Action

by Quinn Anderson

  Evan’s voice was at his ear. “You’re so hot I can’t stand it.”

  Pete could only imagine how obscene he looked, cock jutting straight out from his body, thighs spread wide—or as wide as they could go with his pants still on—and splayed against Evan’s chest while Evan pumped him and whispered filthy things in his ear.

  “Oh God. Oh fuck.” He couldn’t hold back anymore. He rolled his hips, trying to somehow milk more out of Evan’s fist.

  Evan let out a startled moan. Curious, Pete repeated the motion, and that was when he felt it. Evan’s dick was pressed against his ass, right in the cleft. When Pete moved his hips, he rubbed against it. He thrust into Evan’s hand one way and against his erection the other.

  Evan tightened his grip. “Fuck, that’s good. Do that again.”

  Pete was almost too turned on to take orders, but he complied, fucking Evan’s fist and rubbing against his cock in two simple motions. Feeling Evan’s dick nestled against him added a whole new level of sexiness to what they were doing. He couldn’t stop thinking about how close they were to having sex, just a few layers of fabric and a couple of inches between them. Maintaining any semblance of rhythm was impossible. It was graceless and awkward and perfect.

  Evan seemed to think so as well. He made a guttural sound that reverberated through his chest and into Pete’s. “Fuck, I can’t. So good.” His grip loosened, and his strokes became sloppy and quick.

  Pleasure buzzed in Pete’s veins, desperate to break the surface. He just needed—

  He laid his head on Evan’s shoulder and looked blearily at him for inspiration. Evan was watching Colette, communicating something with his eyes. She gave him a thumbs-up, and his pace doubled. Through a haze of arousal, Pete understood: Evan had asked for permission to make him come. Thank God. He could feel his balls drawing up in preparation for orgasm, and his every sense was narrowing to that one spot deep between his legs that was about to release. He was so close. He just needed something to push him over the edge.

  Evan must have read it in his body, because he snaked the other hand between his legs. Pete expected him to massage his balls, but he passed right by them.

  It took Pete a second to realize where he was headed. Oh shit.

  With surprising delicacy, Evan pressed his thumb pad against Pete’s hole. Pete sucked in a breath that somehow managed to be a sob.

  Evan—his voice no louder than a plucked cello string—asked, “Can I?”

  Pete only had enough cognizance left for a single word: “Yes.”

  Evan cursed, a hot puff of breath against Pete’s sweaty neck, and pressed into him. He might have intended to finger him. Pete would never find out. At the first harsh burn of penetration, he came so hard he saw stars.

  His orgasm felt as if it were being wrung from his very soul. The sound he made as it washed thickly over him was somewhere between a gasp and a choked cry.

  “Fuck, I can’t, I can’t—” he whimpered.

  “I’ve got you,” Evan said, kissing the side of his face. “I’ve got you.”

  Evan held him through it, whispering soothing things into his hair. Pete was too fucked out to listen, but he picked up on some key phrases: gorgeous and perfect and so good.

  When he was spent, he sagged back against Evan. Evan mouthed his jawline, not kissing in the traditional sense of the word, but the sentiment was there.

  They held their positions until Colette called, “Cut.”

  “Thank Christ,” Pete slurred. He was still cradled between Evan’s legs. He gathered his strength and looked at him. “Want me to move?”

  “Don’t you dare,” Evan murmured, nosing his cheek.

  “Good, because I don’t think I can.” Pete’s head lolled back onto his shoulder. “You might just have to deal with me lying against you for the rest of your life.” He was sweaty, his shirt was sticking to him, and his stomach was covered in his own semen. He should be scrambling to clean up. Instead, he felt like he could fall asleep right where he was.

  He shifted again, unthinking, and Evan gasped.

  “What . . .?” Pete started to ask, but then he felt it. Evan’s erection pressed against the small of his back. Oh. Of course. Evan hadn’t gotten off. Pete had forgotten in the wake of his own pleasure. Wow, he felt like an ass.

  “Um, Colette,” he asked. “Are we doing another take?”

  “Nope. That’s all for today, gents. Nice work, both of you. We got some great shots. Jaden, you in particular were mesmerizing, though Darko was no slouch either.”

  Pete was oddly disappointed. It didn’t seem fair for only one of them to get off. “Since we’re already here, why don’t we keep filming? Kyle should get off too.”

  “Not in the script,” Colette said without looking at him. She was already bent over her laptop. “Our run time is maxed as it is with everything I have planned.” She paused, a thoughtful slant to her mouth. “Though I suppose we could get some bonus footage for the DVD release. Darko, what are your thoughts?”

  Evan shrugged. “I don’t mind either way.”

  “Hmm. Let’s wrap, then. I need to get back to the office.”

  Pete watched miserably as Colette and Yolanda conferred over the dining room table. He caught Joyce’s eye, but even she only offered a thumbs-up.

  This felt wrong, no matter what Evan said. Pete couldn’t leave him hanging. Not after the frankly phenomenal orgasm he’d just had.

  Maybe that was how Evan had felt after their photo shoot, when he’d wanted to get off with Pete. Why had he been so against that idea? Probably because he hadn’t had sex in a nonprofessional capacity in . . . fuck. Months.

  Pete knew what he wanted to say, but he couldn’t have this conversation while he was still draped in Evan’s lap, ass flush against his cock. He pushed himself up and over, half-flopping to the side in an uncoordinated mess. His muscles weren’t ready to cooperate just yet. He forced himself into a sitting position and arranged his limbs into what he thought was a vaguely human shape.

  “Um,” he began, awkward as a company Christmas party, “do you want some help with that?” He made a vague gesture at nothing.

  Evan chuckled. “With what exactly?”

  Pete exhaled. Evan would make him say it, the bastard. “Do you want me to get you off?” A wave of shyness descended on him, which was ridiculous, considering he’s just had his dick expertly stroked by the same man he was propositioning.

  “I thought you don’t work for free?”

  “I knew that was going to come back to haunt me,” Pete grumbled, face burning. “That was before, you know? I feel like I know you better now, and, um . . . I feel rude. And since you got me off, it’s only fair?”

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to smack himself. “It’s only fair.” Nice one, Pete. Way to make it sound like it’s your turn to do the dishes.

  He was just calculating how quickly he could get to a bridge and fling himself off it, when Evan laughed.

  “Don’t worry about it. Our time will come.” He sounded so certain, as if he were stating a fact. “Besides, I don’t think Joyce would appreciate us sneaking off to have sex in one of her bedrooms. I’m willing to wait for when we can do it right.”

  Despite having just come, Pete’s body warmed. He ducked his head down and asked quietly, “Any idea when that might be?”

  “I already made my move. It’s your turn.” His grin was positively evil.

  Pete swallowed. “So, about that drink.”

  “Please?” Pete pleaded. “Pleeease? I’ll get down on my knees if you want.”

  “Don’t beg,” Sana scolded without looking up from the register. “It’s demeaning. I have half a mind to deny your request just for that.”

  “But it’s my birthday,” he wailed. “You can’t turn a man down on his birthday.”

  “No, it’s a few weeks before your birthday, which means crushing your dreams is still perfectly acceptable.” She closed the drawer and faced him, ar
ms folded across her chest. “Why do you want tomorrow off anyway? Isn’t it a little early to be celebrating?”

  “It’s a preliminary celebration,” he said. “A warmup. You only turn twenty-one once, and I want to do it properly.”

  “But you can’t even drink yet. What’s the point?”

  “There are plenty of ways to have fun without alcohol, as you well know.”

  Sana rolled her eyes. “I guess. Still seems kind of silly.” She walked toward the baked goods display, heels clicking on the linoleum floor, and opened the back panel. “You young people confound me.”

  He snorted. “You’re not even thirty yet. You talk like you’re ancient.”

  She pulled a roll of cellophane out of a cabinet and started wrapping up various artisan breads and cakes. “You’ll understand when you’re my age. Speaking of which, if you’re going to take a day off, why use it to go clubbing? You hate clubbing. Everyone with half a brain hates clubbing.”

  “I don’t hate it,” he lied. “I’ve never really been, except for a few regrettable forays when I was a freshman. My goal for the next year is to get out more. Be more adventurous. I’ve lived here my whole life, and I feel like I’ve never been anywhere. Do you want to stand between me and broadened horizons?”

  “I suppose not.” She pointed at the front door. “Did you lock that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you turned off the Open sign?”

  “Yup.”

  “Then why the fuck,” she snarled, “are customers lined up outside?”

  He turned to look. Sure enough, some cantankerous-looking men in dress shirts and slacks were standing outside the front entrance. They knocked on the glass impatiently.

  “We’re closed!” Sana shouted. “Come back tomorrow.”

  The men muttered something rude and trudged away.

  Pete, who had sequestered himself behind the espresso machine, peeked around the corner. “Are they gone?”

  “Yup. Good riddance.”

  “I love having you for a manager, even if you do scare me shitless half the time.”

  “People need to learn: hours of operation are not polite suggestions.”

  “How much of LA do you reckon you’ve scared off at this point?”

  “That was a lovely attempt to derail the conversation, but I’m not fooled. Back to the subject at hand: what’s with you being Mr. Social all of a sudden? I’ve never known you to willingly subject yourself to crowds.”

  He pretended to hunt through a drawer for something so he wouldn’t have to look at her. “I’m social. Just, you know, selectively. And I want to make a big deal out of my birthday this year. I’m allowed.”

  Her tone said she wasn’t buying what he was selling. “All right, fine. You can have tomorrow off. But you owe me big time. Why didn’t you ask me earlier?”

  Because I hadn’t asked Evan out yet. “It was a last-minute thing. I just found out this morning. I’m really sorry.”

  “Well, Saturday is our busiest night, so you have to find someone to cover your shift. Don’t bother asking Joshua. He’s off that night too, and trying to get him to cover a shift is like trying to get an imam to do shots during Ramadan.”

  Pete snorted. “I already asked Morgan, and she said yes.”

  “Then I guess that’s that.” She looked at him sidelong. “If you’re really trying to turn over a new leaf, I think it’s working. You seem different lately.”

  Pete glanced down at himself. “Do I?”

  “Yeah. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but you’re—” she flicked a hand vaguely at him “—more confident, maybe? Or happier? I’m not sure. I’ve noticed you talking to customers more. Smiling. Laughing. I’m curious to know if this change came from within or if someone inspired it.”

  He was grateful his face was downturned, because it flamed. “What makes you think there’s someone?”

  “All the times I’ve caught you staring off into space with a big, goofy grin on your face, for one thing.”

  Damn. It was funny that Evan thought him inscrutable, because when it came to his feelings for him, Pete felt like an open book.

  He opened his mouth, not even sure what he was going to say, but Sana cut him off. “For the record, even if your recent change in attitude wasn’t totally self-motivated, I’m still proud of you for getting out of your comfort zone.”

  Pete smiled, touched. “Thank you.” He couldn’t help but tease, “Going soft on me?”

  “Not a chance. Take the trash out.”

  He laughed. “Yes, ma’am. When I’m finished, can I leave for the night?”

  “Yeah, I’ll close up.”

  Pete dragged their trash and recycling out to the bins behind the shop and, after saying one final good-bye to Sana, made the walk home in silence. His thoughts, however, were far from quiet.

  He still couldn’t believe he’d actually asked Evan out that morning. To a club nonetheless. A gay club. Where there would be music and dancing and hot, sweaty men, all of whom would undoubtedly flock to Evan. Pete was actually kind of looking forward to that part. It was satisfying, in a caveman sort of way, to think that half the guys at the club would probably trade a kidney to be in Pete’s shoes. Would wearing an I’m With Him shirt be too much? Probably.

  He’d have to thank Raj the next time he saw him for the inspiration. Raj was the one who’d suggested he celebrate. It was such a convenient excuse too. Hey, my birthday is coming up. Why don’t we do something?

  Now if only he hadn’t blurted out the name of the first gay club that had popped into his head. Why hadn’t he named a bookstore or a restaurant or somewhere they’d actually be able to hear each other? Then again, Evan seemed like the sort of person who would thrive in dim light, surrounded by warm bodies, gyrating to a pulsating beat.

  Pete wiped drool from his mouth. Maybe he hadn’t made such a bad choice after all.

  In a little less than twenty-four hours, he’d find out. In fact, he hoped he was about to find out a lot more than that. This would be the first time they’d hung out outside of work. That was the real litmus test.

  Pete was sure it would go well, considering how much talking they’d done already, but there was still a lot he didn’t know about Evan. Before this went any further—whatever this was—he needed to figure out if they were even compatible. Evan could have totally different values from him. He could belong to a cult. He could listen to Nickelback.

  As if on cue, Pete’s phone went off just as he got to his front door. He stood on the darkened stoop beneath a parenthesis of moon and read the text Evan had sent him.

  Venus is in retrograde.

  His fingers trembled from the cold as he typed, What does that mean?

  No clue. My brother keeps saying that and winking. It’s terrible.

  The winking?

  No, the fact that a member of my own family is into astrology.

  Pete chuckled.

  The front door wrenched open. “Pete?”

  He shrieked and dropped his phone. “Jesus Christ, Mom.” He scooped it off the ground and, after checking to make sure the screen hadn’t cracked, slid it into his pocket. “What the hell?”

  “Language,” she scolded, stepping back to let him into the house.

  He gravitated toward the warmth seeping out of the doorway. Mom pulled her fluffy bathrobe tighter around her and took a seat at the dining room table. Papers were spread out all over it. They looked like bills at a cursory glance. There was also a cup of tea next to a plate with some half-eaten chicken nuggets and ketchup on it.

  “What are you doing up this late?” Pete asked.

  “Thanks to how my schedule has been, it’s morning for me. Sorry for scaring you. I heard someone walk up to the door and laugh. I figured it was either you or a deranged serial killer.”

  He frowned. “So, you decided to open the door?”

  “I was fairly certain it was you.” She glanced at him. His face must have been something to behold,
because she giggled. “I’m not saying it was the best plan. Want some tea?”

  “After working in a coffee shop all day? Definitely not. I was planning on crashing.” He shifted his weight onto his heels. “Unless you want some company? Or some help with those?” He pointed at the bills.

  “No sense in both of us crying over them.” She ruffled his hair. “Get some rest.”

  “Okay.” His phone was burning a hole in his pocket. He raced up the stairs to his room and flew out of his work clothes. He pulled on a shirt and some pajama bottoms and flopped into bed.

  He hadn’t expected to talk to Evan that much today, since they’d seen each other this morning and were going to see each other again tomorrow, but their conversation hadn’t tapered off at all. He sent him a text: How was your day?

  After clicking off his lamp, he held the glowing screen in front of his face until a response appeared.

  It was great. Tomorrow will be even better.

  Another text popped up right after that one. There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. I was going to save it for tomorrow, but I feel like when I see you, I’ll lose my nerve.

  He couldn’t even imagine a nerveless Evan. Must be something serious. He stared at the message for what felt like eons before typing, What is it?

  A response came instantly, suggesting that Evan had already typed it out. Would you ever consider coming out?

  He frowned. I came out when I was sixteen. Neither of my parents were surprised.

  I mean coming out as a porn star.

  Uh-oh. Where had that come from?

  Pete instantly knew his answer: no way in hell. Just like he’d told Evan when they were outside the Globe, he’d only gotten into porn because he was certain no one would ever find out. He knew in his heart that there was nothing wrong with what he did, but he’d attended church every Sunday of his life. A lot of puritanical bullshit had been instilled in him from birth, and no matter how he tried to root it out, it was buried deep. If it weren’t for the support of his parents, he might not even be openly gay.