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“Fuck you.”
“As if you ever would.”
Mads latched onto the young man’s eyes, not liking the challenge in those words. He had no idea where this mutual animosity came from but neither he nor Dancy – never Hugh – had been able to stand more than a moment in each other’s company since starting this damn film. They couldn’t even exchange good mornings without sniping, Dancy about Mads’ cigarette breath, or Mads about Dancy’s fussiness. Which, given that they shared most scenes – and, on one awkward and never-to-be-spoken-of-again day, a horse – was making the Dane’s first experience of Hollywood something of a miserable one.
Normally, Mads would have relished so much time spent with one so beautiful, but Dancy seemed set on driving him crazy in much less pleasurable ways. It was getting so Mads could think of little else.
“Too bad for you. I’ll be the best fuck you never had.”
Dancy sneered, his pretty eyes narrowing. “Oh yeah? You think so?”
And then Dancy was crushing himself against Mads, pressing their mouths together and licking his way inside. When Mads gained back enough brain power to stop what was happening, he realised he really didn’t want to. So much so that he couldn’t help a little whine when Dancy pulled back again, grinning.
“Fuck,” he said, the curse sounding impossibly sexy in his posh accent, “been wanting to do that for weeks.”
“But,” Mads said, floundering, “you can’t stand me. We can’t stand each other.”
Dancy shrugged and, smirking, leaned in until their lips almost touched. “I’m willing to work on that, for the sake of the film, of course. If you are.”
Mads thought for a moment, then shrugged in return and decided he could probably do that. Starting by kissing the smirk off the insufferable kid’s face.