The walked for a couple of minutes, getting deeper into the property than Jameson had gone in years, until they finally reached the corner where the fence turned. To one side, the hill peeked upward, and to the other, the road curved around a bend. Gray glanced around at the ground for a minute, then found a backpack, sprawled by the bushes.
He swooped it up. “Bingo.”
“Did you put that out earlier?” Jameson asked, confused.
Gray cocked an eyebrow. “Why are you asking about the backpack?” he asked, then unzipped it. “Didn’t you notice the pink motorcycle?”
Jameson refocused his eyes, and sure enough, there was a flashy pink motorcycle, parked off the road and behind a few large trees. “Oh my god!” Jameson said, blinking at it in the gray light, then giggled. “It’s cute.”
“I thought you’d like it. And it’s been cleaned up with some new license plates and a proper registration.”
“What’s that mean?” Jameson asked.
Gray fumbled in the backpack. “Just that the papers are all in order,” he said, then pulled out a pink helmet with a big pink faceguard, which he tossed to Jameson. Jameson held it in his hands, feeling the hard curves. He was dying for the thrill that was about to come, the excitement so loud whatever anxiety he felt was swept up in it.
“Your new disguise,” Gray said. “The helmet makes you faceless, and I figured no one would suspect that the action star Justin Sweet would be on a pink motorcycle, let alone as the passenger. Plus, there’s a chinstrap, so this one won’t fall off.” He rummaged around in the backpack a little more, then pulled out a key. “Now let’s go. The interview is on live, so everyone at the gate is distracted.”
Jameson gripped the helmet. It was a totally wild idea, but he was realizing that was how Gray operated. And anyway, maybe totally wild ideas were the kind of ideas he needed. “Okay,” he said. “I’m in. Over the fence?”
Gray hopped up, hooking his arm and a leg around the bars of the fence, then extended his hand down to Jameson. “Just take it easy,” he said. “I’ll hold you steady on this side, and once you get over, I’ll stick my arm through the fence so you can use it for support.”
Jameson stared up at Gray, then laughed. “It’s nice that you forget,” he said with a wink, then leapt straight up, grabbing the fence, crawling up the bars, and tossing himself over. “But I do my own stunts, thank you very much.”
Gray laughed, now on the opposite side of the fence from Jameson. “Of course you do.” He hitched his backpack over his shoulder, then jumped it himself, hopping down to the ground with a thud a minute later.
Soon enough, they were on the road, the engine humming as they cruised down the quiet streets, passing expensive estates and rolling hills. Jameson’s heart pounded. He held Gray tight from behind and felt the cool air whooshing by, and when they took the curves, he squeezed even tighter. His back kept tingling, like the reporters might be following, and whenever a car passed in the opposite direction, a little jolt of panic shot up his spine.
Being caught with Gray would be a big enough story. Give the tabloids a pink motorcycle to work with, too, and he’d be toast.
But as the minutes stretched and as they put more miles between them and the mansion, Jameson realized that the plan really was going to work. Beneath their helmets, they could be anyone, cruising west and into New York state.
Like two lovers, Jameson realized. He tightened his arms around Gray again, and for the first time in years, Jameson felt free. With Gray there, urging him on and grinning like the devil, anything could be possible.
They must have made it fifty miles by the time Gray headed down a backroad, arriving to a quiet motel behind a gas station, there to serve the passing interstate. He pulled the motorcycle straight to the back of the lot, then hopped off. Lifting his helmet, he turned to Jameson.
“Stay here, keep your visor down to be safe. I’ll check us in.”
Jameson’s body felt wobbly and weird from the ride, and he swung his legs to the side, eager to stand on solid ground. He’d driven a few motorcycles on set for the action movies and gotten a decent bit of training, but it had been years. “Got it. Let me give you money for the room.”
Gray shook his head quickly. “They’ll want a card, and we need to keep your name out of things.” He winked at Jameson, then squeezed his elbow. “Let a guy treat you, huh? It might not be the Ritz or whatever you’re used to, but we can make it work.”
Jameson laughed, then tapped his helmet. “Hurry, then. I’m dying for a fresh breath of air.”
He sat there, the one bright light at the other end of the parking lot casting long shadows over him and the helmet squarely on his shoulders. His breath was foggy and warm against the visor, and his limbs felt like pudding. With everything going on, still, he could only think about Gray and how urgently he needed to feel what he had denied himself for so long.
Gray stepped out of the office and strolled back across the walk, looking casual as ever. When he held up the room key and waved it, Jameson grabbed his backpack and followed.
Inside, the motel room was like any other. There was an ugly painting of the hillside on the wall, one big bed with a hideous floral blanket, and an overhead light that immediately started flickering.
Gray tossed his bag to the only chair. “I thought anywhere nicer might be suspicious,” he explained.
Jameson pulled his helmet off, then threw it to the ground. His cock was already stiff, and sweat dotted his forehead from the ride. Gray looked startled as he stumbled forward, then pulled them both to the bed.
“It’s perfect,” Jameson said. He was surprised by the relief he felt, getting distance between the media mob and himself, but now that he had it, it was like he could breathe again.
Gray laughed. “Perfect? I don’t know about that.”
Jameson felt delirious, he wanted Gray that badly. He crawled up on top of him, tangled Gray’s shirt in his hand, and welcomed him to the room with a deep, long kiss.
