No Sacrifice Read online

  But the frustration, the months of nothing, were a little too much for him to delay himself as he wanted, and a moment later, his hand was flying over his cock again, his mind firmly lost in fantasy. He cupped his balls and teased his taint with his fingertips, then gave a slight twist before dragging his palm over the tip of his cock.

  It was just enough. With a garbled shout, he lost it, his orgasm much more intense than his solo endeavors usually gave him. He coated his stomach as the climax took him and stretched out, lasting quite a long time. He continued moving his hand, drawing out the pleasure as much as he could as it faded slowly.

  It wasn’t until he started to catch his breath and relax that he realized something. The image in his head when he came hadn’t been Emily. It hadn’t been a curvy female body. It hadn’t contained breasts.

  No, the vision that had brought on his orgasm was Rhys. It was hard planes and taut muscles. It was the feel of a stubbly chin against his own and strong hands on his body. It was dark eyes and the crooked-fangirl smile. He stared at the ceiling in pure shock.

  He was in so much trouble.

  Chapter 3

  He told himself it didn’t matter. It actually made a kind of sense that he’d think of Rhys. They spent almost all their time together, even off set. And as he did with all of his roles, he’d poured so much of himself into his character, he’d often found himself thinking like Nadir. So it stood to reason he’d have Rhys on his mind as much as he did.

  Patrick was thinking this through as he sat in his chair, earbuds in his ears, and waited for his turn to get in place. Rhys was next to him, absorbed in his own phone, and on his other side, Angelo and Sebastian stood. The leads who played the main characters, Bathasar and Teman, waited for their placement cue.

  Sebastian, who was shorter than Angelo by a good six inches, reached up to straighten Angelo’s collar under his waist-length ebony hair and smooth out a wrinkle on his tunic. Patrick watched them for a long moment as Angelo tucked a bit of Sebastian’s long brown hair behind an ear, then ran his thumb over one tan cheek.

  There was something between the two of them; Patrick was sure of it. They got into their roles very well, that much was true, but they were always together, more so even than he and Rhys were. They were always smiling at each other in a way that hinted at a secret. Neither man was married, and there’d been rumors of questions about their sexuality.

  Not that it mattered to him what their sexuality was and whether or not they were together. If they were happy, Patrick didn’t care. And it worked well in their roles. He’d just heard of so many relationships that started like that and ended horribly when the movie or television show was over. He liked both Angelo and Sebastian very much. Neither was full of himself, and both were very friendly and open, so he wanted to see it work out for them.

  It certainly translated well to the screen. Their relationship in the show was even more solid than Cyrus and Nadir’s. It made Patrick wonder why the Cyrus and Nadir subplot had become so popular if Bathasar and Teman were also in a canon relationship. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him, but Jack had made noise about it being expected for the other two, while Cyrus and Nadir’s had been something of a surprise.

  Patrick didn’t care, in the end. If Cyrus and Nadir were popular enough, it meant—assuming he didn’t turn into a diva—he’d have a solid role for a while. And despite the confusion that had surfaced surrounding Rhys, he liked his role, liked the show, and wanted to keep going.

  Jack started shouting then—Patrick could hear it around his earbuds—and Sebastian and Angelo moved to their marks. Patrick watched with half an eye as he paged through pictures of Avery on his phone and Phil Collins crooned in his ear. The song was one of Avery’s favorites from the Disney version of Tarzan, and he liked to listen to it when he missed his son.

  He frowned as he stopped on one of the pictures of a one-year-old Avery in Emily’s arms. He’d barely gotten two dozen words out of his wife in the last week. He knew she was busy and tired with rehearsals and keeping up with Avery, but he was tired too. He just didn’t understand why she couldn’t dig up a little bit of time and energy to talk to him, even if it was just about the show or something.

  He set the phone down and closed his eyes, letting his mind go back to the first time he’d seen her. They were both doing a play in Honolulu, and he’d been surprised to actually get the part. He’d been convinced he’d screwed up the audition. But no, he’d received the call and shown up at the first meeting.

  She’d been sitting on the other side of the theater with a group of women, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d been elbowed more than once by another guy to get him to pay attention to what the stage manager was trying to say. He managed, barely, to focus on the meeting instead of her, but it had been difficult.

  Their roles didn’t bring them together much at all, except for a very rare scene when they were on stage at the same time. Most of the time they were exactly the opposite—he was in the wings while she was onstage and vice versa. As such, their practice times had rarely coincided, as well.

  It took him nearly four weeks and a lot of planning before he figured out a way to get her alone. He’d convinced a friend to have “car trouble” and weaseled a ride home from her, though they’d never actually made it to his place. He’d gone to hers for a drink and never left that night. That had been the beginning, almost five years ago.

  They took a lot of crap for their relationship. Emily was quite a bit older than he was—almost twice his age, in fact—but he hadn’t cared. He’d fallen, hard and fast, and never looked back. Ages were just numbers to him, and despite the naysayers, they’d lasted this long already. He knew things were rough between them right now, but he was sure it had everything to do with the fact that they were both actors, that they were pulled apart more often than they were able to spend time together. Not that it had anything to do with anything else.

  Patrick sighed and opened his eyes, looking around. Sebastian and Angelo were still working through something, and Jack was nearly red faced as he yelled at them. Patrick’s eyebrows went up when he saw Angelo put an arm around Sebastian and pull the man closer. He pulled one earbud out, wanting to hear this.

  “I don’t care who you are! I’ve replaced talent before, and I’ll do it again,” Jack threatened, and Patrick rolled his eyes. Jack wouldn’t get away with replacing them unless it was because of something really heinous. Entirely aside from the fact that they had contracts, Mark, the producer for the show, had been pretty damned adamant about wanting Angelo and Sebastian for the leads, or so the rumors went.

  Patrick watched the scene unfold, noting the hand that tightened on Sebastian’s shoulder, the arm that crept around Angelo’s back, and the expression of boiling thunder on Angelo’s handsome, pale face. Patrick pulled the other earbud out and silenced his phone.

  He glanced over to see Rhys raptly watching the proceedings as well. “What’s going on?” Rhys whispered.

  With a headshake, Patrick leaned in. “I don’t know, exactly.” He turned back to the drama that had nothing to do with a script.

  “Let’s ask Mark about that,” Angelo suggested in a deceptively quiet voice.

  Jack stared at him for a long moment. “Look, let’s just do this one more time and get it right, okay?” Jack grumbled.

  Rhys and Patrick exchanged glances. “That’s what I thought too,” Rhys whispered with a snicker.

  Patrick suppressed his own with the help of the venomous glance Jack threw him.

  “Don’t you two get comfortable. I’ll be ready for you in a minute.”

  With another exchanged glance, Rhys and Patrick went back to their phones.

  It was closer to thirty minutes, but they were both surprised when Jack called them that soon. They stood patiently still while Chrissy fussed with their makeup and hair, and then they moved to the proper spots.

  Patrick leaned against an off-white wall in the Middle Eastern palace that t
he scene took place in, Rhys facing him only a few inches away. Above their heads, several candles burned in sconces. Intricately woven rugs covered the sandy floor, and they both wore full pants and tunics in gold silk.

  Rhys’s patented Cyrus-fangirl grin spread across his face as he got ready. Patrick took a deep breath, worked his own face into the half smiling expression it was supposed to be in, made sure he had the scene firmly in mind, and listened for the call.

  When he heard it, he lifted his hand and tugged at a lock of Rhys’s hair. “You are forever getting us into trouble, Cyrus,” Patrick said, chuckling. “If His Highness, the malik, was not such a tolerant person—”

  “His Highness cares about us,” Rhys interrupted, grin spreading. “He would not do anything.” Rhys shook his head. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you didn’t love me.”

  Patrick scowled, turning his head just as Jack had told him to. “Cyrus, that is not funny,” he murmured and immediately realized it had been too quiet.

  “CUT!” Jack shouted.

  Patrick sighed, knowing exactly what he’d done wrong. “Sorry, Jack, sorry,” he said, holding a hand up. “I know.”

  “Fine. Again,” Jack said, and Patrick turned his head back.

  He looked up at Rhys—who, like Angelo was to Sebastian, was nearly six inches taller than him—and gave a chagrined smile. “Sorry,” he whispered. He’d found himself so thoroughly absorbed in Nadir that he’d forgotten Jack, forgotten he was Patrick and not Nadir, and that was Rhys, not Cyrus.

  “It’s okay,” Rhys said, nodding. “Let’s get it right this time. I’m sure we’ll have to start over at least a few times yet.”

  Patrick snorted. “Yeah, he’s never happy on the first go-round, is he?”

  Rhys chuckled and shook his head. “Nope.”

  “MARKER!”

  They straightened their faces, and both took breaths. Patrick heard the clapboard snap, the “Set” from the assistant director, Andy, and finally, “ACTION!” from Jack.

  “Cyrus, that is not funny,” he said and was gratified when there was no cut.

  “I’m sorry, love,” Rhys said, taking the half step closer and bracing one arm on the wall next to Patrick’s head. “It’s just that I can’t help but want to show it, show my love. We had to hide it for so long.”

  Patrick smiled up at Rhys. “I know, I know. I want to show it too. It’s just….”

  Rhys grinned. “Yes, it’s just.” He leaned in and nipped at Patrick’s lips, and despite himself, despite having braced for it, he still reacted. He closed his eyes and returned the nip with one of his own.

  It wasn’t strictly the way Jack had outlined for them, but apparently the director was happy enough with it, because there was no shout. He remembered himself enough to pull back. “Cyrus!” he chided, laughing. “We shouldn’t! We have time yet before we can go.” He glanced toward the mark where the palace window was supposed to be. “The moon is not yet….”

  Rhys leaned in, pinning him to the wall, and Patrick pushed at Rhys’s shoulders as he’d been directed to. “He is not going to care if we just do this, will he?” Rhys asked, this time catching Patrick’s lips in a deeper kiss.

  “CUT!”

  Rhys growled. “For fuck’s sake, what did we do wrong this time?” he grumbled under his breath.

  Patrick sighed. “I think it was me,” he said. “Sorry.”

  Before Rhys could reply, Jack spoke. “I liked that, but it needs more,” he said, approaching them and tapping the crumpled copy of the sides in his hand against his chin. Rhys blinked at Jack, then glanced at Patrick, who shrugged. “More something. More… chemistry? Try to look a little more in love!” he grumbled, backing up. “From ‘Yes, it’s just’….”

  With sighs, the two of them reset and waited. When the clapboard snapped and they heard the calls, Rhys picked it up again. Patrick did his best to think even more like Nadir—who was, in fact, hopelessly in love with Cyrus—and put the feeling into his gaze. He met Rhys’s smile with one of his own.

  “Yes, it’s just,” Rhys said, then leaned in for the kiss.

  Patrick returned the nips with some of his own, letting his instincts guide him. He gripped Rhys’s arm and even let out a tiny moan. When he pulled back, he gave his lines again, glad he’d done that right the first time. “Cyrus!” he chided, laughing. “We shouldn’t! We have time yet before we can go.” He glanced once more toward the “palace window.” “The moon is not yet….”

  This grab seemed a little rougher, but it also seemed to fit better. Patrick laughed again, pushing at Rhys’s shoulders one more time. When Rhys gave his line, then leaned in, he pulled Patrick’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit gently.

  And Patrick felt his cock start to swell. Shit. Just get through it. Just get through it. Do it right, and it’ll be over. He let himself groan, enough for the boom to pick it up while still keeping it soft. “Cyrus,” he remembered enough to say, instead of “Rhys,” when his lip was let go. “We….”

  “Stop, or you’ll truly make me think you don’t want me,” Rhys said, and Patrick looked up.

  He frowned, thinking about how Nadir would have felt if he’d heard that. “No! No, of course I do!” He lifted a hand and brushed an unruly curl out of Rhys’s face. “I do love you, Cyrus. I’m sorry I resist so.”

  Rhys grinned his crooked grin. “You are forgiven,” he said, then chuckled. One hand slid along Patrick’s side until it stopped at his hip, gripping it hard and pinning him once more to the wall.

  Patrick called on every ounce of his theater experience and training to keep the wince out of his face when his now-hard cock pressed against Rhys. He gave Rhys credit for not reacting to it. Instead the grin spread, and he leaned in and caught Patrick’s lips in another of the kisses Jack had directed them to do. Patrick threaded his fingers through Rhys’s curls. “C-Cyrus,” Patrick stuttered when they paused for air, and the stutter wasn’t forced. “We will have a different problem shortly if we do not stop.” The breathlessness in his voice didn’t need to be feigned. It was quite real, as he was having very real difficulty fighting the need rioting through him. He rode it out, used it, but knew when the scene was over he was going to be mortified.

  “Hmm, I think you’re right about that, love,” Rhys said but continued kissing the path over Patrick’s jaw and neck as he’d been told to do. “But… do you really… care?” he asked between kisses.

  Patrick groaned. “I….” He had to pause to gather both his real wits and Nadir’s. “I… we… should, love,” he managed.

  “Hmm, maybe,” Rhys murmured before biting down on Patrick’s neck.

  Patrick’s groan was both unscripted and very loud. He dropped one hand without even thinking about it and cupped Rhys’s ass, pulling Rhys tighter into him. His other hand flexed in Rhys’s hair, and if Rhys wasn’t pressing him into the wall, he might well have started to slip down. Yet again, he only remembered himself enough to say “Cyrus” instead of Rhys’s real name.

  Then Rhys lifted his head and caught his lips again. One of them—Patrick wasn’t sure who—let loose a soft moan Patrick was sure would get the scene cut over, but nothing was called. Their mouths moved, lips biting, nipping, the kiss deepening even further. Patrick lost all sense of place, able to focus on only one thing—Rhys, who was now grinding into him, kissing him almost brutally.

  “Well, I suppose this means that you’ll want to be relieved early?” Kevin asked.

  It was like a splash of cold water. Rhys stood back abruptly, though thankfully not far enough for Patrick to lose his balance—because he would have, with the current state he was in. Patrick shook his head, grateful the movement didn’t seem to annoy Jack even if it wasn’t directed, and worked to stand on his own as he tried to gather himself together. Rhys held him still, and Patrick turned his head toward the newcomer. “Shahid! We… um….”

  Kevin chuckled. “Go on, both of you. Who am I to get in the way of love? I’ve nothing bett
er to do.”

  Patrick forced himself to remember his line. “Is Halima not…?”

  “She is attending to the lady,” Kevin said with a smile. “It’s all right. Go on.”

  Rhys stepped back a little farther but not all the way, and Patrick was glad of it. Rhys grinned down at Patrick, who returned it, and they both broke into nervous chuckles, which morphed into bigger grins. This too wasn’t exactly scripted, but yet again the scene wasn’t cut.

  Rhys looked over at Kevin, managed to say, “Thank you,” and tilted his head toward the direction they were supposed to go.

  “Yes… thank you,” Patrick stuttered, grinning at Kevin—though he was sure his cheeks were quite red by now—and bowing his head.

  “Go on, get out of here,” Kevin said, waving a hand.

  Patrick and Rhys turned more toward Kevin, though Rhys still shielded him a bit, and Patrick was grateful it was away from the camera. Kevin’s gaze was locked on their faces, for which Patrick was also glad. His hard cock tented his pants horribly. If one looked, despite how much Rhys covered, it could not be mistaken.

  “Thanks, Shahid,” Rhys said, chuckling. “Come on, love.” He tugged on Patrick, and with another grin thrown toward Kevin, they hurried in the direction of the marked spot.

  “AND CUT!” Jack shouted.

  Patrick immediately squatted to play with one of his boots and pretend something was wrong with it, all in an attempt to hide his erection. He couldn’t believe he’d gotten hard again over the scene with Rhys! Much less gotten as lost in the kiss as he did.

  “You okay, man?” Rhys asked, and Patrick nodded.

  “Yeah, fine, uh… sorry,” he mumbled. He knew his face had to be red, and that, despite the layers of makeup, it probably showed. He wished in that moment he could sink through the floor. Or teleport. Or something. Anything to get away from Rhys and the other people standing around who would know what was wrong the second he stood up.