Wallflower (Rear Entrance Video, #2)

by Heidi Belleau

  Except for maybe . . .

  Bobby stood up on tiptoes, one hand curling over Dylan’s shoulder and the other splaying across his broad chest. Dylan, drawn to him, bent down to him almost imperceptibly, but the shift was just enough to put Bobby’s mouth at his ear. “It is a little loud in here for me,” Bobby murmured, and when Dylan looked at him, eyes widening and eyebrows rising, Bobby bit his lip to seal the deal.

  “You wanna get out of here?” Dylan replied, and sure it was a total line, but not with Dylan’s breathless delivery, like he was genuinely surprised that Bobby would be interested in him.

  “I may have been hinting at such a thing.” Bobby nudged Dylan with his hip.

  “You may have? Well, I don’t know if ‘may have’ is quite compelling enough for me to put my neck out there by telling you I have a room upstairs for us.”

  “You what now?” Bobby gaped, completely dropping the coy act. Wow, he’d been gunning for them to relax their scruples enough for a blowjob in a bathroom stall, but a hotel room?

  Dylan laughed, clearly pleased with himself for being able to surprise Bobby. “C’mon.” He took Bobby’s hand.

  They made it as far as the elevator before they were making out, which also just happened to be where Bobby learned that yes, making out with your legs around a man’s waist while he pressed you to a wall was hot as hell . . . but not advisable against elevator doors, which, of course, opened without warning behind you and left you both toppling onto the elevator floor.

  Bobby also learned that making out on an elevator floor with a bruised ass and head? Still great.

  So was stumbling down the hall together still tangled in one another’s limbs, bouncing off walls because you were too busy kissing to pay much attention to where you were going.

  But none of it was as good as finally falling through that hotel door, into a generic two-bed room that was somehow wonderful just by virtue of being yours. Once the door shut behind them, though, Bobby snapped back to his senses and broke off the kiss with a gasp. “Dylan. Dylan. Just let me go into the bathroom and get naked, ’kay?” He squirmed in Dylan’s arms, but Dylan wasn’t letting go.

  “Why not here?” Dylan asked.

  Bobby blushed. “Girl underwear. Let me just get rid of it, okay?”

  “You don’t have to do that.” Dylan took Bobby by the shoulders and held him still.

  “I do. Look, you’ve been really cool about all this, but I don’t want to . . . make you uncomfortable with this whole bra-and-panties thing. You like men. I want to be a man for you. Just give me a second.” Bobby hadn’t minded, but vocalizing it aloud made his throat catch painfully.

  “You are a man for me, Bobby.” Dylan twisted his lips in frustration, like that hadn’t come out right. He tried again: “Man enough for me. You’re a man who likes pretty little bras—don’t think I didn’t notice—and pretty little panties and eyeliner, and that doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all. I love it.”

  “What? Really?” Oh great, now the tears were starting.

  “Really. When I said I wanted a man, I didn’t mean you had to get all butch on me, Puny. I just meant I wanted you to know in your heart you weren’t a woman, and that you had no plans to go the way of my sister. After that, you can be as femme as you like. I’ll still want you exactly as you are. Promise.”

  “I love you,” Bobby murmured, smiling and dabbing his eyes. “I love you so, so much.” He hiccupped. Laughed a little.

  Dylan’s smile was fond. Gentle. It amazed Bobby how gentle a rough punk in an ERASE RACISM sweatshirt could be. “I know, Puny. I love you too.” He caught Bobby’s chin and tilted his face for another kiss, and then the sweetness shifted to something else, something hotter but no less profound. The kiss deepened. Dylan’s hands swept down from Bobby’s shoulders, down to cup his tits in their little lace bra through his shirt. “And I’m actually getting into the whole girl thing, to be honest. Hell, lately I’ve been having this fantasy that we go out, but with you in full girl mode, and you’re wearing a short little skirt and at the end of the night I hike it up around your hips and pound you from behind like the pretty little slut you are.”

  “Oh,” Bobby breathed.

  “Yeah. Oh. So how about you give me a little preview and take off everything but whatever little girly bra and panties you’ve got hiding under there?”

  “I could . . .” Bobby stepped back, back again, back until he was far enough away that he hoped Dylan could see all of him. The flush on his cheeks didn’t feel burning or shameful anymore, it felt sweet and warm, and Bobby felt sweet and warm too as he undressed, kicking out of his shoes and shimmying out of his skinny jeans, then button by button shedding his shirt. The bra and panties underneath were white cotton and lace, virginal, in complete contrast with the so-called androgynous goth clothes that had hidden both—not to mention with the erection stretching the tiny panties to their limit.

  Dylan said nothing. Neither did Bobby. Bobby didn’t even move, just stood there posed like a music box doll, waiting to have his key turned.

  And then, “Shit.” Dylan shook his head and laughed softly. “Here I was expecting something kinky and you go making me look like a dick, because I’ll be damned if this isn’t kink, it’s fucking art. You’re beautiful, Bobby.”

  “Oh my God, stop,” Bobby tittered, covering his face with his hands in a move that was absurdly Chichi Yamaguchi-esque. Except that was an act put on for fetishizing men like Adam, and this was pure and good, and God, he was in love with Dylan, and he wasn’t going to think about Adam anymore.

  They fell onto the bed together. Dylan struggled to get out of his jeans while horizontal; Bobby focused on the buttons of Dylan’s shirt, slowly revealing the warm, smooth brown of his skin. When Bobby reached behind his back to undo his own bra, though, Dylan shook his head. “Keep it on? For me?” Bobby nodded and Dylan reached down to sweep Bobby’s hair out of his eyes and kiss him again. “The panties gotta go though, sorry.”

  “I’d be sorry if you wanted me to keep them on.” Bobby lifted his hips and Dylan stripped the panties away. Let them fall to the floor.

  Dylan kissed the shadow between Bobby’s breasts, mouthed the edging of the lace where Bobby’s flesh was just barely plumped by the gel inserts.

  One of his hands, meanwhile, strayed lower, down to cup and roll Bobby’s balls, and then his middle finger slipped back even farther, petting Bobby’s taint with firm, maddening strokes.

  Bobby arched, but there was nowhere for him to go, not with that big body bearing down on him. Dylan leaned in close, nipping his earlobe, and whispered, “You want me to fuck that tight little pussy of yours?”

  The words were a livewire, charging every single inch of Bobby’s body. Every nerve. Every capillary. He moaned and bucked, cock glancing against Dylan’s thicker one. “Yes, yes,” he groaned back, squirming across the mattress delirious with the pleasure of being pinned in place.

  “Show me,” Dylan said, and the fingers that had been stroking between Bobby’s legs were rubbing his lips instead.

  Bobby’s response was instinctual: he opened up. Opening himself to a man like Dylan, that was what he was made for. He sucked those thick fingers into his mouth, sealed his soft lips around them, held Dylan’s eyes as he drew them in deep and then let them glide back again, tracing his tongue.

  Dylan’s voice when he spoke was gravelly, primal. “Making it hard for me not to put my dick in your pretty mouth—” Bobby moaned. Yes, yes, let me suck you. Let me be pretty for you, let me be yours. “—but I promised to fill your pussy tonight, and a promise is a promise.” He pulled his fingers free of Bobby’s lips and squeezed Bobby’s breast with his opposite hand and suddenly there were wet fingers between Bobby’s legs, skirting back, teasing Bobby’s hungry pussy. He threw his legs around Dylan’s waist—opening himself, always, always, receiving, he was the receiver—and at last Dylan’s fingers sank inside him, stretching painfully, making his claim.

  Bobby
gave Dylan his pain, gave Dylan the root of his pleasure, gave Dylan everything.

  And how strange and wonderful was it when Dylan gave back—openly, unflinching—everything of himself, too. “Ready for me, my pretty girl?” he asked into Bobby’s ear, hand wedging up underneath Bobby’s bra to flick his nipple. Always. Anytime. Forever.

  They separated a moment, and then Dylan was back again, hand slick now, stroking every sensitive inch of Bobby’s skin between his legs from his balls right back. This time he spent so long teasing, so long tickling and rubbing, that when at last one finger breached Bobby again, he cried in surprise.

  “Doesn’t hurt, does it?” Dylan asked, bringing Bobby back to Earth again with the steady frankness of his words.

  “You’ll have to do better than that,” Bobby retorted, and to prove it grabbed Dylan’s questing hand and shoved a second finger into his body alongside the first. Dylan grinned at him, pleased by his forwardness, but oh, it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t nearly enough, not for Bobby. He sucked his two first fingers, tasting of pre-cum—had he been touching himself with them? Dylan, maybe?—and when they were just wet enough, he reached down, forcing them in knuckle-to-knuckle with Dylan’s.

  Together they had four lubed fingers pressed into Bobby’s wet, aching pussy. A stretch just on the edge of too much, and Bobby loved it. Could take it.

  And when Bobby was wild with need, he wrapped his legs around Dylan’s hips again, pulled him close. And with his still-slick fingers tucked between Dylan’s ass cheeks, teasing his hole, Bobby opened up once more, this time to take Dylan’s hard, sheathed cock.

  Dylan bit Bobby’s shoulder and speared him in one smooth stroke, took him and conquered him until Bobby could do nothing but scream into Dylan’s chest and scrape his nails down Dylan’s back.

  They fucked hard. Held nothing back, reserved nothing, kept no secrets.

  No secrets. Bobby hadn’t imagined such a thing was possible, but there it was, complete honesty between them, and it wasn’t frightening or humiliating or weak at all. Vulnerable, yes, but empowering too, and so very, very sweet.

  Dylan had taught him that.

  Dylan, who was now rearing up above him, breaking the film of sweat that joined their chests, who now looked down on Bobby from above, watching him as they fucked. Bobby was sure he was a mess, hair tangled, lip gloss smeared, eyeliner smudged, face a mask of pleasure and pain, but he wasn’t ashamed, not in front of Dylan, not anymore.

  No apologies. No explanations.

  No secrets. No shame.

  He was free.

  But Bobby wasn’t free, not quite, not without this one last thread tied up. And so, a week later, he returned to Rear Entrance Video for what may well have been the last time.

  And waited.

  Two hours later, the bell over the door jingled. Bobby closed his eyes and counted to ten.

  Right on time.

  “Well, well, well,” Adam said as he stepped inside the door, locking the deadbolt with a loud, final click behind him. “Look who it is. Kept my number all this time, did you, baby? I knew you were drooling for the D.”

  “Your number’s in the store system,” Bobby snapped.

  “But you are drooling for the D.” Adam flashed a cocky—ugh—grin and flopped an arm onto the counter flirtatiously. Did he seriously think he had the right to flirt, after everything he’d done? Of course, he probably just saw it as being persistent, not . . . Bobby gulped. He needed to not go there, not now, not if he wanted to be strong and pull this off. Acknowledging it for what it was still shook him up a lot, threw him back to that terrible moment. Better to not even think about it. “So what happened to that boyfriend of yours? He ditch after he found out you were a ladyboy?”

  “Nope,” Dylan said, emerging from one of the peepshow booths cracking his knuckles. “He’s right here. And he’s seriously considering kicking your ass.”

  “Dylan! We agreed no violence.” Christian popped out of the second booth, wearing his sternest teacher face.

  Adam spun on his heels, looking around the room like a cornered animal. Which he kind of was. Especially now that Noah, Max, and Christian’s aunt Beverly had also emerged from their hiding places. “What the fuck?” Adam shouted.

  “But his face is just so punchable,” Max said. “And hey, I can kill two birds with one stone and pretend his face is Austin’s for at least a couple hits.”

  “Max!” Christian protested helplessly.

  Auntie Beverly stepped forward, putting back her shoulders. “Boys, Christian is right. No violence.” She looked straight at Adam, who still seemed unable to process what, exactly, was happening here. “We just want to talk to you.”

  “You guys are threatening me. I’m calling the cops. This is fucked.”

  Beverly shook her head. “I don’t think so. You see, I went through the store’s security footage the other night, on the days and times Bobby told me to check. I’m sure you thought you were smart, forcing him into the peepshow cubicle, but we still have you on camera grabbing him and harassing him. There’s no sound, but your body language is pretty clear. I wonder what the police would think of that?”

  Adam turned to Bobby now, but surrounded by his friends, Bobby didn’t find Adam’s furious expression nearly as threatening as before. “You wouldn’t,” Adam said.

  Bobby didn’t flinch, and his voice was soft and calm. “I don’t want to.” Too much hassle, too much humiliation.

  “And I support his choice,” Beverly said. “We all do, don’t we, boys?”

  Bobby’s friends all nodded their agreement, even if Dylan didn’t look particularly happy about it.

  Adam was thoroughly confused now. “Well . . . good.”

  “On one condition,” Beverly added, raising a finger. “You leave this store, right now, and you never come back. Not alone, not with your friends, not when Bobby’s working, not on his day off. Never. We see you here again, or hear about you causing Bobby trouble at all, anywhere—”

  “And we can’t be held responsible for what happens to you,” Max put in ominously.

  Beverly sighed.

  Adam was visibly squirming now. “Fine, fine. Can I go, then?”

  “Not just yet,” Dylan said. “First, you’re going to apologize to my boyfriend. Go on.”

  “Ugh. I’m sorry. Now can I go?”

  Dylan shook his head and took a step forward, and Bobby couldn’t help but feel triumphant at the way Adam visibly flinched. “Try again,” Dylan said. “This time like you mean it.”

  “Yeah, grovel,” Noah added gruffly.

  “On your knees!” Max let out a mean laugh.

  “Ugh, no thanks.” Time for Bobby to put this whole farce to bed. He just wanted it over with. Wanted Adam gone forever. “You know what, Adam? I don’t even want a shitty apology. Not from you, not if you don’t mean it. So just get the fuck out and don’t come back. I never want to see you again.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m fucking out of here. Bunch of freaks.”

  Beverly gave him a cheerful wave. “Don’t let the door hit you!”

  One last snarl over his shoulder—toothless, it didn’t make Bobby feel anything, least of all scared—and Adam was gone.

  Bobby sighed, breathing all of the tension out of his body. But then, with it went whatever stubbornness was holding him together, because he instantly started to tremble.

  Dylan noticed first, and went to him, gathering him tight in his big arms. Bobby breathed in his smell, let Dylan’s solidness absorb the tremors like it always did and maybe always would, lips pressed to the top of Bobby’s head. “You were amazing,” Dylan whispered into his hair. “So brave, my brave—”

  “Group hug!” Max shouted, and suddenly Bobby and Dylan were crushed on all sides, arms and chests and defiantly optimistic laughter.

  When they at last broke apart, Beverly put up a hand like a school teacher. They all went quiet. “I have something to say. Christian and I have a surpris
e for you all. Hopefully after you see it, Bobby, you’ll feel comfortable staying and working here.”

  I already am, Bobby thought, but didn’t want to interrupt her. With all of you here, I already am.

  “Christian, would you care to do the honors?” Beverly asked, and Christian grinned ear to ear, going to the filing cabinets where they kept the DVD discs. He opened the empty bottom drawer and pulled out . . . a sign?

  CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS.

  “Huh?” Max asked, speaking for all of them.

  Beverly looked from face to face. “Well, I’ve been talking with Christian and Sandra—my partner,” she added for Dylan’s benefit, “Business and otherwise—and we’ve decided that there are enough seedy adult video stores on Davie street. We want Rear Entrance Video to be something a little bit more suited to the neighbourhood . . . and safer for our staff. After all, the nature of the store attracts the nature of the customer. The culture of the product sets the tone, and I’ve come to realize that what we have now isn’t what I want for me, my staff, or this community.”

  She was looking a little teary, dabbing at her shiny eyes with her knuckle, lip wobbling. Christian took over from there. “So we’re liquidating about ninety percent of the existing video stock, selling it wholesale to one of the stores down the street, and we’ve signed on with a queer video and book distributor instead. We’ll still be Rear Entrance Video, just . . . new and improved.”

  “And gay!” Dylan cheered.

  “Aw man, so I get to say I work at a queer bookstore, now?” Max pumped his fist. “This is gonna do wonders for my street cred.”

  Christian nodded proudly. “We’re going to sell and rent more by-LGBT-for-LGBT porn like the Mischievous Pictures stuff we already have in stock. And then we’re going to add a new section for books and magazines, including erotica and comics. And we’re going to start selling some nicer sex toys, too.”