"Oh, my God! Gale's here!"

"Mr. Harold! Over here!"

"Gale, could I get a photo with you?"

"It's a Queer as Folk photo op! We want a photo with you, Robert, Scott, and Michelle. And Randy. Where is Randy?"

"That's right, Suzy. But we want to be in the middle of the group."

"Gaaale," screamed one rabid fan before swooning. Gale couldn't help staring in fascinated horror at the wart smack-dab in the middle of her chin, from which a curly black hair was sprouting like a unicorn's mutated horn.

"Gale! Gale! We want Gale!" sang a madly dancing trio who, for some reason, didn't realize that the gorgeous brunet was just two steps away from them.

The requests kept raining down fast and furious from all directions as Gale tried to make his way backstage at the Hollywood Pantages Theatre. Jesus Fucking Christ! He should have known better than to think he could reach Randy's dressing room without encountering frenzied fans. Abso-fuckin-lutely impossible to disguise himself effectively, so he hadn't even tried.

Those damned middle-aged women were the worst. Either they were sweet and shy, or they were so fuckin' demanding... and absolutely impossible to shake. Worse than Justin stalking Brian in Queer as Folk. Gale wondered how that was even possible.

He wanted to scream out for the world to hear and take note, "I'm bisexual! Randy's my lover! He pounds me into the mattress whenever we see each other! Leave me alone! I'm never gonna fuck you."

Gale actually wanted to proclaim that he was gay to get rid of all those idiotic female fans, leaving only the men to contend with. But he was bisexual, not gay, and his parents had raised him to stand up for himself and be honest. The theme of bisexuality had been assiduously ignored in Queer as Folk, in spite of one character's - Lindsay - obvious bisexuality and another character - Hunter - possibly professing that status. His strained smile beginning to wilt, Gale morosely wondered if he'd ever be an out-and-proud bisexual. If he couldn't be with his lover, who insisted on keeping their relationship secret, why bother? Really, most of the fans - bless their ridiculously romantic hearts - would be head over heels about THEIR Gale and Randy being in a relationship, so Gale didn't see how it could possibly derail either of their careers.

Those gloomy thoughts wiped away the vestiges of Gale's smile. He HAD to reach Randy. He longed to be reassured he was needed, to be held close, to be fucked. After all, it was all Randy's fault that Gale was so worked up. The Emcee had fondled every inch of himself, especially those sensitive nipples and that stout dick, during the course of the show. And

Gale was certain that the little - make that not-so-little - shit up on the stage had been looking directly at him the whole time. Just like when Gale had gone to watch him at the Smith Center in Las Vegas. Luckily, he didn't think any of the theatergoers had noticed, either in the City of Sin or in the City of Angels. Both times, he'd booked a less sought after seat which was partially hidden by a pillar. No one ever expected to see Gale anywhere other than in a balcony seat or right in front of the stage, so they hadn't recognized him. Randy, though, damned well knew where he was located; Gale had made sure of that. 

Still, Randy had periodically transferred his gaze elsewhere. He had beckoned flirtatiously to a good-looking, ebony-haired teenager, while Gale silently screamed, ‘He's mine, dammit!' The Emcee had exchanged seductive glances with a gray-haired sow. ‘Hah! As if!' Gale snorted. He had shone that sunshine smile around the theater indiscriminately, but yet again, Gale knew he was the intended target. 

Smug twat! Of course, his brazen man had known exactly how all that fondling, pinching, flirting, and rubbing would affect Gale. And as expected, the tall, antsy brunet was aching to have that dick shoved up his ass.

It had been a month since their quickie in Vegas, and Gale was beyond desperate. That brief fuck - okay, okay, those two blowjobs and three fucks in rapid succession - hadn't provided nearly enough relief. Gale hadn't even been able to stay the night because the other members of the cast - and that blasted Cabaret Cow - kept traipsing through Randy's room as though it were Grand Central Station.

Bloody near impossible to keep a low profile. Gale was more than ready to say "Fuck it all!" and tweet an announcement that he and Randy were an item. Damned little twat wouldn't hear of it, though, 'cause he wanted them both to succeed independently as actors. Hadn't they already reached that point? It was high time that Gale convinced Randy that they should be out and proud together. For fuck's sake! They weren't Brian and Justin, even if there were some similarities to the characters they'd once portrayed.

Had it really been sixteen years since he first laid eyes on Randy? "Fuck, that blond is hot!" was his immediate reaction, followed by bewilderment because he'd never previously assessed a man's hotness. Gale was still fucking grateful that the younger man had observed and understood Brian's confusion. While heating up TV screens around the world, they'd become friends. Then, naturally, they'd started tearing up the sheets in private, with Randy introducing Gale to the delights of gay sex. They'd been practically inseparable nearly the entire time they were on location in Toronto.

But that idyllic period was now ages in the past. It had been nearly eleven years since the show ended, and since then they hadn't been together for any significant amount of time. Sometimes just a few hours, a day, or a week - but never enough.

Randy remained certain - deluded in Gale's opinion - that none of their fans suspected a thing, regardless of wishful, wanton fan fiction. Goddamn, thought Gale, some of those stories were downright scintillating and steamy. Fuck! He'd just gotten his erection calmed down. Dammit, he was in actual pain with his hard-as-steel dick pushing against his zipper. Awkwardly, Gale lowered his jacket to hide his tented slacks, hoping none of the rabid, so-called ladies surrounding him had detected his problem.

Double fuck! That angular blonde - cutting wit, knife-blade nose, beady eyes - had noticed his erection before he managed to camouflage it. The bitch turned up almost everywhere Gale went. Now she was going to think he wanted to screw her into the mattress. As if. There was only one blond he wanted to fuck these days. Not female, thank God.

How was he going to forge his way through this ravening horde to reach his blond stud? He didn't care that Randy currently sported brunet locks; Gale would always see a sunshiny blond when he looked at Randy.

Only Sunshine - a pet name that had stuck to Randy like superglue - could alleviate Gale's distress. He was sick of making do with late-night phone sex. Sexting didn't cut it either. His hand was worn out; he'd swear some nights it felt like it was about to fall off.

He was going to lose it if these blasted bitches didn't get out of the way. "No photos," the normally laid-back Gale growled, about to start cursing and shoving everyone out of his way.

Thankfully, that was when Scott came to the rescue. "Miss. Oh, Miss," Scott called out. "We're ready for that group photo you requested." Scott, Michelle, and Robert all sent big, cheesy grins in the blonde's direction, as if they couldn't imagine anything they wanted more than a photo with Ms. Bitch.

"Miss, my ass," chuckled Gale to himself. She was fifty if she was a day. Damn, but Scott was a stand-up guy, whether playing Ted or as himself. Gale was sure Scott suspected that he and Randy were, at the very least, friends with benefits, but he'd never said a word. Robert and Michelle - and the rest of the Queer as Folk family - had been equally close-mouthed.

With a nod of thanks, Gale hurriedly vanished into the recesses of the theatre, wending his way to Randy's dressing room. Thankfully, the corridor was empty, most of the cast already out in the lobby talking to reporters and fans.

Immediately after Gale rapped out their ‘Lover's Spit' secret signal, the door flew open, Randy fisting his shirt and pulling him into the room. The door slammed shut with a loud bang, and - over the thumping of his heart - Gale heard the lock snick into place.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Randy almost shouted. "I've gotta get out there to meet and greet my adoring fans. But there's no way I can do that before I get some fuckin' stress relief."

While he was spitting out those rapid-fire remarks, Randy had discarded his dressing gown, pushed Gale's slacks down to his ankles - Gale, naturally, had gone commando - bent him over his dressing table, kicked his legs apart as far as they would go, and rolled on a condom. He then inserted two lubed fingers into Gale's hole, quickly stretching him.

Gale was finally able to get a word in edgewise when Randy ran out of breath. He had only one demand. "That's enough. I can't wait any longer. Fuck me now!" Gale implored.

"Easy, boy. Here comes my cock." Randy breached Gale's ass with one smooth, steady thrust. Forehead glistening with sweat, Randy gripped Gale's hips hard enough to leave bruises, marks of possession that Gale craved.

Both men moaned at how perfect it felt. They'd been hungry for this moment for too many weeks, so they knew this first fuck of the night wouldn't last. Reaching around to twist and pinch Gale's nipples through his shirt, Randy set up a steady rhythm, thrusting in, pulling out, batting Gale's hand away when he reached for his dick. "C'mon, boy, you're about to turn into a geyser without either of us touching your cock."

Prophetically, but unsurprisingly, that tipped Gale over the edge. Clamping down on Randy's dick, he started spurting ropes of come all over the floor.

Randy couldn't withstand the pressure from Gale's ass and immediately shot into the condom. It took him so long to stop coming that he worried the condom might overflow. As he eased out, he gave a sigh of relief. He'd barely pulled out in time; there was no way he could tie off that condom before discarding it. He quickly wrapped it up in a makeup cloth so that he could dispose of it later without calling unwanted attention to his dressing-room activities. 

Randy helped Gale stand up from where he lay slumped in a practically boneless heap across the vanity table. "Fuck, Gale, you make me so damned horny that all I can think about is getting in your ass."

"Yeah. Me too," mumbled Gale in response.

Since their desire had been momentarily quenched, they exchanged a lingering, sloppy kiss. Gale then put himself to rights while Randy got dressed.

"Damn, Gale, you have the most gorgeous, expressive eyes," Randy exclaimed - not for the first time. He embraced Gale, wrapping his arms around the taller man's waist, staggering slightly as Gale leaned against him. "I really missed you," he continued.

Gale really felt that all was right with the world even though he had tears in his eyes, which he had to blink away. "I missed you too, Sunshine," he returned with a wicked smirk.

"Oh, you really want me to tan your ass later tonight, don't you, boy?" Justin half asked, half stated with a promising gleam in his eyes.

"Yes, sir!" Gale enthusiastically responded.

More relaxed and feeling relatively jovial as he and Randy emerged into the lobby, Gale was now amenable to posing for photos with Michelle, Robert, Randy, and Scott. Even Randy's refusal to put his arm around Gale 'cause he didn't want to fuel more speculation about the nature of their friendship didn't matter.

Once the photo session had been completed, Gale confirmed plans with the gang to enjoy a late-night barbecue at his house in two days. A genuine grin split his face as he headed toward the exit. Randy would be at Gale's house within the hour and would visit at least every other night while Cabaret was playing in Los Angeles. Going short of sleep because Gale would be working long, hard hours under Randy, sometimes deep into the night, wouldn't negatively affect Randy's performance. It would only make him edgier in his Emcee role.

After Los Angeles, well, they'd be together in Bilbao in September. Europeans weren't as intrusive as Americans; they exhibited a much more laissez-faire attitude. Once the fan sessions were over, they'd have space and time to themselves. Gale was determined that he and Randy were going to talk and decide what to do so they could move forward as a couple. No more hiding. They were partners, and they were going to act like it. They'd never exchanged declarations of love, but sugary-sweet romantic gestures didn't matter to them. Actions were what counted.

Even the fake Instagram post someone brought to their attention later - the one in which Gale supposedly commented "Proud of this boy" - couldn't ruffle Gale's joie de vivre before leaving the theatre. He shrugged off everyone's concern. After all, he and Randy had kept their fans in the dark that it was really the other way ‘round. Although Gale was proud of Randy, boastfully so, it was indubitably Gale who was Randy's boy.

"Life is a cabaret," Gale whistled as he left the Pantages, relishing the sting in his ass.