by Amy Lane
“The bathroom!” the guys said in tandem.
“It’s not even a question,” Rick said, nodding. “I actually took my morning dump at the apartment on purpose so I didn’t have to take it here.”
Bobby and Skylar stared at him, but Rick didn’t seem to think this was too much information.
“I’m saying—if I was Reg, I’d shoot a hundred and fifty scenes a year, just so I could use the bathroom in the offices all the time.”
Bobby’s eyeballs were drying out, and he blinked a couple of times to see if he was actually hearing this.
“He’d die,” Skylar said seriously. “Think about it—you fast for two days before the scene, you get all fucked out during the scene, and then you eat and bulk up for at least a week, maybe a month, before the next scene. He’d die of dehydration if he shot a hundred and fifty scenes a year. Like, no question. It would kill him.”
Oh God. And Reg was worried about being stupid.
“Not to mention chafing,” Skylar continued. “I mean, remember Kane? He did a scene a week for a couple of months. Dex had to rub diaper ointment on his ass. No way it could happen. The most you could shoot would be, maybe, fifty. But that’s pushing it. You’d lose muscle mass.”
Rick nodded, conceding the point. “And afterward you’d never want to fuck again. Especially if you’re more into girls than boys.”
“Yeah.” Skylar was looking at Bobby now for confirmation. “Right, Bobby?”
“Oh dear God,” Bobby mumbled. “You guys, I’m going to go give Reg’s sister her meds, okay? I know it’s a little early, but—”
They both grinned at him, straight white teeth practically blinding him. “He’s got that look,” Rick said.
“The one that says he wouldn’t trust us to wipe our own asses—or each other’s,” Skylar agreed. “Dude, we scared him off, and it hasn’t been two weeks.”
Bobby shook his head and realized they were yanking his chain. “You both suck—”
“And swallow,” they said in tandem. “I mean,” Skylar clarified, “it’s part of our job.”
Oh Jesus. “Yeah, well, you go swallow each other all you want, but stop tugging on my balls,” he said, laughing. “And seriously—she needs her meds in an hour. Anywhere I gotta be tonight?”
Skylar shook his head. “We’re on for tonight—text us and let us know how Reg is doing tomorrow.” He grinned. “I brought groceries! We can feed Veronica health food—she’ll love it!”
Bobby nodded, biting his lip.
Sure she would.
“Oh come on,” Skylar urged. “Go home and nurse Reg.” He looked sideways at Rick and then back at Bobby. “He’s been asking for you.”
“Really? Why?”
Skylar shrugged. “I think he remembers you being kind yesterday. But he’s worried about you watching V—thinks she’s going to hurt you, so go back and reassure him.”
Bobby smiled, thinking that Reg would be good company. “Do you guys have a deck of cards or anything? Poor guy’s gonna be bored shitless.”
Rick wrinkled his nose like Bobby had suggested using a Sears catalog for toilet paper. “Seriously? Cards? Our apartment has ultra-cable, remember? And apparently V watches nothing but Fox News—he’s in heaven!”
Oh. “I’ll pick some up anyway.” Bobby finished his last notation and tucked the paper in his jeans. “I can ask him how he wants his house fixed too.”
“Dude.” Skylar shook his head.
“You gotta learn how to slack.” Rick nodded in total agreement.
“All this… this doing stuff.”
“Not good for you. Saying.”
The two guys regarded Bobby from wide, guileless blue eyes, and Bobby squinted back. “I think you guys need to bale some fuckin’ hay,” he muttered. “But thanks for bringing the Camaro—let me get my duffel out of the kitchen and I’ll take off.”
HE STOPPED on the trip back to get a pack of cards and then thought of a couple of games that would need two decks. And then, on impulse, he bought a game of Monopoly too. It had been a long time since he’d sat down with his mom to play games. He had the feeling Reg wouldn’t be letting him win.
Reg was curled up at a corner of the couch, watching a rerun of Law & Order with unhappy eyes.
“What’s up?” Bobby asked, setting a bag of takeout teriyaki bowls on the coffee table.
“This show moves damned fast,” he muttered. “I can never keep up with who they’re talking to and why.”
Bobby grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. “Yeah, well, I gotta admit, I don’t watch a lot of television. Here—eat this. It’s good for you.”
He handed Reg a bowl of teriyaki chicken with a plastic fork and scowled when Reg just sort of picked at it.
“Don’t like vegetables?” he asked.
“Never had this before,” Reg confessed. “V eats pretty simple stuff, and I don’t like messing with that. And I gotta keep my calories down, so I just eat a little bit of what she’s having.”
“Well, man, you’re in luck. This is chicken and veggies, and as far as we’re concerned, it’s the food of the gods.”
“Yeah,” Lance said, coming in from one of the bedrooms and yawning. “Unless you’ve got a scene in two days.”
“Gas,” Bobby confessed but Reg gave an impish grin.
“Six days, Lance—can I have it now?”
“Yeah, sure.” Lance looked longingly at the bowls—and Bobby had bought four too, because he hadn’t known who’d be home. “Bobby, you want my chicken and veggies? I can have a little bit of rice this far out.”
“That’s the best part,” Bobby said, grateful.
When they were done with lunch, Bobby pulled out the cards and dealt out a hand of three-man cribbage, keeping score on a napkin. Reg picked up the rules really quick, and what followed was sort of a magic pocket of time. Lance was funny and quick, and he lost Reg sometimes, but Bobby learned to watch when Reg’s eyes glazed over, and he’d insert something to clarify in the middle until Reg perked right up. For his part, Reg seemed eager to be entertained. Jokes, anecdotes, stories from Bobby’s misspent youth—all of it was digested and remarked upon and generally enjoyed.
Bobby couldn’t remember spending such a simple afternoon with friends. Not before his father left, because why would he bring a friend over to a powder keg, and not afterward because his mom was always so worried about money.
Lance put down his last hand regretfully. “Gotta study,” he sighed. He stood up and yawned. He paused as he passed Reg and put a gentle hand on his head. “Buddy, you’re ready for some more meds and your own nap. Bobby, could you get him to bed for me?”
Reg grunted, eyeing Lance sourly as he walked toward the tiny round kitchen table where his books sat, still opened. “I can get my own pills,” he muttered, but mostly to Bobby.
“Yeah,” Bobby said through his own yawn. “But I’m ready to nap too, and I can snag Rick’s bed since he’s gone.”
“You don’t want Rick’s bed.” Reg stood up and wrapped the couch blanket around his shoulders as he shuffled to the bedroom. “He and Skylar had messy sex on it this morning when they thought I was asleep.”
Bobby hissed air through his teeth. Rick and Skylar fucked like rabbits, sometimes with Billy, Lance, or Trey—although Billy had a girlfriend he brought over some nights, who apparently thought a sock on the door was a ticket to a soundproof room—but mostly with each other. Bobby had seen them sometimes, crossing paths in the apartment, one getting out of the shower while the other was cooking dinner, and he’d seen a hand hovering over a shoulder and a bit of confusion when a kiss on the cheek or a hand on the back would be the most natural thing in the world.
A little voice in his head was asking how they didn’t know they were in love.
And right now, it was asking if he was willing to crash on Rick’s bed if they hadn’t changed the sheets.
“You can sleep with me,” Reg volunteered. “Skylar’s got a queen-sized. Just crash
next to me, and if I thrash too much, grab the spare blanket at the foot and then go sleep on top of the comforter.”
“That’ll work.” That little voice again, telling him he was happy about this because it meant he’d get to hold somebody—hold Reg—without anybody thinking it was wrong or strange. There was such freedom here. It was almost daunting how many things he could say or do in this apartment, with these guys, in this life, that he’d yearned to do in his old life.
How much of his fascination with Reg had to do with the freedom to touch, to be kind, that he had here and hadn’t had at home?
He made sure Reg downed his medicine and then tucked him in against the wall. He took the edge of the bed, and Reg started shivering as Bobby got him settled. It was the most natural thing in the world to spoon up against his back, the way Jessica always expected him to do but he’d never wanted to do. Until now.
“Mm,” Reg mumbled. “This is nice. You’re good at the snuggling, Bobby. Anyone tell you that?”
“Not my girlfriend,” Bobby murmured on a laugh.
Reg laughed too. “You should do this with Ethan,” he said drowsily. “Ethan loves this. I think the whole reason he’s in Johnnies is to touch like this.”
Oh. A part of Bobby wilted. This was just how you touched when you were at Johnnies. Of course.
“Is Ethan a good guy?”
“The best,” Reg said happily. Then, like he was offering a gift: “But I don’t know if he ever would have sat with me and played cards like that. I sure did like that, Bobby. I hope we can do that again.”
Bobby tightened his hold, fever and all. “Me too,” he said softly.
Something he could offer Reg that no one else would. He liked that. He could play cards for years.
Left Behind
REG’S BACK healed up nicely, and Lance was able to take the stitches out before his scene with Ethan. His fever was gone by the fourth day, so he got a whole day of being able to eat before he had to fast for the shoot, and all in all, he was glad to not be sick again.
Going back home was hard, though.
V was real sweet. Apparently Lance and Bobby had put the fear of Big Men in her, and she was right on even keel with her meds, but Reg remembered the peace of sleeping through the night at the apartment, and how there were always fruits and vegetables in the refrigerator, and he missed it.
He missed Bobby even more.
They’d played cribbage, rummy, and Monopoly for three days, and Reg got used to the shy little half smile the kid got when he was about to win. He started rooting for Bobby to win just so he could see it. He liked the way Bobby didn’t expect him to know everything but didn’t feel sorry for him when he needed an explanation. He said he was used to not knowing things because he grew up in a small town, but he’d had a computer and a mom and a high school education and everything, so Reg thought maybe he was just protecting Reg’s feelings.
It worked.
Reg felt safe with him. And protected.
Every night while Reg had stayed there, Bobby had slid into bed behind him and held him tight and close. No sex, which was fine because at first Reg had felt like shit, and then, when he’d felt better, he needed to save it for work, but strong. And warm. And safe.
Reg had never felt safe asleep.
The morning of the shoot, Bobby showed up at Reg’s house with that old truck of his full to the brim with lumber and pipes and linoleum and stuff, and Reg stared at it.
“What’s all that?” He peered over Bobby’s shoulder as he stood at the door. It looked like construction stuff, but Reg didn’t know construction.
“I’m gonna rip out your bathroom floor and fix the pipes so they don’t leak,” Bobby said matter-of-factly. “The bathroom on your floor—don’t worry, I won’t intrude on V’s space.”
Reg’s jaw dropped a little.
“Why in the world would you want to do that?”
Bobby shrugged, that little half smile playing on his lips, the one that said he had something nobody else did. “I worked out already. No shift at the café, nothing to do—don’t want to get bored.”
“Well, uh, yeah.” Reg was still floundering on why. “But… dude, I’ve got a scene!”
“Well, good. You can shower at Johnnies. I’ll have this done in a couple of days.”
Reg sighed. “Ethan and I were gonna go out afterward,” he said, feeling bad. Hooking up was just hooking up, right? And Ethan was one of the few guys who could do it after doing it. All day. “I hate to leave you here while I’m off—”
“Working? Visiting friends?” Bobby shrugged. “You didn’t really want to leave V alone anyway, right?”
Reg glanced over his shoulder, but she was in the living room, watching the news. “No,” he said under his breath. “But you gotta be careful, okay? No tools where she can get them, okay?”
“Yeah.” Bobby nodded. “And if you’re bringing Ethan over, you gotta text me. I can be ready to clear out before you get here, okay?”
Okay. Well, that would be… okay. Reg could bring Ethan over, and Bobby could leave.
“Isn’t that weird?” he asked, not sure why.
Bobby frowned. “I got no idea. But I….” His eyes moved back and forth steadily, like he was trying to read a book in his own head. “I got a girlfriend?” he finished. Then he shook his head. “Whatever. I’m just being a friend.”
Oh. “You’ll still cuddle with me if you stay the night, right?” Reg asked plaintively. “’Cause that’s the whole reason I hook up with Ethan anyway.” He smiled happily. “The guy likes to cuddle.”
A look of relief crossed Bobby’s face. “Yeah. Good. Cuddle. That’s what we’ll do if Ethan’s not here.” He frowned again before Reg could and broke the awkwardness by turning toward his truck. Reg helped him unload before it was time to shower and prep, and then took off. The entire ride there, instead of looking forward to Ethan—big, brown-eyed, Italian Ethan, who drew more viewers with one of his videos than Reg did with three—Reg kept looking back to Bobby and his simple assumption of doing chores at Reg’s house.
And how happy Reg had been to see him.
Too bad about the girlfriend, though. Now that Reg was healthy, he’d been thinking about Bobby’s lean body, his chest that hadn’t started to bulk up, and his guns that were hard and terrifying without looking like big cannonballs. He’d seen Bobby’s body, all of it, and had felt him, long and warm along Reg’s back. Reg had wanted that body. But it wasn’t to be.
At least he had work.
Ethan was beautiful to work with. Reg, who always worried about doing something wrong, about touching someone the wrong way, about turning them off instead of on, had been Ethan’s first partner, and he’d learned that there was no wrong way to touch Ethan. And because there was no wrong way—because every touch brought Ethan pleasure—that sort of made Reg happy about finding all the super-right ways to touch him.
And sometimes the right way to touch him was to play tag, like little kids, until Ethan caught him and nailed him to the floor.
Fucking Ethan was a pure joy, because every time you rubbed a piece of his skin not touched by sunlight, he groaned and shuddered. And he loved to kiss.
Today of all days, when Reg’s stamina wasn’t what it usually was, they actually finished the shoot and had Ethan coming—three times—within the span of two hours. After two hours, Dex called a halt.
“Okay, guys,” he said, laughing as they both lay back in the bed, panting. “We’re done here. No shower scene—Reg’s bandage would need to come off, and I have it on good authority it’s gross, so we won’t do that.”
Ethan grinned at Reg, his blinding smile making everything in Reg’s life sunshiny. “Well, gross is bad,” he said, winking. “We can shower without fucking. How’s that.”
“That’s good,” Reg said, shoving himself up and trying to look like he wasn’t exhausted. “We doing anything afterward?”
Ethan grimaced. “I’m selling my car,” he said with a
sigh. “I’ve gotta get an apartment, and the car….”
Reg grimaced. “Aw, man. That bites.” Ethan had a superspecial MKZ, new and technical and bright red. Reg was jealous. They’d hooked up a time or two, and Reg had fond memories of blowing Ethan in the front of that car while they parked at the river and talked about nothing at all.
“Yeah, well….” And Ethan’s grimace went sad. “Got kicked out of the house,” he said. He glanced up at Dex, and Dex nodded. Obviously not news.
“This is, like, the shittiest fall,” Reg said with passion. Tango, Chance, Ethan, Reg. “Oh my God! Can, like, one good goddamned thing happen this month?”
Ah, Ethan’s grin really could make everything all right.
“You can come help me pick out a new car that won’t cost so much,” he said hopefully. And it was like Bobby had shown up at his house so he could do this nice thing for his friend.
Hanging with Ethan was as wonderful as it always had been. Reg flirted shamelessly and remembered that Ethan called him Digger, like Dex and Lance were supposed to but Bobby never did. But in the end, when Ethan turned down the offer for the hookup, a tiny, secret part of him was almost relieved. He talked a little bit, about how hard it was to find a girl. He wasn’t gay, right? Wasn’t that what he was supposed to be looking for? A girl?
Then he remembered. “Hey, Ethan!” he said, as Ethan was dropping him back at the Johnnies parking lot. “I just remembered something.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re gonna be matched with the new kid in, like, a week and a half—did you see that?”
“Bobby?” Ethan frowned to remember. “Yeah? We’ve got stills to shoot. He must be hot shit, ’cause Dex usually saves the special still shoots for the guys he thinks are gonna make top ten.”
Reg floated between the top ten and the top twenty. After ten years, he was just happy to be top anything at all. He told Ethan he was getting too old for this porn bullshit—and he’d said it because he was tired, and he hadn’t wanted to admit he’d been sick, but God, all the sadness this month, he could feel it in his bones.
