"Eomer, again," Lawrence laughed. A group of weary men, all of us still in costumes of elves and men of Middle Earth, glanced over at the stand of trees just south of the food hall. "He's taking up with Treebeard!"
"I hope he's humping an ent," snorted Jay. "No one else would hold up under that pounding."
"A Uruk-hai might like it!" Lawrence pretended he was heading back to the trees. "Urban has always had too much energy. By the end of the day, he's crazy. He was like that on Harry's set, too," he went on. "Someone always had to pay for it. We called it The Price of Karl. But Harry could handle him. Bigger, stronger and just plain outlasted him, I think. Karl met his match then."
Despite my weariness, I felt a thunderbolt of desire, a flush of heat and my cock twitched. I had been on the receiving end of Karl's excess energy and loved it. Karl was intense, bold, experienced and very vocal. Someone gave a short bark of laughter as the victory cry of Rohan rang out.
Too tired to wait for Karl to catch up to us, we agreed to meet up in an hour for the evening meal, which would not be consumed until nearly midnight because of the night scenes at Helm's Deep.
***
Refreshed, our mood lightened once freed of costumes and make-up, the X-Men, as we called ourselves, regaled the others at the table with story after story from the Xena days, most told to show one another in the worst possible light. John and Bernard, veterans of the legitimate stage, rolled their eyes at the depths to which the conversation had sunk.
"Ah," I interrupted, "Here comes Cupid now." Hoots of derision followed, as minds raced to come up with sly jokes about Cupid and a tree.
Heads turned as David Wenham stumbled through the door of the food hall, followed closely by Karl. I waved them over. Karl was a good friend from way back, but Dave was a newer acquaintance. You never saw Dave without Karl, although, I thought, you often saw Karl without Dave. I liked Dave, wished I knew him better, but he was a quiet, private man. We had chatted at a few gatherings and I was struck by how little he and Karl seemed to have in common. No matter, they were here now and the ale was flowing, the food was good and the camaraderie of the cast, many at the table had worked together before, was infectious.
Two chairs were pulled round and Karl pushed Dave down into one and quickly sat in the other, his hand never leaving the back of Dave's neck. A quick wince flashed across Dave's face and his eyes closed, but he said nothing and did not move away from Karl. Although there were several of us right here at the table, not every gay man was comfortable in public. Or maybe it was just a tough day on the set. I sympathized with either scenario and went to fetch drinks from the bar for the two new arrivals.
The conversation quickly returned to X-Men stories, with Karl contributing more than his share. He moved onto Shortland Street stories, utterly embarrassing Marton with his impersonations and reducing us to tears, choking on our ale.
Lawrence was right, Karl did have excess energy, but the good kind, I thought to myself, and time spent in Karl's company was enjoyable time indeed. When Karl was on, he was irresistible. I should know -- Karl and I were together for a couple of very wild years when we were younger. Boundless enthusiasm, insatiable, inventive, aggressive, gave as good as he took in bed and out. He wore me out; Harry was definitely a better match for Karl and I think they both knew it.
The night wore on, and secure in the knowledge of rare day off tomorrow, we stayed for one last round, then headed for our cabins. Karl hadn't relinquished his hold on Dave all evening. I remember that feeling of holding someone close and looking forward to going home at the end of the night. Dave's a lucky man. So is Karl, I thought, with a touch of envy. Wild and energetic was great, but quiet and reserved, almost shy, Dave looked very, very good to me tonight.
***
Marton, Jay and I bounded up on Karl's porch the next afternoon and pounded on the door. "C'mon, Urban, you're making us late, the waves won't wait," yelled Marton, eager to hit the beach on one of the most perfect afternoons so far this year. He smirked at me, anticipating insults to my surfing abilities, but I recognized that smirk and just shook my head, confident in my ability to reduce Csokas to a blubbering mermaid. Marton was just too easy to figure out and thwart. After more frantic pounding on the door, Karl finally emerged, holding his gear.
"Where's Dave?" Jay asked. "Doesn't he want to come, too?"
"No," replied Karl, tersely, "He's staying in today."
Jay and Marton looked at each other and glanced at me. I shrugged, disappointed. Too bad, it would have been a good chance to get to know him better. The four of us headed towards Marton's car and our perfect day at the beach.
That perfect day had to sustain us through the next several days and nights of rough filming. The crew and cast were pushed to their limits, tempers frayed and snapped, and the our former sense of camaraderie quavered. Our nights in the pub were necessary, not just social.
***
I joined the line of countless elves who stood with their bows stretched taut in the dark and the rain, take after take. Then I stood around in full costume and waited. And waited and waited.
Interesting to observe the others, though. Eomer stayed in character, wild and bloodthirsty, scary in his intensity, circling the perimeters as though looking for more victims. Legolas was smoking hot in that leather get-up and, ever appreciative of a good-looking face, I angled for a better view; I had dirty elvish plans for that boy. The future King was noble and brave, the men of Rohan strong and true, the orcs and Uruk-hai terrifyingly evil. If you could look past the sight of them standing around, smoking cigarettes, some with headphones blasting music straight to their brains, that is. No magic left to the movies now, I laughed to myself. Except for Faramir, who stood apart from the others as though gathering his power. Dave's face was angelic in the weird light of the Helm's Deep set, like a renaissance warrior, radiating purity and ferocity in the same breath. Interesting man. Very interesting.
Later in the make-up tent, fortune smiled on me as I dropped into a chair next to the Man of Gondor, still in full costume. "Long day," I sighed.
"Longer night," Dave smiled. "Thought it would never stop raining."
"Yeah, aren't you glad to be going home?" So happy to have Dave all to myself for a change, but there was no reply. His eyes were closed. I glanced over to say more, then stopped as the technicians began their magic of revealing mere mortal men under layers of tunics and leather and make-up.
"You have to be more careful on the set, David," one of the make-up women, Grace, spoke up as she wiped cold cream across Dave's jaw. "That bruise is hard to hide and will be a beautiful shade by tomorrow. Worse than the one from crashing into that castle wall. No more scrapes or bruises now, or we'll have PJ wrap you in cotton between takes."
"Dave?" I didn't remember any on-set injuries serious enough to cause bruising. Peter was very careful with his stars. Dave's eyes were still closed and he made no reply. I reached over to touch his shoulder. Dave flinched, startled at my proximity, I guess, and pulled away, eyes wide.
Everyone froze for a brief moment, holding their breath. I forced a chuckle to disguise the awkward moment. "Sorry there, Dave, didn't mean to wake you." The costumers looked at each other, then away. Grace, still just inches away from Dave's face, tissue at the ready, waited. As though we were waiting to hear "Action!" I thought.
Karl directed the next moment, bursting into the make-up trailer, out of costume but still looking fierce as ever. "C'mon, David. Let's go. Right now." Turning then to me, he said, "Drink later," more command than question, and left, not waiting for an answer from either of us. Dave by then had pulled an old sweater over his t-shirt and, after a glance at Karl's back, walked out into the night, head down.
>>> * <<<
"Oi, what's the matter with him tonight?" Grace said in the ensuing silence. "I mean, I think the world of Karl but snapping his fingers and expecting Dave to jump. That's no way to treat him. He can't keep doing what he's doing...". Her voice trailed off, as though she had re-considered the rest of her sentence.
"What?" I turned to her. "What do you mean - what he's doing?"
"Well," Grace paused, "you know. Karl's forceful and brash, that's why we love him, but he needs to be more careful with Dave. Dave's not the same kind of guy Karl's used to, and I'm not sure about those bruises, but what can you do when it's between consenting adults. Maybe that's Dave's thing. Maybe it's Karl's. Maybe it's an accident. Who's to know?"
"And he never takes off his shirt," added a costumer. "Not like the rest of you guys who get off on walking around naked." Suppressed laughter. "Maybe Dave's just modest, but I don't know, maybe he's hiding something."
"That's how rumors begin. You don't know what's going on, and anyway, I don't believe it," I said, a little angry. "Karl's... energetic, maybe, but not mean. He wouldn't. That's not the way he is."
But I wasn't as sure as I sounded. Flashes of memories were weaving together to begin an ugly tapestry. Karl at the tree, taking someone hard; Dave flinching; Karl's possessiveness; Dave's unexplained absences; those bruises, that wariness. No, that didn't necessarily add up to anything; I banished those thoughts. What about the good things Karl had done: he had taken Dave in after Dave's ugly, public divorce, gave him a place to stay, introduced Dave to the others and included him in our social circle, holding on to him the other night at the pub - those weren't signs of an abuser. Karl wasn't that kind of guy. There was some other explanation.
***
That night at the pub, I pondered it again. Lawrence and Marton and Jay, we've all known Karl a long time. If something was going on, wouldn't we notice? Maybe it was all nothing. Dave was a big boy. If he didn't like something, he was free to leave. Maybe I, remembering Karl's passion and without a relationship of my own at the moment, was reading too much into it. Maybe I was even a little jealous.
And just because Karl and Dave hadn't joined us yet tonight was no reason to worry. If they didn't show up before we left, I would stop by on my way home, I decided. After all, Karl did issue an invitation, such as it was.
That thought alone kept me from imbibing too much. As I walked home in the warm dark that was the New Zealand night, I could see lights on at Karl's. Relief. I was just about to knock when I heard Karl's voice. Raised, a little angry maybe or it could be passion, but nothing of concern. Dave's softer voice, nearly inaudible. Could just be late night talk between lovers. I smiled. I had been far too suspicious.
I knocked and the voices stopped. Karl wrenched the door open. "What? Oh. What are you doing here?"
"Aren't you going to invite me in, Karl? I could use a drink to get me home," I opted to keep it light.
"Yeah, sure," Karl mumbled and turned away. I stepped in and quickly surveyed the situation. They were done eating; dishes and wine glasses were piled up at the end of the table, chairs pushed out of the way. Dave was pulling on his sweater and smiled hello before moving towards the kitchen. Maybe I had interrupted a little post-priandal loving.
Karl poured glasses of cognac, our favorite drink from way back, and we sat in the open living room, he on the couch and me in the most comfortable leather chair ever, facing him. He looked pensive and rather sad, I thought, no trace of Eomer right now.
"Remember when Harry and I were together?" he asked at last, breaking the silence. "What a wild time."
"Yeah," I laughed, "You two were either fighting or fucking. Sometimes both at the same time. Pretty intense."
"It was," Karl admitted. "I miss him. He was so good for me, never gave in on anything, always pushed me to my limits, made me work for anything I wanted from him. Been thinking about calling him."
Karl was silent again, lost in thought. Movement caught my eye and I realized Dave was near, bottle and his own glass of cognac in hand. What had he overheard? His face revealed nothing, but I winced at the thought of causing that man any added pain.
"More?" he asked, joining Karl on the sofa. Not sitting next to him, I noted. Maybe I had interrupted a fight after all, not a little after-dinner sex.
"Yeah, Dave, I want more," Karl sneered. "What've you got?"
I flinched at the ugly tone of Karl's voice.
"Please, Karl," Dave said softly. "Don't."
Karl got that Eomer look, the one that made sane people run. "That's all I ever get from you. 'Karl, don't. Karl, stop. No, I don't want to. It hurts.' Every fucking time."
Dave ducked his head when Karl got up to pace back and forth, sloshing the cognac in his glass. He swallowed it down and grabbed the bottle from Dave's hand, poured me more and filled his glass.
"Tell me, is this fair?" Karl's voice was raised, his face flushed. "Dave's wife gives him the boot because she claims he's gay. I find him in a bar, drunk and mumbling that he thinks he is, too. I bring him home, sober him up, let him stay here with me. I like him, I'm not seeing anyone else, it feels good. I satisfy his curiosity."
Dave stood up, swaying slightly from emotion, not drink, I thought. His eyes never left Karl, his lips moved but no words sounded.
Karl turned to glare at him. "You wanted to know for sure. I helped you out with that, didn't I? I'm good, goddammit, I know I am. You wanted to know? You found out from one of the best. And still you're not happy. It's like sleeping with a ghost - no passion, no desire, no enthusiasm, just 'please, Karl, no' night after night. 'It's too much, Karl, I'm not really ready, Karl. I don't think I can't do that, Karl.' You make me so angry and then you wonder why I do what I do."
I stood, in shock at what I was hearing. Karl was gone, Eomer stood there, breathing hard, staring at Dave, and I was actually a little afraid of him. I tore my gaze from him and looked at Dave. His eyes were downcast as he struggled for control. Deathly silent, he put down his glass and left the room, never looking at either Karl or me.
"Don't you fucking walk out on me," Karl threatened. "Don't do it." He started after Dave.
"Karl," I said, grabbing his arm, waiting as his fists clenched, then relaxed.
Eomer vanished as Karl turned back to me. He just looked tired and sad. "I'm not going to do anything to him. I'm not. I never have. I'm just going to sleep. Let yourself out. Sorry you saw this."
I waited on the porch for a few minutes, just in case, I suppose, I heard shouts or thuds or gunshots. Nothing. Lights flicked off and all was quiet. I felt reassured. Karl was the Karl I knew, not the crazy Eomer. Nothing would happen, Karl was not that way. But Dave haunted me; what was his story? I walked home under the stars. It was several days before I saw either of them again.
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