Cupcake Kissin’ 44 – Alex Ankarr free online gay romance serial


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Cupcake Kissin’ 44 – Alex Ankarr

Sam’s dragging him somewhere, though, not just leaving it at a rib-crushing bear-hug and a little bit of a grope, a quick abrading of Caspar’s chin as he rubs his own furrier version over Caspar’s face. (He does still run through all of that, though, unabashed by his current non-Caspar’s-boyfriend status. For an initially shy guy he has very few inhibitions once he gets to know someone.) ‘Where are we going?’ Caspar asks, and he’s resisting a little bit. But Sam just has the edge of him in musculature and determination, and they go where he wants to go.

‘Come on, be social, don’t be a miserable pain in the ass like – some people we know!’ Sam says cheerfully. He doesn’t name names, but Caspar assumes on past form that he’s talking about Adam. He’s not thinking all that much when he’s dragged into the onset talent area, though. It’s where the cast members needed for the day’s upcoming scenes are lounging and chatting and not quite oblivious. Caspar knows about a third of them, by now, but –

‘Cara, DeLontyne, Merrian,’ Sam says by way of introduction, nodding his head as he makes some pretty damn sketchy introductions. There’s also the factor that he makes them as he’s sinking into the canvas ‘n’ timber chair beside them – yeah, Sam knows how to make himself at home all right – but no-one seems to mind. They don’t appear to mind, either, that he’s actually pulling – or, more accurately, yanking – Caspar onto his knee as he descends himself. (No-one asks Caspar if he minds or not, and certainly not Sam.)

Caspar has a feeling that this chair, which he’s sitting on by proxy – Sam on the chair, and his ass on Sam’s knee – is not the kind of chair that appropriately belongs to a star’s assistant’s assistant. Pretty damn sure, yes. But he doesn’t have a lot of time to think about it. He’s too busy being greeted by Cara (the bad-ass undercover agent tracking down Mack’s bounty hunter for his non-law-abiding ways – he knows her already), DeLontyne (the family patriarch who’s hired Mack – unknown) and Merrian (the sweet debutante who’s turning out to be a feisty handful and too much for even an experienced bounty-hunter to handle – unknown).

His brain should be working a lot better than it actually is, but he figures out who this chair that his ass-by-proxy is occupying belongs to, okay. Just a little late. Figures it out when someone leans over behind him, and says softly – maybe dangerously – in his ear, ‘Who’s been sitting in my chair, honey?’

Yeah, it’s Mack’s chair. And Mack is onset. And, no doubt, out of sight of Caspar’s previous eyeline, there’s a piece of paper with Mack’s name on stuck on the canvas back. God damn, but he should definitely have been on to that one.

Caspar, though, is old enough to be up to all the tricks, and to keep his wits about him, when he’s confronted by a flirty friend when he’s overstepped his mark. He supposes. At least, he manages to come back with a somewhat relevant response. ‘I don’t know, Pappa Bear, but I haven’t been anywhere near your porridge, I’ll swear to God.’

And then he hears the thin tinny echo of that reverberating around his head. And he asks himself whether it was in fact a response of the utmost wisdom? Or if flirting with Mack again (again, his little internal voice tuts at him, flirting with Mack again, oh hell) might be not the smartest thing, a little bit of folly that could lead him down a bad road.

And as Mack circles around them, and the rest of the assembled cast members snigger and catcall responses that taunt at the both of them (and Sam too), Caspar knows at least one thing. He knows that this – sitting on Sam’s knee, with Mack right here, when Sam has already been musing on the notion of making Mack ‘jealous’ as a good idea, as something that might shake up the situation and have something useful fall out… That’s not going to be a good thing.

No matter what the result might be, Caspar doesn’t believe that that kind of behaviour is ever any kind of good idea. He has a deep rooted objection and dislike of Machiavellian machinations and deep plots of convoluted evil, of trying to get people to behave in a particular way by doing dumb things like pretend to feel and act in ways you don’t really feel and don’t want to act.

He doesn’t live in a romantic comedy. He refuses to live in a romantic comedy.

And so he gives a lurch, because he intends to pull himself up off of Sam’s lap, which is a place where he definitely does not belong. (Because he’s no longer dating Sam, whether or not that is a matter of public knowledge, or not. And it will also take him up out of Mack’s chair, where he also definitely has no claim to lever his ass in and make himself so at home. Nor has Sam, for that matter. But Sam doesn’t seem to trouble himself over it, and seems quite at home just the same.)

But the lurch doesn’t take him anywhere, or nowhere substantive, or not immediately in any case. Because, yes, Sam does have slightly the edge on him in burliness and muscle. (Not that either of them are exactly hard-bodied and muscle-bound, not like Mack at all.) And he makes quite plain the fact that he’s not intending to co-operate at all, whatsoever.

So Caspar could get up, if he wanted to. Just as long as he’s prepared to have a public, more than slightly embarrassing tussle about it, that’s all. That’s the price that he would be obliged to pay, the toll that Sam is going to extract for any failure to play along.

And anyway, as he gives a very, very discreet push, against Sam’s arm around his waist, Caspar looks up. It’s just as Mack rounds the chair, and comes to rest right in front of them, and he folds his arms, right there, as he comes to rest and looks at them. Well, more accurately, he looks at Caspar, and he looks sober.

© Copyright Alex Ankarr 2014

No unauthorised reproductions allowed. All rights reserved to the author. No inspirations for characters drawn from real-life individuals, no resemblance to real individuals intended.

Photo credit: Lyn Whitfield on Flickr, public domain.


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