Celebrations

Jason watched Colby. Found himself in awe, not for the first time. Admiration, lust, devotion, love: they all spun like tops around his heart, and made it spin too.

The convention stretched out to engulf them like an over-enthusiastic hug, a tidal wave of sound from the hall floor. Superhero shirts and fantasy collectibles abounded. Jason squashed a sneaking pang of envy about a stunning elfin cosplay in the front row of the audience.

He'd always kind of wanted pointy ears. He'd pretended not to, or turned the wanting into a joke: big action-hero movie star, good at wrestling and karate and stunt work, full of muscular good cheer, definitely nobody who'd ever seriously wistfully wished to take a magic ring and go on a quest and learn to wield the Secret Flame of Heart-Fire.

These days he'd taught Colby—and occasionally Jillian and Andy and Laurie and George: all of Colby's friends, because Colby did have friends and knew it, now—to play Wizards Wyverns. Jason's husband, the love of his life, had taken one look at character sheets and alignment charts, and had plunged into roleplaying adventures with the joy of a writer who adored fantasy worlds and romance and steampunk top-hats. Colby had shamelessly bought a swirling forest ranger's cloak and learned to bake wayfarer's bread, because Colby loved new worlds with his whole heart.

Colby, Jason thought now—as he always thought, every time—was the best person he knew. The most courageous. Not shy about eagerness and enthusiasm, once reassured that that enthusiasm was okay. More unselfconscious—in some ways, not all—than Jason himself. Worthy of all that admiration.

And, speaking of admiration and fans and being a fan: today, this moment, they were here. Himself, Jason Mirelli, and gorgeous kind-hearted Hollywood A-list movie star Colby Kent. Himself and his husband. In Seattle. A convention. Not the biggest—they'd talked about that, and had chosen carefully—but celebratory.

They'd brought along something to celebrate, of course.

The room nearly creaked aloud, stuffed full of costumes and joy and awareness of how special this sneak preview was. Director Jillian Poe, already on stage, glanced back at her cast as they came in: encouraging and present and here for them, as their names were called.

Colby waved at the audience, one-handed, crossing the stage. His other hand was holding Jason's, fairly tightly.

Jason waved too, and half-instinctively waited to sit until Colby did, aware that he might be hovering but also not caring. Colby didn't mind some protectiveness in general, and especially not right now, judging from his grip on Jason's fingers; Jason would and could throw himself between Colby and any dangers if necessary.

He eyed the crowd. Estimated odds, and his own skill set and size. He could take them all. Probably. If it was for Colby.

Who, at his side, put on the brilliant wide-eyed smile that was the public persona, and leaned into his microphone. "Thank you for the lovely welcome!"

The crowd roared in fantastical and exuberant delight. Colby blushed. In a rainbow-edged soft grey cardigan over a pale blue shirt, he looked utterly soft and delectably cuddly, hair ruffled into messy dark waves, precious and precocious and harmless.

The panel moderator—a very prominent name in the fantasy-loving nerd community; Jason'd heard of him even years ago, during sneaky I'm not really a geek clandestine forays into game shops—beamed at Colby. "They love you! But this is your first time at any Comic-Con, right? You're a Comic-Con virgin!"

"Oh, goodness." Colby, extra-English and extra-winsome at the moment, played up the reaction for effect. It was real, because he meant every word and every expression; but Colby also knew exactly what people and fans expected of Colby Kent, Hollywood's most adorable and harmless gay leading man. "Well…er, thank you all for helping me lose my virginity, then?"

That got actual screams. Under cover of the noise, Jason leaned over to whisper, "You enjoyed that one."

"I'm enjoying the thought of you ravishing innocent virgin me in a hotel bed later. It's such a friendly bed, and we've only enjoyed it once.—Oh, sorry, was that a question?" This last was directed at the moderator. "Sorry, yes, Jason's been helping me as far as advice and the whole convention experience!"

Jill, on Colby's other side, gave them both a look that said she knew perfectly well what sort of help Jason'd been providing only that morning. Jason tried not to blush, and mostly succeeded.

He and Colby didn't have many secrets from Jill, and he owed her pretty much everything—the relaunch of his career, the best role of his life, the introduction to the man he wanted to kiss forever—but some residual embarrassment lurked around the knowledge that she'd once asked Colby whether he, Jason, was good in bed.

She'd meant it in a protective way, he knew. Whether he was good to Colby: thoughtful, generous, considerate. Everything Colby's former partners had never been. He couldn't even fault her for wanting to check in; she was Colby's best friend and older sister, by choice if not by blood, and she cared.

He still sometimes winced, though, at the thought that Jill had seen him essentially naked on camera, for sex scenes, and had apparently been reassured by Colby that he was very satisfactory. In all ways.

"That was more or less the question anyway," their moderator agreed happily. "Jason, you've done this before, haven't you? So you know how this goes. Was it Moon War you were here for, last time?"

Well, he'd known it'd be coming; no surprise. He let himself sigh, exaggeratedly. Stared down at the table for a second: mock resignation.

Colby squeezed his hand.

Jason looked up, and said, in his best deadpan version of his Moon Corps Captain's action-hero voice, "Shut up, son, before I kick your ass to Uranus."

That line, as iconic and quotable and terrible as it was, got cheers almost as loud as Colby's virginity joke. Noise bounced off the ceiling, and rattled from the walls, just about bursting the convention center at the seams.

Colby, predictably, dove right in to protest, "Oh, but it's sort of a cult classic, isn't it, these days—with the dreadful puns, which I actually love—I mean, I know it's not, ah, perhaps your best movie—"

"You can say it's awful," Jason offered. "We're already married, babe, you don't have to pretend you like Moon War."

"Er…I like you in an artistically torn shirt fighting off space pirates?"

Laughter erupted like lava from a lunar volcano, and ran merrily around the room.

From Jason's left, Kim Goh—she'd be playing the young newly-crowned Queen in the movie they were here to tease, and she'd been marvelously compelling as someone Jason's knight would swear to serve and go on a quest for and seek out a wizard to help—put in, "So that's where Colby got the inspiration for writing all those shirtless scenes for you!" and made everybody laugh again.

"Speaking of," their moderator coaxed, with the grin of someone knowing good chemistry and a good panel when he had it, "tell us about that upcoming project, it's what we're all here for, and you've all been pretty mysterious so far…"

Jason and Colby and Kim all looked at Jill; she said, "Well, we're still going to be just a little mysterious, but we wanted to give you all a first look…we've brought along some footage, just a couple minutes, from what we've been filming in New Zealand, if you all want to see it…"

The crowd indicated that they very much did want to see it.

"Okay," Jill said, "let's do that!"

They did. Lights dimmed. Placeholder generic fantasy music swirling. Mist and shimmering lights, and Jason standing in a forest clearing, in worn leather and quest attire. Colby's voice, elegant and sarcastic, an unseen wizard annoyed by an interruption. Jason asking for his help, begging, on behalf of his embattled queen.

The mist ebbed, faded, dwindled. Colby, leaning against a tree, cocked an eyebrow: beautiful, wry, unconvinced about taking sides in a human conflict. Jason's breath caught, both in the scene and in the present. Colby was so lovely, so eloquent, so compelling, confounding all expectations about mages and grey-bearded wisdom; magician-Colby was young and sharp and self-interested and dazzling.

They fell in love with each other on the spot, of course, though they'd argue and bicker and shout at each other and work together and step in front of magical attacks for each other before finally admitting it. Jason had loved every second of filming so far. Colby's screenplay was quick and crackling and funny and heartfelt, full of wit and self-sacrifice, and every line was a small masterpiece of character.

They still had some filming to do, including the big battle scenes and special-effects wizardry; they'd only brought a few rough scenes, enough to tantalize. Jason watched Colby, as the scene ended; his other half was smiling faintly, happy with the current version.

The footage faded out; the lights came up. The crowd burst into applause, cheers, shouts, questions.

"So," their moderator began, also applauding. "That's looking fantastic, pun intended—let's talk about it! I've got a couple questions, and then we'll take some audience questions too, if you all want to start lining up at the microphone…"

The audience lunged that way. Colby's fingers curled into Jason's more closely; he said, partly for the microphone and partly for Jason, "Good heavens, we look splendid; I'm excited!" and got some more cheers.

Jason held his hand, and knew exactly how much acting Colby was doing: enough to hide anxiety when being escorted through crowds and into an overstuffed hall, but genuine about the delight in being here and sharing in the love. He adored his husband even more.

Colby was so brave, so wonderful, so magical. Deserving of every drop of applause. Worship. Loyal crowd-clearing protection, which Jason would forever and ever provide.

He cleared his throat, and said, "Yeah, so am I."

* * * *

They'd agreed to a very short photo session with fans after the panel: only half an hour, and strictly limited as far as numbers, and with Colby and Jason together, no separation, non-negotiable. The organizers had been over the moon to have even that much; it'd sold out within seconds.

Jason kept an arm over Colby's shoulders as they walked. Colby peeked around security-guard bulk and event staff volunteers, and got interested in a passing medieval-fantasy cosplay and some beautiful artwork being carried under someone's arm, some sort of enchanted forest scene. Jason, who knew how crowded and noisy and chaotic a vendor hall could be, said, "Tell me if there's something you want to see?" and gathered his husband more closely against his side.

"I do want to," Colby said, "but…I don't think I can." He was being truthful as far as self-evaluation; Jason could see both the fascination and the tension in his face, the tightness of his posture. Too many bodies ping-ponged through the convention center, taking up space and darting in unpredictable directions; even here in this back hallway, with an escort, they were having to navigate the throng. "I'd love to go and see some of the art…everything people make, out of joy and passion and creativity…perhaps there's some books, or swords, or some dice you'd like…I'm not certain I'm feeling entirely up to that, though. It's so…so very much."

Jason stopped walking, which meant their escort had to stop as well. Some minor bewilderment happened up ahead in the bodyguard ranks. "How are you feeling? We can cancel."

"No. I said I could, and I can. We promised." Chin up, persistent, determined to be here for fans: Colby Kent in fluffy merry steamroller form, polite and charming and unstoppable. God, Jason loved him. "I've got you, we've got our decidedly intimidating security team, it's only half an hour, and I really am doing better, these days. And I'm supposed to be trying some new things, aren't I?"

"She meant like new bookstores or museums," Jason grumbled, but started walking again. Their therapist had suggested Colby—who was doing better about strangers and crowds, at least to some extent—try doing some things on his own, like buying a book while Jason pretended not to vibrate with worry behind a shelf and out of sight. Colby had always been able to make himself do it, the same way he'd made himself show up for public appearances with hidden bruises on his thighs and stomach when Liam'd been angry with him, because Colby Kent was a genius actor. But he'd been shaking inside the entire time.

I know it's in my head, he'd said to Jason once, an apology. I know no one's going to leap out from behind the counter and shove me to my knees and tell me I don't need another stupid romance novel, it's worthless anyway, like me, so I should be quiet and open my mouth and do something useful…I know it's not going to happen. I know it's not true. And I should buy a book, if I want it. But it's so odd, it's as if not all of me knows, that little part I can't quite convince…

Jason had wanted to punch something, by preference Liam, until every ugly memory no longer existed; he'd also felt horribly helpless, all his muscles and strength useless in the face of those words. He'd finally asked, knowing himself to be too large and clumsy and inadequate, whether Colby wanted to be touched, held, kissed, just then. Maybe it wasn't good weather for that. Not one of those days.

Colby had said yes, though. Had climbed right into Jason's lap and settled there, trusting Jason's arms around him.

Colby said yes to him, and kept on saying yes, because he did trust Jason. Jason's whole being swelled up with love and pride, every time.

Colby thought he was worth trusting. He'd done something right enough for that. He would keep on trying.

Time, and therapy, had helped. Colby did handle unexpected or overly familiar encounters more easily, these days, with some practiced coping mechanisms and awareness of reactions. Some things would never be simple, and they'd both learned—for one, Colby absolutely needed to know when Jason came into a room, especially if his back was turned, because an unanticipated sudden touch and large looming presence would never be good. There were other tiny landmines, too, that they'd worked out how to handle. Not too many of those, but some.

But Colby had wanted to do this convention. And had promptly agreed when asked about the photo session.

Jason matched their footfalls together. He was an inch or so taller, not too much, but Colby had long legs. They generally fell into step. They did now.

They found the booth, under powerful swooping lights. They smiled at volunteers and convention staff.

A tall thin bespectacled young man in a volunteer's shirt held out coffee; he looked exactly like someone trying hard not to get overawed at handing coffee to Academy Award winner and literary-charity philanthropist Colby Kent, and he swallowed nervously while stumbling through, "I hope it's okay? They said you like coffee? With cinnamon in it? If it's too much cinnamon I can run out and get you another one? I'm supposed to take care of you? This afternoon?"

"Thank you, I'm sure it's just what I've been needing." Colby took the cup, bestowed a smile upon the young man—which made him stammer and go silent, cheeks flushing pinker under bronze skin and ink-splash freckles—and then took a sip. "Oh, yes, that's lovely, thanks. I do like cinnamon; how on earth did you know? Sorry, what was your name?"

The poor volunteer, now confronted with Colby Kent being friendly at him, opened his mouth, shut it, and squeaked, "Shawn…"

"Did you get something for yourself?" Colby glanced around. "Do they feed you, here? I'm so sorry, I don't know convention etiquette, should I be doing something for all of you? You're all working so hard to make this splendid for everyone; can I buy you all some sort of pizza or coffee or pastries? If you don't mind waiting a while, after this photo session, I can possibly bake shortbread, if they wouldn't mind me popping into whatever kitchen they've got for catering…"

"Colby," Jason said, "we absolutely, one hundred percent, do not have the time for you to bake shortbread for thousands of people."

"Oh…but…would they like it?"

"Maybe the pizza," Jason tried. "Or you can buy them cupcakes. Delivery."

"Oh, I like that one, thank you. Shawn, have you got some sort of local favorite cupcake place? Would you tell me about it?"

Shawn, poleaxed by generosity, got out, "Um…" Jason, who knew the feeling, sympathized.

A different volunteer, helping set up a table a few feet away, called over the name of a bakery. Another girl chimed in too, and friendly disagreement over the best Filipino-inspired cupcakes ensued. Colby listened with vast interest, and asked whether Shawn would mind placing orders from both bakeries in question, enough for every volunteer.

Jason kissed him for that, and also just because kissing Colby was such a damn delight. Colby kissed him back, not shy about it, arms around Jason's neck.

Lots of sighs and coos and wolf-whistles happened. Colby laughed, and leaned against Jason, secure in the circle of Jason's arms.

They stepped in front of the camera, in front of the simple white backdrop, together. They got ready, and nodded at the volunteer wrangling the line: time to begin.

And it went well, at least at first. Colby's fans adored him, and asked politely whether they could hug him or make heart-hands or have him pretend to knight them with a prop sword. Jason had fans too, kind of to his own surprise, and they told him how much they loved Steadfast and how much Stephen's character meant to them, historical gay and bisexual love with a happy ending, and he hugged people and obligingly lifted people when asked and flexed muscles when requested, and the love and laughter rang through the room.

Plus, Colby kept looking at his muscles. That was nice too.

A few fans had brought rainbow flags, and one even had a bi pride flag; he said to Jason, bashful but smiling, "I came out to my mom as bi, you know, after you came out…like, if Jason Mirelli, action hero, y'know, John Kill and everything, if you could stand up and say it…it was like I wasn't alone, you know? Could you maybe say hi to my boyfriend? On the phone? His name's Anthony."

Jason opened his mouth, suddenly had to stop and clear his throat—unaccountable roughness—and scraped out, "Yeah, I…yeah, of course. Um. Thanks. For that. That's—that means a lot. If I could help…I mean, thanks."

Colby leaned in to say, "Jason's absolutely wonderful, isn't he? He's the strongest person I know. And you are, as well; that's so amazing, and we're so happy for you and for Anthony," and radiated love at them.

Pictures got taken. Memories were made. A small pile of gifts accumulated: fans had brought interesting coffee, fan art, a handmade rainbow bracelet, a tiny plush dragon with a book in its claws. Colby admired every single item, and asked everyone's name, and consequently the line moved way more slowly than their allotted half hour.

Jason kept an eye on his husband. Colby seemed okay, and the fans were being great—better than he'd expected, in fact—and he did not at all mind kissing Colby in a photo while a young woman did a gleeful squeal beside them, or striking silly action poses with Colby plus a fan, if asked for that. He'd always secretly liked the convention circuit, even when internally cringing at the painful B-movie action flick he'd likely been there to promote.

Colby never had done conventions ever, and had been skittish about public appearances and crowds and closeness to people in general, in recent years. Both of those facts meant that the fans had flocked to this one the second he and Jason had been announced. Beloved award-winning actor Colby Kent, finally here to smile and meet people. Being up close and present. Being accessible.

Colby was, from all visible evidence, having a hell of a lot of fun. So were the fans.

Colby did start looking more frayed around the edges after about forty-five minutes; probably no one else could tell, but Jason was paying attention. Colby wanted to be held more, fitting himself under Jason's arm between fan encounters, and got more talkative, covering weary worn-down nerves with rambles about films and characters and book recommendations. Occasionally the rambling veered off into cake recipes or questions about handmade embroidered capes. The fans soaked this up, wide-eyed.

Jason gritted his teeth and stared at the remainder of the line, mercifully short, and developed plans for Colby and rest and privacy, just the two of them, for the rest of the afternoon and evening. No going out. No dinners with people, no demands. Room service, and a massage, maybe, his hands gentle on Colby's body. Lots of kisses.

They got through a few more, smiling. Colby even sang briefly, a "Happy Birthday" for a phone message for someone's friend in the hospital; everyone applauded, both for the gesture and because Colby was a damn good singer.

He honestly was, and that wasn't only Jason being a proud husband. Colby didn't sing in public much, being modest, but had done all his own performances for that rock musical film they'd made last year, and every once in a while could be talked into karaoke, out with friends.

A few more photos, a few more fans. Smiles and gratitude, signed posters and Colby admiring someone's swirling shooting-star tattoo. An end in sight.

And, out of nowhere, a commotion—

A burst of motion, a flurry—

Heads turned. Security sprinted. But the large burly man in front ran faster. Flung himself past the line, past cameras, right at Colby.

Jason moved, and mostly made it—throwing himself in front, blocking—but the man still got a flailing arm past him, a hand reaching for Colby, clutching—

Colby stumbled back. Shoulders colliding with the backdrop, sound echoing.

The man was sobbing, babbling, blurting words—about Colby, how much Colby meant to him, how much he loved Colby, had followed Colby's career for years, had been so inspired by someone so kind and so brave, he didn't mean any harm, he was so sorry, he just knew they'd be cutting off the photos soon and he'd never get to the front of the line and he had to hug Colby—

Jason had both his arms now, and got him pinned. Security descended. Yanked him up. He called Colby's name one more time, an apology as they hauled him away.

Jason spun around. Colby was standing motionless up against the backdrop, face as white as the hue of it, if not more so. His eyes were huge, and not quite focused; he didn't seem to be breathing, no movement at all. He'd pushed up his sweater-sleeves earlier; one had slid down now, falling over his arm.

"Colby," Jason said, desperate; and held out a hand, stepped in front of his husband, blocked everything else from view. "Colby. I'm here. It's okay, you're okay, he's gone, he's gone and I'm here, I'm right here. I love you."

The gathered fans were gasping and clamoring and calling out to them, horrified and concerned; their voices registered vaguely in the background, and Jason appreciated the care, but couldn't acknowledge them yet. "Colby? Come on, you're safe, it's okay, look at me, just look at me, all right? That's it, that's all you need to do, just let me know you're here, you can do that, please try for me."

Young volunteer Shawn reappeared, a lanky pillar of distress. "Hey, here, I've got some water, a blanket—some chocolate, because sugar—" He turned to shout, "Guys, hurry up with that!" at two more volunteers who'd grabbed another photo-display backdrop from somewhere; they brought it over, put it behind Jason's back, hid Jason and Colby away from the world for a second. "I'm just gonna leave everything right here, and I'll be right over there, you tell me if you need something, okay? Anything he needs."

Jason nodded in thanks. Colby was starting to tremble now, maybe waking back up; Jason wasn't sure if any of his own words'd landed.

But Colby took a deep breath, then, and actually looked at him; one hand made a tiny motion, a reach for Jason.

Jason dove in, given permission. Gathered his husband in tight. Held on. Colby was really trembling now, and Jason eased them to the floor, got him to sit, tried to get him to inhale and exhale. Deep. Careful. In and out. Again. More. Rhythm. Finding it.

Colby curled up against him, shaking harder, head to toe, but not crying; he hid his face in Jason's neck, breaths ragged and too fast, but he was awake and present. Jason clung to that, and to him.

He rubbed Colby's back. He whispered, "I'm here, I got you, it's fine, it's okay, you can cry, go on," and pressed a kiss into Colby's hair, tasting grief and tropical-fruit shampoo. "I love you, Colby, I'm here."

"I'm not crying," Colby said, indistinct and muffled because he was still huddled into Jason. "I'm not…it's not…I'm okay."

"You don't have to be. It's all right if you're not. I swear."

On the other side of their makeshift privacy screen, a breathless and terrified managerial voice flustered, "Mr. Kent? Mr. Mirelli? We're so sorry—on behalf of the entire convention team, let me apologize—this should never have happened, please let us make this right, we apologize again…"

To which Shawn, taking his newfound role as Colby's defender seriously, retorted, "They need some space, okay, so you can back off until they're ready, ma'am."

Colby said, to Jason's collarbone, "Is that our Shawn? Please don't let him be fired or whatever they do to convention staff…and say thank you on my behalf…this blanket's awfully nice, I'm rather cold…even my toes seem to be cold, which is odd, because these are extremely cozy boots…I do like these boots. I like that shade of grey, all soft and fuzzy, sort of like moth's wings, not real moths, that'd be dreadful, but magical somehow."

Jason relaxed a fraction—that wasn't great, Colby shouldn't be cold, but Colby sounded more like himself, which was promising—and yelled back, "Thanks, Shawn, and Colby says thanks for the blanket!" Shawn's hand, giving a thumbs-up, popped around the edge of the screen.

"I'm so sorry." Colby tipped his head to rest on Jason's shoulder. "I should've…reacted, done something…I do know about self-defense, now, thanks to you and to Evan's excellent lessons…I simply couldn't think. It was such a shock…"

"It's fine," Jason pleaded. "Don't apologize."

"Thank you for stepping in?"

"Always. Always, Colby, I promise."

Colby folded up long legs even more under the blanket. Burrowed closer to Jason, as if trying to find warmth. Made Jason's heart break some more, too.

He cradled Colby against himself. Hoped he could be a good fortress. "Magical boots, huh? I can see it. They'll take you wherever you want to go. Let you walk on water. On clouds."

"On raindrops." Colby wasn't shaking as much now. Hardly at all, really. "Or lightning. Being able to wander through a storm, to feel it all…"

"I'd totally dance with you on raindrops." He stroked a hand through Colby's hair, touched Colby's cheek. Colby made a small pleased sound; Jason's heart wanted to dance right there. "I know how much you love rain."

"And I love you." Colby put a hand on Jason's chest, traced a heart, flattened his fingers over it. "I know you're here. You always are. My knight."

"My wizard." Jason nudged his nose into Colby's hair, breathing him in: both of them real. "Of course you'd have magical boots."

Colby laughed.

The fretful managerial voice said, to someone else, "Oh, no, I'm sure they won't be doing any more photos, obviously they're done for the day, get these people out of here…"

Colby sat up more. Glanced at the wall between them and the crowd. Squared slim shoulders.

"You aren't actually thinking what I'm pretty sure you're thinking," Jason said.

Colby took one more very deep breath, let it out, tugged down his other sweater-sleeve to match the fallen one. His eyes were the blue of twilight, the sky over distant mountains, the deep evening clarity after a storm. "They're our fans, they've come such a long way—and paid whatever amount of money they've paid—to be here. They deserve to know we love them."

"I'm not going to say you can't," Jason said, and touched Colby's cheek again, cupped his face: his own big hand, and Colby's willing trust. "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just asking, okay? You can, and I'll be right here with you, but…are you, um, are you sure you should? Right now."

"No," Colby said. "But…more yes than no. I'd feel even worse if I didn't—if I knew they were disappointed. And I've loved being here, I truly have, and I'm not about to let it end like this." Even his chin was stubborn, pointed and pretty and utterly truthful.

Jason loved him wholeheartedly, helplessly, clear and bright and raw with emotion; he wanted to cry for Colby, or hold onto Colby and never let go, or propose to Colby all over again. His wedding ring hugged his finger; he caught a glimpse of Colby's, too, shining dark gold.

He said, rough with all the feelings caught in his throat, "Then I'm here."

Colby nodded. And then leaned in and kissed him: a little shakily, but fierce with devotion. And then looked up, while Jason was quivering with the taste of Colby's lips on his, and called over, "Please don't send anyone home, we'll be right out to finish up!"

Some hushed discussion darted around, on the other side. Shawn said, to someone, "You heard him, we're doing whatever he wants, got it?" and then, to Colby, "You sure you're good with this? Because I will so send them all away." The affection glinted like a polished shield; Colby did always inspire armies, Jason thought. He was glad of the thought.

"We're good!" Colby called back. "We'll be right there! I don't suppose there's any more lovely cinnamon coffee, perhaps? I'd quite like something warm, but anything would do, really!"

"Oh hell yeah," said Shawn, in a tone indicating that, if coffee did not exist now, it would within thirty seconds. "We got it, don't worry, we got you, Mr. Kent."

"Oh, it's Colby, please!"

Jason murmured, "You've acquired a new squire," and kissed Colby's eyebrow, and fed him a square of chocolate.

"I have not! Er…you don't think he feels obligated to help, do you? He doesn't owe me anything!" Colby now looked distressed that he might've somehow guilted Shawn into loyalty.

Jason said, "Babe, he adores you, because you're you," and braced an arm behind Colby's back. "Want to stand up?"

"Yes, thank you…"

They triumphed at standing up, and at folding Colby into the nice warm blanket-armor. They took a step forward, Colby supported by Jason's arm; Colby looked up, and Jason met his eyes, and they took another step together.

When they emerged, more cheers came up. The line of fans had devolved into an anxious semicircle, most of them sitting on the ground; they'd put together what looked like a small shrine of offerings, candy and fan art and fountain pens and more fluffy blankets and someone's travel pillow, all being guarded by the devout Shawn.

The managerial voice matched the managerial outfit, standing off to one side; she took a step forward, all blonde curls and apprehension, and ventured, "Oh, Mr Kent, we're so sorry this happened—it's been dealt with, I can assure you—"

"It's fine." Colby even gave her a smile, flawless as a carefully chosen sapphire. "Is he all right? The fan, I mean. I know he didn't mean any harm, and I'm certain he feels awful, and I'd like to make sure he knows I truly don't blame him for being excited. Would a signed photo or something be acceptable, if you've got his address?"

"I—he's not—well, we've ensured he left the premises, of course…" She floundered, in the way of someone faced with Colby's unstoppable niceness. Her name tag, in discreet and also managerial gold, said her name was Marissa. "I'm certain someone's got his information…"

"Someone can let me know, then." Colby turned the smile up more. "And of course you needn't apologize; it's not as if you could've predicted it, and I'm perfectly fine, no harm done, and it's a fabulous convention overall, I've been enjoying myself, it's so lovely of you to organize an event so full of, well, love, and giving everyone a space to come together…so thank you for everything you do, it's thoroughly wonderful."

Marissa appeared to be completely silenced by this.

A pink-haired girl in a superhero outfit that Jason didn't recognize ran up, clutching portable coffee; she delivered four cups to Shawn, who inspected them before holding out one to Colby. Jason tried not to grin at the dedication; Colby deserved it, of course.

"Thank you." Colby wrapped long fingers around the cup. "Now, where were we? I do want to get to chat with you all, since you've all taken the time to be here—and to wait while I, er, needed some space…you're so very kind, and I'm so glad to've met you. Should we do some sort of large group photo first? So I've got something with you all in it? Marissa, if you wouldn't mind, we can use my phone…"

And just like that, Jason thought, they'd all die for him. They might've before; but Colby could lead the world, could bring everybody to their knees or to their feet, just by being himself. It was truthful, no artifice at all; Colby Kent knew exactly how much a single kindness could mean, and wanted every single person to feel seen and loved and appreciated.

God, I love you, he thought. I'd do anything for you. Everything. And you want me. I'm so damn honored. Standing at your side.

Colby stayed in his arms and in the blanket, wrapped up and protected. But they got into the middle of a whole swirl of fans plus Shawn—Colby insisted—and everybody cheered some more, tinged with relief. And Colby did in fact take pictures with every one of them, and admired shyly shown-off sketches of himself and Jason, and even signed some posters and shirts and notebooks in his usual flowing calligrapher's hand, asking about the preferred spelling of everyone's names. He did not touch anyone aside from Jason, and no one asked; everyone, Jason understood, was being tactful and kind in turn.

He tried to thank some of them silently—catching their eyes, a head-tip, a nod. Recognition. Gratitude. Shared love for Colby Kent. He hoped they could see all that; he thought so.

Colby was trying hard, but the tightrope was getting wobbly. Jason felt the loss of balance, the lack of center, in the way Colby leaned into him. Colby covered up the cracks in the high-wire act by asking the next fan about her shirt, which she'd apparently made herself; it had the royal insignia from Colby's King's Court miniseries decorating the front.

She told him how much she'd loved the character, the style, the whole opulent design and costuming. Colby thanked her, and told her very earnestly that he loved knowing that miniseries still had fans, and that also in his head he'd decided his young king would live a long and happy life and find true love with the earl who'd been his childhood friend. She left practically glowing; Jason slid a finger under Colby's chin and coaxed Colby up into a kiss.

She was nearly the last; two more, and then one more, all straightforward with no surprises, and the convention photographer was looking at Colby with actual reverence, like someone witnessing a saint being generous on a convention floor, as they finished.

Shawn had acquired two new coffees because Colby'd finished the first and nothing could be allowed to grow cold. He stood to the side, eyeglasses flashing with alertness, poised to hand over any cups or blankets or sugar if asked.

Colby thanked him, at the end, and then said, "If you'd ever like to come visit us, on set…you're entirely welcome, and of course I'll pay for the airfare and whatever else might come up; you've been such a help, and I'd love to thank you properly, and I really did mean it about the shortbread, of course I'll bake something for you, have you got an address I might send a package to?"

Shawn froze for a second while processing, and then blurted out his address. Jason sighed and handed over his phone and told the boy to type it in, because Colby would remember under normal circumstances but had been through a shock and might not, this time, though he didn't say that part.

Shawn did, and then said, "But you don't have to, Mr.—Colby—really you don't! Do you want anything else? More blankets? Another coffee? And please go and rest!" His glasses quivered.

"Not a bad idea," Jason said, meaningfully.

"Yes, I think that's probably the best…" Colby paused, fingers lifting a fold of blanket. It had the official green and black convention logo on it, one of the pieces of con merchandise available for purchase. "Oh, dear, did you in fact have someone run down and purchase this for me? How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing," Shawn said stoutly. "Told them it was for you. Got you like three more, too, here you go. And a hoodie. And some socks."

"I can't possibly let you give me everything!"

"They told me," Shawn said, "to take care of you this afternoon. This counts." He met Colby's wide-eyed dismay with equally rock-solid commitment, a squire determined to wrap his newfound king in every blanket in existence if he had to. Jason smothered a laugh.

Colby actually gave in, which was impressive. "Oh…well, if you're sure…thank you again, I really am feeling marvelously taken care of…"

"I've been checking in," Shawn said helpfully. "You've got security all the way from here to your hotel room! And outside the door all night if you want it!"

At this point Jill came flying in, hair standing up in a wild purple halo; she bolted to Colby's side, and Jason saw the fear and worry and smoldering protectiveness etched all across her face, in every line. "Colby! I just heard—what the fuck, how'd he even get in, are you okay?"

"I want to say yes," Colby said, managing a grin for his oldest friend, "but you won't believe me. I'm…mostly okay, yes."

He even extricated a hand from his blanket and reached out; Jill took it. "What can I do? Move up travel plans, call Mary for you, switch hotel rooms?"

"It's really fine," Colby said. "I'd prefer we didn't make this larger than it is. Though, if you wouldn't mind…yes, please call her on my behalf? I'll talk to her later as well, so it comes from me, but for now…please tell her…there was a very small incident with an excitable fan, I'm completely all right and so is everyone involved, everything's handled, and the experience overall has been splendid. She can handle any statements, if we even need one. I'd rather minimize it, to be honest. It's no one's fault."

Mary was Colby's publicist; Jason had met her a few times over the years. She was brisk, efficient, and not terrifically warm, but thoroughly unflappable no matter the situation. Colby had said that she used to send his parents regular updates on his life, and she still might if they directly asked—but something had shifted after Steadfast and that set accident and Colby's injury. Mary might've once upon a time been Lydia Sable-Kent's choice to keep an eye on her son, but Jason had also seen her refuse to take phone calls from Colby's horrible mother on at least two occasions, both not coincidentally after some sort of honors or awards announcement regarding Colby's film career.

They all knew Lydia wouldn't be calling to congratulate him on what she considered a frivolous throwaway profession. The opposite of congratulations, in fact.

"Got it," Jill said. "I'll call her for you. What else?"

"That's all I can think of." Colby leaned a fraction more weight against Jason. "Thank you. We'll stay in tonight, I suspect…I'm sorry, I know we had dinner plans…"

Jill waved a hand, batting this away. "We can always have dinner plans. Later. Want me to walk back with you, over to the hotel?"

Colby hesitated, then nodded. Jason could guess the reasons for both, and worried some more. Colby didn't want Jill to have to duck out of the convention and anything she'd wanted to see; Colby wanted friends around him, right now. The latter was apparently winning.

"Okay." Jill collected some blankets and fuzzy socks, with some bemusement. "I'm here to help carry whatever you need."

Jason met her glance, at that. They shared the sentiment while Colby had a sip of coffee.

They went, surrounded by a thicket of security.

* * * *

The hotel stretched a long walkway out to connect to the convention center; they did not have to go outside, and their footsteps were quiet, over carpet. Nothing and no one interfered, though alertness hummed through every uniformed muscle walking them back. The afternoon stretched out and sealed them away in elevator-walls and carpet-vines, silver and gold.

Back in their room, Jason made sure the door was shut and locked—thoroughly barricaded—and set Colby's mostly-empty coffee cup on the mini-bar, and gathered Colby's hands into his. They felt more cold than he liked. "Okay. We're here, we're safe, I've got you, can I help warm you up?"

"Yes…" Colby shivered, a quick flinch of motion that twisted pain through Jason's heart. "I said mostly okay, for Jill…I think it's true, I'm not not all right, it's only…"

His eyes flicked sideways: to his own upper arm, Jason realized, where a flailing fan's hand had made it past Jason's bulk. A fleeting touch, a glimpse.

Jason had thought so, anyway. And the world lurched beneath his feet. "You're not—he didn't hurt you, or—"

"No. No, nothing, it doesn't even feel like anything much." Colby tugged one hand out of Jason's, though, to rub the spot. "I only don't want it."

A stab. A knife. A piece of broken glass. It wrenched deeper in Jason's chest. "Can I see?"

"It's not even a bruise…."

"Please."

"Well…if you think I need that, of course you can—"

"Oh fuck," Jason said, suddenly understanding, thinking he understood. "You don't want to—to take off clothing, right, right now? It's fine, you don't have to, I never asked, stay dressed."

"No," Colby said. "It's not that. I'm not certain it even makes sense." His shoulders held exhaustion under cardigan softness; he'd kicked off his boots, coming in. One had tipped over onto the other: consoling themselves.

The room around them offered everything it had to give: a coffee-machine, a regal bed draped in pale gold, the explosion of Colby's writing-notebooks and black leather jacket and scarves like a swarm of butterflies, adding color and familiarity. Fan gifts, collected and sent up, peered worriedly from a large box on the low table, ready to leap in if Colby wanted some hand-knitted fingerless gloves or a rare vintage gay fantasy paperback.

Jason did not say, You know you can tell me anything, or It doesn't have to make sense; Colby knew all that already. Late-afternoon fading-summer light bled around long cream-and-gold curtains, and spilled like open wounds out across the floor.

He held the single one of Colby's hands still in his. He said, "I wish I could make it rain for you. I know you miss it."

One corner of Colby's mouth lifted: a smile. "It'll rain next time we're in London. I can promise you that."

"We could do that tomorrow, if you want. We could skip going back to LA."

"No, I love our house out here. And we promised to see your family, and then we've got production meetings…" Colby swung his hand in Jason's, briefly. "Thank you, though."

"I love you," Jason said. "Colby."

"I think," Colby said, "that I want you to touch me. It's as if…I can feel memories, on my skin. I'd rather it be you. I want to think about your hands. Not anyone else's."

Jason held up his other hand. Let it rest just above the spot on Colby's arm, not quite making contact; Colby nodded, so he went ahead.

His hand. Big and tanned and broad. Colby's soft grey sweater, with the rainbow trim. The firmness of Colby's arm, swimmer's muscles under fabric. Strong in so many ways. The strongest ever.

He rubbed his thumb over the sweater, over that spot, reinforcing presence. Colby shut both eyes for a second and exhaled, and got noticeably less tense.

Jason shifted closer. Put the other arm around him. "Better?"

"Much improved. Could you…could we perhaps be naked? You said massage, earlier."

"Yeah." He brushed a kiss against Colby's mouth, lightweight, imposing nothing. "Yeah. Come here."

In the hushed deep aureate pool of the late afternoon, he got Colby naked, baring smooth skin with deliberate care. Colby smiled at him, and lifted arms to be undressed, and wiggled hips obligingly to help peel off clinging blue pants.

Colby naked was always beautiful, lean and graceful and full of courage; the darker freckle at his collarbone beckoned Jason's fingertips and tongue. He'd been correct about not even having a bruise; nothing showed over his arm, though Jason half-imagined a shadow anyway.

Colby wasn't visibly hard; his cock—elegant, like the rest of him, and long, with nice weight—swung between his thighs. Jason, unable to look at his husband with some stirring of need, bit his lip; his own dick pushed against his boxers and jeans.

Colby smiled more, and looped a finger into Jason's belt. "I like knowing you want me."

"Not asking you to do anything about it." He picked up Colby's hand and kissed it. "You were asking for a world-famous Mirelli Massage? Totally yes."

Colby laughed. "World-famous? I do love it, though. You're so good at that."

Jason, who was pretty good at that—decades of relief, after training, rehearsals, shared aches and pains with fellow stuntperson friends—felt his chest expand with pleasure.

He could do this for Colby. He could do something.

Both of them naked, he walked Colby over to the bed, got them arranged: Colby settled comfortably, head pillowed on one arm, heat in the room turned up. Jason stroked a hand along his back, tracing a miracle. "Let me know if anything doesn't feel good, okay? Anywhere you don't want my hands."

"I want your hands everywhere," Colby murmured. "I want to be all yours."

Jason shook his head, breathed out—amusement, heartache, love, wistfulness; he wasn't sure—and leaned down to kiss the nape of Colby's neck. "I know you do. But tell me if anything changes, even if you're good right now."

"I promise." One big blue eye peeked up from under hair. "I do feel splendid right now, though. Please go on."

"You got it." His hands, on Colby's back. His fingers, drinking in the heat, the lines and planes of Colby's body. Himself memorizing every sensation, every reaction.

He began with Colby's upper back, shoulders, not venturing lower; he kneaded not quite as hard as he could, being cautious, but working tension out. He was proud of the way Colby let out a small soft sound as Jason's thumbs found one tight knot and pressed; muscles shifted, unlocked, yielded. Colby moaned aloud in the wake of it, which did nothing to shove down Jason's arousal, and said, "Oh, yes…"

"You've been needing this, haven't you?" He discovered a spot behind Colby's left shoulder that required attention; Colby's breath caught, and then he sagged with relief. Jason said, "I want to help, if you're feeling tense, come on, you know I know that," and put a bit more strength into that one. "You can always ask."

"It wasn't this bad earlier." Colby sounded distracted now, soothed by comfort and the motion of Jason's hands and the reprieve from tautness. "It got worse after…I'm fine, but it was a lot of, well…being fine…I kept wanting to ask you to hold me, but then of course we had all the fans…oh, that, just there…I couldn't ask everyone to wait all over again, just because I'd suddenly realized I'd prefer having one more moment to breathe."

"You could have." Jason let his hands drift lower, bit by bit: walking downward, making their way across the treasure-map of Colby's body. Colby had a few more freckles along his back, not too many, but one right beside his spine. Jason traced it with a thumb. "Nobody would've minded. People want to help, babe."

"I'm trying to know that." Colby sighed. "I think I know. Most days. I hate causing difficulties. You feel so nice. Your hands, and you. So nice, right here with me."

"Right where I want to be." His wedding ring vowed that too, shimmering as an oath against Colby's skin. He had both hands at Colby's lower back, just above round and tempting curves; he waited to see if Colby'd say anything, but no objection emerged, so that was fine right now. "Tell me if you need that minute to breathe, though?"

"This second? I told you, I'm feeling every kind of fantastic—"

"Now, or doing press, or whenever." He kneaded Colby's ass, partly because he couldn't resist and partly because he did like being thorough. Colby shifted against the bed; Jason paused, but Colby didn't object, so he went on. "I want to know if you're feeling even a little not great, even if you don't think it's a big deal, okay?"

"Mmm…I do try. I know you want to know."

"I do, because I care about you." He bent to kiss Colby's hip. "Legs?"

"If you want, yes, please. I can handle some amount of not great; I was handling it. It's only the aftermath."

"I get it." He did: the shakiness after a motorcycle stunt jump, the ebbing of adrenaline, the crash of sore muscles after the high of success. He stroked hands along Colby's inner thighs, over smooth skin. "I'm here for that too."

"I love you," Colby said, turning enough to look at him. "So very much."

"I know. How's this feeling? My hands on you, you said. Knowing it's me touching you."

"I'm yours," Colby said. "I love that. Every inch of me…I'm feeling you."

"Good." Jason worked on his calves, too, one at a time; and all the way down to Colby's feet, which were adorable, because all of Colby was adorable, including his toes. They were more tanned at the moment, because Colby liked reading out by the pool in summer weather. "You're pretty fucking amazing, you know that? Every inch of you."

He was hoping he'd judged that right; Colby's fractured sense of self-worth had a hard time accepting sincere compliments, sometimes. But sometimes it was fine, when he did believe them; and he did right now, at least from the curl of contented smile. "I love that you think so."

"I do." Jason ran a hand along Colby's left leg, loving each long bone, toned muscle, crook of knee. "And it's true. I'll tell you every day. Every minute, if you want. You good with just this side, or you want to turn over?"

Colby's smile unfurled more, and he shifted, rolled to his back, stretched out all of himself for Jason. The bed welcomed him, supported him, cradled him in clean white sheets; his hair became a dark chocolate sunburst, and his eyes were bright and calm and infinitely sapphire. He was, Jason noticed, more aroused than he'd been: not as rigid or desperate as sometimes happened, when Jason played with him in bed and made him wait or made him come hard and fast, but undeniably more interested than before. His cock bobbed up, tip slightly shiny.

Colby noticed him looking. Murmured, "Give me a few minutes, and perhaps."

"You don't have to." Jason started with Colby's legs again, since they were right under his hands. Colby let himself be moved, handled, arranged: easy and pliant. "We're not doing anything you're not up for."

Colby raised an eyebrow, and glanced down at himself.

"Yeah, okay. But, seriously, only if you tell me you want to. Your decision. I'm good either way."

"And you mean that." Colby tipped his head up to watch as Jason's fingers kneaded his thighs, hips, nowhere near his cock without permission. "I know you do. You say so, over and over."

"Because I do mean it, yeah." He scooted up more on the bed. Better access for Colby's chest and shoulders and arms. Especially that one. His leg fit next to Colby's body; his weight made the bed dip. "Good? Not too hard?"

"You're so talented at finding the right spots…" Colby's eyes slid shut for a second, then opened: drowsy, comfortable, wildflower blue. "I feel marvelous. Could you…that arm, just…just leave your hand there?"

"Yep." He did: hand resting over the place where no bruise had even dared to land, on Colby's upper arm. His heat, his fingers, his heart. "Like that?"

"Yes. Oh, yes, please." Colby went quiet, then: eyes shut, breathing. Jason didn't move.

He wanted to kiss Colby's arm, to pull Colby close against him, to ward off any demons. He wanted to wrap Colby up in himself and books and a fortress of sparkling shimmering rain, someplace full of cinnamon coffee and hand-tossed pizza and Colby's calligraphy pens.

He knew he couldn't magically do any of that. He also knew that sometimes he just needed to sit beside Colby. To be here.

Colby opened both eyes. And reached up for him, smile wide and tempting as a horizon, and pulled Jason down atop him.

They made out for a while, unhurried. Jason left trails of kisses along Colby's throat, across his collarbone, along his shoulder; Colby tangled his legs around Jason's and arched his hips so their bodies rubbed together, Jason's arousal pushing up against Colby's matching desire. Colby's hands were busy too, clutching Jason tightly, keeping him in place, and then also wandering across his biceps, chest, stomach.

Jason had to pause to grin down at him, at that. "You do like the muscles."

"All of me adores your muscles," Colby agreed immediately. "So large…and so kind, but glorious, too, on top of me, around me, oh, everywhere…I sometimes look at you and want to put my hands on you in the middle of a bookshop or a press junket. Not only my hands, in fact. I could positively rub myself all over you, in public, and then if you told me to get myself off like that, I would, right on the spot. Horribly indecent, and absolutely filthy, and I'd absolutely love it."

"I told you once," Jason said, "I love your fantasies." He drew fingertips gradually along Colby's stomach. "You want me to do that right now? Tell you what to do?"

"Possibly." Colby's left leg looped more tightly around Jason's hip. "I'm not sure yet. Tell me I'm yours."

"You are." He nudged Colby's nose with his, met blue eyes, and held them. "All of you, sweetheart. Mine, because you want to be. Because you know I've got you, I'm here, I want to take care of you. Not because you can't, but because I want to. My Colby."

"Yes," Colby whispered back. "Yes, that, all of that. I'm yours, Jason, please take care of me. You know what I need."

"I do." He kissed Colby's collarbone again, harder this time: teeth, friction, pressure, a mark. Colby gasped, but it was a good sound; Jason knew that one. And Colby's hips rocked, a spill of anticipatory desire sudden and undeniable between them.

He murmured, "You do need this, don't you, baby? Feeling it, knowing it…all mine, never anyone else's, not like this…so sweet, and so easy, aren't you, because you want it so much…but only with me, because I'm taking such good care of you…"

Colby shivered under him, body moving, lips parted; not the deepest sort of submissive space, they weren't there and Jason guessed they wouldn't be, not this time, but something close to the gauziest layers of it. Floating a little, awash with words and sensations and surrender and belonging.

"Yes," Colby told him, though Jason hadn't asked a question, "yes, yes, yes, please…oh, this feels so…I feel so much better. So light…and warm, too, sort of like baking…it's possible I feel like a very good cake. Sugary. Weightless."

"Nice and fluffy," Jason agreed, and stroked a hand through Colby's hair. "Good. Just asking, you want anything inside you, right now, me or my fingers or my tongue or anything? Or you want me to take care of you just like this, maybe come all over you, get you covered in me, and then let you come like that?"

"That," Colby said. "The second one. Please." He was still smiling, as if he couldn't not. "That sounds exactly right. Possibly…possibly even tell me to make myself get close…your hand on me, but me, ah…showing you how good I am for you, how much I want it…"

"Getting you to fuck my hand," Jason agreed, "because you need that, you need me, my hand helping you, but you'll be so good, you won't come until I say so, even though you're so close you can't help it, just pushing that sweet little cock into my hand over and over…"

"Oh God," Colby said, "oh dear God, Jason, please fuck me," which Jason instantly counted among some sort of top ten achievement, because he could count on less than two hands the number of times he'd heard Colby's eloquent storied accent say outright profanities in bed.

Just to see what'd happen, he asked, "What was that, sweetheart?" and rolled his hips down against Colby's, one hand taking some of his own weight, the other still cradling Colby's head. "Tell me what you want, so I can give it to you."

Colby's eyes went extra-huge, enormous need-drenched oceans. His cock was dripping, need pulsing up and making them both sticky; he did always tend to grow wet, slick, messy, and Jason loved it.

Colby, now sounding desperate, pleaded, "Fuck me, please, everything you've just said, you coming all over me, your hand on me, please make me fuck your hand, make me beg, Jason, yes, please, I'm yours, I'm all yours, please help me, please fuck me the way you said," and squirmed under him, trembling, panting.

Jason groaned as every word lanced sapphire-hued heat down his spine, and felt his hips jerk against Colby's, unbidden; he groaned again at the friction on his dick, the slickness from Colby's want. "Yeah—God, yeah, Colby—so fucking perfect—"

He shoved himself up more, got a hand between them, gripped himself: thick and familiar and smeared with both his own readiness and Colby's, and that comprehension nearly finished him on the spot. "You want to watch, baby? You want to see me come all over you, claiming you, showing you you're all mine?"

"Yes," Colby whimpered, gazing down across his own body, up at Jason. "Yes, yes, please…Jason, please, let me have that…"

His name, on Colby's lips; the sight of his hand pumping himself, head fat and swollen and full, held above Colby's quivering trusting body—

He shuddered out Colby's name, a shout, a wordless low release; he felt the gather and draw and burst of it, the long spurts of white heat that rushed from him and landed across Colby. He gazed at Colby's stomach, chest, flushed and straining cock, and lovely face, now all shining and splashed with himself; he felt all his muscles shake in awe and ecstasy.

Colby licked his lips; one drop had landed at the corner of his mouth, partly on his cheek. He blinked after, gradual and hazy, dreamlike.

"Like that," Jason breathed, letting some weight fall atop his husband; not too much, he could and would keep himself up, but Colby liked feeling him. "Like this—you want to come like this, don't you, baby? All sticky with me, feeling me everywhere, tasting me?" He swiped a thumb through a splash on Colby's chest, pressed it to Colby's mouth. Colby took it in and began licking, sucking, lapping up the traces of Jason's climax from Jason's thumb.

Jason slid the other hand back between them. Found Colby's cock, stiff and hot and leaking so much now, overcome with want. It fit nicely into his grip, curved and long; he knew how Colby liked to be held. "You want to show me how much you liked that? Show me, baby. My good Colby."

Colby moaned a little around Jason's thumb, and his hips rocked: making his cock slide through Jason's hand.

"Like that," Jason coaxed, "just like that, more, go on. Show me how good you feel. Show me what you want, Colby, what you need…when you think about being mine, that idea you had about rubbing that pretty cock against me in public, out in the open…I know you wouldn't, baby, and I wouldn't, I'd never share you, you're just for me, but I know you like thinking about it…knowing everybody's watching you, but you're only mine, all mine, all of you, and you want to show the world, don't you? How much you belong to me."

Colby was making frantic whimpering sounds now, mouth all wet, hips rocking faster and faster. His cock thrust into Jason's hand, back and forth, over and over.

"I love that you want to," Jason told him. "I love that you think about it, baby, think about getting yourself off in my hand or on my leg, right there on the spot, if I told you to…so good for me, aren't you? So sweet. But I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't, not ever, I know you don't want that. No, sweetheart, you're all mine. This is all mine." He squeezed slightly, a tighter grip. Colby made another delicious small sound, and shivered under him, thighs taut with need.

"No one else's," Jason said. "Mine. Mine to take care of, Colby, to love, because I love you so damn much. You can hear me, right? I love you, and I'm here to help. Whatever you need." He couldn't resist rubbing at the tip of Colby's cock as it thrust into his grip; his thumb stroked the dripping slit.

Colby nearly screamed, back arching; the cry turned into a wild babble of, "Please, Jason, please, yours, please, I need—I need—please help, please, yours, yours, yours, please help me, please fuck me, I need, oh God, Jason…" as Jason's thumb caressed his lips, messy and wet there too.

Jason leaned in closer, holding him securely. Told him, "Go on, sweetheart, come for me, make yourself come with my hand on you, the way you want to, the way it feels good," and Colby sobbed and twisted helplessly against him and trembled and came apart, mouth open, cock pumping out waves of sticky climax across Jason's hand and spilling to his own stomach.

Colby's release came long and drawn-out, and left him shaking with rapture; he was awake but unfocused, murmuring Jason's name and twitching with random aftershocks. Jason gathered him up and held him, not caring about messiness. He liked the feeling, anyway, at least for a few minutes. And he knew Colby definitely enjoyed, because Colby had said as much, being incontrovertibly covered in their delight.

Colby blinked a few more times, lying cradled in Jason's arms, and then said, a bit weakly, "I think now I'm a very well frosted cake."

Jason burst out laughing.

"My God." Colby stretched out a leg, pointed his toes, eyed the length of his body. "That was…actually it was more than I expected, but then again I'm not sure I was expecting cake. But now I would quite like cake. Angel food. Airy. It's like clouds. My toes feel like clouds. Jason, I love you. Do you feel like clouds too?"

Jason said, "Yes." He did, at least when he looked at Colby's expression. The enormous billowy sunrise kind. Full of color.

Colby considered this response. "I suspect you're a more articulate sort of cloud than I am, then. Everything you said…you're so extremely perfect. It was exactly what I needed you to say."

"I don't know," Jason said. "I think you're a pretty articulate cloud. Got you to say fuck, this time."

Colby blushed but didn't glance away or hide. "I did, didn't I? More than once, I suspect. Did I beg you to…let me fuck your hand? Potentially in public?"

"You did, and it was awesome, and you know I wouldn't make you do that last part for real." He draped a leg over Colby's for more security. "In front of our big mirror at home, maybe, next time. You can watch."

Colby blushed more, but said, "Yes, all right, it's possible I'm very into that idea, we can try. Jason…thank you."

"For taking care of you? Nah." He wanted to play with Colby's hair—it was fantastically rumpled, falling all over Jason's own arm and Colby's face—but both his hands were occupied holding Colby, and also kind of sticky. "That was what you needed, right?"

"Yes." Colby cuddled up closer. One arm snuck around Jason's waist. "All angel food cakes utterly satisfied. No, I meant…you could've…I did start begging you to fuck me. You might've…if you'd wanted…if you'd asked again whether you could, ah, penetration, let's say…if you'd taken me begging and decided to go on and, well, fuck me…I might not've stopped you, things were getting a bit fuzzy and feeling awfully good and it was all sugary and wonderful in my head…but you didn't."

"You said no to that," Jason said, briefly indignant about it but trying not to be. He knew Colby trusted him.

"I said…" Colby hesitated. "I did, yes. And I'm glad you listened. Not that I thought you wouldn't, that's not what I mean at all, I knew you would, you always do. I only wanted to say I love you."

"I love you." His eyes, his chest, burned with it. "Forever, Colby, always."

"It was perfect," Colby said. "It is perfect. I feel like me again. Yours, and real, and impressively covered in icing. Do you know, I think I like conventions. Let's do another one sometime."

Jason literally felt his mouth drop open. Of all Colby's usual post-sex euphoric ramblings, that hadn't been a place he'd expected to go. "You…would do the convention thing…again?" After today? After that incident?

"I'd certainly do this again. In front of our mirror, thanks to your intriguing ideas." Colby wriggled against him to clarify the this in question. "And yes, of course, why not?"

So many reasons, most of them flying-fan-attack shaped, hurled themselves onto Jason's tongue, collided, and got stuck. "Um."

"I know," Colby said. "But…you see, the rest was so beautiful. The response to our little preview panel, and then the sheer amount of love, the passion, the creativity on display…the kindness…and I'm sure something like what happened won't happen again, that can't possibly be an everyday sort of encounter, and even if it does happen, we managed this one well enough. I'm all right, nothing's been harmed, and we've got so many new friends."

"Um," Jason said again, but this time because his entire brain was lost in admiration of his husband. "You—you're serious. You had fun."

"I did, and I was even thinking, tomorrow…we're not flying out until the afternoon…I don't particularly want to be surrounded by crowds, but do you think some of the vendors would mind opening up a bit early? If it's all right with the convention staff? Or we could ask some of them to come up, if there's anything they think we'd like to see, if they wouldn't mind us borrowing a spare room for displays…I liked that enchanted forest artwork, and I wonder if the artist has anything more misty and rainy, or if they take commissions?" Colby paused momentarily. "Also I might still be in the mood for cake. Though that's more of a question for tonight, not the morning."

"I love you so fucking much," Jason said. "I'll talk to some people. See what we can do. You should rest. And have cake."

One of Colby's fingers drew a heart over his back. "I'm fine. Wide awake, actually. Like the cake. Celebratory and giddy and fluffy…perhaps also…well risen? Thinking of things that rise. That would've been a brilliant pun if I'd thought of it properly, but I didn't."

"Shower?" Jason gave in to the impulse. Used the least sticky finger to smooth a wave of cocoa-silk hair out of Colby's face. "And room service. Whatever dessert food you want. And also actual food."

"More taking care of me?"

"As if I wouldn't," Jason retorted, not annoyed but teasing. He did want to make sure Colby was doing okay, not as much from earlier—not now—but from the scene.

Colby was generally fine after, even energized, excited, talkative: the sort of reaction Jason'd known could happen but hadn't necessarily expected, until it'd turned out to be the case, at least most times. Colby tended to bounce back from the profound glimmering depths of subspace feeling renewed and exhilarated and ecstatic. Maybe, he'd said once, comfortably enfolded in Jason's arms in the aftermath, it was because he felt so good with Jason, so free and so safe; it'd certainly never been how he'd felt before.

Jason had had to duck his face into Colby's hair for a second to smother emotion, at that.

Colby did sometimes end up crying a little, but that was part of it too: the relief and the happiness and the being known so well. It hardly ever stopped him from talking; and Jason loved every single word.

He'd also learned that Colby did sometimes crash hard after the euphoria—not in a bad way, not in the scary sub-drop way, but in the sense of pure exhaustion, as all the endorphins wore off and the exertion caught up, physical and emotional. Just now he suspected that his husband would end up falling asleep almost immediately after the shower and food, once the fluffy exuberant cake-feelings stopped carrying him along.

That was fine; if Jill checked in, or if Colby's publicist texted, Jason could reply. Both Jill and Mary usually included him in any messages anyway, so he could answer on any given day if Colby wasn't up to dealing with people or was simply busy writing the next genius screenplay.

Jill would likely message him soon to ask how Colby was feeling; she probably already had. He should probably find his phone and check. Later. Priorities first.

Cake, he thought again; and tipped Colby's chin up so their lips met in a kiss, because Colby was every damn thing he'd ever wanted, and more.

"Mmm," Colby said upon being let go. "Also very nice. You can do that more."

"I promise," Jason said, and did, obediently. The arm Colby had around him was the one that'd been not-bruised; Colby seemed to've forgotten about it entirely. The heap of convention blankets and gifts beamed at them across the room, another form of quiet celebration. "Shower and then cake? Can I help wash your hair?"

* * * *

In the morning, after a few calls—and many more apologies from the convention staff and the hotel about the previous day's incident—they ended up in a sort of miniature exhibition hall plus artists' alley tucked into a spare conference room on the fourth floor, before the day's proper opening down below. Jill had said she'd meet them there; she was on her way down.

Colby gazed wide-eyed at paintings, shirts, jewelry, miniatures; bronze and steel designs gleamed, fantasy wizards waved magical staffs from T-shirts, and superhero colors glowed like jewels. The artists gazed right back, also somewhat wide-eyed. They'd been hurriedly summoned on the basis of Jason's requests and Shawn's apparent newfound authority as their protector and convention liaison, and on top of all that, Colby Kent kept wandering up to various displays and asking questions about how the artists had got that level of detail into such a tiny sculpture and whether they'd like to do some designs for that children's literacy foundation he worked with and whether he could give them a lot of money to do so.

Jason loomed happily at his side. Beamed at the world. Watched Colby buy something from literally everyone, either on the spot or via commission, some purchases for gifts and some for them, for either their London flat or their Los Angeles house, the latter of which still needed some decorating.

He'd personally been irresistibly drawn to a set of gorgeous polished-stone dice, which he didn't really need, but which Colby had picked up anyway. He was eyeing a spectacularly detailed Golden Wyvern figurine from the second Wizards Wyverns game expansion, which he also did not need, but which kept beckoning him over.

Shawn had found the artist who'd done the enchanted forest painting Colby'd spotted and liked. Colby had asked about something rainy and mystical and serene, and now they were engaged in a discussion of distant elfin palaces glimpsed through storms, tiny jewels of light pointing the way.

Colby was having fun. And so was Jason, himself; he realized that abruptly but almost without surprise, as if he'd known it all along.

Alert, yes. Keeping an eye on Colby, yes. But having fun? Also yes.

Every piece of himself loved this: the kid who'd loved fantasy and pretended not to love it too much, because he'd liked being cool and on the wrestling team and decently popular; the action hero who maybe kind of didn't mind that people remembered his terrible lines about Uranus enough to shout them back to him years later; the man who adored his husband and was currently watching Colby speculate about the light sources for elf-paths and the properties of luminous trees. Colby had acquired and immediately put on a long flowing scarf decorated with medieval recipes, because someone'd guessed exactly what Colby Kent liked. Jason wondered briefly whether there was a cake recipe somewhere on it.

More conventions, he thought. Not too many, but a few. Maybe once a year. If they had a project to share and promote, or even if not. Maybe smaller-scale and local.

Maybe even in costume. With elf ears. Or wizard staffs. Whatever Colby wanted.

More love. More of this. Colby wanted to. So did Jason himself.

He put his arm around Colby's shoulders, and suggested, "Are there a couple of travelers on the path, following the lights? Just sort of in the distance, on their way, no real detail, but maybe coming home?"

THE END