off the beaten path, and they were seated at a table for two in a secluded corner; the best seats in the house when competing with a crowd of churchies just released from Sunday morning service. Across from him, Damon was glancing out the window, his forearms braced on the table and his fingers intertwined. The hair on his arms was light and the musculature beneath the skin, even when relaxed, was the cause of infinite pleasure on Alarik’s part.
“Looking at you puts me in mind of one of those fellows you might see in Outside magazine,” Alarik said, waiting for Damon’s gaze to travel from the view to him. “I can just see you doing dare devilish things in dangerous locations.”
“ Outside magazine, huh?”
“Definitely. Ratty green cargo shorts, frayed at the hem, a harness with carabiners and rope, climbing shoes, bandanna… And,
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