Happy Sunday Sexies! This week we have some hotness from Catherine Curzon’s single title pairing, An Actor’s Guide to Romance.
For twenty years, Adam Fisher and Thomas Fox have been the best of enemies. From their first meeting at drama school to shared stages, shared bills and a competition to amass the most illustrious awards, they have been the names on every theatregoers’ lips. Separately they can sell out an entire run in an hour, so when they’re cast as lovers in London’s hottest new play, the tickets are gone in minutes.
But for rakish Adam and gentlemanly Thomas, the small matter of their first on-stage kiss is causing a headache for everyone. Over a bottle of wine on one rainy night in the city, these two acting legends will do whatever it takes to banish their first-night nerves. After all, as everyone knows, the show must go on!
This was more than the script called for, more than their history of arguments and jibes and rivalry called for too, and it was Adam who broke the kiss first. He gazed at Thomas through eyes that shone with desire, his lips parted in a perfect, tempting pout.
“The first time I read the script,” he purred, “I thought how much better it would’ve been if they went to bed at this point, don’t you think? Our brave young playwright missed a trick there.”
Thomas panted, trying and failing to make sense of what had just happened. And what Adam was saying. Bed?
He rested the tip of his nose against Adam’s, staring into those beautiful blue eyes, his mouth fallen open as if the kiss had robbed him of the power of speech.
Since Thomas was an actor, the silence didn’t last long.
“I think you’re right. Damn right.” Thomas swallowed, grinning as he stroked Adam’s back. “What this play needs is a love scene. A proper one with naked, tangled limbs…” He brushed his lips against Adam’s. “Lots of sighing… Perhaps a headboard banging against a wall as well. Do you agree?”
“The way I see it, we need to really work through this tension between us.” Adam nodded gravely. “Twenty years of rivalry haven’t done it, so we could just see if a very sweaty, very dramatic fuck achieves what awards and curtain calls can’t. You might still hate me at the end of it, but you’ll be very happy at the same time.”
“I’m pretty happy now, to be honest.” Thomas brought his other hand between their bodies and cupped it over the bulge of Adam’s erection. “As are you, I notice. Now—if my co-star wouldn’t mind leading the way to the bedroom, we can get this love scene blocked out properly.”
“This is a one-time, gala performance. A royal command, if you like. One night only.” Adam took Thomas by the hand and led him from the sitting room. They passed along a hallway decorated with bright oiled canvasses showing splashes of color and seaside scenes, alongside vintage posters of long-since-forgotten productions. Then he pushed open a doorway and told Thomas, “After you!”
Adam’s white, metal-framed bed was heaped with quilts and cushions and Thomas wanted to grab Adam and dive at it with him in his arms. It looked antique, like the rest of the furniture, complementing the busy William Morris wallpaper.
“What a glorious room for a romp!”
“I remember how you hated my digs at RADA—you said they looked like a Turkish brothel!” Adam laughed and turned to the dresser. He took a cigarette lighter and ignited it, touching the flame to the candles that stood there, each as irregular as the next. “I’m still embracing Turkish brothel chic, though it’s a lot less damp these days!”
Just as Adam spoke, the rain began to fall hard against the windows and hiss against the sill outside.
“That rain tells me that we’re still in London.” Thomas bent to loosen his shoelaces. He kicked off his brogues and pulled off his socks. “But Turkish brothel—oh, yes, perfect for our daring actors as they explore the inner depths of their characters.”
“This doesn’t make us friends, you know, or lovers. It just means we get all that unhealthy competition out.” Thomas wasn’t sure who Adam was trying to convince, but from the need he felt and the outline of Adam’s erection in his linen trousers, it wasn’t working. “Then a simple on-stage kiss will be no challenge.”
“Oh, of course, Adam—this is textbook Stanislavski.” He began to unbutton his shirt with one hand and caught Adam around the waist with the other. “Always go to bed with other members of the cast. Even barmy old Brecht recommends it.”
Was that sarcastic enough? Thomas wondered, as he ghosted his lips across Adam’s cheek and brought them to settle on his mouth again. He felt Adam’s hands brush against his own to take over unbuttoning his shirt, felt the fabric fall away and those same palms brushing over his naked chest.
“The curtain rises,” Adam whispered against his lips. “The moon hangs low above the horizon.”
Then, his voice trailing into a breath, Adam abandoned Chekhov in favor of another kiss, even as he eased Thomas’ shirt from his shoulders and let it whisper onto the floor.
Still deep in their kiss, Thomas popped open the buttons of Adam’s shirt one by one. He slid his hand between the folds of fabric and took Adam’s hardened nipple between finger and thumb. He felt the heat of his rival’s—no—his lover’s breath, heard the hint of a whimper deep in his throat before Adam gasped, “You’ve found my weak spot, you old fox.”
Catherine Curzon is a historian of 18th century royalty. Her work has been featured on many platforms and she has also spoken at venues across the UK. She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.
Eleanor Harkstead likes to dash about in nineteenth-century costume, in bonnet or cravat as the mood takes her. Eleanor lives somewhere in the Midlands with a large ginger cat who resembles a Viking.