Page 41 of Ship Wrecked

Alex:We should talk about beards. Specifically, whose beard was fuller and more becoming over the course of the second season. Because it’s clearly mine, and I want that publicly acknowledged.

Moderator:[mumbles] Jesus Christ.

10

“Now that we’ve talked through the basic sequence of events, I want to revisit the beginning of the scene, if that’s acceptable to you both.” When Peter and Maria acquiesced with a nod, Delia—the production’s intimacy coordinator—continued. “Once their years of repressed lust boil over—”

Six. Six years of repressed lust.

Not that Peter was counting.

“—Cyprian will shove Cassia against the wall and tear off her tunic, leaving her naked from the waist up. Then he’ll push a thigh between hers and kiss her passionately while squeezing her breasts.”

Liquid nitrogen, he thought.The North Pole. Wisconsin in January. Meat lockers.

Delia looked up from her notes. “In other words, the encounter will start near-violently, before transitioning into more gentle lovemaking. Does anything about that part of your scene worry either of you?”

In retrospect, he definitely should have jerked off before reporting to the set.

It was just choreography, he’d told himself upon reading the script. A simple series of heavily scripted movements accompanied by the display of whatever emotions were relevant. What he and Maria filmed this week might turn on viewers, but in theend, it was only a job. Only another scene, no different from a battle sequence or all those hours spent harvesting seaweed at the shoreline.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t private. It wasn’t about the two of them but their characters, and they had nothing to worry about.Hehad nothing to worry about.

But in reality, now that they’d reached this—literally—climactic scene between Cassia and Cyprian, the scene for which their fandom had been clamoring since their first episode aired, the scene that would surely launch thousands of startlingly filthy fics on AO3 and reams of NSFW fan art... so much about the situation bothered him.

First, there was Cyprian’s sheer sexual aggression at the start of the encounter, aggression that Cassia welcomed. But Maria wasn’t Cassia, and he refused to hurt or frighten her, however inadvertently. As Delia had repeatedly emphasized, even though the scene expressed their characters’ sexual preferences rather than their own, Maria’s comfort and safety still mattered. So did his, obviously, but after six fucking years of unassuaged desire for her, he figured she could do just about anything to him and it would feel good.

More than good. Like a benediction. Like oxygen to a man slowly, painfully suffocating.

Second, Maria would no doubt jump into character with her usual enthusiasm... but with significantly fewer items of clothing blocking his view and preventing skin-on-skin contact. Other than a few key barriers for modesty, they’d spend most of the scene entirely naked—and they’d stay that way for almost a week of filming, because constantly changing angles and lighting meant even short sex scenes took forever to shoot. And this wasnota short sex scene.

Maybe that still wouldn’t have been an issue, except that hehadn’t bedded another woman after meeting Maria. Even knowing she’d had occasional dalliances between seasons, as various tabloids eagerly documented. The knowledge had stung—of course it stung; it more than stung, itburned—but she’d offered herself to him, and he’d said no. And he was a bastard, but not enough of a bastard to expect her to remain celibate for over half a decade to spare the feelings of a man who’d refused a sexual relationship with her.

Over time, he’d expected to find consolation in someone else’s arms too. Since that fateful day in an LA sauna, though, even flirting with someone else felt like cheating, for some asinine reason. So now, primed by six endless years with only the dubious consolation of his left hand, he was essentially an SFX fireball ready to explode, only hotter and less controlled. Fuck, if even this relatively dry conversation was making him hard, the actual scene itself might very well kill them all in some sort of boner-induced cataclysm.

And third—shit. He tried not to think about it. He’d been trying not to think about it for weeks now. Possibly months. But he couldn’t avoid it any longer.

This was his last scene with Maria. Ever.

Last week, they’d separately filmed their deaths, because of course Ron and R.J. couldn’t abide the thought of a hopeful ending for anyone.

After Cyprian and Cassia’s lovemaking, the triumphant roar of the undead told them their gate had been breached, and their destiny was upon them. They both knew they wouldn’t survive the battle ahead, not as mere humans. So he sent her away for her safety, although she initially refused to leave him. But when he reminded her that she could, even then, be carrying his child—his legacy in the living world, and the only proof of their love thatmight survive—she agreed to go, sobbing brokenheartedly all the while.

He helped her into the frail currach they’d painstakingly assembled over the course of endless isolated, lust-choked, pining-filled years and pushed the boat as far into the storm-tossed ocean as possible before marching, numb with despair and terror, toward the gate. Toward the cliffs.

And that was where, in the scene they’d shot last Tuesday, Cyprian had watched the woman he loved to the point of agony remain atop the towering, churning waves only a few precious minutes before she foundered and drowned within sight of the shore.

Then he’d battled the undead from Tartarus and had his ass handed to him. Or, more accurately, his head, removed from his shoulders by some terrible creature—the VFX folks were going to have fun with that—as he shouted Cassia’s name with his final, tortured breath.

It was depressing as fuck. But however grim, at least their character arcs made sense, which was more than could be said for many of his colleagues.

Maria had returned to that enormous Belgian water tank for her death scene, while he’d remained on the island for his. But since productions like theirs didn’t always film sequences in order, the two of them had this one scene left to shoot together. Their lone love scene, after all this time.

Then he was leaving the island forever. Leaving her forever.

Portraying Cyprian’s devastation as he watched Cassia sail away, as he watched her die, hadn’t been a challenge. Peter had essentially been dabbling in method acting.

So, yeah, this entire situation kind of blew.

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