Bobby Green

by Amy Lane

  “How could it not go away?” ’Cause it was that simple, right? You tell a guy no, he backs off.

  “Dogpatch is a small-assed town, Reg. He threatened to spread rumors about me—the kind that would keep me from getting work, the kind that would get my mom treated bad. His dad owns the house she lives in—”

  “The one who won’t do any improvement on it?”

  “That’s the one. So… you know. Every time I went up there… got….” His voice broke. Oh hell. Bobby’s voice broke, like his heart hurt. “Got fuckin’ awful. ’Cause Jessica wanted sex, and then Keith wanted his goddamned blowjob, and my mom was all ‘Baby, go play with your friends!’ and I just wanted to spend time with her. Because coming down here wasn’t that easy, and I just wanted my mom, right? So when I broke up with Jessica, I got to break up with Keith—but he keeps swinging by my mom’s house and saying things like ‘We’ve got to get your boy back up here.’”

  “Like hell!” Reg rubbed his stomach. “I feel… oh God. Bobby, he made you?”

  “Yeah.” That one word, and it sounded so hopeless.

  Reg reached over and grabbed for his hand, and Bobby helped him out. “That sucks.” Oh God. “I mean, that’s terrible. I’m…. What an asshole! I want to rip his nuts off!”

  Bobby let out a weak laugh. “Well, you may get to meet him, but I’d rather you not. My mom still has to live in that damned town.”

  It was Reg’s turn to grunt. He knew this reason. He got sacrifice for people. But… but this?

  “Would she want you to—”

  “No—but she doesn’t know I’m gay either.”

  “Are you ever going to tell her?” Reg asked, wondering. Who did they hold hands in front of? Not V—not with the way she went off about whoever the people on TV were going off against. Not in public, because both of them were still learning that they could touch at all, much less in front of other people. In front of friends?

  It was complicated, and Reg wondered if that was why it hadn’t occurred to him to have a relationship with a man before this. Complicated was way above his pay grade.

  “I wanted to,” Bobby said, and something in his voice made Reg ache. “I wanted you to come with me.”

  “I… how would I leave V?” he asked. First thing—always.

  “I asked Trey and Lance,” Bobby said, but he didn’t sound proud. “I sort of did some work on the apartment for them. They said they could stay with her in February, early. And the snows should be less deep by then, because I don’t have any chains. Does that sound like it would work?”

  “You’re asking me?” Reg felt a little bewildered. “Because I have such a rocking social calendar that once you had V taken care of, I might go on a cruise or something?”

  “No.” Bobby sighed. “I mean, I am asking you. But mostly to be selfish. Because I just… I’m going to come out to my mom, Reg. And I’m not doing it because of you, or for you—but you’re who I’m coming back to if it goes really fucking wrong.”

  “Well, yeah, of course,” Reg said, without irony. “Because if that’s what you need, that’s what I can do for you.”

  Bobby squeezed his hand. “Also….”

  It wasn’t like him to hesitate. “Also what?”

  “My mom’s a good mom. I just… you haven’t seen a good mom a lot lately. And if she doesn’t freak out at the gay, I thought… you know.”

  “You want your mom to… take over for me?” Reg asked, tickled for some reason.

  “I want you to feel cared for,” Bobby said. “Even if it’s just for a little teeny bit of time.”

  Reg grunted. “Maybe come out at the beginning,” he said practically. “That way, if she seems all nice and then gets mean to you, I won’t get attached.”

  “That’s a really good idea,” Bobby said sincerely. And then he did that thing they just agreed they weren’t ready to do in public, but they were in the car so maybe it didn’t matter.

  He took Reg’s knuckles to his mouth and kissed them, with just a little bit of tongue.

  Reg whined in his throat. That was no goddamned fair. None. They were going to his house to watch TV and read and for Reg to pretend he didn’t want Bobby so damned bad, with a two-and-a-half-day window in front of them where he wasn’t supposed to screw around.

  This wasn’t usually a problem. It wasn’t. But Bobby’s hot breath and slick tongue—on his knuckles, of all places—was making him stiff and drooling while he was driving the goddamned car.

  He wasn’t going to make it unless he kicked Bobby out of his house for the next two days.

  “Want to get some popsicles at Target?” Bobby asked after he relinquished Reg’s hand. “That way we can have dessert and you don’t have to worry about eating heavy.”

  “Yeah,” Reg answered, conveniently ignoring the idea of kicking Bobby out of his house so he could work in two days. “That sounds great.”

  DINNER WAS chicken broth for him and heartier soup for Bobby and V, and their evening found them in front of the television, Bobby and Reg reading, Veronica’s voice rising and falling in response to the news guys, who were preaching to the lost.

  They gave V ice cream afterward, but Bobby had a popsicle in solidarity, and then they put V to bed.

  Bobby yawned and stretched, smiling sleepily as he stood up and began to turn off lights. He’d bought a nightlight for the bathroom, Reg had noticed, so he didn’t have to leave the kitchen or the porch light on but nobody stubbed their toes in the darkness.

  Together they turned for the bed, Reg’s cock a swollen, aching thing in his pants, and he wondered when he was going to tell Bobby to go home, or sleep on the couch, or… oh God. Bobby went into the bedroom first, and all Reg could notice in the shadows was his back.

  He’d been doing butterflies and other back exercises, and after he pulled off his sweatshirt, Reg could see the smooth hills and valleys of his distinct muscles under his shirt.

  “Wait,” he whispered, thinking if he could just look, he’d be okay. “Just….” Maybe just touch. He lined up along Bobby’s back and wrapped his hands under Bobby’s armpits, tugging on his shoulders so Reg could place a line of kisses.

  First along the bare skin of the back of his neck, the touch of his lips to the salt under Bobby’s longish hair sending a charge through Reg’s body straight to the pit of his balls. Oh! He couldn’t just stop!

  His tongue flirted with the crew neck of Bobby’s T-shirt, and Reg yanked on it so he had more access to smooth, bare Bobby.

  Bobby let out a quick breath. “Reg… what are you doing? I thought you had to—”

  “Mine,” Reg whispered, although that was stupid. Bobby had spent two miles in traffic telling Reg about the first guy he’d ever wanted to touch him like this, and it wasn’t Reg.

  But that wasn’t what mattered right now. What mattered was Bobby letting his head drop forward, rounding the pretty curve of his spine, making it easier for Reg to plant kisses. Just a few more. Reg tugged the shirt up and spanned his slender waist, rubbed his face against Bobby’s shoulder blade like a cat, before kneading Bobby’s pecs, marveling at how tight and bulky his chest had become in the past few months.

  “Reg, uh—” He was going to remind Reg—no sex, not tonight.

  “Just more,” Reg begged. He kneaded some, pinching Bobby’s nipples, tugging lightly, wanting to taste but needing the full-body contact right now.

  “Nungh!” Bobby bucked, grazing Reg’s erection with his backside, and Reg slid a hand beneath his waistband to pin his hips. There. Right there. Reg bucked up against him, now that he was still, his cock straining through two layers of denim to wedge itself in the crack of Bobby’s ass.

  Bobby whimpered a little, twisting his body so Reg’s grip slipped and he could feel the silken tickle of hair.

  “You sore?” he whispered. “Sexed out? Sensitive?”

  “Not much—ah….”

  In Reg’s palm. It needed to be there. Reg gripped it, hard and full, stroking shortly,
and Bobby made more helpless sounds. “Reg!”

  “I want it back,” Reg told him, sure he wasn’t making any sense but needing to say it anyway. “Never had a mine before.”

  He slid around to Bobby’s front, and Bobby stopped him, taking his mouth in a kiss, overwhelming him, his own mouth hot and almost angry, dominating Reg, telling him what was good, what was right about the two of them together.

  Reg gave back. He wanted his back. Someone else had touched it, played with it, done things to it, and Reg never had something good. He wanted this good thing back in his arms, back in his body.

  His good thing needed to be outside and inside him, right now.

  Bobby groaned and shuddered, his cock spurting a little in Reg’s hand. “Reg, you can’t—”

  “My good thing,” Reg muttered. “Mine.” He lowered his head to one of Bobby’s nipples, knowing they were sensitive and needing Bobby to not talk so much and just let Reg do this. His body craved—just—oh, Bobby’s nipple popped in Reg’s mouth, tickled his tongue, and Bobby tugged on the short strands of Reg’s hair.

  “Reg… Reg, I’m sort of on a peak, really—”

  Reg pulled back reluctantly. “Good,” he breathed and sank to his knees, fumbling only a minute for Bobby’s belt and fly before shucking the whole works down.

  Bobby’s cock didn’t so much flop as unfurl, and Reg took it in one hand and stroked while flicking his tongue over the head. Soap and water, even dryer sheets—Bobby’s skin needed to be licked some more before it even tasted like Bobby’s skin again.

  Good.

  Reg let his mouth fill with spit and slurped hard on the head. Bobby let out a startled cry, and his knees gave a definite wobble.

  “Reg?”

  But Reg had no words. The only explanation he had in his head was that he wanted Bobby back, which was stupid, because Bobby hadn’t gone anywhere. All he knew was that—pump—if he didn’t get—suck—Bobby’s taste in his mouth—slurp—he would fly apart at the seams!

  Ah….

  Bobby’s bitter spurt of precome flooded his taste, and Reg swallowed, hoping it was like an antidote to the fire of need that rushed his body.

  For a moment he could breathe, but Bobby bucked and shuddered, and Reg swallowed again. It wasn’t going to be enough.

  “Turn around,” he rasped.

  “Reg—”

  Reg didn’t bother with more words. Instead of turning Bobby around, he scooted behind him and bent him over the bed.

  Taste. Taste him.

  He spread Bobby’s cheeks and licked without fear. Soap again. Fabric softener. Bobby had done his damnedest to clean away the remnants of the job. Reg probed with his tongue, and Bobby opened for him easily, already stretched and loosened from his day’s work.

  “Reg,” Bobby gasped, moaning into the coverlet. “What’re ya—”

  Reg licked some more, harder, until Bobby tasted like skin, like Reg’s spit, like human being. Bobby collapsed against the bed, shaking.

  “Can you?” Reg begged, resting his cheek against Bobby’s nether cheek. “Can you? I need… God, Bobby. I ain’t never needed like his before. Can you do it again tonight? Tell me no, and I’ll… uh, go beat off in the bathroom or something. But can you?”

  “Please,” Bobby whispered. Something in his voice, something broken, told Reg he needed this too.

  Reg stripped in record time, and by the time he was naked, boots thrown in opposite corners of the room, Bobby was in the center of the bed on his knees and elbows, head resting against his clasped hands, ass presented out, waiting.

  For a breath, Reg looked at him in an agony of indecision. He wanted… wanted…

  Had to have.

  He didn’t remember mounting the bed or slathering the lube—but the slick, tight embrace of Bobby’s asshole clenching around him—that shocked him to himself, brought him boiling to the surface of his skin, snarling.

  Bobby moaned softly, shaking under his onslaught, and Reg pulled him up by the shoulder, wrapping his arms around Bobby’s chest and thrusting into his ass like a great devouring machine.

  Soft grunts filled the air, both of them keeping their voices subdued for V’s sake, and the slap of their flesh together echoed loudly. Bobby clenched Reg’s hands at his chest, and he reached behind to tug Reg’s hair. For his part Reg bit his neck, his shoulder, his back, scraping with his teeth. Bobby’s hands, work-roughened and strong, grounded him, kept him from flying apart, from yelling too loud and drawing blood.

  He needed those arms, long and muscular, wrapped around him.

  Pulling out was an agony, but he did it anyway and whispered, “Turn around.” Bobby, who knew how to give an order, did exactly that, holding his thighs up, spreading them, lifting his hips.

  Reg shoved pillows under his ass, remembering how to be thoughtful, and then he was back inside, Bobby’s body welcoming him again.

  Bobby’s cock lay across his lower stomach, engorged but not straining, and as Reg pulled back to slam forward, Bobby dropped his thigh to grab it. With his first few strokes, Bobby’s asshole clamped tighter, and Reg let out a gasp, thrusting forward again. Bobby’s noises were breathy, sensitized, like every touch blurred the boundaries of pleasure and pain.

  Reg remembered what it was like to have sex after a scene, when your body was sexed out but your soul was still empty. With a quiet roar, he thrust forward harder, trying to drive out the emptiness, hit the note of pain, make Bobby’s body sing so Reg could drink his fill of this beautiful, smart, strong boy in his bed.

  Every stroke both quenched his thirst and stoked the fire higher.

  Bobby gave a low cry, and his back arched almost violently. He stroked his cock slowly, hard at the tip, and he oozed come, milking his body dry.

  God, that was sexy. It was why they filmed the come shot, so you could see the body do something wonderful. Reg’s own orgasm rushed up on him, and he groaned and shook, flying apart like he’d tried so hard not to do.

  His howl of completion rumbled out from his stomach and contracted all the things—taint, gut, nipples—even the muscles in his neck contorted, and he threw his head back and sobbed as he climaxed so hard he thought he’d bring the house down on his head. One more thrust, and again and again and….

  “Oh balls!” he swore, falling sideways and trembling. He pulled out of Bobby, still spurting, and before Bobby could even move, he scrambled down the bed to pull that amazing cock into his mouth and taste, and taste, and swallow.

  Bobby groaned, sliding out of Reg’s mouth and rolling to his side, and Reg flailed, trying to anchor himself to something, anything, because he was going to bounce off the ceiling, for fucking chrissakes, he really was.

  “Sh.” Bobby rolled back over, reaching around to grab the back of Reg’s neck and hold him still. “Stay there.”

  Reg nodded, held in place by Bobby’s will and the firm, not painful, grip on his neck.

  Bobby moved some more, until he was lying on top of Reg, their wet groins mashed together. Instead of frotting or grabbing or any of the sex things, though, Bobby just kissed him gently, opening his mouth and going in. Every time Reg’s body gave a sharp tremble, Bobby kissed him harder, longer, the kissing the main thing, not a buildup to something else.

  Reg moaned, and then softer and softer, until when Bobby pulled away, Reg lay limp against the quilt, freezing except for where Bobby was touching him.

  “Sorry,” Reg breathed, one last hard shudder racking him. “So sorry.”

  “Sh.” Bobby kissed him again, and then again, finally rolling over to his side and taking Reg with him until they were face-to-face. With some wiggling and squirming, they kicked the quilt down to the bottom of the bed so Bobby could pull it over their shoulders, but he stayed close, close enough that their chests touched when they both breathed in at the same time.

  Finally Reg’s breathing returned to almost normal. He groaned and pushed his face into Bobby’s chest. “Goddammit, I’m going to have to call Dex.�
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  “Yeah,” Bobby murmured. “I wondered about that. What happened?”

  Reg shook his head. “I… I don’t know. I just needed. Just needed you. That’s never—that’s never happened to me before. Not even when I was a kid and I was made of jizz. I don’t understand. I just… it was like, today, when I saw you in the hall. It was like you got taken far away from me, and I needed you back.”

  “Mm.” Bobby rubbed his palm along the outside of Reg’s arm. “It’s the job, Reg,” he said after a painful moment. “Someone else touched me. It made you mad.”

  “Yes!” Oh my God! The words were like an explosion in his head, all the words—painful words—like jealousy and faithfulness and cheating rolled into his heart. “Wait—how come… I mean, I’ve never felt that before. Jesus, Bobby, how come I’ve never thought of that before?”

  He was starting to shake again, and Bobby hushed him until he calmed down. “Maybe this is special,” Bobby whispered. “Maybe I’m special to you.”

  “Yeah.” The word seemed to hurt Reg’s throat. “I knew that.”

  Bobby closed his eyes softly, and when he opened them, they were bright and shiny. “I don’t want to be with anyone else. Does that help?”

  “Even that guy?” Reg asked, because this had seemed to make the wound worse. “Keith Gilmore? What if he—”

  Bobby shook his head. “No. Blackmail, Reg. I had sex on film today. For money. And I don’t feel dirty. Keith made it dirty.”

  Oh! Reg’s eyes burned. “Did I?”

  “No.” Bobby kissed him, almost chastely, like a big brother, on the lips. “No.”

  “This is so confusing,” Reg admitted. “But you… like this. You feel… bigger.” He grimaced. “Not your dick, but that thing—ain’t getting any smaller.” He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Bobby’s chest. “Just… just you. In my heart. You’re bigger than I’ve had. It’s like… like my heart has to get used to your size.”

  Bobby let out a little laugh. “Fair enough. But maybe… you know. Try to find the words before we have to call our boss again and say we had sex when we weren’t supposed to.”