Spice groaned as Donovan’s tongue teased his neck, butterflies fluttering in his tummy. Tender kisses, sweet rocking under his lap, making him hard.
There were a lot of things going through his head. One: if they end up fucking each other in this house, they could get disqualified. Two: he is so good at kissing. god, what if he thinks I’m overreacting because he’s famous? Three: holy shit one of the biggest stars in the world right now is kissing me.
And rubbing his hands gently along his hot, soft skin. He was given a peck on the lips as Donovan pulled him closer.
Those beautiful red eyes met his gaze as they caught their breath. “I don’t wanna get disqualified,” he chuckled. A pleasant sigh left his lips as Spice kissed his cheek. Then he jumped when Spice kissed his ear, face redder than it eas before, a squeak of pleasure leaving his mouth.
“I guess if we want to stay in, we have to stop,” Spice said, noting his reaction for later. “And before I get addicted to your kisses. Do you want to rub one out first?” he tilted his leaves and pointed to the bathroom.
“I just wanna kiss you some more, to be honest. As long as you don’t grind on me or moan all cute, I won’t have to jerk off until a little later,”
“I can’t make any promises,” Spice admitted, fixing his shirt. You can’t tell a star they’re giving you butterflies. They hear it so much. In fact, he probably gets so much sex from fans you’re nothing on his radar. The feelings he was feeling was just star-struck, right? That someone like Donovan would like you on something other than a superficial level? He definitely wouldn’t like him on a romantic level.
Donovan squeezed his elbow, giving him a tender kiss on the cheek, noting how Spice’s mood changed pretty quickly.
“I have a lot on my mind.” he sighed. “And I need to practice my cake tiering if I want to win this stupid thing.”
“I have a lot of money, Spice,” Donovan reminded him. “I could donate first place’s amount ten times.”
“You don’t have to,” Spice shook his head. “I mean, if you *wanted* to, that would be amazing, but… I don’t know. The producer was really hesitant to allow that charity on the list, let alone have someone actually pick it.”
“Yeah? He can suck my ass,” Donovan muttered. “Pastrians need a lot of help here in America. Don’t fuckin’ get me started in other countries. You guys are strong, though.”
“Yeah,” Spice nodded. “But I need to show that to the world. That we’re more than sexpots. But… my modeling and videos don’t help that…”
“You can love sex all you want and still be more than that. I mean look at *you*. You’re already a role model,” Oh no, now Spice’s candy heart was racing. “You could have just given up after all that shit at the circus. You didn’t, and you got to live with Miss Marrubi. But ya didn’t just laze around after that. Ya started makin’ cookin’ videos for people. You started to model, you did porn, all of that led up to you havin’ enough to show the world you mean business. You didn’t have to go above and beyond, but you did. You got tons of subscribers who love you, so many of them look up to you–”
“But what if I never found Marrubi?” his shaky hand squeezed Donovan’s arm. “What if I was stuck at the circus still? And people think because of the porn that I’m some idiot who only thinks about dicks and eating, w-when it’s just something I do because I like it. I’m still pretty stupid because I wasn’t even homeschooled, and-and– I don’t wanna prove them right,” his whisper was full of tears, and he got off of Donovan’s lap, only to get pulled into a hug.
“Spice, you’re amazin’, ya know?” he said to the crying cake. “The second I saw you on YouTube, I knew I had to meet ya. I wasn’t thinkin’ about your education, I wasn’t thinkin’ about the fact you were a Pastrian– okay, I was, because of the fact you were bakin’ cake,” he chuckled. “And findin’ and gettin’ into your porn site was a pain in the ass. I watched a few, and it looked like, just with the baking, you were enjoying yourself. When I was on the jets, I would watch your vlogs and get lost in that fuckin’ smile,” he cleared his throat, lifting Spice’s chin, stroking his cheek. “Don’t focus on the past, and fuck the people who think you’re just some porn star, or some fucked up stereotype. You make a lot of people happy. You make a lot of people’s days. And if ya want… I could get you some education, but I heard you were doing tutoring.”
All Spice could do was let out a cry, and Donovan held him close, kissing his cheek.
“So, are you guys gonna actually practice, or hide out in your rooms?” droned Alyssa, a let’s player known for her savory game-related treats. Luckily the big cameras weren’t rolling. “Fucking your partner can end in disqualification, but I guess that’s expected when someone like you gets allowed on the show.”
Spice ignored her, going to the coffee machine and making a cup, noting the new creamer with interest.
“Well, did you hear me?” she asked.
“I did,” Donovan muttered, grabbing a paper cup. Alyssa covered her face, mortified. “You’re a fuckin’ worthless scumbag, is what I think,” he went to the espresso machine and pressed the mocha button. “Not sure if blatant racism gets a pass in this place or not.”
“Nah, come on, girly. Say somethin’ else. Can’t wait to see your face when we fuckin’ destroy you in the next round.”
Spice only felt a little Bad, gripping his coffee mug tight as he stirred in the creamer, holly leaves flat on the back of his head.
“I wonder what your partner, Via, would think of your fuckin’ stance on–”
“That’s enough, Donovan,” Spice said quietly, but firmly. “I don’t care what close-minded people like her think.” He took a few breakfast bars from the container and went to the other room.
Spice sipped his coffee, trying to quiet his mind for a moment, trying not to let himself cry. He was stronger than this, right? Donovan had his back, at least. Hopefully it wasn’t for brownie points, but Donovan had been donating to Pastrian shelters and charities for years. Even before they became the hot new thing to donate to.
Donovan sat next to him, but didn’t say anything, which Spice was thankful for. He rested his head on Donovan’s shoulder.
“In 50 years,” Spice said quietly. “I’m still gonna look like this. 5'5, maybe a little pudgier. I’m gonna look back on today, though, and laugh, I hope. I’ll look back on the 2000s, the 2010s, and say, wow, that went by fast. One twitch of the holly and you’ve already gotten to 50 years. Will it still be this way for Pastrians? Even in America? What about when I’m 100? Will I laugh about everything I’ve been through because of what I am? Or will I just let myself dry out, you think?” it was rhetorical, and Donovan but his hand on Spice’s and squeezed. “Hopefully… Hopefully things will get better for us. My defective brothers, sisters, and siblings don’t deserve to suffer because we can’t reproduce. We don’t deserve rudeness because we live in a sexual culture. We don’t always want sex.” he sipped his coffee, now holding Donovan’s hand tightly. Sighed.
“It can happen, sweet cheeks,” Donovan said earnestly. “Anything can change. Society won’t do it for a few years, but I got faith things will get easier for y'all.”
They were safe another week, but the producer pulled Donovan and Spice aside. This was frustrating because they were practicing with the piping.
“If it’s about the clogged toilet on floor 1, that ain’t me,” Donovan mumbled.
“It’s about you two,” he said, sounding annoyed. “I need you both to stop holdin’ hands, and I need the makeouts in the bedrooms to stop.”
“Why no hand holdin’?” Donovan asked, pissed. “I can get makin’ out, but holdin’ hands?”
“Because this kind of inter-species relationship isn’t good for ratings,” the producer said firmly. “Before you go on your crusade, Donovan, I don’t mind the relationship. In fact, huzzah, I’m happy for you two. But the people who watch this will think otherwise. They’ll stop watching. It’s amazing we could afford to get huge stars like you, Via, Rann, Helena– all of them. We might not get a next season if this continues.”
“Oh yeah, gotta fuckin’ watch out for hardcore handholding,” Donovan said bitterly.
“The show hasn’t even aired yet…” Spice said, rubbing his cheek. “How do you know it won’t be okay? We could be the first show in America to show an inter–”
Donovan folded his arms. “Bud, look… If me holdin’ hands with Spice is enough to get pulled back here, then maybe I shouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t make me stop holdin’ hands with James, or Anabelle. I know that for a fact.”
“Listen, we’re not ready. Do you understand?”
Spice bit his lip. “Y-you can’t just cut it out? It’s not like this show is focused on me and Donovan, there’s six other teams!”
“But every time we go to your footage, you’re holding hands or sitting closer than the othersz- not only will that be drama for you, Donovan, but it will cause a ruckus.”
“Then fuckin’ consider me off the show,” Donovan muttered. “I got my own fuckin’ money to donate.”
He unclipped his mic pack, fuming.
“Donovan, don’t, please,”
“If he’s not willing to fucking let us sit close to each other because of how it’s gonna be seen, then why the fuck would I stay here, huh? It’s this fuckin’ human/vampire bullshit all over again. The people to get it normalised got it to happen because they weren’t fuckin’ cowards,” he grabbed a formal application and a pen from the desk.
“But I want to stay in the competition,” Spice said, voice cracking. “I can’t stay in without a partner.”
Donovan bit his lip, squeezing the pen. Deep breath.
“I’m not happy about it,” Spice said firmly. “It’s stupid. But I want to win. Or get in the top three. It’s a personal goal, at least.”
Donovan now looked at the producer. “We need to compromise. My presence alone would draw in a big audience. Imagine what could go wrong if I left.”
“That… is a big factor,” the producer sighed. “Let’s talk.”
