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Gulf had been living a few really confusing months.
When he decided to audition for a role in a BL series he could have never guessed how challenging the fulfillment of that role would really be. Wearing Type’s shoes had seemed easy and seamless at the beginning, considering that the character had a few traits and interests in common with him, and the audition had went smoothly enough, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize that the rest of his journey wasn’t going to be as easy.
Starting the workshop with P’Mew had been a wake up call. His elder’s experience constantly challenged him to stay up par, and when he couldn’t reach into the depths of his character, P’Mew went the extra mile to help him walk in Type’s shoes and give a better acting performance than he thought he could give.
What he hadn’t expected was how hard it would actually be to take off those shoes and go back being… well, himself.
Out of all the challenges he had to face to do his job, that was, hands down, the one that drained him the most. Becoming Type was as easy as breathing after the time he had spent acting like him in the workshops and during shooting, the switch between Gulf and Type as fast a lightning strike. Contrary to his own, Type’s life was filled with drama. Some came to find him, but some he created himself because of his quick temper and difficult personality. Despite his flaws, Type was also a character who was constantly high on emotions, something that Gulf’s calmer self found fascinating and, honestly, quite addicting.
He partly blamed P’Mew for it.
Gulf had chosen him during auditions because in a sea of boring and average-skilled actors that couldn’t make him flinch while standing nose to nose, P’Mew had managed to make him blush and feel inadequate from afar. He had felt the chemistry crackling between them as much anyone else in the room, and whoever had come before or after him had been forgotten in the tickling feeling running down his spine when he thought about the few minutes spent with Mew.
It was that same chemistry that made Type strong and made it hard for Gulf to regain control of his own body.
So it didn’t come as a surprise to Gulf that he just couldn’t reach out for himself at the end of the last day of filming. He rationally knew that he was going to see P’Mew again in the near future, for promotional purposes, he knew they would keep n touch and meet again sooner rather than later, but no matter what he thought, he felt like P’Mew was breaking up with him.
It was disconcerting to say the least. The clash of his personality and Type’s, fighting to prevail in Mew’s embrace, was giving him nausea.
Mew seemed to sense his turmoil, because he tightened his arms around Gulf, and Gulf felt a surge of gratitude and warmth wash over him.
Physical comfort between them had come so early into the picture that the rest of the staff still loitering about around them didn’t even question their position. Gulf could barely hear them announcing a celebratory dinner in the mist of the background noise.
Hugging had come as the natural solution after acting the scene were Type tells Tharn about his past during the workshop had left him emotionally devastated. He had fell so deep into character that he just couldn’t stop crying. No matter who tried to comfort him or bring him back from his acting high, Type hadn’t wanted anyone but Tharn. So Gulf had clung… onto Mew. For longer than he cared to think about.
Eventually he had calmed down and reverted to himself, but the habit had stuck.
Today it was worse than that time. Everything felt wrong, unbalanced. He couldn’t tell his feelings and Type’s apart. He only knew that his heart was breaking and Mew’s embrace was never going to last as long as he needed.
Still, he had to take a step back.
Staff was calling, the camera was spying on his every move, and Gulf wasn’t so unaware of his position to not know that staying right then was a bad idea.
He’d just have to give himself time to snap out of it.
He didn’t need P’Mew to do it.
----
Unfortunately, even after an abnormal amount of food and beer, Gulf still felt off.
He swore he could hear Type nag at the back of his mind to get closer to Tharn, who was talking and laughing away among the staff and the other actors, completely oblivious to his situation. To get him alone, to go home together, to let Tharn cuddle him to sleep (or, better, fuck him to sleep), because he was tired and emotionally drained and couldn’t stand to see his partner so unaffected anymore.
It was maddening.
He tried to get over it by himself for a while longer, sipping quietly on his beer, but the longer he ignored the feeling, the more he felt like he was going to hyperventilate.
He took a last mouthful of his drink, for courage, and finally stood up.
Mew raised his head to look at him as soon as he moved from his seat and Gulf felt the back of his neck warm. His stomach gave a little flip at the look Mew was giving him, but he kept a stoic face and answered with his own stare. Then, slowly, he turned his back and headed for the toilet.
He checked all stalls as soon as he got in and fortunately found them all empty. It was already early morning and most patrons had already left, so he hoped that nobody would walk in on them.
So he waited, with his back pressed against one of the sinks.
It took only a couple of minutes, really – Mew followed right behind him as Gulf had expected him to, greeting him with a questioning expression.
“What’s wrong?” Mew asked, stopping in front of him.
Gulf tightened his hold around the edge of the sink. “I’m still in character,” he admitted, looking away. He felt shy all of a sudden. He hated to ask, but he really needed it. “Help me? Please. It’s worse than usual.”
Mew didn’t hesitate or question him. He only stepped closer with welcoming arms.
So Gulf went, burring deep into his embrace. He hid his face in Mew’s neck, inhaling his scent, while he tried to calm his erratic heart, clutching his Phi’s shirt as tight as he could.
Mew’s hand caressed his hair gently. “Hey, calm down, you’re going to hyperventilate. Breathe slowly… right, just like that… shh, it’s okay, it’s okay…”
The words escaped his lips before he could swallow them, erupting from his mouth like lava from a volcano. “Don’t leave me.” The crack in his voice was the only thing betraying that he was crying.
What the fuck was wrong with him? He was supposed to leave his character behind, not get deeper into it.
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, I’m all over the place…” he tried to say, but he was hiccupping now.
Mew tightened his hold around him and rested his chin on his head. “It’s okay, I understand. I thought you may need more time before. You still looked really shaken when we left the set,” he murmured, but somehow that made Gulf feel even worse.
He wasn’t shaken, he was heartbroken. Terrified. He was… was… he felt like his boyfriend was dying right into his arms, slipping away from his grip like water through his fingers, like everything was breaking apart and he was going to be left alone forever…
“Oh, baby, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere. Do you hear me? I’m never leaving you.”
That one “baby” was permission enough.
In a second, Gulf was gone. In his place there was Type, with his burning needs and thundering emotions and nothing else.
Before he knew it, his lips had parted and attached themselves to Tharn’s neck, suckling on the salty skin in his mouth with abandon. Marking it, to leave his sign forever, while his tears dripped from the tip of his nose and disappeared under Tharn’s collar.
“Good boy… you’re such a good boy…” Tharn whispered in his ear, and Type just couldn’t do it anymore.
He climbed his boyfriend’s neck with his mouth and finally met Tharn’s lips in a searing kiss, biting them and sucking his tongue as if they were his only source of oxygen, murmuring “mine” against his mouth so he would never forget.
Gulf couldn’t say how much time had passed when he finally came back to himself, but when he finally managed to take a step back and pant, he saw that Mew’s lips were swollen, his eyes watery, and his neck covered in love marks.
Somehow their hands had ended up under each other’s clothes and were gripping onto each other’s waist so hard that they would probably leave hand prints.
Gulf had trouble breathing for a completely different reason now, and he was afraid to look down and find that there was a tent in his pants.
There was no need to see it.
He felt it.
The hunger.
It was a burning, all-consuming feeling in the pit of his stomach. He would lie if he said that that was his first time feeling it, but he had always managed to flee from it when the director called the cut, or at least hang onto it just a second too long. But now…
He wanted… just for a while longer…
They were already eating each other’s faces anyway, just a moment longer wouldn’t hurt.
Even if he wasn’t Type anymore.
Because it was the last time.
The last time tasting those lips, licking into that mouth, sharing fire and breath together. The last time feeling the wide expanse of Mew’s back under his fingertips, the coarse texture of the hair at his nape, the solid plane of his chest against his body…
Mew rolled his tongue in that special way that made his toes curl, and Gulf moaned, his whole body shuddering in pleasure.
More.
More.
He needed more.
Just for a little while longer…
Just this time.