The Melancholy Dane

The Melancholy Dane


I clearly don’t own any of the characters from “Galaxy Quest.” Dreamworks and David Howard own them lock, stock, and barrel.

Alexander Dane sat in his makeup chair and sighed. Three hours of sitting in this damned bloody chair in the morning to put on the prosthetic makeup that turned him into Dr. Lazarus, countless hours on the set filming the second incarnation of his television series, “Galaxy Quest”, and then another 2 hours to remove the damned bloody prosthetic makeup to turn him back into Alexander Dane, the graduate of the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts who sold out his credibility to the gods of schlock sci fi. He told himself it was for the paycheck. The money would give him the opportunity to do legitimate theater on his down time. At least that’s what he told himself. In truth, he’d been sucked into the “Galaxy Quest” machine. There was no time for anything else after shooting, publicity, and, of course, the endless conventions. He’d been to space. He’d been there, even though he still harbored a quiet belief that it was all a bizarre shared dream. Alexander had regrets. He had a lot of them. And those regrets had pulled him into a shell, earning him the onset nickname of “The Melancholy Dane.” He supposed someone found it amusing. He was not one of those who did. It only served to remind him of the lost chances to play Hamlet.

“Hey there Alex,” said Gwen DeMarco, sidling into the makeup chair next to his, tossing her blonde hair, and giving him a pout, “you seemed a little…off today.”

Alexander turned his head slightly to glare at Gwen. Honestly, he thought, Gwen is a little long in the tooth to be playing the sex kitten role off screen. It was bad enough ON screen. The woman needed to exercise a little dignity.

“I’m quite fine, Gwen,” he replied crisply.

“Heard the Shakespeare festival’s in town next month. Will you be participating?”

“No.”

“Ah, weren’t asked again, were you?”

“Must you be so catty, Gwen?”

“Sorry, Alex,” Gwen replied contritely, “I’m just suffering from an assful of Jason today.”

“Well, no one loves Jason as much as Jason loves Jason.”

“Very true,” sighed Gwen.

“What did he do this time?”

“Upstaged me. You know,” said Gwen, practicing her pout in the makeup mirror and ignoring the makeup girl removing the last traces of silicon from Alexander’s face, “I have so little to do, even now, and he can’t bear to see me shine. I get, what, one moment of glory every couple of weeks? Why can’t he let me have it?”

“Because he’s a selfish prat?” ventured Alexander, wincing from the application of rubbing alcohol to his face.

“And a bastard.”

“Didn’t call in the morning, did he?”

“You’re a bitch, Alexander Dane,” Gwen stated, glowering at her costar.

“But I’m not Jason Nesmith’s bitch.”

“Because you’re not his type.”

“And he’s the wrong gender for me, contrary to popular belief.”

“Wait,” said Gwen, turning to look at Alexander, “you’re NOT gay?”

“Gwen, you have known me for decades,” said Alexander, a look of disbelief crossing his hazel eyes.

“And I have never known you to have a lady friend. I assumed you were one of those gay Shakespearians.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“So you haven’t been harboring a secret crush on Jason for all these years?”

“What the fuck? No!” he replied, “and if I were gay, Jason would be the LAST person I would find attractive. All that ego and self serving smarm.”

“You’re all done, Mr. Dane,” stated the makeup girl, Jeanette.

“Thank you Jeanette,” he replied, flashing the young woman a quick smile.

“It’s Jeannine,” corrected Gwen.

“It’s Jeanette,” he said with a sigh. Jeanette nodded in agreement.

“Since when?” questioned Gwen, “Oh well, doesn’t matter…”

Alexander got up from his chair and headed to his dressing room, Gwen following him.

“Where are you going?” she asked, “I was still talking to you.”

“Back to my dressing room to get changed out of this uniform. It cuts off all circulation to my nether regions,” replied Alexander, opening the door marked with his name and listening to it slam behind him. He began slipping out of his uniform when he realized something: Gwen DeMarco was in his dressing room watching him undress.

“You know,” she breathed from behind him, “I never realized how in shape you were. Not bad for a 50 something year old man, Sir Alexander Dane.”

“Gwen,” he said, “do you mind?”

“Not at all,” she said, walking in front of him as he stood there with his uniform down around his ankles, “you said the uniform cuts off all circulation to your nether regions?”

“Gwen, this is highly inappropriate,” he protested, attempting to pull up his uniform. Her cool hand stopped him.

“No,” she said, her breathing hitching slightly, “finish what you were doing. I’ll just watch quietly.”

“I will not perform for you.”

Gwen smiled and fingered the zipper on her uniform, “Then let me perform for you.”

“5 minutes ago you thought I liked men.”

“And 4 minutes ago I found out that you didn’t,” she replied, pulling the zipper of her costume down slowly.

“Gwen, I must insist you stop this immediately.”

“Or what?” she said, pulling the zipper all the way down and sliding the uniform off her shoulders.

“Or…” he began, as he watched her run a finger down her ample cleavage, barely hidden by a slip of a bra.

“Or what?” she repeated, sliding the uniform all the way down, kicking off her shoes, and stepping out of the costume.

“Or…” he felt his breathing becoming heavier.

“Or you’ll prove that your statement of no blood flow to your manhood was a fallacy?” she queried, pointedly looking at his penis, the penis that betrayed him by twitching slightly under her gaze. He sighed as he saw the ripples of early arousal from beneath his regulation boxer briefs.

He attempted to shake himself into some semblance of dignity when she reached behind her and unclasped her bra, allowing it to fall to the ground with her uniform. Gwen DeMarco, the wet dream of millions of adolescent boys, was standing in front of him wearing nothing but a lacy pair of panties and a smile.

“Are you sure you like girls?” asked Gwen, taking a step towards him.

“I’m sure,” he replied, “it’s just that…” he attempted to take a step back, but unfortunately was entangled in his costume, which was still around his ankles. He gracelessly tripped and landed on the couch, flinching as Gwen approached him with a feline grace, pulling his uniform the rest of the way off and straddling his lap, her large creamy breasts inches from his face.

“I have wondered for years what you would be like,” she said, purring, “I thought of ways to turn you straight…”

“But,” he protested.

“I know,” she said, inching her breasts closer, “I don’t have to work quite as hard since you’re not gay.”

“I will not be used for revenge, Gwen.”

“Oh please,” she said, brushing a hard nipple across his cheek, “I wanted you long before I had Jason.”

Alexander gulped as her rosy pink nipple moved from his cheek to his lips. He struggled to stop his tongue from snaking out and tasting the peak. Gwen smiled as she tested his resolve by moving her bottom over his hardening penis. She gently placed her hands behind his head and held it to her breast. With a sigh she felt the resolve crumble as he parted his lips allowing the nipple access to his mouth.

“Oh yes…” she moaned, “Damn, Alex, please…suck it.”

With a sigh of his own, Alexander complied, sucking in the rosy peak and flicking his tongue over it. What would be the harm? He was a 50-year-old man and she was in her 40s, although she would never admit it. They were adults. Alexander moved his hand to her other breast, feeling the weight before flicking his thumb across her nipple. He nibbled at the nipple in his mouth, hearing her moan throatily. Smiling slightly, he switched breasts, giving the other nipple the same attention. Gwen squirmed on his lap as she felt her arousal peak under the skillful oral manipulations of Alexander.

Alexander slid a hand down the planes of her stomach and hooked it under the waistband of her panties, pulling them down a little.

“I’m not moving,” she said breathlessly, “you’re going to have to rip them off.”

Alexander bit down on her nipple and complied, ripping the flimsy satin panties from her body. Gwen was never gladder that she wore the thin useless undergarments. She adjusted her place on his lap, feeling his hardness against her bareness. She hadn’t been kidding. She wanted this man since the first time he uttered a sarcastic comment about Jason, the “star” of the show. She found sarcasm sexy and Alexander Dane was a master of the medium. She was startled when Alexander stood up, her legs wrapped around his waist. She hung on as he shifted their positions, laying her down on the couch. He pulled her down to the edge of the couch and kneeled on the floor near her legs. He parted her legs and gently rubbed a finger over her clit, feeling the wetness she exuded. With a grin, he leaned in and licked her, causing her to arch her back and drape her legs over his shoulders.

“Oh my god, Alex, I had NO idea…” she moaned as he focused his attention on her wet pussy, “you’re incredible…I want…I need…oooooooooohhhhhhhhh,” she muttered almost incoherently as his talented tongue brought her over the edge.

Alexander stood up and removed his underwear, watching Gwen still writhing on the couch, her chest flushed, her nipples like rocks, and a thin sheen of sweat over her well toned body. She opened her eyes slightly and took in the sight of Alexander Dane, in all his glory. She could hardly believe this god in front of her was the proper British actor she had been certain played for the other team. He had certainly kept himself in great shape. She took in his well formed, but not overly muscular chest, the perfect amount of chest hair adorning it. She followed the hair on his chest down to the line leading to the most magnificent penis she had ever seen. He truly put Jason, her egotistical erstwhile lover, to shame. She ran a hand across her breasts, pinching a nipple hard as she bent her knees slightly and spread her legs wider. Grinning at the invitation, Alexander moved so that his penis was touching her wet pussy. He rubbed the head over her clit, causing her to close her eyes and moan slightly.

“Inside, Alex,” was all she could get out.

Alexander complied, slipping the head inside her waiting pussy. He grasped her thighs as he slid home, filling her completely.

“Fuck me,” she breathed.

“As you wish,” he replied, his voice thick with desire.

They coupled with abandon, Gwen urging him to go harder and faster and Alexander complying. He pumped into her body, hitting her special spot several times. With a loud moan, Gwen felt herself go over the edge yet again, this time followed closely by Alexander. Alexander collapsed on top of her, kissing her breasts and giving her nipples a little more attention as she stoked his hair.

“That was amazing, Alex,” she said, shifting her legs to feel their mingled juices slip out of her, “I can’t believe I thought you were gay.”

“So, you believe me now?” he asked, nipping a still hard nipple.

“I might need more proof…” she said, smiling, “what are you doing later?”

“Don’t you have plans with Jason?” he asked.

“Jason who?” was her reply as she pulled Alexander up to kiss him for the first time.