Date: Fri, 18 Apr 2014 06:05:34 +0100
From: Jayson Leigh <jmleighwrites@gmail.com>
Subject: Up Close and Personal - Chapter 11

UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL
by
Jayson Leigh


This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or locations,
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author retains
all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent.

Author's Note: Please send your thoughts and comments over here-
jmleighwrites@gmail.com.



      Chapter 11

      Stuck in Reverse


      For the first time in a very long time Shane was quite grateful that
he lived alone. The first thing he did was take a shower. He spent an
inordinate amount of time scrubbing at his cheek where the bastard in blue
had licked him.

      After that he forced himself to swallow Ibuprofen. Making his throat
muscles push down the little pills was almost as traumatic as gaining the
injury itself. He couldn't believe how much he hurt and then he went to
bed, wide awake and huddled underneath the thick comforter.

      With his phone in hand, he hit speed dial 2 to call Jenny but then
remembered that he hadn't talked to her in ages. His pride didn't let him
complete the call, and to be honest, he didn't think he could stand her
particular brand of judgment right then.

      He scrolled to Dominic's name, stopping when he realized it was
already past 2:00 a.m. and Dom and Rowan probably wouldn't appreciate a
disturbance this late at night.

      It was stupid of him to want to unload this on someone else. It was
his fault, he reasoned, trying to be something he wasn't. He didn't do
hook-ups. He had awful taste in men. Christ, he shuddered, his choice in
men sucked so bad it could actually be the death of him. He'd flirted with
the bastard in blue, led him on like he was going to follow through, when
he should've known better. For crying out loud, he'd been with only two
guys over the course of three years, Drew and Shane. He wasn't
promiscuous. He was a fucking monk and probably the most celibate gay man
in New York. And just when he thought he was ready to let down the walls
he'd built around himself, he had to go and end up with a psychotic junkie
asshole who wouldn't take no for an answer.

      He'd really screwed up this time and it would've been okay if he was
just hurting emotionally, but his throat hurt like a bitch.



      ###



      He woke up less than two hours later to his alarm
buzzing. Excruciating pain greeted him. He stared at the ceiling miserably,
wondering if he would be able to force down a few more ibuprofen. Getting
up reluctantly, he went to the bathroom where he a brief glance at his
reflection in the mirror made him do a double take. Around his throat was a
large bruise, blooming dark red and purple.

      He flinched when he brushed his fingers lightly against the
discoloration circling his throat like a tight necklace. Seeing the
physical manifestation of last night's assault was just too much for him;
horrified, he felt his knees buckle and he reached out blindly for the
counter to support his weight.

      This was worse than he thought. Work was out of the question. He
couldn't shoot a television show in this condition. Audrey couldn't apply
makeup to his throat because even feather light touches to that area felt
like a steamroller pressing down on it. The weather was quite warm so
scarves or turtleneck sweaters were out of the question as well. He was so
screwed.

      He called Bill to give him the bad news. "Shane?" came the sleepy
voice of his boss. "Is everything okay?"

      "No," he said. His voice came out as a croak. He was shocked to find
out that with his voice gone; along with a bruised throat, he really had no
choice but to back out of filming. He tried to speak louder to be heard,
"No," but then pain shot through his throat like a dagger.

      Bill sounded wary when he asked, "You sound ill. Are you okay?"

      "I'm not sure," Shane croaked, improvising quickly, "I think it's a
throat infection. Laryngitis, maybe? Once I see a doctor, I'll let you know
what's going on... but I think I'm going to need a few days off at least,
probably the rest of the week..."

      A few moments of silence passed before Bill replied with brutal
honesty, "This is a fucking disaster. We've got three more days of shooting
plus post production hiatus and you go get yourself sick? What the fuck,
Shane?"

      Shane flinched but found he couldn't argue with Bill's logic.

      "Okay, okay... not to sound insensitive," Bill said in a strained
tone, "you're obviously unwell. Get yourself checked out, let us know the
prognosis. If you're contagious, stay away. We can't have everyone on set
dropping like flies. I need to talk to Trent, figure out how we're going to
spin this. I guess we could do a rotating line up of guest hosts... fuck
we're shooting in three hours and we have no host..."

      "I'm sorry," Shane croaked then suggested a few names of people Bill
could reach out to in the hopes of finding a replacement.

      Bill rattled off a couple more names then said distractedly, "I need
to make a few calls. Keep us updated, okay? I'd still love to squeeze one
more show from you before the hiatus... maybe the finale. You know this
week's ratings count towards the network's renewal decision... we can't
have the Breakfast Show beating us and getting cancelled because of your
unexpected absence."

      The low lights of dawn were beginning to stream into the room, and as
Shane ended the call, he wondered what the opposite of the Midas touch was,
because everything turned to shit around him.



      ###



      Leo took a long drag of cold Corona before popping some aspirin
pills. Partying hard with the guys after the show at the Key Center had
seemed like a good idea last night. Now he wanted to crawl back into bed at
the thought of the early morning radio show that awaited him.

      In the shower, he propped one hand against the cool tiles in the
shower and braced himself for the icy spray of water gushing down on
him. It served to simultaneously wake him up and clear his foggy head. He
took one last sip of beer before leaning out the shower door to place the
bottle on the by the sink.

      	After readjusting the water temperature to a warmer setting, he
squirted a glob of shampoo into his palm.  As he massaged his scalp, he was
reminded once more that he was long overdue for a haircut. He tilted his
head under the warm jet of water and soapy residues trailed down his
chest. A quick glance at his swollen cock reminded him that he was overdue
for a lot of things.

      He'd been looking forward to seeing Shane last weekend, but that
hadn't worked out as they'd hoped. He wanted to see him and not just for
mind blowing sex either. Shane, to put it simply, wasn't impressed by
him. Oh, he could tell him Shane found him attractive but he didn't revere
him or try too hard with him... and that was intriguing. Access to lots of
money, all the sex he could want and millions of adoring fans by the age of
nineteen pretty much meant that Leo had gotten everything he'd wanted for a
long time.

      Now, Shane, he was a slippery one. Just when Leo thought he had him,
he went and proved him wrong. He'd quickly learned that Shane was no
supermodel craving gifts and flattery. No one had ever turned down a ride
on his jet. No one acted more blasé about a million dollar donation to a
charity; hell, Joni was ecstatic when he'd given her a necklace worth about
50 grand; he wasn't sure... he'd had Paul purchase it... And the flowers,
Shane had offered a quick thanks on the phone and that was it. Leo wasn't
sure what he wanted; not adoration or appreciation, but maybe some kind of
acknowledgment that he was making the right moves with Shane... Fuck, it'd
take a mind reader to know what was going on in that blond head of his.

      Now Shane wasn't taking his calls anymore. He wasn't sure what
happened, but sometime last weekend, Shane simply stopped replying to his
texts or calls or voicemails. He refused to read too much into it. There
was no reason to believe anything had changed between them... Shane was
probably just busy.

      And right now, he needed some relief.

      He coated his cock with a squirt of shower gel, palming the thick
length as he braced himself against the wall and closed his eyes. He ran
his hand lightly up and down the shaft as he began a slow sensual
stroke. His balls felt heavy and he let out a low moan, enjoying the sudden
rush of blood down there that left him even more swollen.

      He closed his eyes and saw Shane with his mouth open, ready to take
him in. Soft lips brushed across his shaft and a warm tongue lapped the
come that bubbled at the tip. He threaded his fingers into Shane's blonde
hair as his warm mouth enclosed him and he strained to push himself deeper
into the accepting throat. The ache in his shaft became even heavier as he
looked down at the bobbing head. He was so close. He bit down on his lip to
hold back a loud groan, but he didn't succeed.

      Shane came off his cock and took a long slow lick up the underside
length and then around the sensitive head. Leo closed his eyes once more
and Shane took him into his mouth again. It was a slow entry, with Shane's
lips teasingly inching downwards until Leo felt the back of his throat. He
groaned with pleasure as the overload of sensations suddenly became too
much to handle, and then he was coming.

      A thrilling wave of pleasure swept over him and his eyes shot open
just in time to see himself shooting against the luminous marbled wall in
front of him and the contrast was startling: his milky essence against the
onyx backdrop. He leaned back to catch his breath when he heard the
bathroom door opening.

      "You done in there?"

      Leo rolled his eyes. Paul had caught him in way too many compromising
positions in the past to start being embarrassed at being caught jacking
off.  He stepped underneath the warm shower spray once more to clear his
head then slid the shower door open to feel around the counter for his
beer. It was gone. In its place was a warm Styrofoam cup.

      "Paul?" he called out. He heard a loud grunt in answer.

      "What did I tell you about letting yourself in my room like a goddamn
ghost?"

      Another loud grunt.

      He'd agreed, under extreme duress after his overdose, to his manager
retaining an extra room key to his hotel rooms while on tour. To his
dismay, Paul had been vigilant about using and abusing the privilege.

      "Where's my beer?" he yelled at his manager

      "It's 8:30 in the fucking A.M.," Paul yelled back. "Put your dick
away, drink your coffee and let's hit the road."

      Leo, with an air of resignation, agreed that Paul might have a
point. He obediently took a sip of coffee and withdrew to resume his
shower.



      ###



      By the next day Shane was dismayed to find that he was running low on
ice cream. He regretted abandoning the cart in the convenience store that
day he'd found the magazine with Leo and Joni. Half a pint of Ben and
Jerry's remained and he served himself a scoop of Baked Alaska for
lunch. Cool, creamy liquids were the only thing he was interested in
pushing down his hurting throat. He was still hungry after the ice cream
but didn't want to risk venturing out of his apartment for fear of running
into an acquaintance that would spot his injury or worse yet, getting
photographed by an errant paparazzo. With his luck, he'd run into both
before he'd even walked down the block.

      He considered ordering groceries online but the thought of
painstakingly selecting food seemed too herculean a task at the moment. The
pain in his throat just kept getting worse. He couldn't think, couldn't
sleep and just remained consumed by it. He pushed the almost empty pint
back into the freezer. He'd better save the rest for dinner.

      Back in the bedroom, he crawled beneath the duvet again. Its
thickness on top of him was warm and soothing. His phone hadn't been far
from him all day. He gripped it tightly, wondering why Leo hadn't called
him since yesterday. It was going on forty eight hours since he'd last
heard anything from the rock star. He'd gotten used to the flirty texts and
voicemail messages. All of a sudden, nothing.

      He couldn't help the pangs of pain that washed over him. This time,
they had nothing to do with his throat and everything to do with his
heart. He felt very much alone, ever more cognizant of Drew and Jenny who'd
walked away from him. He wanted Leo and now he was holding out, against
hope, that the other man hadn't lost interest in him. He didn't even care
about Joni anymore; if Leo needed to fuck a chick to prove his masculinity
or bisexuality so be it. He just wanted him, if only for a little while.

      He wondered what Leo's silence meant. Was he mirroring Shane's
indifference to him? Had he decided that Shane wasn't worth the effort
anymore? It should've been easy for him to call Leo now that he understood
how stupid he'd been. But his pride stopped him. If Leo had changed his
mind, he would be rejected. After everything else that had happened, he
couldn't bear that. Better to sit here, wondering than reach out and be
rejected.

      He closed his eyes. If he calls now, he vowed silently, I'll give
in. He watched the phone steadily; the black screen gleamed and stubbornly
remained silent. After a while, his eyes grew heavy. He'd be asleep soon,
he realized with a smile. Good. At least, in his dreams he wouldn't have to
think or remember...



      ###



      Leo had been around the world and back again but Las Vegas remained
one of his favorite cities. He loved everything the haters detested about
the city; the bright lights, tacky marquees, and gimmicky hotels. His own
personal aesthetic was a lot more subdued but something about the swarming
horde of tourist traffic on the streets, the heat and the grandiose
opulence of the appealed to his baser instincts.

      He peered out his window and tried to capture a photo of the skyline
on his phone but motion made it dark and blurry. Moments later, the
helicopter landed on the rooftop and he stepped out into the stifling
desert heat.

      "Mr. Malone, welcome to Caesar's Palace," a man, he assumed to be the
hotel manager, called out to him. He approached Leo with an extended arm,
dressed in a flamboyant cobalt blue, pinstriped three-piece suit and an
ascot. Leo wasn't sure which confounded him more, the cobalt blue or the
ascot.

      He shook the man's and headed to the rooftop exit. He didn't care to
schmooze. He just wanted to see the arena they'd be playing tonight. No, he
didn't care for a tour of the facilities or stop to sample the delightful
fare at one of their award winning restaurants. He didn't require a
masseuse or any other intimate services... He paused for a moment there,
eyeing the guy speculatively... there was a time he might have taken him up
on that one, but now more.

      All he really wanted was to be shown to the arena so he could get
sound check over and done with then retreat to his bedroom where he would
call or text Shane to his heart's content. Not that it mattered, since
Shane was still ignoring him but he wasn't panicking yet. He sensed that
Shane's skittish nature was making him retreat, maybe questioning their
fledgling relationship. Could he call it that? Was he in a relationship
with Shane? Fuck, he knew they shouldn't have gone this long without seeing
each other. If only the man hadn't been so stubborn about accepting a plane
ride from him.

      He'd seen the apprehensive look on Shane's face that day in his
apartment when he'd said they'd make this thing between them work. "Or at
least we'll try," Shane had intoned. What the fuck did that mean anyway?
Was Shane humoring him? Or being insincere? He didn't care for
dishonesty. If Shane was unwilling to make a go of this, he was okay with
that. He'd try to be okay with that but he would at the very least want to
know what changed the other man's mind.

      He was just wondering if he could linger on the rooftop to enjoy a
smoke or two in silence when a loud voice cut through his thoughts. "You're
here, finally!" He glanced at the looming doorway to find Paul beckoning
him.

      The helicopter roared back to life again on the landing pad and the
sound was so loud that Paul's voice was drowned out. Leo reached him just
in time to hear the tail end of his sentence. "... you've got to shoot your
acceptance speech video for the awards show."

      "Which one?"

      "Some European thing," Paul said dismissively. "You guys won four
awards and it's in Helsinki, so be sure to give the city a shout out. Dave
and Trey are here already but Ray's visiting his parents in Reno. He should
be back any time now but you're probably just gonna have to do the speech
without him."

      As they approached the elevators inside the hotel, he noticed that
Jake was already there, holding a door open with his extremely large bulk.
Leo nodded at him, noticing Paul's mouth twitching with disapproval. Paul
did everything with disapproval.

      He and Jake had a thing. No one else got it, but Jake was loyal to
him, and only him. It pissed off Paul to no end and he'd tried to fire Jake
at every opportunity. He'd lost count, but he estimated that it had to be
close to a dozen times, by now. It didn't matter anyway, because he went
and re-hired Jake again.

      This time, when Jake had agreed to come back reluctantly, the usually
taciturn man had eyed him warily and said, "Next time you need to sleep,
I'll take you to a doctor. Got it?"

      Leo got it.

      What Paul didn't understand was that the relationship with a
bodyguard wasn't just professional; it was intimate in all ways except
sex. Jake knew him how to protect him because he knew him inside out and
could anticipate his needs and knew just what it took to keep him
safe. They didn't talk much, but they understood each other quite
well. Jake was also the only person, other than Paul, who knew about
Shane. He had no fear of his secret getting out.

      Although fame had initially overwhelmed him, he knew better now. He'd
initially given in to the excesses of his new found wealth, but after three
arrests and multiple rehab stints, he was being forced to reevaluate his
life. He'd been depressed, lonely and angry. He had lots of party
companions and no friends. His entourage could fill up the VIP lounge, but
one time, when he'd almost choked to death in his own vomit, passed out in
a club bathroom, it'd been a stranger who saved his life.

      Now, while he understood the tabloid problem many of his famous
friends still had, he no longer empathized. Once in a while, when he grew
curious enough to pick up a trashy magazine and read up on the lives of
fellow celebrities, he grew puzzled about the enormous amount information
that got leaked about their lives. Public scandals were one thing, but
seeing every screw up, every mistake captured in print for the world to see
was another. It was a choice to live your life in private, albeit a hard
one.

      He no longer had an entourage and had fired his publicists. He didn't
even have an assistant; in Hollywood, they always came back and sued your
ass. He remembered a quote from The Usual Suspects, `one cannot be betrayed
if one has no people.' He lived by that code now. He regretted the mistakes
of his past, partying too much, too hard, and with the wrong people. Now,
he invested quite heavily in security; Jake was probably the best paid
bodyguard around, and when necessary, he went around with a security team
that thoroughly ensured his privacy.

      Paul's disapproval for Jake was also grounded in another issue Leo
was still unwilling to tackle completely. Jake was capable of getting him
anything he needed, particularly prescription sleep and pain meds.  Just
years ago, he'd been doing the harder stuff years but multiple stints in
rehab and helped him move on from those. Losing a friend to a bad batch of
heroin cut with methamphetamine had also helped rid him of the habit. He
still shuddered when he recalled how he'd watched his friend leave with the
dealer take a hit, never to return. He'd only declined their invitation
because even then, the thought of shooting meth had freaked him out.

      He was trying to be good now. The last overdose had been quite
embarrassing. He thought he was done with that shit but Dr. Stein had
helped him see that he hadn't really meant to off himself. He was just
trying to cope with rejection the only way he knew how to. He hadn't shared
his feelings for Shane with the doctor, but he realized that Shane had
quite literally, knocked him off kilter and reverting to drugs and old
habits had seemed a good way to put things right again. It all seemed so
stupid now, he thought wryly, but try reasoning with a drug addict.

      He followed Paul past gawking patrons on the casino floor. He was
tempted, sorely tempted, to head over to one of the card tables but there
was no time. When they walked past the doors that led to the high limit
action, his footsteps began slowing but Paul nudged him on. He sighed and
let Paul stride on, his head bowed as he typed furiously on his phone. He
didn't notice that Leo and Jake were lingering behind.

      The slot machines were calling to Leo. He was a fucking
multimillionaire, he reasoned. Even if he couldn't make it to the tables,
it would be a sin not to gamble away some of that wealth in the betting
capital of the world.

      He checked his pockets and came up with only credit cards. Turning to
Jake, he asked, "You got cash?"

      "Sure," Jake shrugged as he eyed Paul. "How much?"

      Taking a seat at the machine, he got ten twenty dollar bills from
Jake. "Is this all you got?" he asked his bodyguard skeptically.

      Jake scoffed. "Hey, you don't pay me that much..."

      Leo rolled his eyes and then inserted the bills in rapid succession,
losing every single time. Jake snorted behind him.

      He moved on to the next machine, which he hoped was hot and demanded
more money from Jake. When his bodyguard hesitated, he eyed him
speculatively. He knew Jake was required to keep emergency cash on him, a
couple of thousand at least, if he recalled the last times Jake had had to
bail him out of some situation or the other. It was all his money of
course.

      He said to Jake drolly, "This is a fucking emergency."

      "How's that?"

      "I will die of boredom if you don't give me more money."

       Jake pulled out his wallet and counted out a couple of hundred
dollar bills. "I'll give you five hundred and then we go join Paul."

      "One thousand and we've got a deal."

      He headed toward the higher limit slot machines until he found what
he was looking for. He hit the wrong button and bet the max on the entire
bill he'd just put in. Nothing. He figured what the hell and proceeded to
run through the remaining $800. On the last bill, he pulled the handle and
surprise, three gold coins lined up in a row. With a grin, he cashed out
and ripped off the ticket which was less than a quarter of his total
bets. When he handed it over to Jake, he quipped, "Must be my lucky day!"

      "Really, slots, Leo?" Paul called out behind them. "The video crew's
standing by to shoot your acceptance speech."

      Game over, Leo thought glumly as he handed over the rest of the cash
to Jake. Probably, for the best though... he'd run through over a grand in
less than five minutes. He wondered what he'd have gotten up to with more
time on his hands. He met up with the Trey, Dave and the crew inside the
vast Colosseum arena. The stagehands were still working around the clock,
setting up for the show tonight, while the band gathered together in front
of camera and feigned surprise at winning four awards. Leo dutifully gave a
rote speech where he thanked the fans, Paul and gave a shout out to
Helsinki, wherever the fuck that was.

      It was over quickly.

      The stage was a mess of ladders, cables, mic stands, and other
equipment. After a chat with the engineers, they agreed to delay sound
check until later that afternoon when the issues with the PA system and
pyrotechnics had been resolved.

      Inwardly, Leo heaved a sigh of relief. Maybe now, he'd get some peace
and quiet to call Shane. Instead, he found himself being herded out of the
arena by Paul. He asked where to. "Perry," he was told.

      Fuck.

      They went down to the parking lot where a town car awaited. The ride
was initially silent, but for the soft purring of the engine. After
crawling through traffic on the strip, they finally pulled into the gated
entry way of a sprawling ranch-style mansion a few minutes later. The car
stopped and Paul slid down the window on his side to speak into the
intercom. "Paul Golden and Leo Malone here for Mr. Ford," he said.

      A moment later, the gates slid open.

      Leo turned to his manager. "I thought you took care of everything?"

      "I did what I could, but he got the psych evaluation from
Dr. Stein... let's just say he wants to confirm the results himself."

      Leo rolled his eyes with disdain.

      "Look, he's not the bad guy here? I know he's a greedy son of a bitch
but he's got a lot of money riding on you. You're worth a lot of money to
his investors, and he needs to protect the their investment."

      "I'm not a fucking commodity."

      "Yes, you are. It sucks but you might as well be aluminum or copper
or some shit like that. You just signed a hefty contract with Atlantis for
four albums. Four, Leo... that's four fucking albums. By my count, you've
only produced one. There's talk about putting out a live concert album
after the tour, but that's only if the tour's profitable. Right now, your
insurance premium has gone through the roof because of your OD and now
these guys don't think you're going make it."

      Leo's flinched. "What do you mean, not going to make it?"

      Paul said slowly, like he was speaking to a child. "They think you're
going to die."

      Leo inhaled sharply.

      "They're scared you won't live long enough to complete the tour. They
think you're a liability because you've got them thinking there's a
fifty-fifty chance that you'll live to the end of the year. Fifty-fifty's
good at the tables in Vegas, not so good for insurance policies."

      Paul paused to clear his throat before continuing, "Perry needs to
see you looking good and acting healthy. He's got to assure his investors
that they're doing the financially savvy thing by backing him so he keeps
you signed to Atlantis. You got it? If he gets even one hint that you're
not okay, not handling the addiction, your insomnia or your love life like
you're supposed to, he's going to pull the plug. He'll terminate the
contract and drop you and the guys off the label."

      "Okay," Leo said, even though his mind was whirling at top speed with
everything his manager was throwing at him.

      "And listen to this," Paul added. "Just in case you don't think it's
the worst thing that could happen, getting dropped from your label? Well,
actually, it is -- because you were paid up front. That means you'll owe
Atlantis a shitload for three unproduced albums, payable immediately, plus
expenses and lost revenue from the canceled tour."

      Leo considered his net worth. It would be a lot of money, but he
could afford to return the money without a doubt.

      Paul must have guessed what he was thinking because he said, "Did I
mention your personal and non-appearance insurance premiums are through the
roof as well? Also, I talked to your accountant recently and you're not
very solvent right now. Some of your investments have taken a hit with the
economy... "

      Silence.

      "The bright side to all this," Paul resumed cheerfully, "is there's a
huge bonus waiting for you upon completion of the four albums for
Atlantis. You see this through, you get your money, and then you get to do
whatever the fuck you want to do, okay? I will personally shop you around
to other labels and you will never have to deal with Perry Ford again."

      Silence.

      "Until then, you stay put and play the part.  We're going to walk in
there, do lunch with that son of a bitch and you're going to make him
believe that you're the best fucking chance Atlantis has of winning a
Grammy this season. Deal?"

      Reluctantly, Leo said, "Got it."

      Paul watched him with narrowed eyes. "We good?"

      Leo took in a deep breath and tilted his head left and right before
declaring, "Yeah, I'm good."

      Paul gave a tight smile. "Let's do this."

      The end of the driveway was blocked by a massive, elaborately carved
fountain in the shape of four angels forever frozen in time as they poured
water into a large stone basin at their feet. Leo wondered why the devil
would have angels guarding his front door. He was about to point it out to
Paul when the front door opened to reveal Perry Ford, a short, balding,
red-faced man whose looks belied his creative genius as head of one of the
most successful record labels in the world.

      "Leo, Paul, so glad you could make it!" He waved enthusiastically
with one hand, while in the other was a giant cocktail topped with a
turquoise umbrella.

      Paul muttered to Leo out the side of his mouth, "Like we had a
fucking choice." To Perry, he yelled, "Great to see you too."

      Leo kept silent but waved unenthusiastically at the record
executive. He watched as a butler in a black tailcoat, a fucking black
tailcoat, stepped out from behind Perry with a silver tray laden with
cocktails.

      Paul glanced briefly at Leo who cut him off irritatedly, "I know, I
know. I'll ask for water."

      Paul nodded his approval.

      They plastered on wide smiles as they finally met up with Perry at
the front entrance of his atrocious home. Paul took a cocktail but Leo
waited till Perry was watching him and declared to the butler pleasantly,
"None for me... I've sworn off this stuff!"



      ###



      Strobe lights flashed brightly as the introductory video played on
the enormous screen featuring a montage of fans at their concerts around
the world. With every passing pulse of light, the fans screamed louder and
Leo felt his adrenaline kick into gear.

      Looking into the audience, he noticed the predominance of teenagers
and college-aged kids, but he liked that there was a diversity of race and
gender among the crowd. As a cloud of fog began appearing on stage, Leo
knew it was time for him to make an appearance. He'd switched up the set
list this morning; they'd start with slowed down versions of some of their
lesser known songs which hadn't even been released as singles. The guys
were less than impressed with some of his choices but he didn't
particularly care. His band, his rules.

      He walked, hidden by the dense smoke, to his place behind the mic and
began strumming the opening chords to the slow ballad. The crowd went wild
once they saw him; their cries reaching a crescendo so high, his ear piece
barely drowned them out. Closing his eyes, he began singing and the crowd
went quiet. He dragged each note, almost like he was caressing them, and he
soon he had the crowd swaying and singing word-for-word.

      The fans never ceased to surprise him. They knew words to songs that
he, the writer, had to dig up from memory. After segueing into two more
slow songs, the lights dimmed and he handed off his acoustic guitar to a
roadie who appeared and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

      Moments later, the lights quickened in pulse and the entire arena lit
up brightly. Ray, insanely brilliant guitarist that he was, thundered
through a particularly complex riff that roused the crowd. Leo grabbed the
microphone, letting loose, as his vocals soared to the adoring crowd before
him.

      He fucking loved his job.



      ###



      A roadie handed him a chilled bottle of water. He remembered with a
longing sigh when it used to be a bottle of Jack that awaited him after a
show.  He took a large gulp and handed it back. Backstage felt like a
fucking oven with roadies and crew crowding up the narrow hallways.

      This was the last night of two back-to-back shows in Vegas. The crowd
had been awesome. He enjoyed the Vegas crowd; they were always pumped,
liquored up and ready to party.

      He watched a bunch of fans approach, six teenagers in all and winners
of a radio contest to win backstage passes to the show. Shaking hands with
each one, he asked, "So who'd you have to kill to get back here?"

      They giggled nervously, each one blushing harder than the last. They
could barely contain themselves, eager, nervous but always asking questions
he'd heard so many times before... "What's your favorite blah, blah, blah?
Is it true you did this or that? Do you have a girlfriend?

      He answered easily, with Paul in the background, monitoring
everything he did. He indulged them, flirting and charming his way out of
personal questions. Shirts, baseball hats, CDs, and even the hard backs of
phones and iPads were signed by him. He noticed Paul signaling to him and
he posed for a few more photos before making his apologies.

      Next stop was out in the lobby with the rest of the fans who'd
attended the show. Ray, Terry and Dave were already there, but the noise of
the crowd heightened to almost deafening levels when he made an appearance.

      Other than performing, this was the only other way he liked meeting
with fans. While he appreciated their support, it was often uncomfortable
meeting them one on one and trying to live up to their expectations. He
greatly preferred meet and greets like this which were much less
intimate. They couldn't ask personal questions and there was a whole
barrier of cops and security separating him from them. All he had to do was
lean over and grab hands, sign autographs and pose for photos. He kept at
this for the next forty five minutes and was absolutely thrilled when Jake
leaned into him and murmured that time was up.

      Back in the hotel, he declined an invitation to hit the casino with
the guys. After the long day he'd had traveling yesterday, meeting with
Perry, rehearsals and two concerts, he was more than ready to crash. Sleep
would come easily for him tonight.

      He ignored his friends' taunts, "You're getting old, man," and waved
them off distractedly as he reached for his phone.

      Quite frankly, Leo was stunned that Shane could go this long without
getting in touch. He admired the man's resolve even though he had to admit
that his ego was taking a bit of a hit.

      Still, he was very amused that Shane was making him work overtime for
his affections. He'd never had to pursue anything quite
so... diligently. He'd had everything at his fingertips for so long that
he'd forgotten what it felt like to crave, to lust, to desire, without
relief. Everyone thought bagging a supermodel took work. As a rock star all
he had to do was approach one with a hard-on in one hand and a guitar in
the other. It was that simple.

      The last time he'd chased anyone this hard was in the 3rd grade. Her
name was Anne-Marie... Something... She'd been a looker, or so he'd
thought. All he remembered now was waist length blonde ponytail braids with
red ribbons. She kept running away from him until he'd given her a pink
heart shaped cut out inscribed with words of a song he'd written especially
for her. The relationship lasted all of two weeks before he realized she
expected him to sit with her at lunch every day. He'd dumped her, of
course.

      He wished Shane was needy. Wished he would show some evidence of
wanting Leo's affections. Right now, a simple text message would suffice.

      He'd never been turned down before... not because he was
irresistible, but that he was a pretty good judge of character and never
wasted a moment on someone who wouldn't entertain his attentions. When he'd
decided to make a move on Shane, he'd been confident of his reception. Now
he questioned his early impressions of the man and wondered who he was
actually dealing with; the one who'd worn his heart on his sleeve in that
L.A. room and the one in New York with a poker face that could make grown
men cry.

      Maybe he over did it with the flowers... It'd been a flip decision
when he'd come down to the lobby in his hotel and seen a vase of vibrant
roses on the desk. The orange blossoms in particular had captured his
attention. They reminded him of the intense burst of color Shane had
brought into his dull black and white existence.

      He wasn't going to let the Shane get away from him so easily. His
commitment to the tour was inflexible, and no matter how much he would've
liked to spend every waking moment in bed eating bagels with the other man,
he just couldn't. They would have to compromise. He was quite pleased
himself that he was attempting to rationalize this situation like an
adult. He was willing to compromise... a first for him. The word made him
feel grown up. He'd always heard of people talking about compromises in
relationships... had no fucking clue what it meant. Now, he got it.  He
made a note to use that word when he got a chance to speak with Shane.

      He glanced down at his phone and couldn't help the silly grin that
stole across his face. He would finally get a chance to call Shane. He
didn't waste time, hitting the redial button without a consideration to the
time zone. The phone rang long enough that he was already considering
whether to hang up or leave yet another voice message when he heard a
click.

      "Hello?"

      He wondered if he'd called the right number. The voice didn't sound
familiar. "Shane?" he questioned.

      "Yeah," the voice croaked. "Hi, Leo."

      "Are you okay? What's wrong with your voice?"

      "Throat infection," Shane croaked back. His voice was low and
scratchy. It sounded painful just listening to him speak.

      "Have you been to a doctor?"

      There was a slight hesitation before he answered, "I'm okay. Look,
I'm sorry I missed your calls. I've been busy."

      In a soothing tone, he told the other man, "No, you're sick. I
understand. I should go. You probably need to rest..."

      There was a harsh intake of breath on Shane's end, and an alarmed,
almost desperate sounding protest of, "No! Don't go."

      A sign, Leo thought to himself, happily. Finally! He'd confirmed that
Shane did want him around after all. A moment later, it occurred to him how
sad the other man sounded. Almost broken, in fact, and he realized it must
have taken an extraordinary amount of effort for Shane to admit he wanted
him on the phone.

      He said softly, in hopes of reassuring the other man, "It's okay. I'm
right here."

      "No, you're not!"

      He blinked, thinking he'd misheard. "Wha-"

      Shane interrupted him and there was no mistaking the desperation and
anxiety in his voice this time. His voice was low, breathy and aching when
he insisted "You're not here. You're not here and I want you."

      Leo sat up on the bed. He was almost ashamed to note what Shane's
distressed voice did to his libido. He didn't understand what was going on,
but he realized that this was probably a breakthrough of sorts. Despite his
protective instincts striving to take precedence at that moment, he asked,
just to confirm that he understood exactly what Shane was asking him.

      "You want me there? Right now?"

      There was a long pause and then he heard a choking cry. "Are you
still there?" he asked gently.

      Shane spoke finally. It was so soft, but there was no way he'd
imagined the words. "I want you."



      ###



      He glanced back to find Paul leaning against the bedroom door.

      "You called?" he asked Leo. "I'm heading down to the casino. Ray just
won 50k at blackjack. I'm going to check it out because that motherfucker's
probably counting cards and I don't want him getting arrested. Care to join
us?"

      "I need the jet," he said abruptly, throwing things into a suitcase.

      "What, right now? It's like 2:00 a.m..."

      Leo paused in his packing to stare at him coolly. "That wasn't a
request."

      "Where are you going? Oh, don't tell me, New York?"

      Leo snapped at him, "Just, get me the fucking jet or I'll find myself
someone else who can do your job."

      "It's not like calling for a limo for crying out loud. There are
protocols for private planes. They've got to file flight plans or some shit
like that..."

      Leo ignored him, heading to the bathroom.

      A half hour later, Paul got off his phone. "I've got a car waiting
downstairs for you. Jake's there already. Pilot's estimating take off time
in two hours but he'll see what he can do.

      "Thanks," he said tersely and dragged his suitcase out of the suite.



      ###



      Leo was usually grateful for the small things. Times like this, he
was especially grateful for the big things, too. In his gulfstream jet, he
was able to take a shower and caught a few hours of sleep. Despite being
exhausted, adrenaline coursing through his veins prevented him from
sleeping much longer. His eyes fluttered open as he felt pressure in the
pit of his stomach as the jet began its descent.

      Traffic notwithstanding, he was walking into Shane's apartment
building shortly before noon. He didn't know what to expect when he texted
that he was outside and Shane had buzzed him in. The elevator ride was one
of the longest he'd ever experienced, even though it only went up eight
floors. He crossed his fingers with hope for the same luck that had been on
his side the last time he stood at Shane's door.

      He knocked and the door swung open slowly to reveal Shane. He stood
there with a shy smile, taking Leo's breath away, just like that first
time, many months ago, when the elevator doors at Atlantic Records and he'd
seen him for the first time.

      In truth, the effect might have been the same, but the visual was
quite different. Shane didn't look like the knockout he'd been that
day. His eyes were huge but wan in his oval face. His hair was mussed with
lines across his cheeks like he'd been lying in bed too long. He was
clutching a thick duvet, several inches thick and which probably weighed
more than him and come think of it, Leo could've sworn that he looked
thinner than he remembered.

      He watched Shane pull the duvet more securely around his shoulders
and neck like a protective shell before croaking, "Hi."

      He smiled back tentatively, stepping in when Shane moved out of the
way. He took a few steps inside, let go of his suitcase and then turned to
catch Shane by the waist just as he was turning away from the door. He
crowded the other man into the wall, letting one hand come up to push the
duvet covering his face out of the way so he could get a better glimpse of
him.

      "Hi," he said to Shane, right before he brushed a light kiss over the
other man's lips.

      Shane sighed softly, and the sound went right to his dick. If he'd
had any doubts before about coming here, that sound wiped them all
away. "Thanks for comi..." Shane began to say, but he silenced him again
with the barest of kisses on his lips.

      He didn't need to be thanked for coming. His presence here was as
much for him as for the other man. "How're you feeling?" he asked Shane,
leaning back so he could peer into his eyes.

      Shane shook his head, croaking, "Not so good."

      Leo pulled him close again and stroked his buttery hair. "Come on,
let's get you into bed. You look exhausted."

      Shane allowed Leo lead him, basking in the warmth and security of the
other man's arm wrapped around him. Still wrapped in the duvet, he settled
down on the bed and watched Leo strip.

      Shane noticed that Leo's movements were quick and graceful. He was
someone so used to performing, that he wasn't even aware of being
watched. His dark hair fell loosely around his face as he bent over to pull
off his jeans and Shane thought he looked even younger with the dim light
in the room softening his features.

      He caught sight of Shane watching him and he paused, smiling at him
mischievously.

      Shane smirked and asked in a low voice, "What are you waiting for,
applause?"

      Leo laughed. "Your undivided attention."

      Shane laughed but it came out more as a choking sound. "Trust me;
you've always got it."

      As Leo approached, Shane reached for him eagerly, to guide him into
the bed to lay down on top of him. Leo draped all over him like this, was
just perfect. He didn't understand the feelings welling up now that Leo was
here. He felt sheltered and protected under the other man. These were
emotions that had never been tied up in anyone else but himself; he'd never
relied on Drew for security... he would've been crazy to, he barely knew
him, and he been betrayed by him and still, he needed him so much.

      He felt Leo's thighs press against his, and he writhed a little just
to feel the sensation of the other man's hard cock against him. Leaning up,
he captured the other man's mouth in a kiss. It was the open-mouthed kind
that was wet, messy and really just kind of slutty. He'd missed this with
Leo; the way he was able to give in to his want and intensity and ferocity
during sex and how Leo took it and gave it right back.

      He ignored the throbbing pain in his throat, reveling in the
happiness of reuniting with a lover who'd been absent too long. Closing his
eyes, he hummed softly as Leo's tongue pushed rhythmically against his. He
could almost forget that he was still in pain.

      Leo pulled back and watched Shane's eyes flutter open. He marveled at
the other man's flushed mouth. Pressing his finger against the corner, he
watched as Shane took it in and began sucking. He watched, mesmerized by
the movements of Shane's lips, then he leaned down to insert his tongue
with his finger still in Shane's swollen mouth. Shane's tongue alternated
between licking and sucking on his tongue and then his finger.

      He pressed down harder, rocking his cock against Shane's hard one. He
pulled his finger free of Shane's mouth and sucked it into his mouth,
tasting Shane's saliva. Watching him, Shane groaned and pressed up against
him, running both hands down Leo's naked spine to grab the curve of his ass
and haul him in closer. They went at it for a long time, kissing like horny
teenagers and alternately humping and grinding down on each other.

      "I don't want to come like this," Leo whispered with a kiss to the
side of Shane's face. He worked his hips lazily and kept up his steady
thrusts. "I want to come inside you."

      He was surprised to find Shane's blue eyes widening in
alarm. Confused, he asked, "Is that okay?" he asked, wondering if he'd
missed something. He slid a hand down Shane's flank reassuringly.

      "I just thought..." his voice trailed off when he realized Shane was
trying to wriggle out from under him. Although disappointed at being
rebuffed, he rolled to the side, allowing Shane to pull away from him.

      Leo watched him pull his knees close to his chest, and huddle
underneath the duvet. He noticed with interest that Shane kept tightening
and tucking the covers close to his neck.

      He let out a short laugh. "It's okay if you don't want to make
love. I shouldn't even be getting you worked up since you're so sick, but
tell me, why the hell do you have that thing wrapped around you? You're
bundled up like an Eskimo and your air conditioning's not very cold. You've
got to be burning up."

      Shane croaked something that Leo didn't understand. Nonetheless, he
reached forward to pull away the duvet and was surprised when Shane leaned
out of reach.

      He gave him a puzzled look. "What's wrong?

      Shane looked away, worrying his lip in thought.

      Leo thought he was being patient, waiting for the other man to speak,
but when Shane made to get off the bed, he realized he'd had enough. He
reached out to grasp the edge of the duvet to stop him. "It can't be that
bad," he said pleadingly, trying to stifle a laugh. He hadn't realized
Shane was so vain. "It's just a throat infection, I'm sure a little
swelling's normal. Let me see."

      Shane shook his head, tightening the duvet around him like a
protective shield.

      When he realized that Shane wouldn't meet his eyes, he wondered if
something more serious was going on. He moved in closer and with increased
effort this time, was able to tug the duvet out of Shane's clutching hands.

      At first, he didn't know what to make of it. Shane's throat was too
dark and bruised. "Did you have a doctor check this?" he asked after a few
moments of stunned silence. "I'm not sure that's just an infection. To be
honest, it looks like... you look like you got attacked by a..."

      That was all he managed to get out before he gripped Shane's
shoulders and peered more closely. He realized he was indeed staring at
bruises. He kept his voice low and controlled. "What the fuck?"

      Shane said nothing, instead he tried to grab the duvet but Leo pulled
it out of reach and threw it to the floor behind him.

      Then he knelt in front of Shane, cupped his face in his two hands and
said softly, "Look at me."

      Shane looked away determinedly.

      "Look at me, Shane," he repeated, pausing until the other man's eyes
locked onto his. Softly he asked, "Who did this to you?"

      After a moment's hesitation, Shane opened his mouth to speak but Leo
narrowed his eyes and held up an index finger in warning. "Don't lie to
me."

      Shane inhaled sharply, blinking wide blue eyes rapidly as he
reconsidered what he'd been about to say. Finally, he croaked, "It's my
fault, okay. I met a guy a few nights ago..."

      A short time later, Leo had heard the entire story. He had an arm
around Shane's shoulders, the other man leaning against him as silent tears
streamed down his face. He rubbed his lover's back soothingly then pressed
a kiss to his temple, "It's okay," he whispered.

      He stayed like that until Shane fell asleep. His neck and shoulders
were wet with the trail of tears the other man had left behind. He laid
Shane down on the bed gently before heading out of the bedroom.

      His anger burned white hot. He tried to tamp down the betrayal he
felt at Shane, instead focusing on the flames stoked by the bruises he saw
on him. He wished he was in his own house so he could punch the wall or
break something. He wanted to detach himself from his rage and allow it to
reign free without thought of consequence. But he knew better. He had to
stay ahead of his weaknesses and not let them control his actions and
decisions. Anger was a valid emotion in this situation but he knew acting
on it right away would be selfish when Shane was hurt.

      He closed his eyes and reached for breathing techniques which often
helped him bring his emotions into balance. It was only when he felt almost
normal again, tentatively in control of his faculties, that he opened his
eyes.

      Shane needed a doctor. He called someone who could make it happen.

      Paul's voice was groggy. "I'm still sleeping..."

      "I need a doctor."

      He heard Paul gasp in surprise. "What happened?"

      "Not for me. It's for... it's someone who's got a throat injury,
maybe a crushed larynx, I don't really know. Just make sure the doctor's
discreet, okay? We can't have this getting out. You know Shane's address."

      "Yeah, sure..." Paul said, his voice had gone quiet and serious. He
knew better than to ask any more questions. "I'll get on it immediately."

      Satisfied, Leo was about to end the call when he gave in to the
tendril of anger still curling in the pit of his belly, itching at any
moment to rear its head. "I need something else," he said.

      "Anything."

      "A name. An actor doing an off-Broadway show in New York, A Street
Car Named Desire. He's the lead."

      Paul spoke after a brief silence. His voice was infused with
confusion when he asked, "So how far off Broadway are we talking about...?
There're probably a half dozen productions of A Street Car Named Desire in
New York City at any given moment... and what's this for anyway? You a
theater buff all of a sudden?"

      Leo ignored the Paul's questions, said coolly. "I need two things
from you. A doctor and the cast list of every off-Broadway production of
the show. Understood?"

      Paul sighed. "Got it."

      "And photos," he added thoughtfully. "Make sure you get photos, too."