by Ivy Oliver
“What does that mean?” he asks.
I shrug. “Damned if I know.”
“Alright, alright,” he says. “Maybe I'm just paranoid. Comes with the job.”
I lean closer. “So you speak a bunch of languages, you're a solid wall of muscle, and you work for a 'security' company, wink wink. Has anyone ever told you that you're interesting as fuck?”
“Occasionally,” he smirks.
“If you tell me a war story I'll suck your cock.”
“Why would I make a deal for something you’d give me for free?”
I'm about to retort when Nick calls me.
“Matt! Sandy's jellied up, let's get this in as few takes as possible before she goes rancid.”
As I head for the set, I stop and look at him.
“Tell me this isn't another goddamn sex scene.”
“It's not,” he sighs. “This is after you've impregnated her.”
I groan. “There are so many reasons why that won't work.”
“Are you criticizing my script?” Maury snaps from his seat. He has his arms folded and looks petulant, like a little kid that got told off.
“A human being cannot get an alien bee lady pregnant. You know what else? I've been reading the script, and you keep calling her a pirate but at no time does she engage in actual piracy.”
Maury opens his mouth to speak, but Lucas yells and cuts him off.
“Matt, clock's ticking.”
Nick gives me a look and a shrug, and I stalk off to climb into a puddle of goo with Aunt Sandy.
Sometimes I hate myself.
Lucas folds his arms, his lips twitching as he fights desperately to contain a smirk. I glare at him, square up, and go over the stage direction with Nick.
The…breeding cave is a foam rubber and wood beam contraption, clearly built to be filmed only from one side. Very cheaply built, I might add. Inside, a kiddie pool has been mocked up into a breeding pit full of green slime (that is, sexy jelly tinted green) with egg pods (beach balls filled with water and dressed up by the props department) and a bunch of lights and pumps to make it all glow and bubble.
Sandy sits back at the far end of the pool, looking like she just swallowed a live spider. She continues to glare as the crew finishes the setup. Up to her neck in green goop, it's also soaked into her hair.
“Okay,” Nick says. “We're all set. Positions.”
Sighing, I square myself up in front of the kiddie pool.
I can't believe I'm doing this.
“Action,” Nick calls.
I stand and watch in “reverent awe” per the script as Sandy moves forward and stands up, green goop swirling around her. She rises from the slime with a very obviously fake pregnant belly attached to her body.
“My love, you've come back for me,” she says, somehow managing not to sound like she's struggling to contain laughter. I admire her seriousness.
Said seriousness breaks when the weight of the fake slime yanks her top off, mid step, and it lands in the pool with an angry splortch.
I whip away, averting my eyes as Nick yells “Cut!” and the crew groans.
Sandy, glaring, adjusts herself, the fake belly, and her bikini top. Then she has to step out, and the makeup guys have to smear the goo off her with towels and touch up her makeup again, and she resets.
Somehow, she manages her line again, and ad-libs a little gesture that manages to keep her breasts covered this time. She stalks to the edge of the pool and places a slimy, sticky hand on my chest.
“I thought I'd never see you again,” she says.
I rest my hand on hers, ignoring the lukewarm goop and the odd squelching noise it makes against my chest.
“I would never forget you, my love, and yet I have come to say goodbye.”
Sandy's expression is heartbreaking.
She's…she's actually too good of an actress for this shit.
“But why?”
I turn slightly from her, not looking at the camera, but to make sure it catches my face for this.
“I must go. The other worlds of the Karanthar Expansion call out for heroes. Monstrothis has only been delayed, not stopped. The war never ends.”
Sandy whimpers and rests her head on my chest.
“Stay with me for a time, at least.”
“I will, and I will return. Prince Grabthar will return.”
This is going to suck.
I step into the goo, trying desperately not to slip or do something that fucks up the shot so we have to repeat this nonsense. I hold Sandy's hand and walk with her to the back of the kiddie pool, and we sink to our knees, then sit down to our necks, still facing each other as she leans in to kiss me.
It's a stage kiss; she mashes her lips below mine, just above my chin, and holds until…
“Cut,” Nick shouts. “It's good, we got it.”
“Thank God,” Sandy says, playfully but firmly pushing me off of her. “I look like I got gangbanged by the Kool-Aid Man.”
The crew bursts out in guffaws. Even Lucas cracks a smile at that one, shaking his head.
Sandy gets up, stumbling a bit in the slippery goop, holds her top up with one hand, and yanks off the pregnant belly with another. It floats on top of the slime.
“I'm serious, get this shit off me,” she mutters.
God, I'm drenched in it, too. It's all over me, running not just over but under my leather pants, squelching out with loud, obnoxious wet fart noises as I walk away from the kiddie pool.
Lucas eyes me as I walk past him.
“Towel, damn it!” I shout.
It takes four of them to get me nearly dry, and I'm still coated. I end up surrendering my entire outfit in the privacy of the wardrobe tent. Lucas reaches in to hand me a bath robe before I come out.
I lean over to him as I pass. “I should save some of that lube for later,” I whisper.
“Not happening.”
“You didn't like seeing me all wet and greased up?”
He smiles thinly. “You looked a little green.”
I roll my eyes and head over to Nick so we can watch the footage.
It's as amazingly stupid looking as you'd expect. After it's done, only Maury seems to approve. The director, myself, and my costar all look like we just watched video of someone throwing a kitten out of a helicopter.
Lucas leans over my shoulder and looks at Sandy.
“You're a talented actress,” he says.
She smiles warmly. “Thanks, glad somebody thinks so.”
“I can't say I disagree,” Nick says. “You deserve better than this, doll.”
“Don't call me doll, Ken.”
“Ouch,” Lucas says.
“What? I don't get it,” Nick says.
I laugh. “Think about it for a while. What's on our plate next?”
“Tomorrow we'll do some action scenes. I'm working on the schedule now. I think we can let Sandy wear clothes for a couple of days.”
“Oh thank God,” she says, “I've got sunburn on body parts I didn't know the sun could reach.”
“Hit the showers,” Nick says, “we're done for the day.”
“Wash off quick,” Sandy admonishes me, “this stuff gets nasty if you don't. Trust me.”
“I guess I'm heading back for a shower,” I say.
The three of us walk back, still in robes. Sandy quickly ducks into her trailer, but not before wringing green goo from her head.
That leaves me alone with Lucas.
I turn to him after I open the door.
“I'm taking a shower.”
“Good idea,” he grunts.
“All by myself. I'll be so lonely.”
“Damn shame,” he says.
“Come inside.”
His lips curl slowly into a smirk.
“I meant that every which way,” I say, my voice low and smoky.
“I'm sure you did,” he says. “Sorry. Professional responsibilities.”
“Ah yes. A man has to have a code,” I say.
He nods.
With a shrug, I walk up the short cast iron staircase and into my trailer. Then I shrug off my robe without closing the door. I stand buck-assed naked in front of Lucas, grab my lubed-up cock, and let it slide through my fingers.
Just knowing he's watching, seeing him devour me with his eyes, turns me insta-hard. I lick my lips sensually and stroke my cock, staring at him.
He stands there rooted to the spot, his only movement the growing bulge in his pants.
I turn, stroking my cock with one hand while I spread my ass with the other and then give the meat of my butt a big slap.
“Please,” I mouth silently.
He shakes his head, then turns to leave.
Lucas struggles with it, physically, like an invisible bond is holding him back.
Then he lunges through the door, spins me around, and gives me a push forward. My hands hit the counter and my brain starts screaming, this is it, here comes the cock!
He kicks the door closed behind him, bends, and shoves his face between my cheeks.
The shock of it almost makes me stand up. It's like he read my mind. My favorite fantasy I was already afraid to ask for, addicted to it after one of my partners…
He starts eating my ass and grabs my cock. I put my hands on the counter so my shaking legs and slippery lubed-up feet don't sent me sprawling. As his tongue swirls and licks and invades, I groan. It only makes me crave cock all the more.
I'm already lubed up and hard and horny. It doesn't take long before I explode all over the counter in front of me, shuddering.
Lucas stands up, calmly wipes the lube off his cheeks with a towel, and says, “are you still horny?”
“Yes,” I purr, twisting to reach for him.
He dances out of the way.
“I want you in my ass,” I say plainly.
God, he's throbbing hard, that monster in his pants straining at the denim. My eyes want to roll back as I shudder, thinking of how good it would feel…will feel to have him spreading me open and filling me.
I have a new life goal. He's fucking me in the ass if it's the last thing I do. With him hung like that, it might.
“Stay out of trouble until the morning,” he says, pulling the door shut behind him.
6
Lucas
What happened to avoiding this entanglement, Lucas? What happened to professionalism? What happened to being able to think past the tip of your dick?
I'm in it now. I've fooled around with him twice now, and both times I've come close to fucking him. That tight bubble ass of his screams to be taken and my cock strains to answer the call. I wanted to throw him on the bed and just rail the shit out of him. If he's so eager to take the cock, we'll see how he likes it when I don't hold back.
I'm so horny I want to scream, and the first thing I do after I slam the door to my trailer is fall against the wall, yank my dick out, and beat off.
His image is burned into my mind; standing there naked, stroking his beautiful cock and presenting his delectable ass for fucking, that pleading look in his eyes.
He wants it, Lucas. He wants it bad, just give it to him.
I can't.
I gasp and shudder, loosing a too-quick orgasm with no buildup. It relieves the physical pressure, but the itch is worse, a splinter in my mind driving me mad.
My head thumps against the metal wall as I sit there, still-hard dick in hand. The next time, in the heat of the moment, I might not be able to resist. I can't get him out of my head. His beautiful muscles, strong legs, broad shoulders, perfect slender body, those lips, those eyes, the pleading way he looked up at me. How am I supposed to forget the sight of those perfect lips pressed tight around my shaft as though he wanted to swallow my soul with my seed?
I've never met anyone who wanted me that bad, and it's leaving me more horny than I have ever been in my entire life.
Groaning and achy from an orgasm that was more full body charley horse than true release, I shower up and sit on the bed until a knocking comes at the door.
When I open it, clad in a towel, it's Matt.
He looks up at me, his mouth hanging open in naked shock as his eyes crawl over my wet skin, recording every detail.
“Can't I shower in peace?”
He looks up at me.
“I wanted to go for a walk. Aren't you going to guard me, bodyguard?”
I clench my teeth. “If I must.”
He smirks. “Well, you better hurry up, because I'm leaving the other way and you're in deep if you get caught slacking off on this peach pie job, right?”
Snarling, I slam the door shut, pull on my clothes like it'll hurt them, and storm outside. Matt casually turns and starts strolling.
“What's this about?”
“I need to stretch my legs,” he says.
Yawning, he raises his arms over his head and rises on his toes to stretch. It arches his back, tenses his thighs and calves, and pulls the too-tight seat of his jeans even tighter over the round bubble of his oh-so-fuckable ass.
The worst part is a thin strip of the small of his back exposed when his shirt rises, pale skin flashing before he resumes his normal gait. He's graceful and long-legged. Some kind of athlete, has to be.
He walks, so I walk too, in silence.
As we near the edge of the camp, he says, “I made you an offer for some war stories.”
I don't answer him for a time. He waves to Carl the security guard, who looks up from his magazine to note that I'm following before waving back. Matt continues on, away from the film set.
He stops on a low rock outcrop and looks across flat, pebbly nothing, with a few patches of scrub grass and scratchy bushes.
“Well?”
“Why does everyone want to hear war stories?” I ask.
He glances at me and shrugs. “I don't know. I've met lots of ex-military guys that liked telling them.”
“I don't,” I say. “I joined up to get out of the house and get a career. It was dirty and ugly. They sent me to places that were hot and dangerous and I got shot at. Then it was done, and the only job I could find was doing the same thing.”
“What exactly is your job? Guarding a guy like me seems like overkill, if you forgive me for saying so.”
I snort. “Yeah. Security work. I can't talk about most of it. My employers take a lot of government contracts.”
“Ooh, exciting,” he says, edging closer. “You do special forces stuff? Rescue diplomats’ daughters?”
I cringe a little and shudder.
“That's movies. I mostly stand around. Days and days of standing around, then a frantic helicopter ride to get somewhere so I can hurry up and wait. Sheer terror for a few hours, rinse, repeat. Benefits are good, pay is great. If I make it through, I'll be off the field by my thirties and retired by my forties.”
“Do you like it?” Matt says, looking out over the desert.
“No,” I say.
“Then why do you do it?”
“I guess I forgot who I was before I started,” I say, shrugging.
Matt considers me for a moment, quietly. The desert breeze tussles his hair, giving him an artfully casual look, like he just rolled out of bed. He's too perfect to be real.
“What would you do instead?” he says, turning away.
“One of my brothers is a writer. Another bakes, along with my twin sister. One is a photographer. The other…I don't know what the other does, to be perfectly truthful. I haven't talked to them in years. When I enlisted, I wanted to be a radio technician. Learn electronics.”
“Yeah?”
I shrug. “Yeah. Hobby of my dad's…funny how it worked. My grandfather on my mom's side was a HAM.”
Matt blinks a few times. “Like…a pig?”
“Amateur radio operator,” I explain. “It's what people did before there were chat rooms. You'd get on and give your call sign and talk to people.”
“About what?”
“Whatever. Talk just to talk. Part of th
e game I guess was seeing how far away you could reach somebody—my grandfather's workshop out in the shed had all these postcards pinned to the wall. He called them DX cards. He'd exchanged them with people after they talked on the radio. He was proud of this one from Australia.”
“Wow,” Matt says. “So you got into that too?”
“I did, because my dad did. My mom wasn't interested, but all the stuff was still out there, and I guess she didn't realize it was worth anything. My first job was an electronics store down the way. I was fourteen. Worked under the table.”
“What'd you do?”
“Stockboy, but the owner let me take damaged gear home and play with it. Mostly I just took it apart and put it back together, tried to figure out how it worked. After a bit of reading and some experimenting, I managed to actually start repairing things.”
“So kind of like an engineering thing,” he says.
“Yeah. No need for that anymore,” I roll my shoulders. “You ever get a DVD player fixed?”
“I've never owned a DVD player,” Matt says.
I glance his way. “You're not that young. You must have had one when you were a kid.”
He shakes his head. “Nah. My dad has a home theater.”
I blink a few times. “Don't you need a DVD player or whatever for those?”
Matt sighs. “I don't mean the kind with a tv and fancy speakers. I mean a full-on theater with a projectionist on call. He's got a collection of classics on film, but he'd straight up get movies on actual film and play them at our house.”
I whistle, softly. “Jesus,” I add. “I can't imagine living like that.”
Matt shrugs. “I never wanted for anything, at least. Not since I was pretty small.”
I look at him. The setting sun, which seems to take forever to actually disappear out here, makes him glow like some kind of an angel.
He slowly turns and catches my eye.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I want to,” I say.
He shivers slightly, and not from the rising chill wind.
“You probably think I'm a spoiled, rich brat,” he says.
“You know your mom showed me a file.”
