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Dean Martin was nursing a drink, looking out over the Las Vegas strip from the window of Jerry Lewis’ hotel room at the Sahara. His own room was several floors below and it was getting late, but he knew if he hadn’t accepted Jerry’s offer, he might never get this opportunity again.

Earlier in the evening, he had been relieved and delighted that Jerry had received him so well. Being on stage with him again felt like the most natural thing in the world. The only thing of which neither of them seemed in control was their tear ducts. Still, it had bumped up the donation rate significantly, and if nothing else, he was sure he’d soon be receiving a nice bottle of whisky from Frank.

The chattering of the ice in the glass Dean raised to his lips betrayed the nerves he was feeling in anticipation of seeing Jerry alone again. Their last meeting hadn’t ended on the best of terms and afterwards, he’d spoken a few ill-advised words to the press. The next day several column inches in the Los Angeles Times had been filled with paraphrased comments, poorly edited and taken out of context. To say this had done little to mend their relationship was putting it mildly.

His hands shook as he took a sip of the whisky in an attempt to calm himself. He needed a cigarette. Something to do with his hands. He never had control over what his hands were doing where Jerry was concerned, and the thought of what he might do if one of them was not occupied with a cigarette terrified him.

He patted down his breast pocket and cursed. Of course his tailor had not seen fit to furnish his new jacket with a fresh pack of Kents. It would have affected the lining, and he hadn’t had a chance to stock up on them himself. That was the price you paid for fashion.

He heard the door open and a quiet click of the latch as it closed. Dean took a deep breath and raised his glass to his lips for one last dash of liquid courage. Placing the crystal tumbler carefully on the windowsill, he prepared to turn around.

Before he could begin to turn, he felt a presence at his back and two arms wrap around his waist from behind.

There it was. Jerry’s scent assaulted his nostrils with familiarity. It was like being hit by a train. He felt Jerry’s chin rest upon his left shoulder, and leaned his own head back against Jerry.

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he clenched it against the impulse to speak. He simply didn’t trust the words that might come out of his mouth.

Jerry was nuzzling into his shoulder. Dean tilted his head slightly and suddenly felt Jerry’s lips graze softly against his neck. Jerry’s mouth was so close to his ear that he could hear the soft, unconscious sounds of contentment he was making.

They stood like that for several minutes. With every passing second, Dean relaxed more. Jer was here. Jer was standing right behind him. Jer’s embrace was solid, and his body firm. Dean was finally back in his arms.

Dean placed his hands over the top of Jerry’s, clasped around his front. He felt Jerry’s fingers twitch underneath his palms.

He could feel the rise and fall of Jerry’s chest against his back. He could feel the gentle gusts of air as Jerry breathed against his neck. It felt nice. More than nice, it felt right. Dean felt right in a way he hadn’t felt in twenty years.

All of a sudden, he needed to see Jerry. He needed to look at him. Gauge his expression. Know for real that this was affecting Jerry as much as it was him.

He turned in Jerry’s grip to face him.

There was something both vindicating and heart-breaking to see the moisture collected in Jerry’s eyes. Much the same as on stage earlier in the evening. The moisture was reflected in his own eyes.

“It’s good to see you, Dean.”

“I’m surprised you can see me with all that water in your eyes.”

“It was raining.”

Jerry’s voice cracked on the word ‘raining’, and Dean couldn’t take it anymore. He brought his hands up to wipe away Jerry’s tears with his thumbs and brought his arms around Jerry’s neck, finally embracing his partner.

He felt Jerry’s arms tighten around his waist. No longer the skinny kid he’d met in the Glass Hat Club thirty years ago, the boy had grown up. Where once he was all sharp angles, bone and sinew and Dean was terrified of breaking him, now he was broad across the shoulders, his chest had filled out and he was standing a good few inches taller.

Dean found himself looking up into Jerry’s eyes and realized that, like him, he was wearing lifts in his shoes.

He had to say, he quite enjoyed it. Not many men in show business were taller than Dean, and the mere fact that he was looking up shifted something in him slightly. He relaxed in Jerry’s arms, and felt the arms around him tighten in response.

“I missed you, pally.”

He felt one of Jerry’s hands come up to card through his hair and couldn’t help his eyes closing in bliss. Jerry had always known that to be a particularly sensitive area for him.

“I missed you too.” There it was again. The vulnerability in Jerry’s voice. Lower than his caricatures, but higher than the deep booming voice he saved for the cameras. His real voice. The raw emotion coming from Jerry pulled Dean out of his reverie and he felt his heart melting further.

It has been said that you should never trust a hug – that it is just another way to hide your face. Nothing was being hidden here. Everything was being said in the way Jerry was clinging to Dean for dear life, and the way Dean was gazing up at him, his eyes shining with adoration.

Neither man had the words. What had come so easily on stage, falling back into practised routine and showmanship banter just wasn’t happening for them now.

Jerry inclined his head towards Dean, tacitly seeking approval and acceptance. Dean’s eyes darted down from his hazel eyes to his lips, and unable to hold himself back any longer, he closed the distance between them.

As his lips made contact with Jerry’s, Dean’s head went into a tailspin. This was what he had been missing? This was what he had sacrificed all those years ago, and for what? Jerry’s lips were soft and warm and Dean moaned against them, opening his mouth a fraction to slide against Jerry’s.

Quickly recovered from his mild shock, Jerry wasted no time in reciprocating the kiss. Dean’s lips were firm against his own and every point of contact was electrically charged. Jerry feared that if Dean ever pulled back, the arcing current between them may prove fatal.

A moment later, Dean was kissing his bottom lip and Jerry groaned as he felt him take it between his teeth. As he felt Dean bite down on it gently, all the sense memories flooded back to him. All those times their teeth had clashed in stage kisses. All those times in rehearsal when they had deliberately gone above and beyond the limits of physical contact permitted by the censor board and accepted by the general public. Not to mention the one or two more explicit and drunken indiscretions that they had mutually promised to forget. Clearly a promise neither of them had kept if the way Dean’s thigh had insinuated itself between his own was anything to go by.

That had been one common thread through every interaction they ever had. The insatiable need to be closer to one another. It seemed like tonight, finally, they may have a chance to satisfy that need.

While Dean was thoroughly exploring Jerry’s mouth, Jerry started unbuttoning Dean’s shirt. All that stood in the way of removing the offending garment from his divine shoulders was his necktie. Jerry began to wrestle with it.

Preoccupied with the kiss, Dean started pulling unsuccessfully at the neck of Jerry’s shirt in a failed attempt to remove it. He succeeded only in ruffling it and narrowly avoiding strangulating his partner.

Dean couldn’t help the pitiful noise of loss as Jerry broke the kiss. Jerry grasped his upper arms and turned him 180 degrees so his back was to the hotel bed.

Dean could only watch, his mouth going dry as Jerry sank to his knees.

Graceful as ever, he folded before him, all the while maintaining eye contact and unbuckling Dean’s trousers.

Dean hissed a sharp intake of breath as Jerry fished him out of his trousers and his cock was assaulted by the chill of the air conditioned hotel room. A room specifically set at a temperature to escape the Summer heat of the Nevada desert.

As Jerry moved his head forward, that perfect mouth inching closer and closer to his cock, Dean exhaled slowly. He was using all the breath control techniques he’d amassed from years of boxing and singing. Keep breathing or you will pass out.

He would never be able to look Jerry in the eye ever again if he fainted now.

Jerry wrapped his hand around the base of Dean’s cock and opened his mouth, extending his tongue. Dean reached out a hand to cradle the back of Jerry’s head. Feeling that hand of approval raking through his hair caused something inside Jerry to unclench in relief.

There was the briefest moment of contact as Jerry’s tongue met the tip of Dean’s cock, tasting the pearl of precome that was beading there. Dean’s fingers flexed against his head and Jerry closed his eyes in bliss. His brain was thrumming with arousal.

Jerry covered the end of Dean’s cock with his mouth and wrapped his lips around it tightly. He reached up to cover Dean’s hand and encourage him to press more firmly.

The soft moans Jerry was making around the end of his cock were driving Dean to the brink of insanity. When Jerry then did something truly wicked with his tongue, Dean couldn’t help but reach out with his other hand to stroke Jerry’s cheek.

Jerry sucked as he continued tracing intricate patterns against the underside of Dean’s cock. He was teasing, and he knew it. Soon, he felt Dean’s hand fist in his hair.

Jerry pulled his mouth away from Dean’s cock with an audible pop. Resting back on his haunches, he looked up at Dean, smiling.

Dean looked down at him and the devotion plain on his face took Jerry’s breath away. This was what he had been missing. This was what had been ripped from his life and there was a lot of lost time to make up for.

“Dean?” Jerry asked.

“Yes, Jer?” Dean replied, amusement lacing his voice. He wasn’t sure why Jerry had stopped, but he did know that the last thing he wanted was to put a foot wrong here.

“Have you ever thought about doing this before?”

“Have I ever thought – ?“ Dean repeated incredulously. “I spent the better part of ten years struggling to think of anything else!”

“Ten years!” There was a fire in Jerry’s eyes. One that Dean only ever rarely saw, at times when he felt the world had been unconscionably unjust. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Okay.” Dean said warily. “We’ll discuss it later.” He started winding the hair at the nape of Jerry’s neck around his thick fingers and smiled in response to the satisfied purr it brought out of him.

Jerry maintained eye contact with Dean as his tongue poked out to wet his lips again. Dean’s eyes darkened impossibly, the hunger in them evident. Jerry replaced his mouth around the head of Dean’s cock before sliding down to meet his fist. Dean wasn’t anywhere near the back of his throat, but from the moan that came out of him, you’d have assumed he had just swallowed him whole.

“Oh, God.”

Jerry mumbled a response that sounded suspiciously like “Close” and the reverberations that ran along Dean’s length had his knees threatening to buckle.

Jerry moved his left hand away from Dean’s cock to firmly place it on his backside. Squeezing gently, he moved forward to take in all of Dean that he could.

While Jerry was making happy noises of contentment as he licked and sucked his way downwards, Dean was struggling to keep his hips still. His hand was fisted in Jerry’s hair and Jerry kept trying to pull him closer. The last thing Dean wanted to do was choke him. Merely thinking of choking Jerry with his cock had him so close to coming undone. Seeing those hazel eyes darkened with lust looking up at him, and that wicked mouth stretched around him threatened to destroy Dean.

Dean’s other hand was hanging at his side, alternating between making fists in the air and gripping Jerry’s shoulder for balance and encouragement.

After one particularly strong suck, Dean thrust a little further and this time, his cock really did hit the back of Jerry’s throat. What surprised him wasn’t Jerry’s slight cough, but the bone deep groan of arousal that immediately followed.

Dean tried to pull back to check that Jerry was okay, but Jerry just held him tighter and pushed himself again onto his cock. Dean had never felt anything like it before. Jerry’s nose was pressed against him. There was no more length he could give. Jerry’s obscenely long and versatile tongue was driving him crazy. All this combined with the constant massaging pressure, courtesy of Jerry’s evidently-absent gag reflex - Dean was not going to last long.

Dean moved his hand from Jerry’s hair around to the front of his throat. He had to feel it. Had to feel himself inside Jerry for the first time. As his hand wrapped gently around the front of Jerry’s neck, he could feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against his palm at the same rate it was massaging his cock.

The hand on Jerry’s throat had forced his head to angle upwards and Dean found himself looking into Jerry’s eyes. Suddenly, he felt the first surge of orgasm hit.

The way Jerry swallowed that first spurt, and then just kept swallowing around him, milking him dry, was something he’d never forget for the rest of his life.

How on earth had this perfect creature walked into his life? And why the hell did he ever let him go?

Jerry noticed Dean’s legs wobbling. They had started to fail him as the fatigue of resolution hit. Jerry gently nudged him backwards to land neatly sitting on the edge of the bed.

They both took a moment, eyes bright, chests heaving, just looking at each other. Dean’s legs were spread and he was slouched over, elbows on his knees and chin resting in his hands. Jerry was still catching his breath. His lips were red and swollen, and his hand had come up to touch his neck, feeling the ghost of Dean’s palm from just moments ago.

His knees creaked as he rose with some difficulty. Dean stood and helped him up with a hand around his elbow. Once Jerry was standing, he enfolded him in an embrace. Their lips found each other’s easily. The kiss they shared was lazy, but after a while Dean sensed there was something Jerry was holding back. He broke the kiss to give Jerry a chance to speak.

He couldn’t help but smile at the soft moan of disapproval Jerry let out at the loss of contact.

“What’s on your mind?”

Jerry paused for a moment. He looked at Dean and saw Dean looking straight back at him. Right through him, past all his defences, boring right into his soul. Dean’s expression was open, kind and loving and Jerry was the focal point of all that attention. It was everything he’d ever wanted since that very first time he’d met the singer from Steubenville. Back when he was just a skinny, clowning kid from Newark.

“Ten years!” He began, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You were a kid! - and married! How was I to know?”

“You had to have known.” The disbelief came through strongly in Jerry’s tone, but what was stronger was the pleading which had accompanied it. The audible regret for lost time was painful to hear and Dean shared that regret a hundredfold.

Dean reached his hand out as before, wiping at the tear threatening to fall. He ran his thumb down Jerry’s cheek and across to graze his lip. Jerry kissed it and Dean dragged his bottom lip down gently.

Dean leaned forward to kiss Jerry again, tasting himself.

“You beautiful boy.” Dean mused.

Jerry batted his eyelashes at Dean in a way he found instantly recognisable.

“Well, maybe I did suspect a little. But, come on. It wouldn’t have been worth risking the partnership for, would it?” Dean was now sinking into old habits as familiar and comforting as his favourite leather jacket. Calming Jerry down. Reassuring him that the direction his mind was racing at a hundred miles an hour was not going to yield any sensible results.

Jerry sighed. “I guess not. But it would have been worth risking the break up for.”

“You got that damn right.”

“What are we going to do, Dean?” Jerry’s voice sounded strained, and not just from the heart wrenching conversation. Dean’s eyes glanced downwards and he could see that Jerry’s erection was distending his trousers, utterly ruining the lines of his suit.

“Well, for starters, we’re going to get you out of those clothes. You’re wearing far too many.”

Jerry giggled and it warmed Dean’s heart to hear that sound again. He started slowly undoing the buttons of Jerry’s dress shirt, gradually revealing inch after precious inch of his chest.

By the time Dean got to his waist, Jerry was still fumbling with his monogrammed cufflinks. Stilling his hands, Dean covered Jerry’s with his own, turning them over and holding them.

Jerry’s hands had always captivated him. They had immense strength combined with an almost feminine grace, accentuated by his long and slender fingers. Often wildly animated, they were nothing short of mesmerising.

On numerous occasions, Jerry had told him how much he admired Dean’s large and powerful hands, but Dean had never been able to see what Jerry saw in them. How could they be considered attractive? Clumsy and oafish? Possibly. Weathered and scarred? Definitely. And his right pinky finger had been busted up well before Jerry ever met him.

But Jerry was Jerry, and if he told Dean he liked his hands, then that was that.

As he held Jerry’s hands in his own, Dean couldn’t help comparing them, how Jerry’s beautiful, soft ones fit perfectly in his own.

After a final moment’s contemplation, Dean let go of Jerry’s hands and deftly unbuckled his belt, flicking open the fastening of his trousers and untucking his shirt. Finally able to gain access to Jerry’s body, he yanked the shirt back over Jerry’s shoulders.

Jerry’s pants had fallen to the floor of their own accord. His light blue boxer briefs were tented and the dark patch on the front of them made Dean’s mouth water.

Dean looked up into Jerry’s eyes and saw the black pupils dilated so far that only the slightest sliver of dark brown was visible around the outside.

He felt the distance between them keenly. With Jerry’s naked torso so close, he could feel the heat radiating off him. As he looked down at the trail of thick dark hair leading from his chest down to his waistband, he realised that Jerry hadn’t initiated any contact with him in quite some time.

Jerry also hadn’t spoken a word, but if Dean wasn’t very much mistaken, the dark patch on his briefs had gotten bigger.

“Touch me, Dean.”

Jerry’s wrecked voice startled Dean out of his reverie.

Dean’s gaze tracked up Jerry’s body. His shoulders were rolled uncomfortably forwards and Dean realised that in his haste to divest Jerry of his shirt, he’d neglected to unbutton his cuffs. Jerry’s hands were effectively tied behind his back.

Dean moved his arms around Jerry to wrestle with his shirt.

Jerry made a noise of protest.

“I can get that for –“

“No!” Jerry sounded adamant.

“Then what?”

“Touch me.”

Jerry didn’t want his arms free. Once again, Dean found his mind taking flight, picturing at once all the times and places he would like to have Jerry restrained, at his mercy. Jerry was awakening something in him he never knew existed.

“Alright, Jer.”

With one hand grounding Jerry, firm on his right shoulder, Dean brought his other down to cup Jerry’s erection.

Jerry made a sound like he’d just been winded.

Dean wrapped his palm around Jerry through his pants, tracing the outline with his thumb and rubbing over the ridge.

Jerry looked down to see Dean’s hand on him. Finally. One of those large hands that had always fascinated, impressed and aroused him. After thirty years of longing, he was finally able to look down and see one where it belonged.

Back when they were starting out, he used to imagine what it would be like. Hurriedly, he would finish himself off in the hotel shower, conjuring the only thought guaranteed to get him there in short enough time that his absence wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

The vague pangs of guilt and shame were never enough to stop the behaviour repeating over, and over, and over again.

Of course, Dean would have understood. Probably couldn’t have cared less, but Jerry would have been mortified if he had ever found out.

How things had changed.

Dean let go of him, sneaking one hand beneath his waistband and yanking his underwear down with the other.

Jerry couldn’t take his eyes off Dean’s hand. It almost made his cock look small, which was no mean feat. He had taken a firm hold and was gripping him just right. Somehow, Dean had gotten hold of some slick, either from Jerry’s leaking cock, or by adding some of his own spit. What Jerry wouldn’t give just to see Dean spit on his cock.

The slick was letting Dean’s tight fist move up and down in such a lazy way it was like it was trying to draw the climax from the deepest part of him. Every time Dean’s thumb and forefinger popped over the head, squeezing out more precome, Jerry felt a further loss of control.

Jerry’s hands were still restrained behind his back, and the only point between him and Dean was Dean’s hand jacking him off. It seemed like all Jerry’s fantasies were coming to life at once.

Dean swiped his thumb over the slit and Jerry twitched. When he saw the head of his cock emerge as Dean’s fist returned to the base, Jerry found himself looking down the precipice of orgasm far too quickly.

“Aah,” Jerry exclaimed and his lips were suddenly captured in a searing kiss. Dean’s mouth was on his. Dean’s left hand was cradling the back of his head. Dean’s right hand was still working on him, taking him over the crest again and again, wringing every last drop of pleasure from him.

Jerry’s legs spasmed as Dean slowed the last of his strokes.

Dean pulled back from the kiss to look at Jerry. He was the picture of sated. The grin he saw emerging on Jerry’s face matched the one he could feel himself sporting.

As Dean felt the come drying on his hand, the rush of responsibilities and reality came flooding back into his mind and he suddenly felt uneasy and self-conscious.

“You want I should go now -?” Dean began. He was unsure what his part to play in this truly was. Walking up all those stairs to the hotel room, he had managed to convince himself that the water was truly under the bridge. Now, in the harsh light of what they’d done, was everything okay between them? Did Jerry want to pursue the relationship again, or would he be evaded and avoided for another twenty years?

“Dean?”

“Yeah, kid?” Dean was thrown from his speculation and his reply had come naturally without conscious thought. Hearing that voice, asking his name in question - there was only one way he’d ever answered. Jerry may have just turned fifty, but he was still ‘kid’.

“Stay.”

“You sure, Jer?”

“Just let me out of this shirt.”

Dean reached an arm behind Jerry’s back and undid his cufflinks effortlessly. They fell to the floor, followed quickly by Jerry’s shirt.

Jerry wrapped his arms tight around Dean’s waist, bringing their bodies together and burying his face into Dean’s neck.

Dean was still being plagued with thoughts and insecurities. Sure they’d done what they’d done, but there were marriages to consider and kids and newspaper reporters and -

Jerry sensed the war waging inside Dean’s mind, “Just hold me, Paul,” he murmured against Dean’s skin.

The voices inside Dean’s head quieted instantly. He didn’t argue, instead wrapping his arms around Jerry and finally letting him come home.