by Amy Lane
“Bye, Vern. I can’t wait.”
He ended the call and rested his forehead against his palm. A week and a half. He didn’t know how Reg or Lance or any of the other guys at Johnnies could deal. He missed his mother in his life so bad his stomach cramped with it.
He heard the creak of footsteps behind him, and warm hands rested on his shoulders. “Your mom?” Reg asked softly.
“I miss her.” The yearning lessened, somehow, now that Reg knew. He felt the hesitant kiss on the top of his head.
“That’s good. Not that you’re sad, but that you have someone to miss.”
Bobby nodded and rested a bandaged hand on top of Reg’s.
“You know,” Reg said softly, his voice a little fractured, “I don’t have the faintest idea what I should do today.”
Bobby smiled and turned around, resting his temple against Reg’s hard-planed stomach. “Go to my place so I can get clothes,” he murmured. “Work out.” He’d already called in to his waiting job. “Go see a movie. Come home and read or watch TV.”
“Mm. Sounds okay. What do we do tomorrow?”
Bobby looked up at him and smiled. “Tomorrow is your scene day. Whatever you want. And the day after that too. But after that?”
Reg looked down at him soberly, hanging on his every word. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to take you apart. I’m going to lay you out on the bed and play with your body until you scream jizz. I’m going to buy things I’ve seen on my phone and use them on you and watch your face as your body forgets it ever knew another cock but mine. And when you are crying from coming out your eyeballs, I’m going to go back and do it all again. ’Cause I have you to myself for a while, Reggie, and I want your body to remember every goddamned minute.”
Reg’s arms convulsed around his head, and he let out a low moan. Bobby’s cock ached fiercely in his shorts, and over the cacophony of his injuries and his heartsickness, that shit felt good.
These months, turning himself into a finely tuned sexual machine, and all the heartache and the uncertainty and the drawbacks that came with the job, and he wanted him and Reg to hit the open bed and see what they could do.
“You suck,” Reg whimpered, bucking fruitlessly against the back of the chair.
“Not today,” Bobby promised darkly. “But soon.”
The Moon
REG’S SCENE with Lance went really well.
Reg couldn’t explain it—maybe it was because Lance seemed more responsive under his hands, or because his breath—which was usually bright with mints—was a little more subdued but more wholesome. But Lance moved like sex was his drug. Reg topped, and when Lance came, he kissed Reg like Reg was a lifeline, and Reg kissed back the same way.
But when they were done kissing and the scene was over, they both rolled apart and lay panting on the bed, and Reg didn’t feel any need to do the soft touching, the running his hand up and down Lance’s arm or kissing of the shoulder or the neck that Bobby spent so much time doing.
“That was great!” the camera guy said, and Reg squinted at him unhappily. This guy was new—Dex had hired him since John had disappeared—and Reg and Lance had done their jobs like the professionals they were. But Reg had gotten the feeling this guy was freaked-out with pretty much everything they were doing. He just didn’t get close enough to the body parts to be filming real porn.
“Shower scene?” Reg asked, and the guy gave them a blank look.
“I’m thinking that’s a no,” Lance said, popping Reg on the flank. “Let’s go clean up. You doing anything today?”
Reg grunted. He felt energized, not tired like good sex sometimes made him feel, and he wasn’t sure he wanted a quiet day today. “I gotta ask Bobby,” he said. “He was still a little sore this morning. Did I tell you he fell through the fence chasing my sister down the street?”
Lance stared at him. “No. No, you did not. But if he’s up to it, how ’bout call him up and have him meet up for lunch.” He appeared to think about it for a moment. “I’m hungry,” he said, sounding like he was surprised. “I’m hungry, and I want company. How’s that?”
Reg grinned. He didn’t want to think about V. The doctor had called the day before and told them to give her another week in the interim hospital while they got her behavior under control. Reg didn’t know what this meant, but Bobby’s face had darkened when he heard.
“It means she’s in restraints,” Bobby said, like he knew this would hurt but had to say it anyway.
Reg’s chest had frozen, and for a moment he imagined himself in the corner, rocking back and forth like he had as a kid, helpless and terrorized and feeling like somehow he’d brought all this on his own head.
“It’s not your fault,” Bobby had said, maybe reading his mind. “She did this, Bobby. She lied, she pretended to take pills for two months, and she manipulated the doctor. And yeah, she’s sick, but that part—that part she did. She stopped taking her medication when she knows what she does without it. You promised her, baby, but you can’t do it all by yourself, and she wasn’t helping.”
“She’ll take the medication in the health facility,” Reg said, because he couldn’t imagine making the decision that came with that not happening. “Then she can come back here.”
Bobby let out a sigh, and they both let the matter drop, and now Reg was excited. He had a rare free moment—he was going to treat this like a holiday, not the scary beginning of a new way of life.
Lunch was fun.
Reg picked Bobby up and brought him to the restaurant. Bobby and Lance suggested something sort of upscale and interesting, but Reg saw a barbecue place near the Golden 1 Plaza, and he was starving. He ate too much seasoned beef while he and Bobby told Lance about Bobby taking out the fence. Lance’s eyes got really big when Reg told him about having to tackle V running down the road in the dark, and then he got pissed when Reg told him about the doctor.
“He did what?” Lance said weakly.
“He took her off her pills,” Bobby said, voice grim. “Could he do that?”
Lance let out a growl. “Well, obviously he did.” He shut his eyes tight. “Guys, I’ve done a psych rotation for about six weeks. The end. I haven’t taken a lot of classes in it—not my specialty. But I can tell you, a month or even two in a facility might not be enough.”
Reg swallowed a bite and remembered his determination not to think about it. “She’ll be okay,” he said, giving Lance a brief smile. “Don’t worry. Me and V, we take care of each other.”
Lance nodded and rubbed his stomach. He hadn’t eaten a lot, but then he rarely did. “I’m going to go use the bathroom—I’ll be back.”
Bobby stood too and sent an intense look at their friend. “I’ll come with you,” he said, squeezing Reg’s shoulder. “Reg, you can have the rest of my portion if you want. I’m full.”
Reg smiled sunnily up at him and took the last of his rolls and meat, while Bobby stalked grimly next to a very uncomfortable-looking Lance.
Reg was going to not think about that. He wasn’t going to think about why Lance looked so guilty and Bobby looked so mad, and he wasn’t going to think about how everybody thought V wasn’t coming home.
He just flat-out wasn’t going to think about that.
He was going to go home to Bobby, and they were going to have sex that night, and sex the next morning, and sex—just their sex—as many days as possible for the next month or two.
He was a simple guy, he told himself desperately. He couldn’t be expected to handle anything else.
TWO DAYS later, simplicity was a beautiful thing.
After their workout and a light lunch, Bobby went outside to get some things to fix the fence. By the time he got in the house, swearing about needing to change, it was pissing down rain, and Reg was hunkered down with a book, enjoying the sound of the rain on the roof, the clean smell, the quiet in the house.
No Fox News. No V muttering to herself. The living room had been straightened and vacuumed, the dishes w
ere washed and put away, and all Reg had to do was figure out how the heroine who lived back in the American West was going to save the ranch. Bobby had read this one—he said she was resourceful and brave, and Reg liked that story best.
He was deeply engrossed in the book, so at first Bobby’s warm hand massaging his neck was simply pleasant—a luxury he wasn’t used to yet, something he’d only done with this one human, that made him feel wonderful without being too exciting.
Reg tilted his head back and closed his eyes, while Bobby very gently pulled the book from his hands and set it down on the battered coffee table. Reg kept his eyes closed and nibbled on his lower lip as he recognized the tender darkening of the mood.
“You, uh, get dried off?” Reg asked, and Bobby’s response was to lift Reg’s hand and spread it over his hard, bare abdomen.
“Took off my wet clothes.”
Reg grinned and looked up at him, just to see his slightly crooked front teeth in a wicked smile of his own. “All of them,” he said, rubbing a circle on Bobby’s stomach. How had he never noticed how silky a man’s stomach could be, how pleasing the feel of taut muscle under smooth skin?
“Even my socks,” Bobby purred. “And you’re overdressed.”
Reg crunched his upper body off the couch so he could take off his shirt, and Bobby tackled his belt and jeans. In less than a minute, they were both naked, in Reg’s living room, which made Reg shiver because it felt sinful.
There was nobody in the house but them.
“Here,” Bobby murmured. “Stand up.”
Reg was confused until he found himself behind the couch, arms braced, while Bobby slid soft lips down his shoulders, the back of his neck, the back of his arms.
“Mm….”
Bobby’s hands weren’t idle either. He was so big, his hands spanned so far, that they practically encircled Reg’s tight waist, and his touch was just firm enough to not tickle Reg’s ribs as Bobby stroked him.
“Nipples?” Reg begged, feeling pathetic, and Bobby’s chuckle made him shiver.
“Impatient?” he asked.
“Yes.” Oh my God—“Yes!” as Bobby pinched sharply. He started to sweat, shaking, as Bobby kissed down his spine.
“Spread ’em,” Bobby ordered, and Reg did, feeling open and vulnerable. Bobby took advantage of him, skating his fingertips down Reg’s cleft, between his thighs, along his taint. The touches were just hard enough not to tickle, just soft enough to leave Reg aching for more. Bobby was using Reg’s hip to balance as he worked his sorcery, and the print of his hand felt burned into Reg’s skin.
Reg’s breaths were coming fast and hard, and all Bobby did was touch him. Lightly.
The touches grew stronger, broader, and Bobby’s warm hands on Reg’s asscheeks were a welcome relief.
“Fucking now?” Reg begged.
“Licking now,” Bobby returned playfully. Reg let go of the couch and just leaned his torso on it, exposing his ass and lifting to his toes, legs spread as wide as he could.
He was rewarded by the wet heat of Bobby’s mouth, his tongue, dragging down his cleft, licking circles around the target, until Reg pleaded shamelessly.
“Please, Bobby… please… something. My cock, my ass, don’t care, just… just don’t tease me no more. Don’t…. Augh!”
One finger—one—penetrated him, and Reg almost cried. “Yes! No! That’s not enough!”
He clenched hard on that finger, knowing his muscles there were tight from use. Bobby pushed past the resistance, and the burn intensified. Reg moaned.
“You want more?”
“Yeah.”
The snick of a lube bottle sounded, and Reg didn’t even want to know where he’d been hiding it. The pressure in Reg’s asshole increased, another slick finger pushed in, and Reg’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Yesssssss….”
But it was still not enough.
“Bobby?”
“Yeah?” A third finger, and Reg wanted to sob.
“You got a giant cock, man—don’t you wanna fuck me?”
Bobby kept his fingers where they were and started working them in and out. “Yeah, sure,” he breathed, his breath teasing the whorls of Reg’s ear. “But I wanna see you fly first.”
Reg rested his face on his hands and wiggled his ass, partly in time to the thrusts and partly in pure stinking need. Bobby stayed to the side of him, fucking his ass slowly with his fingers, and then, oh God, reaching around with his other hand and…. Oh please… please….
“One lousy finger!” Reg hollered, utterly helpless, utterly aroused. “Jesus—grab it. Hard. Stroke it. Don’t tease it. Please, Bobby—please! Please!”
Bobby whispered in his ear. “No.”
“Gah!” Reg howled into his cupped hands, super stimulated in the back, barely stimulated from the front, his body shaking uncontrollably. “Bobby!”
Bobby’s low chuckle set every nerve ending on fire, and all the teasing fingers disappeared. “I can suck you off,” Bobby whispered. “I can get down on my knees in front of you and swallow your come. Or I can fuck you. Choose, baby—but choose wisely.”
There was no choice. “Fuck me! Oh, fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me—please, please, please—yes!”
Oh, Bobby’s cock was a thing of beauty, especially as it battered its way into Reg’s ass. Reg let out a real sob, dropped his hand down to his own much neglected member, and let Bobby seat himself.
“Ready?” Bobby asked, gliding his hands up and down Reg’s ribs.
“Yeah.” And Reg gave himself over in that word. No more fighting what Bobby wanted, no more trying to get his own way. He trusted. Bobby would take care of him. Bobby hadn’t failed him yet.
Bobby pulled out slowly and then thrust firmly back in. Reg’s entire body went weak, conceding, submitting, just as Bobby said, “Good.”
What followed was a little like being turned inside out and then put back without the awful stuff you didn’t know was inside you.
On one level, it was just fucking. Magnificent fucking. Bobby slammed his cock in and out of Reg’s body hard and fast and beautiful, and Reg could barely keep up with it. He was practically limp with submission, but that didn’t mean wave after wave of excruciating pleasure didn’t crash over him, tossing him about in a storm of shocked nerve endings and sensation.
But as he grabbed his cock and squeezed, too overwhelmed to even stroke himself off like he’d done since he was a kid, he could feel the more to this. This thing Bobby was doing to him—this left that thing he’d done in front of the cameras in the rearview. This was all over his body. Bobby had drawn him out, made him beg, pulled the things he needed to the surface of his skin, and then gave him what he needed. Reg was an exposed nerve, and the one person, the only person who could touch him with pleasure, with generosity, was the big country kid behind him, fucking him with the giant dick.
Bobby wrapped an arm around Reg’s chest and kept pumping his hips. Reg could smell him—plain soap, rain in his hair, fabric softener, male skin—and knew suddenly that it wasn’t the dick size, or even the fucking.
It was the man.
He was too far gone to moan or groan or even whimper. His breath wobbled out, and without even another squeeze to his cock, his entire body, from the arches of his feet to his ears, for God’s sake, tensed, a giant ball of painful pleasure, before he snapped hard, like a big rubber band, and came and came and came.
Behind him Bobby groaned loudly in his ear and clenched his arm so tight Reg’s ribs creaked. He bit Reg’s shoulder, the sting of teeth making Reg spurt harder, and gave a gigantic shudder.
Reg could feel him.
Hot come, pulsing inside his body, something he didn’t think would register anymore, given how long he’d whored his ass out for money and kicks.
This was different.
This was a mark, a possession, and as Reg’s eyes fluttered closed and he tried hard not to swoon on the back of his own goddamned couch, he recalled the past two days.
They’d had sex, soft, hands skating, brief climax sex, since Reg’s last scene and the lunch with Lance. Reg had thought sure—Bobby did the jealousy thing once. He was so much smarter than Reg. He didn’t need to lay a claim or mark Reg—he’d grown up.
But now, half fainting, physically exhausted from half an hour of balls-out sex, dripping Bobby’s come from his asshole and coated with his own come all over his hand and his forearm and even his stomach, he realized the truth.
Bobby had been waiting.
Bobby wasn’t more grown-up than Reg. Wasn’t over the jealousy thing. He was just like Reg.
He just bided his time better, that was all.
Reg was poured across the back of the couch still when Bobby withdrew, the absence of his body in Reg’s leaving a big ache, a hole, like a missing limb or something. He could have stayed there for hours, come running down his upper thighs, shivering in the sudden cold, but then Bobby did an amazing thing.
He put one arm under Reg’s knees and the other under his shoulders and picked him up. Like a kid.
“I weigh one sixty, solid,” Reg mumbled, rubbing his cheek against the smooth skin of Bobby’s chest. “Jesus, kid, how much are you benching?”
“More than I was when I moved here,” Bobby said. He put Reg back in the bed they’d left that morning so they could go work out, crawled in after him, and pulled the covers up.
Reg turned into his chest and began to lick the sweat off his pecs and his nipples in a hazy, desultory way. His entire body tingled.
“You were jealous,” he said, surprising himself. “Me, my scene. You been waiting two days to just… just….”
Bobby’s arm lay under his shoulders, and Bobby crushed him against that amazing chest. “Take back what’s mine.”
“How do you do that?” Reg asked. “I’ve been everybody’s boy for so long… how do you just make me… yours?”
He expected Bobby’s laugh, low and filthy, and a crude joke about his member, but that’s not what he got.