Chapter Text
The water in the cast-iron bathtub had gone from scalding to lukewarm, but Gawin couldn't bring himself to give a shit. His skin was already flushed pink, less from the temperature and more from the sheer, suffocating proximity of the massive man sitting right behind him.
In the script for My Golden Blood, this was supposed to be a high-stakes, intensely intimate NC scene—a moment where their characters, Tong and Mark, finally let the unspoken sexual tension between them boil over. But as the director called for a brief pause to adjust the lighting overhead, Gawin found himself trapped in a dangerous, agonizing limbo between acting and reality.
Joss’s broad, bare chest was pressed flat against Gawin’s back. Every time Joss took a heavy breath, Gawin felt the thick expansion of his ribs. Joss’s long legs were framed completely around his own, anchoring him tightly in place.
It’s just work, Gawin reminded himself, staring fixedly at the camera crew shuffling just beyond the rim of the tub to keep from losing his mind. You’ve done intimacy scenes before. Joss is a professional. You are a fucking professional.
Then, Joss leaned forward, resting his chin lightly on Gawin’s shoulder to maintain his positioning for the next shot. His breath fanned hot against Gawin’s wet neck, sending a sharp, electric shiver straight down Gawin’s spine that pooled heavily in his groin.
"You okay?" Joss’s voice was a low, rumbling vibration that Gawin felt more than heard. "You're tense. Am I holding you too tight?"
"No," Gawin murmured, trying to keep his voice level, though his heart was hammering a frantic, pathetic rhythm against his ribs. "No, you're fine. Just... trying to stay in character."
That was a total fucking lie. If he were in character, he’d be leaning backward into the touch. Right now, Gawin was terrified that if he relaxed even a fraction, he’d melt against Joss for a completely different reason. Over the months of filming, the lines had started to blur into a messy haze. The lingering glances, the casual, dirty touches off-camera—Gawin was completely losing his grip on where Tong ended and Gawin began. And worst of all, he was terrified Joss would notice the desperate ache building inside him.
Across the space of a few inches, Joss was fighting a completely different, filthy battle.
Hearing Gawin’s quiet reassurance did absolutely nothing to calm the storm in Joss's chest. He tightened his grip on Gawin’s waist just a fraction under the water, ostensibly for the scene, but secretly because he was losing his goddamn mind.
Joss knew his own reputation. He was used to the heavy, physical roles, the intense eye contact, the fan service. He knew how to play the part. But wrapping his arms around Gawin in this cramped, water-filled tub felt entirely too real. Gawin was usually so grounded, so quietly self-contained, but right now, Joss could feel the slight, needy tremor in the smaller man's frame.
Is he uncomfortable? Joss worried, a sudden pang of guilt striking him. Or is he feeling even half of the desperate, filthy shit I’m feeling right now?
When the director had called for the bathtub scene, Joss thought he was prepared. But feeling Gawin’s wet skin sliding against his, the water slicking their naked torsos together, had completely shattered his composure. Every primal instinct in Joss was screaming at him to pull Gawin closer, to bury his face in the crook of Gawin's neck, and drag him under until they were both breathless. He didn't care about the thirty crew members watching them under glaring studio lights anymore.
He was falling for his co-star, hard and fast, and this NC scene was turning into a beautiful, torturous mindfuck.
"And... we're back in! Rolling, and... action!" the director's voice boomed.
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Joss’s hands moved with practiced, heavy urgency, turning Gawin around in the tub to face him. The water splashed softly against the porcelain.
Gawin looked up, his wet hair clinging to his forehead. In the script, Tong was supposed to look vulnerable, yielding. But as Gawin met Joss’s dark, intense gaze, the raw vulnerability in his eyes wasn't acting at all. It was a silent, desperate plea. Please don't let me be the only one drowning in this.
Joss’s breath hitched. The script called for him to cup Gawin’s jaw and deliver a line about protection, but the sheer hunger in Gawin's eyes made him forget the words entirely. Instead, acting on pure, unscripted instinct, Joss leaned in, his thumb heavy and deliberate as it brushed over Gawin’s wet lower lip, parting it.
Gawin’s eyes fluttered, a soft, broken gasp escaping him. He didn't pull away. Instead, his hands came up under the water, his fingers wrapping around Joss’s thick forearms with a sudden, desperate strength.
For a few breathless seconds, the set completely faded away. There was no My Golden Blood. There was only the heat of the water, the heavy thrum of their hearts, and the terrifyingly mutual realization hanging in the air between them. They were both hard, both completely undone, and neither wanted to be saved.