Behind The Limelight 17: Burn For Him

Ashton stormed out of the room in search of Ryker, a bunch of questions in his mind that he was dying to get the answers of. Thankfully, the house wasn’t too big and Ashton found his way to the kitchen, where Ryker was, pretty quickly.

Ryker was sitting at the counter, a cup of coffee in front of him. He was wearing a pair of reading glasses, his gaze fixed on a newspaper as he flipped through the pages. He was shirtless, only wearing a pair of loose black gym shorts. His hair seemed a little wet, and his brown skin was glistening as well, indicating that he had probably taken a shower not too long ago.

Ashton stopped in his tracks due to the sight in front of him, he was caught off-guard. Apart from a couple of times back when they were teenagers, Ashton had only ever seen Ryker shirtless on the big screen. He had always chalked up Ryker’s muscular built to make-up and special effects, but he was now realizing that he had been wrong.

He gulped. His eyes slightly widened as Ryker grabbed the coffee mug and brought it closer to his lips, his biceps flexing at the simple task. The counter and the newspaper was covering most of Ryker, so Ashton couldn’t, yet, see the full view.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Ashton thought to himself.

Ryker kept the newspaper down, a look of surprise took over his face as he realized that Ashton was just a few feet away from him. The two men stared at each other wordlessly, until Ashton finally cleared his throat awkwardly and looked away.

“How about a cup of black?” Ryker asked, he took off his glasses and kept them on the counter as he stood up and made his way over to the coffee machine. “How are you feeling now? Any headache? Nausea? Do you need an aspirin?”

“I’m fine,” Ashton muttered. “What the hell happened last night?”

“You barfed about a million times on the road, kept yelling at me for no reason, and then passed out in my car,” Ryker answered, his back was towards Ashton as he poured him a cup.

Ashton used that opportunity to look at Ryker again, before shaking his head to get himself out of the trance that he seemed to keep falling into.

“Did you…did you change my clothes?” Ashton asked. Ryker turned around, giving Ashton a long look before walking over to him.

“No,” Ryker answered. “You passed out. So I tried carrying you inside but then you woke up and started thrashing around like a fish out of water.”

“Uh—”

“You kept blabbering about calling some Vivian?”

“My housekeeper,” Ashton muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed. He was usually a fine drunk, God knows what the hell was up with him yesterday.

“Right,” Ryker let out a small laugh. “Well, I told you she wasn’t here so you huffed and barged into my house. Then you said you had to throw up again. I took you to the guest room and you puked your guts out, you got some on your shirt too so I grabbed one of mine for you to wear.”

“Oh,” Ashton nodded. “And I changed completely on my own?”

“Pretty much. You got your shirt and the chain you were wearing tangled up around your head, though. So I had to help you out a bit there,” Ryker paused. “Don’t worry, you were fairly capable for a drunk. And watching you wrestle with yourself made up for everything.”

“I told you it was the food, not the alcohol!” Ashton huffed, folding his arms in front of his chest. Ryker chuckled again as he walked closer to the other man. “One last thing…”

“Yeah?”

“How the fuck did I get a hickey on my neck?” Ashton asked. Ryker furrowed his brows as he frowned in confusion.

“Huh? How would I know?”

“It wasn’t there yesterday!” Ashton exclaimed. “Who else would know?”

“Show me,” Ryker stated. Ashton pressed his lips in a thin line as he pulled the collar of his t-shirt to the side, showing the small reddish-blue bruise to the other actor.

Ryker touched the so-called hickey with his finger, tracing the skin gently. Ashton glanced at Ryker’s face, his annoyed expression turning into a puzzled one as Ryker bursted out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a hickey,” Ryker said. “I’m pretty sure you cut a nick or bruised it when you were trying to yank the chain out of your neck. You struggled with it for like fifteen minutes straight because couldn’t get the clasp to open.”

“I—” Ashton blinked, not knowing what to say. “And you didn’t think to help me out?”

“Hey, I offered, okay? But you wouldn’t let me,” Ryker shrugged nonchalantly. “I wasn’t going to force my help on you. You probably would’ve punched me or something.”

“That was one time, Jesus, just let it go already,” Ashton said with a roll of his eyes. 

“Uh huh,” Ryker grinned. “If you’re done trying to recall the events of last night now then…coffee? It’s getting cold.”

Ryker extended his arm, the coffee mug in his hand. Ashton looked at it with narrowed eyes, and then back up at Ryker, almost with suspicion.

“I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Ryker muttered.

Ashton rolled his eyes again as he snatched the cup from Ryker’s hand. He flinched immediately, surprised by how hot it still was. The coffee drenched the shirt Ashton was wearing as the mug fell down on the floor and broke into a million pieces.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Ashton chanted as he tried to air out his shirt, not wanting his skin to burn.

“Goddamnit, remove the shirt,” Ryker instructed as he rushed back to the kitchen. He glanced at Ashton, who wasn’t following. “Now, Ash! Take off your shirt!”

Ashton finally did as Ryker said, Ryker hurried back to Ashton with a wet cloth as he grabbed his hand, pulling him away from the broken shards. He made him lean on the counter as he pressed the cold cloth on Ashton’s abdomen. Thankfully it wasn’t burnt, but just a tad bit red.

Ashton hissed slightly, grabbing the edges of the counter to steady himself. It didn’t even hurt too bad, but Ashton had always had a pretty low tolerance for pain. He was the type to faint at the sight of his own blood, and was usually a baby about the smallest of injuries.

Ryker kept a hand on Ashton’s arm, squeezing it gently in an attempt to sooth and also distract him. Ashton glanced from Ryker’s hand, the veins that were coursing through his forearms, then to his face, he was bending down as he tended to Ashton’s burn, looking utterly focused on the task. 

The wet cloth helped a lot. Within a few minutes the pain started receeding and Ashton was beginning to breath normally. Ryker changed the cloth before repeating the same actions. Both of them stayed quiet, until Ashton finally broke the silence.

“Thanks,” Ashton’s voice was barely above a whisper. Ryker looked up at him, his eyebrows shot up as he seemed shocked that Ashton actually showed any gratitude. The last thing Ryker was expecting was to hear this from his fellow actor.

“You need to be a bit more careful,” Ryker said. “It’s your second self inflicted injury within twelve hours.”

“It was an accident,” Ashton muttered. “The coffee was too hot! Anyone could’ve dropped it.”

“I was holding the mug just fine,” Ryker replied.

“Yeah, because you were holding it from the handle,” Ashton retorted. “Just shut it, okay? Accidents happen. People make mistakes. We’re all humans and all that bull.”

“Right, right,” Ryker sighed, standing back up properly. Ashton looked down at his stomach which looked a little irritated but much better than earlier.

Ashton’s gaze moved from his own body to Ryker’s, only now realizing how close the two were. Not just that, but also the teeny tiny fact that both of them were without a shirt. Ashton’s gaze dropped down from Ryker’s face to his chest, and then down to his abs.

He couldn’t look away, his stomach felt like it was in knots as his eyes took in the sight of Ryker and his body that seemed like it was carved to perfection by an artist. His broad shoulders, firm biceps, his well-defined chest and his washboard abs that anybody would die to have. Ashton found himself admiring the man in front of him, feeling almost mesmerized.

He immediately grew hyper aware of Ryker’s hand that was still holding his arm. The ache from the burn was now gone, but he could still feel the heat. This was a different kind of warmth, however.

Ashton was feeling it within him.

Ryker’s hand trailed up Ashton’s forearm to his bicep, before resting it on the crook of Ashton’s neck and shoulder. All of a sudden it was as if Ashton had forgotten how to breathe properly. His heartbeat, too, was now racing.

He finally looked back up at Ryker’s face, who was already looking down at him. He couldn’t tell if Ryker had taken a step closer or not, but he could definitely sense that the space between them had somehow reduced. Or maybe he just wasn’t thinking straight anymore.

“Why the fuck are you shirtless?” Ashton said, his voice low.

“Because I’m inside my own home?” Ryker answered.

“So? You have someone else here too,” Ashton responded. “You stay half naked in front of all your guests?”

“Not all,” Ryker paused. “What’s the issue? We’re both men. This is nothing you’ve never seen before.”

“Irrelevant.”

“You’re kind of half naked too, you know?” Ryker pointed out with a smirk, making Ashton’s face flush pink.

“Shut up,” Ashton muttered.

“What’s wrong? Is my body bothering you?” Ryker questioned.

“Yes.” Ashton replied without a second thought, biting his tongue in regret later.

“Why?” Ryker whispered.

Ryker inched closer to Ashton, his thumb rubbing the nape of Ashton’s neck gently as he stared at Ashton. His eyes held such intensity, so many emotions and Ashton couldn’t decipher any of it. Why was Ryker looking at him this way? Why was he standing so close? But the bigger question was…

Why wasn’t Ashton moving away?

***

evil laugh ensues