Mainstream

Watch Me

The door was already opening when Waylon heard the knock. He opened his mouth to tell off some lost assistant when instead...

"How do you keep getting in here? It's a closed set, we have security..."

"Yeah, you have security, and I have a badge," said Miles, holding up his fake credentials dangling from a lanyard around his neck. "I told 'em I was here to bleach your asshole."

"You did not," said Waylon, standing up and crossing his arms in front of his chest. His wardrobe for the last scene was a tight black shirt over ripped jeans, and he was in the process of removing his makeup and jewelry when Miles interrupted.

"Everyone's seen your asshole, I'm sure they assume you bleach it," said Miles, closing the door behind himself and walking further into the room.

"Just get out of here, I'm done shooting for the day, I can meet you in fifteen minutes in the parking lot," said Waylon, reaching behind himself to unclasp his black leather choker.

"If I do that, those assistants are going to know I didn't really bleach your asshole," said Miles, setting his jaw in a look of defiance. "After that, they'll assume you don't bleach at all, that you use photoshop, and I can't allow that for your reputation, I won't let them slander my best friend's name in the tabloids, that asshole is one hundred percent real and..."

"I knew there was a reason I wasn't missing you," said Waylon, turning up his nose as he reached for a clean cloth of makeup remover.

"No, you don't miss me, because your new beau is probably fucking you raw, am I right?"

"No comment," said Waylon, wiping under his eye with the cloth, staring into the mirror and ignoring Miles.

"Oh stop it, I'm not the press, it's me! Your boy," said Miles, moving until his reflection is unavoidable in the mirror behind Waylon. Miles wore his best puppy eyes, fluttering lashes at Waylon in the reflection.

"Yeah, right, you're probably wearing a wire," said Waylon, narrowing his eyes where they met Miles' in the mirror.

"I'm not wearing a wire," said Miles, making an indignant noise. "Wanna frisk me? I'm not wearing underwear, either."

"What are you doing here, Miles?"

"I came to offer to take you out to dinner, fudgesicle," said Miles, walking to the side of Waylon's dressing table so he can look into Waylon's face directly. "You made me a nice spot of cash. Figure I owe you."

"I made you cash?" asked Waylon, pausing his face cleaning to raise an eyebrow at Miles. "You sell some previously unaired footage of us or something?"

"Nothing to tawdry," said Miles, grinning. "Snagged a killer pic of you two making out off set. Got some great mileage out of it. Got a new set of tires for my Jeep, and now, I'm buying you some beers."

"It's ten thirty in the morning. And what picture?" asked Waylon, dropping his black smeared cloth to glare at Miles.

"TMZ's front-page this morning, cronut," said Miles, fidgeting with his phone before turning the screen to Waylon. The browser opened to TMZ's homepage and a picture of Waylon and Eddie kissing under a security light in the parking lot beside the beach.

"You were at the beach shoot?" asked Waylon, snapping his jaw closed after he realized it had fallen. "That's creepy as hell."

"Why?" asked Miles, scoffing. "You know photographers are taking pictures of you guys everywhere you go."

"Yeah, but I know you, you coulda said 'hi' or something," said Waylon, hip jutting out as he crossed his arms. "When it's you doing it, without me knowing it, I feel...I don't know, violated."