Title: Film (Beware! RPS!) Part 2 of "Season 3"
Author: Janet F. Caires-Lesgold
Feedback to: jfc@freeshell.org
Archive: Mailing list archives only--others please ask permission!
Category: Romance, angst (Tom's side)
Timeframe: A very specific night in Dec. 2003
Rating: R for language and low-key m/m interaction
Pairing: Michael/Tom
Summary: Refreshment at the movies

DISCLAIMER: This story is just for the entertainment of my online friends and myself, not for any profit. It is pure fantasy and does not intend to reflect on the actual behavior or personalities of the people named herein. Please do not sue me for my little bit of fun!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: "Season 3" is a new multi-story arc of my Quantum Fics series, which can be found elsewhere on this archive - Enjoy!

DEDICATION: For Tiff, who liked the movie a little better than I did

COPYRIGHT: (C) Janet F. Caires-Lesgold, February 23, 2004, jfc@freeshell.org

Please don't redistribute or alter this story in any way without the express permission of the author. Thank you very much.



Flashbulbs. Fucking flashbulbs everywhere. The occasional microphone stuck in your face, and yet another shiny mouth asking you the same stupid questions. Jamie is being oh-so-patient and oh-so-quiet, being your anchor, which you appreciate in this madness. She keeps making you smile with her little comments and glances, so you survive, and sometimes even look like you want to be here.

Somehow it all feels a little more important than the Smallville press crush, which you guess that it actually is. It's also kind of a relief that the bulk of the attention isn't on you for a change, so it's easy to relax in the group shots with Steve and Bonnie and the kids. They're the old pros here, and you take your cue from their casual-yet-festive mood.

Standing in a row in front of the posters, following the photographer's instructions, you are pretty sure you spot a familiar form a short distance away in the crowd. He showed up, you realize with an inward thrill. Michael made it to your premiere. You had told him all about the upcoming event when you first learned the date and location, but were in such a hurry when you left work on Friday, you forgot to ask if he'd be able to fly down to L.A., too. His mere presence here gives you strength and comfort that Jamie's never could.

Suddenly, the group is ushered into the theatre, and you lose sight of that lovable bald head, much to your dismay. Later, you promise yourself. You'll find him again and talk to him, if nothing else. It would be nice to get him alone, away from the Leica lenses and your wife's quirked eyebrow, but you doubt you'll have that kind of opportunity tonight.

At least, being a V.I.P. for the time being, you get a prime seat up front, though this limits the amount of eye-rolling you can exchange with Jamie during the speeches. Finally, the lights dim, and there's Steve up on the screen, running along a country road in sweats.

However, it isn't long before your face is ten feet high before you, and you start to squirm in your seat. You've already seen the assembled footage, and realize that you don't really need to watch the whole movie. True, the audience is laughing at the funny bits, but none of it is for you, since you more or less play the straight man in every scene.

The word lingers around your head for a minute. Were you ever really straight? You've always thought that girls are nice, though boys are nicer. Marrying Jamie wasn't the wrong thing for you to do, because you do love her, and she complements some basic part of you. She doesn't seem to mind that your heart wanders sometimes, as long as you come back home to her. If only your heart weren't wandering quite so far these days...

Michael... He loves you so much that he came to the premiere of your movie after you'd only mentioned it once. All appearances suggest that he's even here alone--this party animal who practically always has some loud-mouthed buddy or curvy model for an escort to every event where cameras are sure to be present. He's so comfortable in the public eye like that. You have no trouble posing or saying lines if you're working, but there has to be some time when you're off-camera. For him, however, it's like he's not completely at ease unless he's the center of attention.

Maybe that's why you like spending so much time with him. He thrives under your devotion and you are more than eager to give it. Every day you are grateful to the casting people for throwing you together with him, because in him you have found something essential that you were lacking. Sure, you love Jamie and intend to spend the rest of your life with her. But you need Michael, and hope he can figure into the future equation, too. Beyond that is more speculation than you really want to make.

The running children onscreen grab your attention again. Parts of the story playing out before you would sound lame even if you didn't know it by heart. It would be bad form to turn around and look for wherever Mike's sitting far behind you, but you're definitely feeling restless. Maybe a quick trip to the restroom wouldn't be out of the question, just to take a break from that giant version of yourself looming out into the darkness.

You squeeze Jamie's hand and mouth the word "bathroom" at her glance, so she nods and turns right back to the screen. The desire to scan the crowd for that perfect, nearly-smooth head as you dart back up the aisle is tempting, but you don't want to make a spectacle of yourself. Just out, answer the call of nature, and back. Nothing to see here, folks. Enjoy the movie.

Going about your business, you disregard anyone else in the men's room like you always do, so you're startled by a hand on your arm while you wash up. Your eye follows the tan sleeve up to find...

"Mike! Hey!" Immediately, your introspective mood breaks, and a huge, sincere grin suffuses your face. "I didn't know if I'd find you!"

Mischievous blue eyes stare into yours, and the smile that twists one corner of his mouth soon spreads to involve his whole bearing. "So you were looking for me?"

You want to hold him so much, but you don't know if you might get interrupted and your actions reported on the evening news. "Yeah--I saw you outside, but you were too far away."

"Kinda like now," he mouths almost silently, before turning to scout for other restroom-users. "C'mere," he coaxes, tugging you into the first stall and locking the two of you inside.

You imagine that you should feel a little more self-conscious about your situation, or at least guilty for wanting this with your wife right in the theatre outside, but those thoughts don't hold you back as you throw your arms around him warmly. "I'm so happy you're here, man!"

"How could I miss it?" he answers, leaning back a little to look at you again. "I mean, this is your big night! Do you know they even wanted to take my picture out there?"

"So? You're a TV star, too. Of course they took your picture."

"I guess," he trails off, self-deprecatingly. "God! You looked so good up there on the big screen!"

"Thank you. Are you enjoying the movie?"

He doesn't say anything at first. "Well," he replies eventually, "you did a good job. The plot's kinda predictable, though."

"That's not news to me," you affirm, then pause a moment to listen more intently for new customers in the facility. "Do you mind if we miss part of it?" you ask, rubbing his back as if you don't intend to let go for awhile.

He shakes his head in mock dismay, a playful warning in the twitch of his eyebrows. "Even I'm not that big of a slut, Welling," he scolds, his grin still broad and loving. Your guilty smile is soon crushed with his sweetly-scarred lips, and you kiss him back with quiet gusto.

Slipping your tongue inside his mouth, you can tell he's been drinking root beer and are tempted to poke around his teeth for stray popcorn hulls. Your quest is forgotten, though, when you feel him groan down your throat with as little sound as possible.

Before you can respond in kind, he pulls away, making you lean in after him for a second, following the ghost of his sweet flavor across the chasm between you. "We'd better get back. Jamie will be wondering if you fell in."

"No bathroom quickies, then, huh?" you whisper in a passion-roughened voice, reaching down to adjust yourself in your pants. Your knuckles graze him inadvertently, only to find him similarly affected by your kiss.

"Sorry, beautiful, but I don't think you want that kind of publicity," he chuckles resignedly. One more soft kiss, and he finds the door latch. "Call me when you get back to Vancouver. I promise we can finish this at home, okay?"

Someone opens the outer door and enters the washroom, so you hurriedly reposition your hands to hide the fact that you'd been in the stall together. More romantic phrases are abandoned in favor of a warm, "Thanks for being here tonight, Mike. It means a lot to me."

"I had to show up, man. Wouldn't have missed this for anything!" He foregoes further salutation and disappears out into the theatre lobby.

The blaring soundtrack from the auditorium reminds you of why you're really here, no matter how much you'd like to stick around and, er, take care of something. Oh, well, you decide. Might as well go see how this movie ends...



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