Camera Doesn't Lie. (boyxboy)

Chapter XII.

In the car, Nathan had thought that they would go into a public theater, but instead he found himself recognizing some of the landscape.

"We're going to your mansion?" he asked, turning to Zane.

"Yup," Zane replied, "it's too risky for us to go to a proper theatre unless we disguise ourselves. But I didn't feel like putting that much effort into our first date."

He happily looked at Nathan's attire. The photographer made him wear a tight black T-shirt underneath a short-sleeved, white jacket with black and red skulls printed on it. Nathan also wore dark gray pants with two cargo pockets near his calves. The only thing that the photographer neglected to bring was proper shoes, so Nathan was stuck with his rainbow, tye-dyed flip-flops. Zane laughed when he noticed them. Nathan, in his defense, explained that Nick had bought them.

"Zane!" Nathan called.

"Hm?" Zane looked to the blonde model. "Did you say something, Nathan?"

Nathan crossed his arms. "I was asking you how you got a hold of the movie. It barely got out in theaters."

"Silly Nathan, I have my ways," the photographer said with a disturbingly pOnyxsant smile.

They reached Zane's mansion within two hours. The photographer led him through his mansion and to his theater.

"Here we go, Nathan!" Zane said, opening the doors for him.

It looked exactly like a public movie theatre, except much cOnyxner. There was probably even the same number of seats as there was in the regular theater.

"Why did you put so many seats?" Nathan asked.

"So that way I can really feel that I have a theater to myself!" Zane announced proudly.

There was even a popcorn machine with popcorn already made. Nathan heard it hum faintly as it continued to heat up the popcorn instead it.

Zane filled a large bucket to the brim with popcorn and squirted an insane amount of butter over it. Then he looked up to the projection window and gave a signal with his hand.

Immediately the movie began to start.

"Come on, Nathan," Zane said, gently taking the model's hand. The photographer guided him to the center seats of the movie theater.

◄ ░ ♂ ∞ ♂ ░ ►

Ryan walked down the street with a bottle of Vodka whose a name he didn't bother to remember in his hand. It was a habit of his to drink hard alcoholic beverages when he was pissed off. He took a rather large swig from the bottle and walked on. Ryan winced a little as the alcohol burned his throat. The model was making his way back to his and Boomer's hotel room. Though his manager had been out of the hotel much more than usual, Ryan wasn't worried. He had no doubt where Boomer was.

'He's banging his Trentybear,' Ryan thought. 'Absolutely. That Trent Crescent is the only person Boomer ever gave a full greeting to.'

He'd had, for lack of a more fitting word, a shitty week. Ryan had been in and out of bars in an attempt to find a successful sex partner and had yet to even have a half-erection which, of course, was a complete mood killer and thus equaled no sex. And try as the model might—whether it was suggestion of erotic, novel sexual positions, drugs or searching high and low for an ideal, drop-dead sexy partner—he failed to have a hard-on.

'Why!?' Ryan thought, sipping his bottle of self-medication. 'I haven't felt anything all week! Not even a twinge!'

Ryan let the automatic doors of the hotel open before stepping through them. He walked in, his eyes forward as he made his way to the elevator.