Colin was seated on the Moroccan hotel veranda, his sandaled feet on the edge of the glass-topped wicker coffee table, his hands raised to hold the broadsheet newspaper he was reading towards the light from the solar lamp attached to the black metal railing of the veranda.  In the distance, the orange ball of the sun was setting into the still, dust-laden horizon and though the heat was gone from the day, the air was still warm and balmy against Colin’s bare arms and legs.  Freshly showered and changed into shorts and tee-shirt after the day’s shooting, he was catching up with the sports section of the newly-arrived English Sunday newspapers before dinner.

Being a good Irish lad, Colin had supported Liverpool since he was a boy, and arch-rivals Man. United had beaten them yesterday 2-1.  Colin was deeply engrossed in the description of Giggs’ winning goal when the clink of glass on glass and the duller clink of ice cubes caused him to glance up as a slim, tanned hand placed a long, cool glass of lemon and lime on the table beside his foot.

Colin’s eyes followed the long bare arm up to meet Jared’s electric blue eyes framed by his long dark hair.

“Hey,” he grunted in acknowledgement, it registering on his consciousness that Jared was more gorgeous than a guy had a right to be even as he returned to the description of Giggs’ artistry.

Jared sat down in the cushioned wicker chair at Colin’s side, his own glass in his hand, looking across at Colin’s paper.  “Soccer?” he asked.

“Football,” Colin muttered.

“Soccer,” Jared reiterated, and took a sip from his glass.

“Football,” Colin said.  “Soccer to Americans and football to the rest of the whole damn planet.”  He finished the report, folded the paper and dropped it onto the coffee table, retrieving the long wet glass.  He took a welcome swallow of the cool liquid, and then realised it contained alcohol.

He met Jared’s eyes, who gazed back at him with feigned innocence, the last glow of the sunset catching in his eyes.  Despite being in a Muslim country, it wasn’t too difficult to get spirits slipped into drinks in the westernised hotels.  And Colin missed his alcohol, despite trying to focus on his role as Alexander.  He had given this role more commitment than any previous role in his acting career.  He owed that to Oliver Stone’s faith in him, and to Alexander the man.

He owed his dedication in part to Jared too.  He was well aware of Jared’s determination to prove he was more than just a pretty face, of the weight he had lost for Requiem for a Dream, of the stone of weight, mostly in the form of muscle on his chest and shoulders, that he had gained for this role.  Hell, he even spoke in a half-Irish accent off set as well, he was that focused on his role as Hephaestion, Alexander’s lover and best friend.

“I know you Brits call it football,” Jared said in his husky, boyish voice, raising his glass to his lips.

“I’m not a Brit,” Colin muttered truculently.  He started fishing in his pockets for his cigarettes and lighter.

“Same difference.  I had an English girlfriend a few years back when I was filming in London.  Her name was Anouska, actress slash society girl with long blonde hair.”

“What’s with you and blondes?” Colin asked, drawing on his cigarette to light it.

Jared ignored his question.  “You know her?  She fancied herself as a rock chick: wrote a song about me.  Can I?” he asked, reaching with his fingers towards Colin’s cigarette.

“I thought you didn’t smoke,” Colin said, relinquishing his cigarette as Jared’s fingers touched his.  It felt strange to touch a man’s fingers; they were much rougher, thicker than a woman’s.

“I don’t,” Jared said, squinting as he took a long draw on Colin’s cigarette.  Handing it back as he exhaled the blue smoke into the darkening evening, he said, “I gave up ten years ago.  Didn’t want to spoil my good looks and boyish charm.”  His wide mouth split into a mischeivious grin as he lay back in his chair, resting his head on the rounded wicker back.  His long hair, still damp from the shower, spilled over his honey-tanned shoulders and white vest.

He rolled his head and eyed Colin.  “But I’m not adverse to trying anything once.  Or even twice.  My mother has long blonde hair.”

Colin exhaled mirthlessly.  “Mommy’s boy.  I don’t think there’s a woman born who’d be a patch on my mam either.”

“Our mothers live with us all the time.  I don’t think Alexander ever found a woman who matched up to his mother either,” Jared said in his soft, half-Irish lilt.  He pronounced Alexander with the emphasis on the second ‘a’, and it caught at Colin’s ear in a way he couldn’t quite define.

“Or who wouldn’t have been eaten alive by her.  She was a fearsome woman.”

“She had a black heart.”  Suddenly Jared laughed quietly into the darkness.  “I love it when your voice does that.”

“Does what?” Colin asked, feeling a little off-balance as the vodka warmed his stomach.  It would be like Jared to give him alcohol and not have any himself.

“When it goes up and down like that.  I can’t quite get that Irish rhythm right.”

“I thought you were the one with the musical ear,” Colin muttered.

“I think maybe I’m more into the performance element of the music,” Jared said distantly.  He stared silently up at the stars appearing in the Moroccan sky above the muted lights of the hotel, insignificant against the vastness of the desert heavens.  His eyes moved from star point of light to light above as Colin watched him.

“Do you think I’m gay?” Jared asked suddenly, never taking his eyes from the darkness of the night.

“Hell if I know,” Colin muttered, acutely aware of himself suddenly.  Embarrassed, he took refuge in the last of his glass.

“No, seriously,” Jared said as he sat up quickly and faced Colin, reaching to place his half-finished glass on the coffee table.  “Would you kiss me if I were gay?”

Colin deliberately broke eye contact with Jared’s mesmerising, engulfing eyes.

“No,” he said, tapping ash from his cigarette over the side of his chair.  “Because you might take it the wrong way.”

“Oh.”  Jared’s eyes were so round, Colin could see the whole of the blue irises.  He watched him digest that appraisal of himself.

Jared watched him silently for a long moment.  “Have you ever kissed a man?” he asked at length.

“Sure, I have,” Colin said.  He tried to keep his tone light.

“A full, on the mouth kiss?” Jared asked, his eyes full of curiosity.

“Yeah, a couple of times.”  Colin hid behind the smoke from his cigarette.  He’d attended quite a few of his gay brother Eamon’s parties.

”What was it like?”

“I don’t know; I was drunk!  Much like kissing a woman, I suppose, only harder.”  Colin was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

Jared gazed at him, the darkness of the desert night gathering about his shoulders.  “I never have,” he said.

“You haven’t?” Colin said, feeling a momentary surge of relief and levity.  “You, the great, free artistic spirit?  I thought you’d tried everything.”

“No.  I was too shy when I was younger and then…”  He met Colin’s eyes with a hint of defiance.  “It’s easy for people to get the wrong impression about me with my looks.”

“Never,” Colin said, trying to inject mockery into his tone.  “So you screw every female in sight, trying to find your ma, trying to make your ma happy by finding a woman just like her.  Even one who looks like her.”

“I do not!”  Jared looked more indignant than angry.

“No, that must be me.”  Colin stared off into the darkening night, drawing ferociously on his cigarette, the red embers creeping down the white paper towards the filter.  He felt unsettled in a way he couldn’t articulate.  “Maybe I’m searching for a woman like my mam,  Maybe I’m trying to be my da.  I don’t know.”  He reached and put his own empty glass on the coffee table beside Jared’s almost full one.

“My mother gave me the freedom to express myself.  She made me what I am.”

“Yeah, exactly in her image.”

Colin looked at Jared, who was staring at him with a glint in his eyes and his lips pressed together, and Colin realised he’d perhaps gone too far.  “Hell, we can’t escape our parents,” he muttered, amazed at his own profundity as he stubbed out his cigarette underfoot against the tiled veranda floor.  He stared off into the orange afterglow of the sunset, a surge of homesickness assailing him.

“Alexander was living both his father and his mother’s dreams,” Jared’s soft voice interrupted his reverie.  “He was trying to outrun the reality of their ambitions his whole life.  Do you think he ever found himself?”

“He did with Hephaestion.  With Hephaestion he could truly be himself.”

Jared moved forward, resting his forearms on the chair arms between himself and Colin.  He gazed at Colin, leaning towards him, a small smile on his lips.

“Kiss me, AlexAnder,” he said in his soft Irish voice, giving a little toss of his head that sent ripples through his long hair.

Colin’s lips parted as he gazed at Jared, uncertainty flickering through his dark, luminous eyes.  Suddenly he moved, placed his hand on the back of Jared’s hair and drew their heads closer.  Slowly his eyes closed as he moved towards Jared and placed his lips against the other man’s, the strands of his golden Alexander hair brushing against Hephaestion’s dark locks.  Gently he moved his lips against Jared’s for a moment before he began to disengage.

Suddenly he felt the firm, warm wetness of Jared’s tongue move against his lips.  Abruptly, he drew back, blinking furiously as he shook his head.  “Hey, hey,” he whispered urgently, “you’ll get us arrested.  This is a Muslim country.  They’ll throw us in jail.”  He bowed his head defensively to hide the blood that had rushed to his cheeks, casting his eyes rapidly around the deserted veranda.  He resisted the urge to wipe his lips on the back of his hand as he glanced sideways at Jared.

Jared gazed back at him with preternaturally bright eyes, pieces of starlight caught in them.  “It’s only you I love, AlexAnder,” he whispered.

Colin’s eyes roamed Jared’s face, searching for mockery, but there was not a trace in his face or voice.  There was a fearful resolution and innocence in his face that Colin recognised from on set, their scenes together as lovers.

“Get real, Jared,” he said, his voice low and tight.  “You’re not Hephaestion.  I’m not Alexander.”  He fumbled for a cigarette and lit one to avoid looking at Jared, for when he did, he was sure he would see the hurt of a boy whose dreams had been quashed.  “It’s not real, Jared.  It’s acting.  We’re actors.  It’s a fucking job.  Wake up from the damn dream!”

Drawing ferociously on his cigarette, he glanced up at Jared, whose eyes were brittle in the starlight as he stared at Colin.  He drew a sharp breath as if to say something, but no words came.

“I know you’re into this damn method acting crap, this fucking business of living the part,” Colin continued remorselessly.  “I know what you did with Gary in the boot camp, making him mad at you so Cleitus would be mad at Hephaestion.  But at least give me the respect of being able to act as though I love you, without trying to make me love you for real!”

He glanced at Jared and was startled to see tears, real tears, not glycerine stage tears glistening in Jared’s eyes.

“Ahh, fuck,” Colin muttered, reaching instinctively for Jared.  Catching one hand against Jared’s hair and the other around his shoulder, he drew Jared to him roughly and hugged him.  “You haven’t convinced yourself you’re in love with me, have you?” he mumbled against Jared’s hair.  “Because I sure as shit ain’t worth it.”

“No.”

Sensing the stiffness of affront in Jared’s shoulders, Colin let go of him and drew back.

Jared, his head drawn back tensely, looked disorientated as his eyes settled on Colin.  Colin watched him cautiously.  “Oliver told me to love you loyally,” he said.

“Fuck, Oliver,” Colin said derisively as he drew with relief on his cigarette.  “He’s not your da.”

“No.  Mine’s dead.”

“Mine’s running a fucking health store.”

Jared made a half-amused sound as Colin continued, affection growing in his voice.  “He was a professional footballer, had all the great dreams of being the next Georgie Best, of winning the World Cup.  So did I, but I was too sodding lazy to keep up the training.”  Drawing on his cigarette, Colin eyed Jared in the half-darkness.  “How’s that for your great AlexAnder?”

“AlexAnder had his self-indulgent side.”

“Yeah.  With the size of his ego, it’s a wonder he stayed so focused on being a soldier.”

“He was in love with his army, with the idea of being a warrior.  He wanted to be Achilles.”

Colin eyed Jared sceptically.  “And I suppose you want to be Patroclus.”

Jared rolled his eyes dramatically and sighed.  “I wouldn’t have minded working with Brad again.”

Colin convulsed, laughing uproariously, and causing a couple who had just walked out on to the veranda and had paused by the open French windows, deciding whether or not to sit out there, to look over at them.  They turned and retreated back inside the hotel, obviously deciding that either the company out on the veranda was not congenial to them, or that they were intruding.

“Hey,” Colin said suddenly, leaning forward to stub out his half-finished cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table.  “Let’s eat.”  He felt unaccountably isolated out here.

Jared rose as he did and began walking towards the French windows, a little ahead of Colin.  As they neared the open windows, Colin felt a surge of passion, resolution, and a confused impression he was about to let an unrepeatable opportunity slip out of his fingers.

He grabbed Jared’s arm and pulled him out of the light from the open doorway, spinning him about before he had time to protest and shoving his back against the wall between the doorways.  Heatedly, Colin pinned him there with his chest against Jared’s.  He could feel his heartbeat thudding against his.

Colin paused, looking searchingly at Jared, who only looked back at him, wide-eyed with expectation in the darkness.

“Never been kissed, huh?” Colin growled inarticulately in his throat, his face a finger’s breadth from Jared’s.

He brushed his lips against Jared’s, feeling the soft moisture there, the faintest taste of nicotine.  Colin pressed his lips more firmly against Jared’s and as Jared responded, he touched his tongue against Jared’s teeth, seeking entry.  As Jared opened his lips, Colin pushed his hips forward instinctively, pushing against Jared’s warmth, crushing him against the wall.

The kiss deepened, Colin tangling his fingers unconsciously in Jared’s long hair as he held his beautiful face, rubbing his thumbs against his earlobes and jaw, vaguely aware of Jared’s hands travelling over his back and shoulders.  He pressed his pelvis harder against Jared’s, the warmth and desire for friction becoming insistent.

Breathlessly, Colin broke contact, his heart thundering in his chest like Bucephalus’s hooves.  He ran a hand nervously over his lips, trying to gain some distance, trying to collect himself despite the heat in his groin.

He eyed Jared, who hung bonelessly against the wall for support, his expression dazed.  His eyes glittered in the darkness as he swallowed and straightened his legs under him.

“Let’s eat,” Colin said, the matter of fact tone of his voice surprising him.  He turned to go.

“Colin!” Jared hissed with plaintive exasperation.

Colin looked back and Jared pointed frantically downwards at himself.  A grin spread over Colin’s face as he saw the bulge in Jared’s pants.  Chuckling, Colin lowered his head and walked in through the French windows.  From the uncomfortable tightness in his own pants, he realised that he was going to have to make a hasty detour to the nearest men’s room, and make liberal use of some very cold water.