Stage Fright by Pender Mackie

grimaced as their bellies slid wetly. “I guess we should clean up.”
     
Val flexed his fingers, reluctant to release his grip. “There’s no hurry.”
    Jesse nuzzled closer. “Yeah? You sure?” Val lay quietly as his cock softened inside Jesse’s body. Jesse’s heartbeat thudded rhythmically in time with Val’s, as if their hearts were aware of each other and trying to synchronize. He breathed in the clean smell of Jesse’s sweat and the sharp scent of their lovemaking. The weight of his feelings for Jesse settled into his tissue and bones, into his cells. Val held him firmly. “I’m sure.”
* * * *
    They saw each other as often as they could. Sometimes they met up a few hours before rehearsal, wandering the strip and checking out the tourist attractions like the M&M store or the car collection at the Imperial Palace. They were both baffled by the M&M store. Why would anyone want an M&M brand spatula? Only Jesse was bored by the dusty antique car collection. Val was too absorbed to notice, thank God.
    Other days they didn’t have time for more than a hurried dinner squeezed in after Jesse’s rehearsal and before the theater’s bar opened. Those were the times Jesse was tempted to suggest a visit to the storeroom, but Chaz was still keeping an eye on him, and he didn’t want to risk their jobs. They’d gotten each other off in Val’s car a couple of times before going in to work, but the Subaru was too public for Jesse’s comfort. He worried someone from the theater would see them.
Mondays they spent the entire day together, and if Val could get the night off from his second job, Jesse stayed over. Monday was now Jesse’s favorite day of the week.
    “Why not New York?” Val asked.
“Sorry?”
They were lying in Val’s bed. Val smoothed a hand down Jesse’s side. “You’re a
    dancer. Why didn’t you move to New York?”
“Too far away.” And he wasn’t a dancer, not really. Sure, the idea of living in a big city like New York with its gay neighborhoods and businesses was exciting, but he didn’t want to live all alone on the other side of the country.
“If you want to be a real dancer, you need to get out of Vegas.”
    Jesse changed the subject. “What about you? What do you want to do?” “I’m living the dream,” Val deadpanned.
Jesse snorted. “Seriously.”
Val searched his face. “I’m trying to write a book.”
    “Yeah? That’s cool. How far have you got?” Jesse kept his tone casual, and Val visibly relaxed.
“I’ve written eight chapters. Well, I’ve written chapter one eight times.” Val sighed. “I can’t come up with a decent story. I’ve got writer’s block.”
    Jesse stroked his cheek. “I’ve always wanted to know a writer.”
Val smiled. “Well, now you do.” He spoke slowly as if thinking aloud. “I thought moving to Vegas might give me ideas for my book. There’s so much to draw from: mobsters, reclusive millionaires, gold-digging showgirls…”
“Power, money, and sex. Sounds like the formula for a good novel.”
    “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Val grumbled.
“So is living here helping with your writing?” Jesse asked.
“Not so far. Maybe it’s too artificial. Sometimes living in Vegas feels like I’m on a
    crazy movie set.” Val sat up, the sheet puddling in his lap. “They just keep building giant hotels without any consideration for the natural environment or the resources required to sustain all this fakery. It’s the epitome of excess.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. I’ll climb down off my soapbox.”
Jesse wrapped an arm around Val and tugged him back down. “You don’t like it here?”
     
Val gave him a lopsided grin. “I like that you’re here.”
* * * *
Jesse stood at his locker, surrounded by other dancers in various stages of dress.
     
“Hey, Jesse,” Chaz called from across the room.
    Jesse glanced up to see Chaz approaching, and his stomach clenched. He wasn’t fooled by the casual tone. The dance