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  Something Like Peace

  By Kris T. Bethke

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2019 Kris T. Bethke

  ISBN 9781634869232

  Cover Design: LC Chase

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Something Like Peace

  By Kris T. Bethke

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 1

  It felt like a walk of shame.

  I’d never actually done the guilty-sneaking-out-of-bed-and-out-of-the-house thing, but if I had, I imagined it would feel like this. Every step was a heavy clomping of boots because I was so reluctant to make this walk. I was certain all eyes were on me. I stared at the floor in front of me as I made the journey, not wanting to catch anyone’s eye. I was in the worst kind of trouble, everyone knew it, and I didn’t want to see the sympathetic and pitying looks.

  I hadn’t been given a chance to change. In fact, the steel in Vincent’s voice as he shut down the set and told me to report to the conference room in the production wing had given me chills. As much as I didn’t want to face the man, I was also determined to do it with my dignity intact. I’d fucked up, and there was no getting around that.

  It took me a minute, once I finally reached the door, to get up the nerve to knock. But I did, then pushed open the door. Vincent Stevens stood on the far side of the room, bent slightly at the waist with his hands braced on the table, and his deep, dark eyes fastened on me. His brown hair was stylish, straight and just long enough to be called floppy, though he kept it swept back from his high forehead. The cut somehow accentuated his Roman nose, high cheekbones, and rounded chin. He was, to put it bluntly, absolutely gorgeous.

  A year ago, I wouldn’t have noticed. No, that wasn’t right. I would have noticed, but I would have stuffed the thoughts down so far and hard that they would cease to exist. I’d been doing it so long it was second nature to me. But since last season, since that kiss with Aaron Zeller that caused an uproar heard ‘round the world, things were different. Now, when I noticed, I acknowledged it. At least to myself.

  And Vincent was definitely worth noticing.

  Everything about him screamed power and control. There was something about him, something no one could quite define, that made us all want to please him. And that worked out in everyone’s favor when he came in to direct. Only when Vincent was at the helm did we work with utter efficiency, always getting out on time, if not wrapping up early. I loved my job playing one of the leads on the popular prime-time crime drama Rourke and Geary, but I loved it even more when Vincent was directing. And it wasn’t because he was a beautiful man who rarely graced us with his gorgeous smile, making those times we saw it all the more satisfying. He made the work enjoyable in a way that didn’t happen often. I was riddled with guilt for having screwed it up badly enough that he felt the need to talk to me in private.

  “Daniel,” he said, that gaze never wavering from mine. He didn’t say anything else, just my name, but I felt the heavy weight of disapproval in his tone.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurted, losing all my usual calm in the face of his censure. “I’m sorry, Vincent.”

  He squinted, then straightened slowly. “I don’t want an apology. I want an explanation. You couldn’t get a single line correct and you didn’t listen to direction. What in the fuck is the matter with you?”

  “Nothing,” I said quickly. There was no way I could tell him about the way I’d been struggling, the internal battle raging constantly and making my concentration absolute shit. And I certainly couldn’t tell him that, in the last nine months or so, I looked at him differently than I ever had before. None of that could be said out loud. It wasn’t something I was ready to talk about. Especially not with him. Vincent and I were friendly, but we weren’t exactly friends.

  I saw the anger fill his features for a quick moment before his face was once again a neutral mask. But his voice dropped even lower, the tenor becoming a bass rumble, and I could tell just now pissed off he was. “Nothing?” He was incredulous. “That’s going to be your answer to me?”

  I stiffened up my backbone. I would not be intimidated by him. “Yes, sir,” I said firmly, but politely.

  Vincent crossed his arms over his lean chest. “You better come up with something better than that, Jacobs. You fucked up badly enough to put us behind schedule. That does not happen on my soundstage.”

  I shrugged, going for carefree and unaffected, even as I started to sweat. “It happens.”

  Vincent growled as he stalked around the table and headed straight for me. He was a good six inches shorter than I was, maybe five-ten to my six-four, but somehow I felt like he towered over me. He kept going until we were toe to toe, and he was right up in my personal space.

  “It doesn’t happen to you,” he stated, his tone just this side of menacing. “And you sure as fuck don’t do that to me.”

  I didn’t know if it was his tone or his words, but it rubbed wrong against my raw nerves. I pushed into his space, my face hovering a scant few inches above his, and I growled right back. “We’re humans. We make mistakes. You are not some”—I flailed a hand beside us, casting about for a word. Finally I settled on—”infallible god that deserves complete obedience.”

  He had the audacity to smirk. “Yes, I am.”

  “You fucking asshole,” I snarled. “You have no idea what the hell is going on with me, so don’t act all high and mighty.”

  “You leave your bullshit at the door and show up to actually work! I don’t give a good goddamn what’s going on with you. I want you on my stage, doing your job, so I can make TV!”

  “You fucking asshole!”

  “You used that insult already,” Vincent said, smirking again. “Pick a different one.”

  “Get out of my face,” I snapped.

  “Make me,” he taunted.

  I put my hands on his chest, ready to push him away. And somehow found myself dragging him in closer. His eyes went wide, then narrowed and heated as he sucked in a fast breath through his nose. We stared at each other, neither one of use moving or speaking. Barely breathing. And then, almost faster than I could track, he grabbed my head, tugged my face down to his, and kissed me.

  I was stunned, too shocked to do anything but feel his lips against mine. Vincent pulled back, his brow
n eyes full of questions as he studied me. In that second, I knew what I wanted. I wanted more of him. I closed the distance between us and crushed my mouth against his. He didn’t hesitate to take control, angling my head so we fit together better and pushing his tongue into my mouth.

  I whined in the back of my throat and pulled him even closer.

  He devoured me, lips, teeth and tongue, and it was all I could do to hang on and feel. I couldn’t stop kissing him, barely taking a second to breathe before diving back in, over and over again. I wanted him more than I wanted air, and I didn’t let him get far when he yanked away to breathe. I kept kissing, though Vincent was clearly in control, and I was surprised to feel myself getting hard faster than I ever had before.

  Vincent noticed, and he pulled back far enough to give me a wicked smile as he inserted one thigh between mine. He gently bumped me until the back of my thighs hit the table, and I sat on the edge, still clinging to Vincent for balance. He moved in closer, his hip pressing against my cock. And then he gave a little nudge, grinding deliberately.

  I had to rip my mouth from his, and suck in a breath so I didn’t howl. Holy Christ, that felt fantastic.

  He wrapped his arms around me, one hand snaking down until he could grip my ass, the other going up until he could cup the back of my neck. With a low murmur, he encouraged me to move, to ride his thigh, and I was so swept up in the feel and smell of him that I did it without thought. His body was hard, and it felt so good against me that I didn’t care where we were or who could be listening. I’d been pining after him for months, and he was giving me everything I wanted. I didn’t care that we’d been arguing moments before, or that he’d never given me the slightest inclination that he was interested. All I cared about was the pressure of his hip against my cock and his thigh against my balls. It was perfect, exactly what I needed, and I buried my face in his neck, breathing in his scent, and came in my pants like a teenager.

  It took only seconds for the shock and embarrassment to set in, and had me pulling away from him.

  Vincent’s smile was smug, and he looked me over. “God, you’re fucking sexy. I can’t believe you went off that fast. You must have needed it badly.” He reached for the button on his pants. “You want to suck me off, beautiful? Or just use your hand?”

  But my stomach was swooping unpleasantly. “Oh Christ,” I whispered, lifting a shaky hand and covering my mouth. What had I just done?

  That fast, Vincent seemed to realize something was wrong. The look of the smarmy asshole was gone in a blink of an eye, to be replaced by one of concern. “Dan? What’s the matter?”

  I wiped a hand over my face, resolutely ignoring the mess in my pants. I rapidly shook my head. “I, um. I have to go. I’ll do better tomorrow. On set, I mean. I won’t fuck up on set tomorrow.”

  “Dan,” Vincent growled.

  But I ignored him. I ignored everything as I rushed through the door and out into the hall. It was a quick walk to my dressing room, and I was relieved when I finally made it inside.

  I couldn’t let myself think. If I did, I’d break down into a gibbering mess. And I could not do that. Not here. I’d have to save that for later, when I was home, and trying to figure out what in the fuck just happened. I changed quickly, throwing out the underwear and hanging the dress pants I’d been wearing in the last scene on the rack that indicated they needed to be cleaned. Knowing our wardrobe department, they’d be clean, pressed, and ready to go by the time I made it back on set in the morning.

  I was so purposefully not thinking about anything that I nearly missed it when the door opened and shut quietly. I noticed Vincent standing there and glaring only when I turned from pulling up my jeans. My whole body gave a jerk of surprise but I managed to keep the noise inside. And then I mustered up a glare.

  It didn’t hold a candle to the one Vincent was wearing, though.

  “Want to tell me why you came and left?” His voice was low and tinged with something, disappointment or hurt, that I couldn’t quite identify.

  I shook my head. Nodded. Pressed a hand to my stomach and decided he maybe needed the truth.

  “I’ve never done anything like that before,” I whispered. It was so hard to admit that out loud. I felt like I might be sick.

  Vincent gave me a look of utter disbelief. “Yeah, right.”

  My glare turned real, the dismissal in his tone making something snap inside me. “You spend twenty years pretending so hard you aren’t gay that you actually believe it, and then we’ll talk!”

  “Dan,” Vincent said, his entire demeanor softening. That fast, and his entire attitude toward me changed.

  I held up a hand. “Don’t. Just…don’t say anything.”

  The smirk that graced his lips was kind of playful. He crossed his arms and leaned casually against the door. “Yeah, right. We both know that’s not going to happen.”

  I shook my head again, refusing to let out the amused smile that was trying to quirk my lips. This was fucking serious, and I wasn’t going to let his charm get to me. I never intended to kiss him, let alone rub off on his thigh, and I was in full-on panic mode. Or at least I had been. I should still be. Damn Vincent, leaning there all sexy-looking, being understanding and inviting conversation.

  His smile was warm and his voice soft as he asked, “Tell me?”

  I didn’t pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about, but neither did I answer right away. I pushed my fingers through my dark hair. I needed to get it cut soon, to keep it consistent for the show. I would have loved to buzz all of it off, just for the ease of maintenance, but then the showrunner would have a fucking fit and I might be held in breach of contract. But my hair didn’t matter, it was just a convenient distraction.

  I blew out a breath and peeked at him out of the corner of my eye before I set about packing up my tablet, e-reader, and chargers into the messenger bag I carried to and from the set.

  “There’s not much to tell, really,” I said without conscious thought. Seemed Vincent was going to get the story anyway. “I was cast on Hope Cove when I was fifteen. Do you remember it? The teen drama that was all the rage in the mid-90s?” I didn’t look at him again but he made an affirmative noise. “It was my first big break. Before that it had been only bit parts and commercials. I was suddenly a star. A teen heartthrob. And teen idols can’t be gay. Or at least they couldn’t, back then.”

  When it didn’t seem like Vincent had anything to add, I shrugged and continued. “I was just figuring shit out, you know? Just really beginning to understand that I liked boys. But I knew I couldn’t let that out, so I decided to be straight. And I was so damn convincing, I even believed it myself.”

  Vincent didn’t say anything for a long moment, studying me like he was trying to figure out if I was for real. Eventually, he nodded, then drew a breath. “So back there in the conference room? I was your first?”

  I could hear a hint of skepticism in his tone. And I kind of understood where it was coming from. A lot of guys at least experimented growing up. But I never had. I was too afraid of liking it too much. I’d had blinders on. I’d only ever looked at women that way.

  “Well,” I conceded, attempting a little humor. The seriousness in the room was thick and oppressive. “I have been kissing and getting near naked with Aaron since the beginning of last season. I do believe you’ve directed some of that.”

  Vincent cracked a smile before he sobered again. He just looked at me for a long moment. “You okay? With what happened?”

  It was good of him to ask. “Yes,” I answered truthfully. I’d been coming to terms with who I was, and the part of me I’d kept hidden, for months now. And even though I never intended it to happen like this, I was okay with it.

  “Good.” Then Vincent offered me one of those rare smiles that made my heart pound and literally made me catch my breath. He took in my reaction, and his grin grew even wider. “You want it to happen again, you know where to find me. Or more. We could definitely do more. Just
let me know.”

  With that, Vincent turned and walked out the door.

  I stared after him for a really long time, my brain completely shorted out by his offer. Eventually, my muscles started to hurt from being locked in the same position for so long. I took a deep breath, stretched some, then picked up my bag. I needed to get out of here, drink a beer and eat a pint of ice cream, and try not to think about the fact that I’d essentially just come out and had my first orgasm with another guy, all in one afternoon.

  The way I saw it, I was entitled to a freak out. Or three.

  Chapter 2

  Photo shoots. The necessary evil of my job. I hated them. I found it difficult to be in character without actually having dialogue or action to rely on. The costume did not a character make, especially when it was just regular clothes. Certainly not for me. I could be myself in interviews, and I could be Frank Geary when I was on set. But standing around, holding different poses all day while the photographer went nuts was not what I would call fun. It wasn’t even in the same ballpark.

  There were only three outfits on the rack under the sign with my character’s name, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it. There had been shoots in the past when I’d had six or seven changes before the day was through. I always thought that was ridiculous. We were shooting promo shots for print ads and probably the future DVD and Blu Ray covers. We’d just finished shooting episode ten of season five, and the one hundredth episode was fast approaching. I knew there’d be a lot of promo work stuff going on before that aired, even though we had yet to film it.

  I’d heard Vincent was coming back to codirect the one hundredth episode.

  It made sense. He and Constance O’Meara were the most liked, and best to work with. They both shot some fantastic footage for the show. Connie had directed the episode with the big gay kiss, and it had gotten accolades all over the place. Vincent directed the season four finale that had garnered guest star Brandon Culpepper a Primetime Emmy. To have them both at the helm for the big celebration episode was bound to make it fantastic.