Red Hot Romance on the Red Carpet (man x man) (gay romance)

Chapter Two

Jason

"Over here. C'mon, Jay. Show me what you got."

"Ah, Jason, oh my God, I wanna have your babyeeeee!"

If only I could say what was on my mind to some of these crazy people. Instead I had to grin and bear it for the crowds. Don't get me wrong, I loved the little people. All of them, but these open to the public movie premieres sort of unnerved me. I had been attacked by a crazed fan years ago, leaving this oh so precious scar over my right eye. Yes, it had become part of my personality. It gave me character. It made me hotter than when I was on Baywatch wearing skimpy trunks and flexing my muscle around Hasseldork and the other dweebs on set.

Despite the fame that came along with that slash to the face. I paid a price and believe me when I say, I wouldn't want it to happen again. I nearly lost my eyesight that day. This lady was mental. She wanted my eye for her personal collection.

Yikes.

Yeah, I had nightmares for days after that and the bill from the psychiatrist nearly broke me. Now, the fans loved me because of that blemish. I've received deeper roles. The kind that gets you appearances at Comic cons and other nerdy conventions. I was Karl Drogo, I was Ronin on Stargate Atlantis, and now, Aquaman, the off kilter water king from the DC comics. These roles would cement a place for me in history and make me, this beer drinking, Hawaiian surferboy, a legend in Hollywood.

More than that, being in big time movies meant hobnobbing with actors bigger and better than you. During these meetings of the minds, you could have excellent conversation.

What to do about crazed fans literally stalking you or in cyrberland? How many letters you should answer through your fan clubs? What to post on your social media, etc etc etc. I listened to all the advice because my personal agent didn't think all of this was important. He thought finding my next roles and scheduling my next appearances were, so I relied heavily on my actor brethren to answer all the questions. All of them had been very helpful, especially the hot British man I had my eyes on now.

Tuning out the photographers and fans, I fixated on the gentleman called Henry wearing a gunmetal colored three piece suit with a gold tie and matching handkerchief. Looking at him, I suddenly felt very under dressed, but I was never into formals anyway. The ensemble fit him nice. Real snug, especially around the ass. The fabric hugged his butt cheeks and I salivated at the vision of spreading them wide open to dip my tongue and hard cock in between.

What's that you say? Why am I fawning of Henry Cavill?

Well, fuck, who wouldn't? He's so dreamy! (squeals in teenie bopper voice)

Ahem.

Yeah, I like it all. I may be married, but Lisa and I like to play from time to time. She loves the girls and I love the boys. Men, I should say because pretty boys did nothing for me.

So, why am I so into Henry?

He is very pretty. The azure blue eyes, the killer grin, the dimples, and the perfectly coiffed hairdo.

Yes, to all that, but he wasn't a twink.

I didn't do twinks. I ate them for lunch, because having a lover who didn't match me in strength bored me to tears.

No question, I love a man who looked good, but I also needed him to be rugged. Henry was that whether clean shaven or sporting fuzz on his cheeks and underneath his nose. He was gorgeous, and every chance I got to take advantage of the British heartthrob, I would gladly do so.

Ogling him while he posed for cameras, I swiped my tongue over my lips. My dick strained against my leather pants and I squeezed my legs together only to relieve some of the pressure.