Chapter 29: 29. I Need You

Shiro

I run a worried hand through my hair, messing the white strands until they stick out in every direction. Everything is riding on tomorrow, and I should get a good night’s sleep to prepare, but my mind is buzzing with so many thoughts, so many details that could go wrong, that I have trouble drifting off. I toss and turn on my bed, staring at the ceiling while willing my muscles to loosen and fall asleep. When that tactic fails, I start counting sheep, but it’s no use either, so I throw the covers off, pull on a t-shirt but keep my pajama pants, and leave the cabin barefoot and messy-haired. 

There’s only one person who can help me unwind and reassure me that somehow we’ll perform another miracle and succeed in our mission. My bare feet pad silently through the corridors, thudding against the cold floors, carrying me toward the destination I know I shouldn’t want, but I can’t stop myself. Finally, I reach his cabin and rap my knuckles on the door. What if he’s already under, and my bout of insomnia will rob him of the much-needed rest? Guilt surges inside for a moment but vanishes as soon as the door slides open, and Akira pokes his head out. 

“Ryou? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“No, everything’s okay. Sorry to bother you.”

“What’s going on?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Well, I’m sure Alteans have some tranquilizers that could knock you out for the night.”

“But will they knock me in afterward?”

“What?” He gapes at me. 

“It was a joke. I don’t want my mind foggy from weird alien drugs during the battle tomorrow.” 

He puts a hand on my arm, rubbing the length of my biceps as he peers at me. A hank of hair falls across his forehead, obscuring his face. 

“Do you want some company? We could talk for a while.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Or maybe we could do something else.” 

I cup his face while crowding him with my bulk, pushing him inside. He gives a small whimper but yields to me without protest, his gaze never leaving mine. With my free hand, I close the door behind us, and we come to a standstill on the mark on the floor that no one will see. Mike and the crew are quiet, so I’m guessing we’re doing fine.

“You know I’m here for you, Ryou. Whatever you need.” 

“I need you.” It’s ironic how right the words feel. Even though it’s my character talking, they ring true deep in my bones, but I wouldn’t dare say them out loud to Keith. No, he made his opinion clear. Nothing is more important than his career, and he won’t risk it by coming out, which I respect as much as it pains me. 

“I am yours,” he says, tugging me close to slant his mouth against mine. I kiss him back hungrily, sending my hands to travel over his torso until they slip under his costume and strip it off. Keith doesn’t bat an eye except for letting out a shuddery breath for the scene’s benefit. Only moments ago, I held Keith in the privacy of my trailer, but I didn’t see anything, so the way my eyes roam his bare form is not just acting. Dammit, he’s hot. All lean muscle and smooth skin, with a small bird tattoo on his left shoulder, which I’d love to trace with my tongue. Such action would ruin the shot and earn me a genuine Mike scolding, so I store it away for later and follow the scene as written, trying to block out the many people watching us.

The scars don’t matter. Plus, everyone already saw them during the rehearsal, and nobody cared. 

Even Keith saw, and he said nothing, schooling his face into an impassive mask, but I noticed how his eyes widened in horror. I’d expect the producers to cover my flawed body in makeup, but the reminders of my injuries make them perversely happy. Apparently, they fit my character’s tragic background. Ryou is a prisoner who fought in an arena to save his life, after all. So, instead of hiding the marred skin under a layer of fancy cosmetics, Nyla and her team highlighted the contrast of the angry gashes against my complexion. Enough stalling. If I waver a moment longer, the scene will get ruined.

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With our mouths fused together, our hands grasping desperately, I tumble Akira!Keith onto the bed. He folds down gracefully, but doesn’t lose a beat, lifts on his elbows, and claims my lips. His fingers tug at my t-shirt to peel it off. Not a simple task, considering how tight the offending garment is, but when he succeeds, he sends it flying across the set with a feral growl. It lands out of the frame with barely a whisper, but neither of us pays attention to whether it hits the spot Mike marked before.

Once again, Keith’s eyes snag on the scars for a beat, but then he’s kissing me, stroking his tongue over mine, tasting of sweet smoke, all heat and lust and passion, and I can’t think of anything else than how perfectly we slot into each other. Keith’s hands coast up my ribcage and my arms, raising goosebumps everywhere they feather over my heated skin. 

The way Keith’s eyes grow wild when he touches me makes me believe he’s not only acting. His hair is a tangled mane that looks as if he got electrocuted, and I want him so much my breath sputters for a second. My entire body is wound tight and ready to explode, but I remember that we’re not alone and force myself to relax, which is probably the most painful thing I’ve ever had to do.

“Okay, that’s a wrap.” Mike signals to the cameraman, who stops shooting, but it takes a while longer for me to jerk back to awareness. I hover over Keith, fighting the impulse to descend on his mouth again, to grind my hips over him, to feel his hardness under me. To continue what we started and bring it to a blinding finish. My heartbeat erases every other sound, pounding in my ears in the pulse of my desire.

Keep it together, Takashi. 

“The scene’s over, Shiro,” Keith says, but doesn’t so much as shift under me. 

“Right. Right.” Slightly dizzy, I slide off the bed, pick up my discarded t-shirt from the floor, and shrug it on to cover the livid network of scars.

“Good job, guys. That’s it for today. See you Monday, Shiro. Keith, join me, will you? Ben’s here, and he brought news.” 

Mike departs, and the gaffers begin to dismantle the lighting rig. Right, it’s off to the wardrobe, makeup, and then home to fall into a brief coma. I know all this, and yet my legs refuse to budge. Keith must have hypnotized me. My eyes are riveted to him, as though he’s a planet and I’m his satellite. 

“Duty calls. I should talk to Ben. Probably more crap from the network. Let’s hope they haven’t decided to axe us before we air.”

“That can happen?”

“Unfortunately, it’s pretty common. I’d better deal with this.”

“Yeah.” 

“Are you coming to the Christmas party tomorrow?”

“Not a fan of Christmas or parties,” he says. He’s sitting on the bed, gloriously half-naked, and I keep staring at him like a freak, but the need to touch and explore is overwhelming. Keith jumps to his feet and recovers his t-shirt in one fluid motion, making the situation easier on my poor dick, but only until he leans in so his lips are right next to my cheek. The puff of his warm breath reduces my knees to jelly, but I scrounge up enough strength to remain upright as Keith whispers into my ear.

“But I think I’ll make an exception this time. You owe me a reward, Shiro.” 

He pulls back and saunters away, but before heading out, he turns and sends me a wink.

This man will be the death of me.

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