by Amy Lane
“No!”
Bobby looked up from his dinner—which was still tasty cold, thank God—because his mother was seldom that vehement. “No?”
“No—I’m talking, like giving up a night of beer with your buddies to stay home and be with the person you want to be with more. Fixing your house instead of partying. Working instead of calling in sick. Those are all acceptable sacrifices, you understand?”
“But people?” he asked, wanting to hear it from his mother, because the words might not give him courage, but they’d definitely give him hope.
“People shouldn’t be given up,” she said, her voice sinking. “Not if they make you happy.”
He smiled a little. Okay. He didn’t have to give Reg up. He’d go back home, find a place to move his mom, and hang out with Reg again. They could be friends. He could do this, have a friend.
Nobody had to know that he wanted more. Nobody had to know that he dreamed of sleeping with Reg in his arms, like he had when Reg had been sick. Nobody had to know that he thought about Reg’s mouth, lean but surprisingly soft-looking, and wondered—now that he knew what a man’s mouth could feel like—what would that mouth do on his body?
Nobody had to know but Bobby.
Not even Reg.
That Word Again
“SO,” BOBBY said, kicking back on the couch and smiling, “you ready for me to work on your house again?”
Reg thought about the bathroom, gleaming and perfect, and how the floor didn’t crackle under his feet anymore. The day Bobby had left, when they all got back from shopping, Reg had gone into the bathroom and painted the shelf.
His job wasn’t smooth and perfect, but the job was his own, and even though he’d been upset—hurt, and sad, and all sorts of things he couldn’t put a name to—he’d been proud too.
Bobby had left him a job and trusted he could do it.
Which was why he’d been dying, in little teeny increments, when Bobby didn’t text him the next day. Or the next.
He’d fucked it up. He wasn’t sure how—he wasn’t even sure what they were—but he’d fucked it up. It upset him so bad that the next time Trey asked to come over, Reg asked him, somewhat disconsolately, if maybe Bobby could come with him.
Oh jeez, Reg. Do you really want Bobby?
I thought he was my friend. Why won’t he even text me anymore?
He was sitting on the couch after dinner, tuning out Veronica’s show. Bobby had left a paperback the last time he’d been there—a thriller by some guy named Lee Child. Reg had tried to read it three or four times, but he just couldn’t get beyond how much he didn’t care about Jack Reacher. He wanted to ask Bobby about it, see if there were any books about people he could care about.
But he was afraid to text him, because Bobby had never texted back.
And now it looked like Trey wasn’t texting either. Oh, wait—
I told him not to. I didn’t want him messing with your head.
Reg stared at the text, a surprising anger surging in his chest. Of all the….
I’m not a little kid, he’d texted. Me and Bobby, we still had stuff to work out. He was my… companion? … friend, and I made him feel bad.
Sorry, Reg.
Reg grimaced—he really couldn’t hold a grudge for shit.
It’s okay. But is he there at the apartment?
He’s out of town. I take it you don’t want me to come over?
Reg thought about it.
I think it would confuse things right now, he texted regretfully.
No sex, I promise.
Reg stared at that. Oh God. That was the thing, wasn’t it? The thing that was hanging him up about Bobby? Bobby hadn’t made a move—sex didn’t seem to be on the table. They seemed to be more than sex, right? More important?
But did he have to stop having sex with other people to have the more than sex with Bobby? Wouldn’t he eventually get horny? He knew he was sort of special, down to fuck, all the time, anytime, but seriously—no sex?
Except, thinking about the look on Bobby’s face as he walked out of the kitchen sort of shrank his boner anyway.
Okay. At least until I get my head sorted.
Good plan. I’ll bring beer.
So Reg and Trey sat side by side on the couch and watched TV. No sex. None of the cuddling Bobby had been doing. Just… watched TV. And Reg thought Hey! I can do this! I get this no-sex thing! I have sex on set all the time—why do I need to have sex in my regular life?
He was good with that. He was great with it.
And then he texted Bobby, and Bobby said he’d come back, but same thing. No sex. And no touching either.
And Reg wanted to cry at first, because dammit—getting laid was the one thing he could do right! But God—anything was better than Bobby being gone and mad.
So fine. No sex. No touching. For weeks.
And it was driving Reg insane.
“The house?” he said blankly, staring at Bobby’s mouth. Was it his imagination, or had that lush, wide mouth grown lusher and wider? He’d been doing a lot of scenes—did sucking cock work out the lips like lifting weights worked out the arms? Reg figured his own mouth must be hella muscular—but not as sexy as Bobby’s. Not as red. Not as wide and smiling. Not as pillowy when it was pursed.
“Yeah,” Bobby said, smiling slightly. “I mean, I finally found a place to move in—I sign the lease after Christmas, but I paid first month’s already—”
Reg wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t that bass-ackward?”
Bobby shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah. Yeah, it is. But I did some work on the place for the apartment—I couldn’t really afford it with just my savings. That’s why I haven’t offered to work on your house until now. I was busy fixing the stove so it didn’t suffocate us and nailing all the baseboards down, redrywalling the bathroom, fixing the sliding glass door so it slid—”
“Oh my God!” Reg burst out. “Bobby—you’re practically building this guy’s apartment for him!”
Bobby blew out a breath. “Yeah,” he sighed. “I know. But my mom—I mean, not before Christmas—probably not until spring. But I want to try to get her down here. Take care of her until she finds a job she likes. And the apartment is the first step, and then some furniture, and—”
“But doing that while you’re working two jobs?” Reg could see it now. The bags under Bobby’s eyes, the way the beer seemed to make him really mellow, really fast. “You must be exhausted.”
Bobby yawned, hiding it apologetically behind his hand. “Well, yeah. I’m looking forward to having Thanksgiving weekend off,” he said, trying to focus after the yawn almost took over his face.
“I’m going to Chase and Tommy’s,” Reg said happily. “They’re having a thing.” His face fell. “I can’t stay long—I’m coming home with leftovers for V, but you’re welcome to come.” Veronica’s meds had been cruising along, but Reg still waited for the prickle at the back of his neck to tell him that wasn’t going to last. It never did with V.
Bobby grimaced. “You know? I wish. Skylar and Rick are going to Skylar’s parents—I guess they’re coming out and stuff.”
Reg shivered. “Scary. They’re so brave. Coming out is what got Ethan kicked out.”
“Yeah.” Bobby sighed. “And he’s a good guy too.”
“I think coming out is why….” Reg shook his head. He didn’t want to gossip about Chase Summers and Tango anymore. It felt disloyal. They were his friends, and now that Chase was going to be okay and Tango was Tommy, they deserved privacy. He’d already learned that privacy was important, even if you showed your naked bits on the internet for the world to see.
“Why what?” Bobby asked, curious. He seemed to be curious about all the guys at Johnnies.
“Why Chase hurt himself,” Reg said, hating to talk about the fact that he’d done that. It just… it hurt to think of him, tall, easygoing, big jock smile on his face. Reg had been right about him being two people—and apparently the other person had been scre
aming in pain for his whole entire life.
Reg didn’t like to think about that. He wondered if he was strong enough to scream that long.
“Because he hadn’t come out?” Bobby asked, nodding slowly. “Yeah—I’d heard that. So I’m glad for Rick and Skylar. They’ll come out, and even if Mom and Dad don’t know about the porn, you know, moms and dads don’t always know everything, so it’ll be okay. But Lance is going to his parents’—I guess he has to be Super Good Medical Student for them, so they don’t know about the porn or the gay either.”
Reg made a hurt sound. “Lance is a good guy,” he said softly.
Bobby tilted back another swallow. “He is. And he doesn’t deserve that. But Trey’s gonna be there at the party, and I think Billy is too. So, lots of people. But I’m going back to Truckee.” He let out a big sigh, like he didn’t want to, and Reg was afraid to ask.
If he hated going to visit his girlfriend so much, why was she still his girlfriend? Dammit, Bobby deserved a… a… special friend who made him happy. Made him feel bright and shiny, like that was the reason sex was good.
Thinking about sex again made Reg focus on Bobby’s throat as he swallowed the beer, on his chest as every breath stretched out the worn T-shirt he wore. His biceps were getting bigger, and his pecs, and the baby fat that had made him seem soft had melted away, leaving only the sweet, wide, smiling mouth.
That could suck cock like a dream—Reg had watched all his videos twice.
Bobby should be getting sex.
It was practically the only thought in Reg’s head.
“You don’t like Truckee?” Reg asked, because it was the last thing Bobby had said and all his other thoughts were of Bobby naked, of Bobby touching Reg’s face, his shoulder, his back, while naked.
“I don’t like… who I am when I’m there,” Bobby said, thinking. “I… I’m just figuring stuff out here. But back home, I have to act like it never occurred to me, you know?”
“What never occurred to you?” Reg watched him lick his lower lip and then sink his teeth into it. Reg chewed his own lip in sympathy, because dammit, he wanted to taste Bobby’s red, swollen mouth.
“That I’m not… not going to get married and have kids and get a job in fast food or law enforcement or anything else that’s available up in the hills.”
Reg frowned, distracted for the moment by the conversation. “Not get married?” he asked, the idea sort of rocking him back in his brain. “Why would you think you wouldn’t—”
Bobby grimaced. “I’m not….” He smiled a little. “I’ve had three scenes with guys,” he said after a moment. “I… I liked them. Liked them better than the scenes with the girls. And I think about it, and I’ve felt like that my whole life. What’s that say?”
Oh. It says you should be sleeping with me! It says there is no reason you and I shouldn’t be having amazing sex right now. You can kiss my neck and rub my lips with your thumb. You can nuzzle my temple and rub my back. And all those things you did before, except with sex.
Reg’s cock ached in his jeans, and he was afraid if he actually said what he was thinking, he would jump on top of Bobby and kiss him. Slowly, intimately, in a way that said he wanted all those things—the sweetness, the touching, and oh my God, Bobby’s cock in his ass!
And that might make Bobby go away again.
Because sex had cost him Bobby’s company last time, and even when they were just watching TV, the company was so much more important than the sex.
Mostly.
Reg swallowed through a dry throat. “It’s… I don’t know,” he said after a painful moment where—against all nature and most of his life’s habit—he tried to beat his boner into submission by the not-awesome power of his not-awesome brain. And in that painful moment of arousal and hesitation, a truth emerged.
“I guess I always thought settling down with a girl was what I was supposed to want—but it’s sort of a pipe dream, right? ’Cause I’ve got to take care of V. Can’t have movie night without someone with her. Can’t….” He grimaced. “I mean, I wouldn’t be no good kind of a father anyway, but I wouldn’t bring a kid here. I… I guess I can keep hoping someone’ll want me for longer’n a night, but you know. Not a brain trust. Right now I’m just lucky people still want to see me use my dick, right?”
Bobby’s face did something complicated then. “You’re kind,” he said after a moment. “You’re loyal. You are friends with everybody, and not just because you put out. You let easy stuff, things we take for granted—like beer, or a warm meal, or something fun on TV—make you happy. You don’t judge. You’re dedicated to someone who frequently tries to hurt you, and you remember that she doesn’t want to be like this.” Bobby closed his eyes tight, and when he opened them, they were shiny. “There’s a lot more to you than how you use your dick, Reg. I just… I wish I could give you the long-term happy ending. Find a girl for you. Something.”
Oh. Oh oh oh. This was not supposed to be about him.
He rubbed his chest, which had gotten all achy while Bobby was talking. He needed something easy to talk about. Something that would make Bobby laugh so his eyes weren’t all shiny and he didn’t look like he wanted to cry.
“Yeah,” he said, giving what he hoped was a smile. “But I can still use my dick pretty good.”
“Don’t know,” Bobby said, and it looked like he tried to smile, but only one corner of his mouth came up. “I haven’t seen any of your porn.”
And that made Reg laugh. “Well, I’m not showing it to you now. Find something good on TV, okay?”
“Yeah. Sure, Reg.”
Reg had to look at him twice, because something in his voice sounded… wobbly.
But then everything in Reg felt wobbly, so he wasn’t sure how he could help.
But as fall progressed, foggy and chill, Reg sure hoped something could help, because every visit Bobby paid was both wonderful and awful. Reg, who wasn’t a fan of the long make-out session in the porn vids, was suddenly made terribly aware of how the slightest expression, word, smile from one person and one person alone could send him rocketing from zero to complete arousal in less than a heartbeat.
And he was terrified of letting on.
By the time Christmas rolled around and Bobby left to visit his family, the pressure in Reg’s chest was so tight he almost couldn’t breathe.
When he dropped the light foil three times in one shoot, Dex called a halt to the scene—which was fine because it was Lance and Rachel, and apparently neither one of them could say who was less attracted to the other.
“You guys, take five.” Dex wrinkled his nose. “And Lance, go see if Billy is available. You guys can have a threesome. He at least knows what to do with….” He made a vague all-encompassing gesture.
“Tits,” Rachel said dryly. “They’re called tits, Dex, and it would be great if someone knew what to do with them, because this guy’s trying to adjust the sound and nothing’s coming. Nothing is coming.”
Lance grimaced and grabbed his phone out of his pants, not even bothering to put on a towel. “Deal,” he said. “Sorry, Rachel.”
She gave him a sympathetic smile and pulled on a robe. “I know, hon. Not really your thing. We just… you know….”
“We got along so well,” Lance sighed. “Yeah, that’s my whole history with women.” His phone vibrated. “He can be here in an hour.” Lance frowned. “Half an hour if he doesn’t need to douche.”
Dex nodded. “We’ll let him do oral on everybody, no penetration. Still testing but, you know—”
“Window,” Lance and Rachel said in tandem. “Deal.”
“Great. Now Reg, talk to me. What in the fuck?”
Reg grimaced. “Sorry, Dex. Just, you know….” He rubbed his chest, because he didn’t want to talk about Bobby and the very weird, very real sort of conundrum he was facing.
“Stress?” Dex asked kindly. “What are you doing for Christmas?”
“Well, everyone’s going places, you know? So j
ust me and V. Bobby and I already picked out stuff for her.”
Bobby had left Reg a present too—a couple of them. Reg told him that he didn’t want to open them unless Bobby was there, and Bobby said he needed to wait until Bobby got back from Truckee, then.
That was okay.
Even though they’d picked out a small tree together, and put up paper ornaments like Reg had done since he was a kid, it wasn’t going to feel like Christmas if he was alone.
But now Dex sighed. “Look—Skylar and Rick can’t go back home.”
“Yeah—the coming out thing….”
“Not so much, no. I’m pretty sure there’s a couple of other guys who don’t have much to do. I’ll be out of town, but don’t worry. Guys’ll start calling you up, okay?”
Reg smiled, grateful to his toes. “We can have, like, a Christmas slumber party,” he said. “If guys bring donuts, V’s down for it.”
She was being surprisingly docile right now. Bobby had bought a few more paperbacks to the house, and V dove right in with Reg. She liked pretty much everything Reg didn’t, but that was okay. What wasn’t okay—not really—was how little she had to say about the books. Reg thought it must be because she kept going off her meds, but she used to talk more about books. He was a little disappointed, really. He finally had something to say, like Jack Reacher was an asshole, and she couldn’t give him any reason to like that book besides just “I liked it.” He seemed to remember that when she’d been younger, she had good reasons for stuff. She used to talk about her English classes all the time. Of course, reading still gave her brain something to do besides obsess at the news she read on the computer, which was always a good thing.
Dex frowned, though. “There’s something else—we’ve done this before, and you haven’t been this jumpy.”
Oh. This was embarrassing. “I haven’t had sex in almost two months,” Reg told him apologetically. “I mean, you know, besides sex on set.”
Dex’s eyes widened. “Holy Mother of God.”
“I know! I am horny all the fuckin’ time!” Oh Lord, was it good to talk to somebody about this.
