Colby waved at the audience, one-handed, crossing the stage. His other hand was holding Jason’s, fairly tightly.

Jason waved too, and half-instinctively waited to sit until Colby did, aware that he might be hovering but also not caring. Colby didn’t mind some protectiveness in general, and especially not right now, judging from his grip on Jason’s fingers; Jason would and could throw himself between Colby and any dangers if necessary.

He eyed the crowd. Estimated odds, and his own skill set and size. He could take them all. Probably. If it was for Colby.

Who, at his side, put on the brilliant wide-eyed smile that was the public persona, and leaned into his microphone. “Thank you for the lovely welcome!”

The crowd roared in fantastical and exuberant delight. Colby blushed. In a rainbow-edged soft grey cardigan over a pale blue shirt, he looked utterly soft and delectably cuddly, hair ruffled into messy dark waves, precious and precocious and harmless.

The panel moderator -- a very prominent name in the fantasy-loving nerd community; Jason’d heard of him even years ago, during sneaky I’m not really a geek clandestine forays into game shops -- beamed at Colby. “They love you! But this is your first time at any Comic-Con, right? You’re a Comic-Con virgin!”

“Oh, goodness.” Colby, extra-English and extra-winsome at the moment, played up the reaction for effect. It was real, because he meant every word and every expression; but Colby also knew exactly what people and fans expected of Colby Kent, Hollywood’s most adorable and harmless gay leading man. “Well ... er, thank you all for helping me lose my virginity, then?”

That got actual screams. Under cover of the noise, Jason leaned over to whisper, “You enjoyed that one.”

“I’m enjoying the thought of you ravishing innocent virgin me in a hotel bed later. It’s such a friendly bed, and we’ve only enjoyed it once. Oh, sorry, was that a question?” This last was directed at the moderator. “Sorry, yes, Jason’s been helping me as far as advice and the whole convention experience!”

Jill, on Colby’s other side, gave them both a look that said she knew perfectly well what sort of help Jason’d been providing only that morning. Jason tried not to blush, and mostly succeeded.

He and Colby didn’t have many secrets from Jill, and he owed her pretty much everything -- the relaunch of his career, the best role of his life, the introduction to the man he wanted to kiss forever -- but there was occasionally some residual embarrassment around the knowledge that she’d once asked Colby whether he, Jason, was good in bed.

She’d meant it in a protective way, he knew. Whether he was good to Colby: thoughtful, generous, considerate. Everything Colby’s former partners had never been. He couldn’t even fault her for wanting to check in; she was Colby’s best friend and older sister, by choice if not by blood, and she cared.

He still sometimes winced, though, at the thought that Jill had seen him essentially naked on camera, for sex scenes, and had apparently been reassured by Colby that he was very satisfactory. In all ways.

“That was more or less the question anyway,” their moderator agreed happily. “Jason, you’ve done this before, haven’t you? So you know how this goes. Was it Moon War you were here for, last time?”

Well, he’d known it’d be coming; no surprise. He let himself sigh, exaggeratedly. Stared down at the table for a second: mock resignation.

Colby squeezed his hand.

Jason looked up, and said, in his best deadpan version of his Moon Corps Captain’s action-hero voice, “Shut up, son, before I kick your ass to Uranus.”

That line, as iconic and quotable and terrible as it was, got cheers almost as loud as Colby’s virginity joke. Noise bounced off the ceiling, and rattled from the walls, nearly bursting the convention center at the seams.