Summary:
An epic motion picture! A gay Napoleonic War love story! Ballrooms and battles at sea! Romantic happy endings on the silver screen! And a film that’ll change everything for its stars ...
Jason Mirelli can’t play adrenaline-fueled action heroes forever. He’s getting older, plus the action star parts have grown a little thinner since he came out as bisexual. This role could finally let him be seen as a serious dramatic actor, and he needs it to go well -- for his career, and because he’s fallen in love with the story and the chance to tell it.
The first problem? He’ll be playing a ship’s captain ... and he hasn’t exactly mentioned his fear of water. The second problem? His co-star: award-winning, overly talkative, annoyingly adorable -- and openly gay – box office idol Colby Kent.
Colby’s always loved the novel this film’s based on, and he leapt at the chance to adapt it, now that he has the money and reputation to make it happen. But scars and secrets from his past make filming a love story difficult ... until Jason takes his hand and wakes up all his buried desires. Jason could be everything Colby’s ever wanted: generous and kind, a fantastic partner on set, not to mention those heroic muscles. But Colby just can’t take that chance ... or can he?
As their characters fall in love and fight a war, Colby and Jason find themselves falling, too ... and facing the return of their own past demons. But together they just might win ... and write their own love story.
Summary:
Cameras, thunderstorms, and love confessions! And a secret or two ...
Jason Mirelli couldn't be happier. Filming's going well, he loves his role, and he and Colby Kent have unexpectedly fallen for each other on screen and off ... and into bed. Everything seems wonderful, but Jason can't help worrying. This is the role that'll save his career, he's sleeping with his co-star, and Colby needs him to take things slow, but Jason's already head over heels in love. It's getting harder and harder to watch Colby pretend to be ill and in pain, even if it's only in character ... and a single on-set accident might make Jason's worst fears come true.
Colby's happier than he's been in a very long time. He's telling a story that he loves, he's playing a character he's always adored, and he wants to share all of himself with Jason, on camera and off. He knows he's falling in love with Jason, but he also knows it's too fast, and he's been hurt before. Besides, he has one final secret he's been afraid to confess. He wants to trust Jason completely, but before he can, an accident on set might threaten every love story they've been creating.
A love story for the ages! An intimate confession! An epic quest! And happily ever after on the horizon ...
Jason Mirelli loves Colby Kent. And Colby loves him. They’ve told the world. And Colby’s recovered from injury, so they’re back at work and back on set. Jason just might have everything he’s ever dreamed of, with a serious leading role, an epic love story, and Colby safe and happy in his arms -- but they only have two weeks of filming to go. He’s afraid of the dream falling apart, and he knows Colby has a secret to confess -- one that could transform both the ending of their movie and their future together.
Colby never got around to telling Jason his final secret before his accident on set. Now that he’s recovered, he plans to -- he wants to share his writing and his silent script doctor work with the man he loves. Besides, he’s rewritten this script to give their characters a proper happy ending. But he’s nervous about making changes to a classic novel, and he wants the author’s approval.
Colby’s hoping to seek out the famously reclusive author in question, but first he’ll need to trust Jason with this last piece of himself. If he can, he and Jason might finally find their happily-ever-after both on screen and off -- for their characters and for themselves.
Seaworthy #1
Jason stood on the fake deck of a fake ship, under soundstage lights, and watched Colby Kent from a distance. Colby, in full Regency aristocrat costume -- and oh that was doing things to Jason’s equilibrium, those long legs in tight breeches, the shape of that slimness defined by creamy brocade in waistcoat form -- wasn’t facing him. Gazing away, the way he ought to be when the scene began. William Crawford, Viscount Easterly, caught and enchanted by this new unpredictable world of ropes and decks and sea-terms. For a moment entranced not by Stephen but by a far-off horizon.
God, Colby was good. Even standing in place he embodied Will’s depth of longing.
Jason admired him and ached for him and wanted him with a sort of angry inadvertent want. Colby, not turning, put a hand up to bat loose hair out of his eyes. The wind machine was being overly enthusiastic.
Anger was and wasn’t the right emotion. Jason’d thought they’d talk over lunch. He’d been mentally preparing.
Colby had arrived with Jillian, who’d kept him occupied with questions: everything from debates over the exact year chocolate had arrived in England to wickedly funny commentary on a script Jill had just received, which apparently Colby had read; they’d found it well-intentioned but incomprehensible, and Colby’s playful suggestion of incorporating time travel spun dramatically off into a whole new subplot involving dinosaurs.
Colby had smiled at Jason, but had hidden behind Jill and conversation. Jason was very sure of that. Jillian knew it as well. Jason had noticed her physical positioning, that subtle arrangement of herself as Colby’s defender. He’d caught a look or two from her, thrown his way.
He didn’t know what to think. Colby wasn’t unfriendly, and they obviously had chemistry together. He’d guess that he’d done something wrong, offended those blue eyes somehow -- which of course he had -- but that wasn’t quite the sense either. Not with that strange protectiveness.
Colby, with an unfathomable flicker of a glance in Jason’s direction, had collected and then taken a large bite of a grilled chicken sandwich. He’d also picked up two chocolate-chip cookies, because Colby Kent lived on sugar. At least he was eating, though. Jason hadn’t said anything.
He didn’t know how to say anything. Too precarious. Here because they’d chosen him. Needing to be likable. Needing to be someone they could work with. Jillian had already taken him aside and kindly suggested he relax a bit. This suggestion had had the opposite effect.
He looked at Colby again. Flawless under lights. Pretty, if one liked long-legged wood-elf endless chatter. Jason was starting to think he personally might. That pert backside caught his attention.
Colby Kent, he thought -- not just because of the backside -- was far more complex than most people saw. Quick-witted enough to verbally rewrite a script on the spot and make it more ridiculous fun. Enough of a martyr to pretend not to want a pastry. Kind enough to bring pastries for everyone on the first morning. Multifaceted, a puzzle.
Colby’s hair fluttered again, courtesy of that artificial wind. He swiped at it, gave up, shook his head. Even his fingers were elegant.
“Jason,” Jill called over, “you good? Okay, good, great, we’re rolling!”
And they were. A clap. Action. Cameras on him, on Colby. Jason took a deep breath, straightened shoulders, let Stephen Lanyon emerge from the doorway that on a real ship would’ve led to his cabin. He had to duck his head a fraction to fit under the beam.
Because he was so focused on Colby, he walked right past his first mark: the spot where Stephen should pause and recognize exactly what visitor had come aboard.
Jill yelled, “Cut!”
Jason stopped. Swore. “Sorry, sorry, shit!”
“No worries, we’re fine, just remember to stop this time! Let’s start again!”
The extras, the seamen and deckhands, got back to business with ropes and deck-swabbing. Jason went back to the doorway. His cheeks burned. Colby hadn’t turned.
He took a breath. Let it go. He could do this. He could feel this.
He stopped thinking about how much he had to do this. He thought about Stephen, instead. The snarled knot of war and worry and love and patriotism and protectiveness tangled itself in his chest. It felt poignant and difficult and true.
On cue, he stepped out of the doorway, a captain thinking about orders and preparations and departure in three hours; he’d been told he had an aristocratic visitor, and his mind was spinning, trying to balance under-rationed supplies, trying to think of a message to send to Will, trying to figure out who that visitor might be -- one of the Lords of the Admiralty, or --
Jason, as Stephen, saw Will.
That unguarded shock of happiness stabbed through his ribs like a spear. The bewildering torrent of emotion left him speechless: thrilled that Will had come, afraid that Will had come, concerned for Will’s weak lungs and tempestuous relationship with a terrible father, delighted by the way Will gazed around this ship as if the H.M.S. Steadfast were the loveliest lady he’d ever seen, and of course she was, she was ...
He strode over there. Colby -- Will -- turned. Aglow with conspiratorial pleasure. “I love your boat.”
“She’s a ship.” He put a hand on the rail, a caress. “Even you must know that.”
“I’ve never been on a ship before. Not even a yacht on the Thames. She feels as if she could fly.” Colby’s eyes danced. “Tell me everything about her.”
Jason raised eyebrows. “Everything might take some time. My lord.”
“Everything,” Colby repeated. “Captain.” Fearless, glorious, pale from exertion and the slow grind of consumption, he was artwork. Jason couldn’t look away, enthralled.
He leaned closer. “We have our orders. We sail this afternoon.”
“I know.” Colby rested a hand on the rail beside his. Jason did not have gloves, because Stephen would not bother on board his own ship; Colby did not have gloves, because Will had forgotten them in haste to reach the docks before departure. Their fingers did not quite touch; Jason’s skin prickled and sang like a thousand symphonies.
Colby went on softly, “If I could come with you ... if I could run this far, far enough to stay here, like this, with you ...”
“You can’t.” Too harsh, but Stephen would be harsh: choking on the image, smothered by possibilities. Will shattered by cannon fire, ruined by a musket-ball, ravaged by fever ... coughing blood in the middle of an ocean, away from London and physicians ... “You have your world. I have mine.”
“My world ...” Colby, as Will, trailed a fingertip along the railing. Seasoned wood offered sympathy under the petting. “You know what my world is. My life. If I have a life.”
Ballrooms and supper-parties and a father’s strict disapproval and an endless parade of doctors and medicines. Ever-present, that specter with bone-white wings. Jason, as Stephen, breathed, “You’ll live. You must.”
“Stephen --”
“I’ll think of you,” Jason said. “I’ll think of you, wherever we are, and that will keep you alive. We sail for the West Indies to intercept the French. I’ll bring you a flower. For one of your scientific studies.”
“Then I’ll be here waiting for it.” Colby’s smile was magnificent: broken and hopeful, a kiss that Will could not give to Stephen in public, on a ship’s deck, under the sun. “And I’ll think of you. Sailing someplace full of tropical light, warm and bright.”
“And so you’ll keep me alive.” His hand slid over; his little finger brushed Colby’s. “It’s a bargain.”
“Accepted,” Colby whispered. “Agreed.” His eyes were very wide; he turned just enough to gaze up at Jason. His breaths were coming faster, though whether that was Will’s emotion or Colby’s, Jason couldn’t tell.
Hell, his own breaths were coming faster. Heart pounding. Confused about the need to bend Colby over the railing on the spot and also to wrap him up in protective fluff and never let go.
“So.” Colby’s smile -- Will’s smile, the teasing joy of an earl’s son who’d never known joy until now -- lit up the set. Raced down Jason’s spine. Painted the universe brighter. “Tell me everything. Starting now.”
Stalwart #2
"Cut!" Jill said, and the room burst out in applause. "Awesome!" Andy shouted, and Jill threw them a thumbs-up, beaming. "That was great, you two!"
Colby was applauding too, and called over, "Utterly splendid, I've got chills, you're both marvelous!" as his eyes found Jason's. Despite Will's invalid make-up, he looked like he wanted to jump up and run over and throw himself into Jason's arms; he didn't, but it was that kind of look. Absolute delight and pride rocketed down Jason's spine.
"We'll do it again to make sure," Jill said, "and to get a couple more close-up reaction shots, but that felt like it. If there's anything different you want to bring to it, go ahead and experiment. It's all yours."
Jim grinned, right out of character and into cheerfulness. "Shall we go again? You want to threaten me a bit more? Slam hands on the desk and shout?"
"Totally," Jason agreed. "More dramatic. Stephen would get physical if he had to."
"I'll be more condescending to you, too. Not because of who you are or who you love, but because you've interrupted me and I'm cross about it."
"Works for me."
They reset. The rain hummed, ever-present and contented.
Tomorrow they'd switch locations and do it all again, with different scenes and different dialogue. They'd light up the world, him and Colby and everyone else. This cast, this production, all the love. Jason let himself feel it. Let himself have it.
And tonight he'd have Colby in his bed, bright and curious and submissive and radiantly happy. They might have sex, or not have sex, or whatever Colby felt up to; Jason thought it'd ultimately been a good day, getting past a minor speed-bump or two, but he'd also be happy just to wrap arms around Colby and feel the way they fit together. That hadn't stopped being amazing.
He didn't know how long it would last, whether Colby wanted anything beyond this project and this recapturing of self. But Colby had said it was more than a one-time thing. Had said words about wanting Jason, trusting Jason.
Whatever happened, Jason could only be grateful. He'd been allowed to be here. He'd fallen head over heels in love.
He knew how that felt, now. He knew about the way his heart wanted to soar and to fight anyone who'd ever hurt Colby and to settle down in some quiet London flat near a historic museum if that could ever be something Colby wanted.
He stopped to think that last part again.
He would. He really would.
He liked being close to family -- he loved his family, and he'd miss the hell out of them. Allie's law-school adventures. His mother and grandmother bickering affectionately over updated versions of classic dishes for the restaurant. His father, long recovered from that accident and training other drivers, but that didn't mean other practice-track collisions didn't happen, and Jason had always wanted to be nearby, not just for that but for shared film-set stories and smudges of engine-grease and the rumble of powerful machines and the Mirelli family legacy, stunts and cars and bikes and explosions, making movie magic happen behind the scenes, decade after decade.
But he loved Colby Kent. And Colby liked -- needed -- the quiet, when possible, in between the demands of their profession. No crowds. Out-of-the-way quirky museums and leather-scented bookshops and testing recipes at home. Colby's favorite city was London. Which was pretty damn far from Hollywood, as far as miles.
The vision of it kicked him in the gut anyway.
He also liked bookshops and fantasy and quests. He was getting to appreciate history and romance novels. He could ship his bike over. He could call his family every week and visit every time he or Colby had to come out to California. He could find a local gym and let Colby teach him to like swimming and wake up with those blue eyes beside him, Colby tucked into the circle of his body and kept warm.
His sister would explode with glee. His family would understand. Wouldn't they?
If Colby wanted more -- more than the next few weeks --
He was speculating. Getting too far ahead. Impractical. Not grounded. Everything he'd learned the hard way not to do.
But he couldn't not.
He wondered what Colby and Jillian had disagreed over. Not an argument, but something Jill thought he was wrong about, Colby had said. That seemed unusual; they tended to think alike. And Colby himself had said he wasn't sure, needed a road-map, space to sort something out.
But it couldn't be that important; it couldn't be about Jason himself, or about them together. Colby would tell him if so, right? They'd laid themselves bare enough for that. He trusted that.
So he wouldn't ask. No pressure. Giving those blue eyes that space.
He waved at Colby. Colby waved back, and then picked up his coffee-cup from the arm of the chair. Plus something else. This turned out to be coffee creamer. Poured deliberately, slow and white, into the cup. Looking right at Jason.
Oh, Jason thought, so we're having fun tonight, you know I'd never hurt you and you're asking for me to see how many times I can make you scream my name; and he flexed muscles on purpose, noticeable beneath Stephen's coat, making cloth ripple and bulge.
Colby just about dropped the coffee.
Jason grinned, and went back to his opening mark. He knew Colby would be watching. All the anticipation danced like the rain.
Good weather, he thought. The best.
Steadfast #3
Jason steadied Colby and himself as best he could. His heart hadn’t calmed down yet. Slamming into his ribs -- seeing Colby come running through a doorway, eyes wide, breath quick -- hearing Colby ask for help –
But Colby’s eyes were bright. Energized, eager, holiday-morning blue. Not afraid. And Colby’s hand on his arm was exuberant, not frightened.
He registered the script pages in Colby’s other hand. He searched Colby’s face.
“I’ve saved them, you see,” Colby was saying, voice tripping all over itself in excitement, accent rippling and delighted. “I’ve worked it out, how to find the happy ending, and I’m very sorry you’ll have to lose an arm, but that won’t be too dreadful, we’ll sort it out, and then Stephen can come home and they can both sail away together, but if I’m going to change anything that drastic I do want to explain why, so that’s why I need your help, but anyway, here, tell me whether you think it’s all right --”
“You’re okay,” Jason said.
“Oh.” Colby blinked at him, then smiled. Will’s dressing gown slid off one shoulder; Jason almost moved to tug it back up, but Colby already was, unselfconsciously graceful. “Yes. Very much okay.”
“You ... saved Will and Stephen?” He took script pages as Colby thrust them at him. “You changed the ending?”
“Yes, I had to -- I couldn’t let them be tragic -- yes, go on, read it --”
“Right now?”
“Please --”
Serenity, tactfully, had wandered down the antique hallway and was pretending to be texting; she was glancing their way a lot, though. Night fell like a slowing carousel around them, through tall curtain-framed windows full of stars.
Jason kept an arm around Colby, who believed in happy endings. Found the beginning of the new scenes, in Colby’s flowing penmanship.
After a minute he said, “Holy shit yes.”
“Yes, I thought so too, did you like the bit when Stephen --”
“Hang on, I’m not done --” It was good. It was so good. He wanted to leap headlong into Colby’s scribbled scenes, to plunge into this imagined historical future. He could see it all; he could see himself playing it out, knowing exactly the quaking weight in Stephen’s steps toward Will’s townhouse, so fearful and so hopeful, reunion only a possibility until it became triumphantly real ...
He knew how Stephen would gather Will close with his one good arm, and how the tears would burn: Will lived, Will still wanted him, they would face the rebuilding of their lives together now and always.
He drew a breath. His chest ached, because Colby had written words that reached in and gripped his heart and shook it apart and then soothed it into a soft safe rhythm again.
He looked up, and found Colby watching him, and reached out. Pulled Colby in for a kiss: profound and thorough and full of reverence. Saying everything he didn’t know how to, aloud.
He tipped their heads together, after. He breathed, “This is right.”
“Yes,” Colby said. “Yes. It’s a good history -- two men getting to be happy together, because they did, they could, we have to tell those stories --”
“But it’s also so right for them. What they do with the house, with their lives --”
“I wanted it,” Colby said, “to feel like joy.” In Jason’s arms he looked like joy too, wrapped up in an embroidered period dressing gown, with rumpled hair.
“It does,” Jason said. “It does.”
“But to make that change ...” Colby hesitated, excitement not dimmed but reshaped. “First we’ll have to tell Jill, of course. It’ll alter the tone of the film.”
“She’ll love it. I love it.”
“I think she will -- we’d talked about the ending before, and I’d said I wasn’t entirely happy with it -- but it’ll mean a longer shoot. I can put more money into it, that’s not a problem, but we’ll be asking the crew to extend their commitment. I’ll understand if some of them can’t, of course.”
Jason mentally skipped over the financing comment. It was a reminder -- Colby had a hell of a lot of money even compared to Jason’s action-hero income, enough to casually fling at a production in need and deem not a problem -- but he’d already made some sort of peace with that. He knew about the complications that came with Colby’s background, the cost of it all, and he knew Colby used it to help people.
More importantly, he guessed that most if not all of their crew would stay on. If not for the paycheck, for Colby. For their leader. “Bet they’ll want to. This is big. This kind of story. Telling it.”
“That’s the other part. I know how much the novel means to the people who love it.” Colby squared shoulders under Will’s wardrobe. “I think, in order to do this ... we should go and find George Forrest and ask. Not permission, precisely -- he gave that when we agreed on the rights, and he said he didn’t want to be very involved -- not bothered by whatever nonsense you come up with, was how he put it -- but I’d like some sort of ...”
“Approval?”
“Perhaps. I want to be respectful. I’ll show him my version, and he can even comment, I’d not mind, he knows Will and Stephen the best -- I wonder if he’d like shortbread, or raspberry tarts, as a sort of gift --”
The next realization hit Jason’s brain like a falling ton of Regency-era bricks. “Colby?”
K.L. Noone teaches college students about superheroes and Shakespeare by day, and in her not-so-secret identity writes romance - frequently paranormal or with fantasy elements, often LGBTQA+, and always with happy endings! She also likes cats, tea, and the sound of ocean waves.
Seaworthy #1
Stalwart #2
Steadfast #3
Series
