Risk Everything on It

by K.A. Mitchell

Jax pried his fingers off the doorknob. He had blocking to follow, lines. C’mon, brain. Step to the right. Let him in. “Oscar. Come in.”

  “Call me Oz.” He stepped into the house, into Jax’s space.

  Jax reached for Oz’s face. The prickle of his beard filled Jax’s palm, and his fingers found the scraped-smooth skin at the base of Oz’s skull. Everything about him was solid, warm. Here. Jax angled his head for a kiss. There’d be lots of time to ask him about babies and diapers and bottles. After.

  Oz’s chuckle vibrated across Jax’s mouth, and then their tongues met. Slick. Soft. There was plenty of space to breathe, but Jax’s head got light, floating on the rush of arousal, the promise in Oz’s hands cupping Jax’s ass.

  “You smell good,” Oz said into Jax’s jaw.

  Jax smiled at the thought of Dane with his sniffing, his insistence he could smell sex on Jax this morning. But unlike Dane’s endless flirtation—his default communication with the world—this was going somewhere. Down the hall and into the bedroom, now.

  “You too.”

  Oz did. Like sunshine on the water in San Diego. Not really a cologne or aftershave, just warm and fresh. Jax put his hands on Oz’s shoulders under his jacket and pushed the windbreaker off.

  Oz stepped back, shrugging out of the rustling nylon and hanging it on a hook in the foyer, messing with Jax’s storyboard image of the camera panning along the breadcrumb trail of discarded clothes toward the bedroom.

  Oz reached back into his jacket and took out a box of condoms, waving them before he tucked them into the pocket of his khakis. “Brought my own this time.”

  “Good idea.” Jax led him away from the door. “The bedroom is—”

  Oz pinned him against the wall arch of the living room, stretching up to kiss him while his hands landed on Jax’s pecs, massaging, fingers lightly pinching Jax’s nipples through his T-shirt. Soft material, a rub of strong fingers. Jax gasped into Oz’s mouth, reaching for his zipper.

  Oz stopped Jax’s hand. “There some kind of rush?”

  Jax spread his legs so they were more matched in height. “Only if you plan to use the whole box.”

  “I like the way you think.”

  Oz’s tongue in Jax’s mouth might as well have been on his balls. Repeated hookups almost never lived up to the gotta-have-it-now heat of the first time. But this might even be better if they took it slow.

  He swung them around the arch so that Oz’s back was to the wall. No way would Jax get all the way down on Oz’s dick, but it sure would be fun to try. So what if his jaw ached. He had thirty-six hours to rest it before the audition.

  Oz grabbed Jax’s shoulders and lifted him away from where Jax was kissing under the stubbled jaw.

  “Either you have a really creepy doll fetish, or you are taking practice babysitting very seriously.”

  Jax glanced over his shoulder. Through Oz’s eyes, the clutter on the coffee table of Hannah, diapers, clothes, and a bottle must have made Jax look like a total sicko.

  “Uh….” Acting was turning a lie into effortless truth. Jax summoned a smile. “The second. My friends are counting on me. It’s important to do it right.”

  Okay. That might have sounded lamer than a doll fetish. But Oz’s gaze held approval, not amusement. “It is important. Lots of people wouldn’t bother and just half-ass it.” He stepped around Jax. “What did you need to know?”

  “Now?” Disappointment made Jax’s voice jump in pitch. “I thought after….” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the bedroom.

  “Business first. Then—” Oz’s eyes were heavy lidded, and he drew out the promise like those first slow strokes he’d made into Jax’s body. “—we can take our time.” He positioned himself next to the coffee table. “What do you need?”

  Jax sighed and stood next to him. “Besides your dick up my ass five minutes ago?”

  Oz laughed, a sudden bark of sound so different from the warm chuckles Jax remembered from the back of the Explorer. Oz’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and Jax wanted to make him laugh again almost as much as he wanted to get off.

  “Yes, besides that.”

  “It’s like I said on the phone. I thought you could show me some tricks to handling a newborn.”

  “You did say that. But the brain in my pants thought you were feeding me a line to get me over here.”

  “I was. It also happened to be true.”

  Oz’s smile was more sardonic this time, accompanied by a knowing nod accepting Jax’s admission.

  “Okay, first of all, that’s not a newborn.” Oz pointed at Hannah. “She looks about four months old. If your friends’ baby is a newborn—”

  Cliff had sent the sides along with the prop. Four pages of dialogue set in a grocery store, Jax juggling a crying infant while talking to a friend whose husband has recently left her.

  “I guess I got the age wrong. This is about how big their baby is.” The lie started to wear thin, but the truth was so damned complicated. It wasn’t as if Jax was digging into how Oz had gotten a degree in Advanced Baby Wrangling. Don’t ask, don’t tell was alive and well in Hollywood.

  Jax picked up Hannah. “I just don’t know what I’m doing. At all.” Confession was good for the soul.

  Parts a lot lower were just as happy about it when Oz pressed up against Jax’s hip from behind, hands covering Jax’s, adjusting his grip on the doll. “Spread your fingers wide against her back and support her neck like this. Yeah, that’s it.”

  It wasn’t a real child. So the wood Jax was sprouting wasn’t all that inappropriate. But any more murmurs of approval with that good-smelling man pressed into him and Jax would be moaning into poor little Hannah’s face.

  “Why do her clothes get all bunched up when I do it?”

  “That was from the way you picked her up.”

  Jax bent to lower the baby to the sofa cushion. “Show me?” Christ, everything sounded so loaded. Hell, it was loaded, and so were Jax’s balls. They should have fucked first.

  “Definitely.” Oz’s voice held exactly the tone that was guaranteed to make what was left of Jax’s focus shoot straight to his nuts.

  “Not fair,” Jax complained. “It’s already hard to pay attention.”

  “It’s hard all right.” Oz rubbed against him but then moved away.

  “Jesus.” Jax sucked in his breath. “You’re killing me here.”

  Oz scooped up the doll, looking as natural as Spencer had. “One thing about taking care of kids, especially infants, is that their needs have to come first.”

  “So my throbbing dick is a learning opportunity?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Great.” Jax sighed. “Teach me.”

  Oz’s grin made Jax have to reach for an urgent readjustment to reduce the tightness in his sweats.

  “How long will you be babysitting?” Oz shifted the doll so that her head rested on his shoulder.

  Jax had thought the doll looked realistic, but next to Oz’s warm brown skin, the pink was unnaturally plastic. Jax’s attention narrowed to the contrast—the feel of that skin against his, the hard grip of those hands. On his hips. His shoulders. His ass. His dick.

  “Jax?” The amusement in Oz’s voice suggested he knew exactly where Jax’s brain had gone.

  “The babysitting, right. Well, it could end up being a long-term thing.”

  Oz furrowed his brow and glanced around the room. “Like doing childcare for them?”

  “Nothing that serious.” Jax didn’t want to drift into more complicated lies. “Mostly I want to make sure I can feed her and change a diaper. And hold her without twisting her clothes around her.”

  “Okay.” Oz sat on the couch and picked up a bottle. “Now, when you feed from a bottle—”

  Jax settled next to him. “As opposed to…?”

  Oz’s eyes widened, and then he grinned, leaned over, and pinched Jax’s nipple through his shirt. “Something extra special going on here?”

  “Oh.” J
ax’s cheeks heated, and he stared at his knees. Women were usually a part of the having-a-baby experience. “Is that how you—I mean, where you got your experience?” He waved at the baby in Oz’s arms.

  “From breastfeeding?” Oz asked dryly. He wasn’t only a natural with a baby. He could teach Jax a thing or two about avoiding questions.

  That was a no to digging for clues. If Oz could help him nail the audition and then nail him, what did it matter? “Understood,” Jax said.

  “You need to keep the bottle tipped for her. The inserts help.” Oz showed Jax what the baggies that had come with the bottle were for. “But you don’t want her to suck in too much air.”

  After passing over the doll and the bottle, Oz helped Jax arrange the baby on his arm, demonstrating the right angle for the bottle. He didn’t feel quite as foolish as he had with Dane as an audience. For a moment, Jax imagined Hannah looking back up at him with trust and used that to create a sense memory of her warm and alive in his arms.

  “Good. Then after about half a bottle, you’ll want to stop to burp her.” Oz draped the practice diaper over Jax’s shoulder. “Be ready for lots of puke. That’s another fact of childcare. Kids throw up.”

  Jax clenched his teeth against a wave of bile. The fake guts, gore, and popping eyeballs of Straight to Hell 3 hadn’t bothered him at all, even when he was covered in them, but the idea of actual infant spit-up had him ready to heave. If he did get this part, any fluids wouldn’t be real, simply conjured up in the props department. Depending on what they used, sometimes the fake stuff smelled good.

  Jax shifted Hannah to his shoulder, remembering how Oz had supported her neck. The first time he mashed her face into his chest, but the second time he got it right. Tapping her back lightly, Jax asked, “How hard do you pat?”

  “Harder than that.”

  Jax took his hand away so Oz could show him. The doll slid off Jax’s shoulder.

  Oz lunged, grabbing the baby. “Babies can squirm, and you never want to take both hands off of her.”

  Cliff ought to send Oz on the audition. Concerned, caring dad radiated from his pores. Jax was never going to come close to looking that natural.

  “Some babies, depending on size, do better like this.” Oz draped Hannah along his forearm, rubbing her back.

  How was anyone supposed to remember all these details with an actual tiny human depending on you? Jax should stick to only what he needed for the interview. “What if she doesn’t stop crying?”

  “If she’s not wet or hungry, you have to try different things.” Oz held Hannah, rocked her, patted her. “Most babies like being walked or swayed.” He stood up and demonstrated. “And talk to her. You try.” He stretched out his arms, the doll dangling between them.

  On the phone, this arrangement had seemed reasonable. Help with the audition and a repeat of Thursday’s hot fuck. No pressure. No stress. But as Jax met Oz’s eyes over the top of the doll’s head, stage fright froze Jax in place, leaving him self-conscious in a way he’d never experienced before. God, he’d been in front of cameras since he was four years old, even done a live presentation at the Emmys when he was eleven.

  How did one man’s opinion suddenly matter so much? And about something so trivial.

  Jax did a quick four-count breath, internal throat muscles tensing and releasing, techniques he’d been taught for regaining composure on set. He needed to prep for an audition, and that was exactly what this was.

  Hannah was his child. She was crying. She needed him. Wide hands, support the head. Walk and sway. Comfort, soothe. A good performance tapped into real emotions. Tap into love. Like he loved….

  How could there not be an end to that sentence?

  Another four-count breath. He was a loving person. Theo, Dane, Gideon. Jax would do anything for them. His dad. He loved his dad, of course.

  “I promise holding a baby will not create a lifetime commitment,” Oz said.

  Jax made a sound—half laugh, half question.

  Oz tipped his head. “You looked like you were about to have a panic attack.”

  That was comforting.

  Oz lowered his arms, the doll with them. “You want to help out your friends, I get that. But kids aren’t for everybody, even if it’s just a babysitting stint. Spending hours alone trying to comfort a screaming infant could teach the CIA a thing or two about torture.”

  “No, I want to give this a shot. I’m pretty patient.”

  Oz lifted the doll again, but as Jax reached out to take her, Oz murmured, “I didn’t notice much patience when you were trying to jam yourself onto my dick.”

  Arousal slammed back into Jax so fast he almost dropped Hannah. He took a step or two away, knees wobbly, throat convulsively swallowing while his blood buzzed with want. With an effort, he relaxed his grip on the doll, never happier that she was a plastic prop and not some mini human entrusted to him.

  “So now imagine that she’s screaming,” Oz suggested.

  Since Jax’s nuts were doing their own version of screaming, he could definitely summon a sensation of frustration. And there it was. Empathy.

  “What’s the matter, honey?” He put Hannah on his shoulder and swayed. “Is someone teasing you too? Poor baby.” He cradled the back of her head, picturing fragility. He took another step, imagining the grocery store around him, running into a friend whose world had fallen apart. Yes, that was what the whole audition would be looking for, empathy. He’d balance the physical actions of comforting the baby with the concerned words to the friend. He was going to nail this part.

  He glanced over to see Oz scrutinizing Jax as intently as if he were a bridge being examined for structural flaws.

  “You’re a quick study.” Despite the compliment, Oz sounded tense.

  “Thank you.” Jax stepped back to him, still rubbing Hannah’s back. “You made it easy, just watching you.”

  But the toe-curling, ball-tingling mood had vanished. Oz stood next to the coffee table, feet apart, shoulders braced. If a tidal wave suddenly swept through the living room, Jax suspected Oz would be there after it departed, solidly rooted as everything else washed away.

  “Something else you want help with? Diapering?”

  Jax tossed the doll onto the couch. “Yeah, I want help with something.” He grabbed Oz’s hand. “But it’s not diapering.” Jax dragged Oz’s hand to cover Jax’s groin and then let go.

  For an instant, he wondered if he was going to get brushed off. Something had shifted, and a fuck no longer seemed like a sure thing, though hell if Jax knew why.

  Oz didn’t pull his hand away, only stared into Jax’s face. Blood throbbed in his cock, sharp and hot at the tip as his dick strained to rub itself into that motionless hand.

  Finally, Jesus, finally, Oz’s fingers closed around the shaft. “And what kind of help are you after?”

  “The kind that gets your dick in me. But if you’ve got something else in mind, someone once told me I’m a quick study.”

  Oz’s lips twitched, and then he leaned in and kissed Jax. Hard. Like that tidal wave coming on. Jax could only open his mouth and take the wet thrust of his tongue. Oz held Jax’s head there, jerking him off through his sweats until he lost what little breath the kiss had left him with.

  His hips bucked forward, hands on Oz’s thick shoulders, the round swell of muscle flexing with the motion of his arm. When Jax had to tear his mouth free for air, Oz scraped their cheeks together, his breath hot and humid in Jax’s ear.

  “Bedroom?”

  More room than the couch, and no chance of rolling over to stare into Hannah’s glassy dead eyes, because that would be a complete boner killer.

  “This way.” Jax led Oz toward the back of the house and paused to point at a door off the hall. “Bathroom.”

  “Nice place.” Was that the structural engineer’s opinion or only typical hookup small talk?

  “Thanks. It’s not mine. I’m subletting until the end of the month. I travel a lot. For business.”
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br />   Oz hadn’t asked, so why was Jax volunteering the extra information? It wasn’t a date, for God’s sake.

  He pulled the duvet off the bed, then stripped before stretching out on the sheets. He didn’t let himself go between roles, and even in LA, where the personal trainers had personal trainers, Jax was used to admiring looks from the guys he took to bed. Oz’s gaze was hungry, but the corner of his mouth lifted as if he was in on some joke.

  His boxers joined the neat drape of his clothes on the closet doorknob, and Oz joined Jax on the bed.

  “What’s funny?”

  “Me.” Oz smoothed a hand down Jax’s chest, pressure trailing off at his navel. “I have a type. And damn if you aren’t it.”

  It didn’t sound like a compliment. But Oz wrapped a fist around Jax’s cock, and that was really all that mattered. They were going to do this.

  Jax returned the favor, fascinated by the glide of the foreskin, the contrast in the velvet warmth and the silky slickness beneath. Rolling Oz onto his back, Jax leaned up and took a look at what he was working with. Oz’s chest was broad, almost squared to his hips. Not cut like a gym rat, but not soft either. The muscles of his thighs reminded Jax of Oz’s powerful thrusts even in the cramped conditions in the back of the Explorer. But the showpiece, of course, was that cock.

  Thick, hell yeah, beautiful too, the thicker head pink and shiny. It got even fatter at the base. Jax could remember how those last few inches felt, the desperate stretch when he thought he’d taken him. He lifted the soft sac, measured the balls with a light touch, studied the effect on Oz’s cock. Hard enough that it was sticking up straight, precome pearling up through the slit, even though Jax had stopped stroking him. Under the soft skin, ridges and veins made a gorgeous texture for Jax to feel in his mouth, in his ass.

  He leaned down to lick the head, glancing up to see Oz watching him with hooded eyes, mouth still. Jax swept his tongue over the slit again, and Oz’s hands reached out before he tucked them under his head, propping himself on a pillow to watch.

  Jax had heard uncut guys tasted funky, but Oz didn’t. Salty tang of come, sex sweat, and him, the warm, sunny scent on his skin only more intense. Jax wrapped his lips around the rim and sank down as deep as he could, his jaw stretched, throat full. More precome landed on the back of his tongue, and he swallowed, making Oz gasp. No way could Jax do justice to this dick with his mouth, but he’d sure as hell try. He sucked and bobbed, letting his spit soak the shaft, going as fast as he could and using a hand to make up for the lack of depth.