by Amy Lane
“Reg, there’s a difference between being young and drunk and stupid and not having the smarts to figure that was a bad fucking idea.”
Reg sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Well, when you figure out what the difference is, let me know. I seriously need to have that shit explained.”
“In the morning, maybe,” Bobby said on his own yawn. “But yeah. We’ll work on it.”
“Mm….” Then Reg remembered something important. “Bobby, do you mind that I don’t call you Vern? I know it’s your name and all—I was there, remember?”
“Yeah. Christ no. Please don’t call me Vern. I hate that fuckin’ name.”
“Mm… I’m not so fond of Reg, but I couldn’t even come up with my own damned porn name, so I think I’m stuck with it.”
“Want me to call you Digger?” He said it with a chuckle, so Reg knew he didn’t mean it.
“No. You try to call me that when I’m crossing the street and about to get hit by a truck, and I’ll die. I didn’t remember when guys were fucking me—they’d be like, ‘Digger, harder!’ and I’d be like, ‘Who else is in here?’”
Bobby laughed, low and sweet, and Reg smiled like he’d won something. He’d meant to be funny—that didn’t happen often. He was real pleased.
Bobby’s mouth closed on his in a gentle kiss, and Reg just opened for him, just long enough for them both to close their eyes. The kiss ended, their breathing evened out, and Reg fell asleep.
Nothing earth-shattering—but as he slept, he knew in his bones that this was different.
He needed it to be.
Home Bird
BOBBY CALLED his mom a few days after that first night at Reg’s. New Year’s Day meant spending an odd night in his new apartment, mostly because he had a scene on the third, and every time he slept in Reg’s bed, he woke up having some sort of surprising and new sex with Reg.
Sex with Reg always felt new.
It was almost shocking how much sex with a guy Bobby knew and cared for and wanted to spend time with was different than sex on set with a naked guy pulled off a schedule. Bobby could see how straight guys could do that, if they could get it up—the mechanics were just basic physics. Once you got over “Hey, that’s a guy’s hand or mouth doing that, and I’m usually attracted to women,” well, if you could come in front of a crowd, you could come in front of a crowd.
Sex with Reg was nothing like that.
Suddenly Bobby could understand how people stayed married and happy for years and years. He’d never seen it himself, but he’d heard of it happening.
And he knew what an abomination those last few months with Keith Gilmore had been.
God, even porn sex was honest sex. Nobody was making him do it. He chose that shit because he had the equipment and the by-God fucking inclination.
But what Keith Gilmore had been making him do for the past six months—every time Bobby’d said no and Keith had used Bobby’s reputation or his mother’s comfort in town as a reason to face-fuck Bobby until he gagged—that was an abomination.
Bobby couldn’t do that shit anymore.
He wondered if he could explain it to Reg in any way that wouldn’t make him feel like a dumbass. Then he remembered Reg’s painful, honest confession about being “stupid.”
Reg wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t a brain trust—Bobby wasn’t deluded about that—but Reg had been determined that Bobby know what he was getting, as they lay down in his bed to sleep that first night.
It was Bobby’s turn. He was going to have to do it and make sure Reg knew who he was, inside and out.
Maybe the best way was to let Reg see where he came from.
And God—wouldn’t it be nice to get Reg the hell out of Sacramento?
Bobby still loved the place. Now that he had a little bit of money—and tips over the holidays had filled his pockets more than he’d expected—he’d been asking for recs. Where to eat, where to dance, where to see movies. Trey liked theater—Bobby had three recs for plays in the next month.
He wanted to take Reg with him. He used to go dancing at a local bar with Jessica—one of those places that let you in if you looked eighteen but only served people with IDs. Bobby had liked dancing, but he wanted to try it with someone he really wanted to touch.
He thought there might be untapped potential for sexy in that direction.
Everything—everything—he’d ever known about dating now opened up before him in a great vista beneath his feet. Except Reg could only look at the vista—he couldn’t go explore.
They needed to find a way for him to explore.
It was with this idea in mind that Bobby called his mom.
“Vern? Good to hear from you, baby! How was your New Year’s?”
“Not bad. Me and a friend and his sister hung out, blew noisemakers, that sort of thing.” Veronica had been impressed. Bobby brought sparkling cider and cake, and together he and Reg had cooked a small ham and potatoes. She said it felt like a real holiday, and Reg’s face, watching her twirl the noisemaker happily—the sweetness there had stopped Bobby’s heart.
Dammit, Reg just wanted her to be happy.
“A good friend?” his mom asked. “I mean, you talk about friends there—I just don’t hear any names.”
Thanks, Mom, for the perfect opening.
“This guy’s name is Reggie—we all call him Reg. He’s a nice guy.”
“What’s he do?”
“This and that—he’s not, uh, a professional or white collar or anything. And man, he needs me to keep working on his house, ’cause the place… damn, Mom. Falling the hell apart, I can’t even lie. I did his bathroom before Thanksgiving, but I think I’m going to have to take on the kitchen next. I hate to do it. I’m still waiting tables, and I can’t finish it as fast as he needs to—”
“Well, he’s a grown man—he can deal with takeout,” his mom said. Well, practical. Of course.
“He’s grown, but his sister….” Oh jeez. Anything he said would feel like a betrayal, but he needed to talk to Mom so bad. “She’s got some mental problems,” he said, hating the way that sounded. “Like, if she doesn’t take her medication, she goes batshit crazy and takes out the house. When she’s on the meds, she’s sweet—just like he is, actually. Just… I think they both needed a mom, and they didn’t get one. But if I start redoing their kitchen, that’s just…. I mean, there’s tools and shit around and—”
“Is she dangerous?” His mother sounded concerned, and Bobby didn’t blame her.
“Well, you know. Not when she’s had her meds.”
His mom let out a long breath. “Does he have any help besides you?” she asked, so steadily he felt like she might almost know what Reg was to him.
“No… I mean yes. The guys he—we work with will do about anything for him—”
“Do they know how to deal with someone with her problems?”
Well, they did now! “They’ve picked up a few things.” He grimaced. “They’ve had to. You know—it’s just a challenge.”
“Vern, if your friend’s sister needs to be someplace they can take care of her, there’s no sin in that. You know that, right?”
Bobby swallowed. “It’s complicated,” he said, sorry he’d told her. He’d wanted someone—an adult someone, not a kid fucking his way through college someone, or a porn model or porn photographer someone—to tell him that what they were doing was okay. Because facing Reg with this problem—no. They’d been together for… for a week. Just no.
But moms didn’t always do what you wanted them to, and Bobby should have known that by now.
“Okay,” his mom said quietly. “Your friend—Reg—how’s he deal with all this?”
“With a heart as big as the world,” Bobby told her, thinking of all the times Reg had forgiven Bobby for fucking around with his feelings because Bobby hadn’t known any better. “He’s… he’s got the best heart, Mom. I think you’d really like him.”
“Mm,” she said, as though coming to a conclusion that had
nothing to do with Veronica. “Are you going to bring him up sometime?”
“Yeah—I was thinking maybe in a couple of weeks, if the snow isn’t too bad.” The weather really was a factor. Bobby didn’t have chains.
“So early February? I can do that.” His mom’s voice dropped. “The money you’re sending me actually lets me afford heat. I hate that you took that responsibility on, son, but I’m really grateful for heat.”
Bobby swallowed. “Someday we’ll get you moved out of there,” he said softly. “I… I don’t like you there alone.”
“Well, your, uh, friend Keith comes by a lot,” his mom said, sinking a stone in his stomach. “But not in the good way.”
Bobby sat up in bed, trying hard to remind himself that the sky had just dumped a frickin’ ton of snow in the Sierras and people couldn’t get home from Tahoe for work the next day.
“Explain that.”
“He’s just… odd about it. I mean, he came by, like you said, after you broke up with Jessica, and he was real cordial and all. But he kept saying things like how we needed to get you back up here again, and how you needed to come to your senses and come back. I tried to tell him you liked it down there—that you were trying to move me down there, actually—and he got… he got mean, Bobby. Said all sorts of stuff about me being a shitty mother—”
“I’ll kill him,” Bobby growled, halfway out the door.
“You’ll do no such thing, and you’ll sit your ass down and stop posturing like a kid.”
Bobby sank into one of the kitchen chairs and winced when it creaked under his weight. He’d been eating a ton of chicken and veggies and bulking up like he’d never believed. It was a good thing he liked to keep busy, or this working-out thing might end up in a very fat Bobby.
“How dare he!” Bobby snapped. “Mom—you’ve got to tell someone. He’s not right, you know—”
“Vern, he’s your best friend.”
Bobby grunted. “Not really. He was a friend. And then he was an asshole who… never mind. Just don’t trust him. Don’t let him in. And don’t tell him I’m bringing anybody by.”
“Don’t you want him to meet your new—”
“No. Just… no. I want him to not know I’m there, even when I’m there.” Bobby took a breath. “And since I’m not going to be hanging out with Keith or Jessica this time, have a to-do list for me. I can tighten up the house and make it more snug, okay?”
“You did that last year,” she said softly, but he remembered.
“Yeah, but I have money for materials this year. I can add more insulation to the roof and add some wedges to the doors to keep the drafts from seeping out. Trust me—we can squeeze some money out of your heating bill. I’ve been wanting to fix that place up for years.”
His mom chuckled fondly. “You never did say why the construction job didn’t work out, but I’m glad you seem to have found your niche waiting tables.”
“The guy was sort of a criminal, Mom. Just, you know—I’ll find another job like that.”
He hadn’t wanted to look, actually. The foreman’s words about blacklisting him still rang in Bobby’s stomach. They may have been lies, but the idea of applying to a decent construction place and finding out he could never get work like that again would do a number on Bobby he didn’t think he could survive.
He loved working with his hands so much.
He’d been biding his time, waiting for the spring, when most outfits got desperate. If he could buy a computer—and one was coming, it was in the budget—he’d be able to look some more.
“A better one,” his mom said optimistically, and he agreed with her for form.
They rang off then, and Bobby moved from the kitchen to the bedroom in three steps and threw himself across the bed. His first instinct was to call Reg and tell him his fears about Keith Gilmore, but then he realized Reg didn’t know who Keith Gilmore was really, and certainly not who he was to Bobby. And definitely not about where this sudden sense of danger would come from.
He sighed and settled for texting Trey.
I need a favor—I’ll do anything to pay you back.
Will you come over RIGHT NOW and unplug the sink? Rick tried shaving his chest instead of waxing this time. Bad things happened.
Oh my God. Sure—but you’d better do the favor.
Whatever. Get your ass here and ask us then.
Bobby stared at his phone, bemused, and grateful—not for the first time—for the Johnnies network. He texted Reg next, putting on his boots and grabbing his tool belt as he waited for an answer.
I’m going to the apartment—Rick shaved his chest, and they need a plumber.
Heh, heh—I’m not the only one who doesn’t like waxing.
Doesn’t bother me. Just glad no one’s asked me to wax my asshole yet, ’cause ouch.
You don’t have much hair back there anyway. Some guys it’s like licking a cat.
Bobby read that text twice and ran into the wall dividing the bedroom from the rest of the apartment.
OMG
Heh heh heh—make you laugh?
Gay porn models licking pussies? Absolutely. It was a horrible, crude joke, but Reg started it.
OMG—I DIDN’T MEAN IT THAT WAY!
Bobby chuckled. I know you didn’t. But I’m gonna crack up during the shoot anyway. Thank you for that.
Welcome.
Bobby got into the truck and checked his phone one more time before he started it up. The next text surprised him.
I think I gotta ask Dex if I can not light your scene. I think that would be a bad idea.
Why? Bobby hadn’t thought about it. So many months had gone into identifying “work sex” as different from “heart sex” that he’d completely forgotten Reg would even be there.
’Cause either A. It would make me horny and I gotta wait two more days. Or B. I’d feel bad ’cause you were with that other guy. I know it’s stupid. I just know it made me feel bad when I thought about it.
Bobby’s heart hit his chest harder than usual.
I never thought about it. It’s like I’m a different person on the set. The person I really am only wants to be with you. That guy on the set, he could fuck the world until the oceans ran jizz.
The truck was idling, and he was about to sign off when his phone beeped again.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Bobby blinked. He hadn’t actually meant it to be funny, but if that lightened the moment, he was all for it.
He really didn’t want to think about him and Reg and Johnnies. That way lay monsters.
AND THE plumbing situation in the apartment was not much better. Bobby eyed the mess in the big plastic tub he’d brought in with distaste—and dispassion. He’d brought thick rubber/Teflon gloves, and they’d turned out to be one of the best investments of his life.
“You guys, this is bad,” he said, looking at the corrosion in the U-joint. He’d switched the water off completely, and with a grunt he turned to the back of the toilet to see if the damage extended there. “Who’s been tossing chunks in the sink?”
All four of the guys were gathered around the doorway, and Trey looked away, biting his lip.
And so did Lance.
They caught each other’s eyes then, and their glances skittered away like squirrels accidentally climbing the same goddamned tree.
Skylar, Billy, and Rick stared at them in horror. “You guys.” “Dudes!” “Ohmygod!”
“But… but why?” His eyes watered with more than the stench in the bathroom. “And it’s seven o’clock at night—I need to go to a fucking hardware store, or you guys are gonna be pissing in the shower and shitting in the trash.”
“That’s amazing, Bobby,” Billy said, dry as toast. “I didn’t think I could get any queasier, but that did it.”
Bobby scowled at them all. “Okay. I know this isn’t fair, but I need Trey and Lance to come with me to the hardware store.” He stripped off his gloves. “And someone else to rinse this shit off
in the kitchen.”
“Hm,” Skylar mused. “Physical vomit or emotional vomit? Pass me the gloves, Bobby. I’m getting off easy.”
“I’ll go get trash bags,” Billy offered, and Rick groaned.
“Great—I’ll go get dish gloves from under the sink.”
Bobby set the gloves down and scowled at his two former roommates, neither of whom could meet his eyes.
“This is gonna be a treat,” he muttered. “Like I can fucking manage my own goddamned life?” They stood, like little kids, and Bobby had a thought.
Holy fuck. They were all children. No wonder Dex had seemed so overwhelmed.
“Everybody out to the truck,” he muttered. “We’ve got about five minutes to get to the store before you guys are sneaking into McDonald’s to take your morning poop.”
Lance and Trey turned on their heels and trotted out, and Bobby turned to the vomit detail. “You guys got any ideas?” he asked, because… because he didn’t get paid for this!
“You put the fear of God into them,” Skylar said, sober as Bobby had never seen him. “Me and Rick’ll get ’em addicted to health food. It’s all we got.”
Billy grunted. “I know the name of Chase and Tommy’s shrink,” he said, out of the blue. “I can call him and see if we can make an appointment.”
Oh damn. Okay. Backup.
“Great. You guys do that shit, and I’ll see what I can fuck up.”
The three of them rolled their eyes, and Skylar spoke first. “Dude, you are scary grown-up compared to the rest of us assholes. I mean….” He gestured at the corroding pipes in the plastic tub. “They were literally rotting our plumbing with their problems. Go—fix everybody’s pipes. We’re there for you.”
Bobby shook his head and followed Lance and Trey out the door.
GOD. LOWE’S. Bobby hated it—but he hated Home Depot too. Giant warehouses with so much shit. He always felt like he could wander those damned corridors for years and nobody would ever find him. Fortunately, Lance and Trey were super eager to help him find the plumbing supplies and the various pipes and shit, and Bobby wondered if they thought finding plumbing supplies would make it all okay.
