by Amy Lane
For one thing, he was parked on a nice little residential street, and if it hadn’t been ten o’clock, there would be nice mamas outside with their kids, watching them play, and he felt like some kind of stalker sitting outside of Dex’s comfortable blue house, finishing his carne asada burrito and churros and trying not to get sugar and cinnamon on the car.
But he couldn’t really go back to his new house in Natomas, could he, now? And he probably could have checked into a motel, but dammit, he just really needed a friend right now, and he was only a little embarrassed to admit it.
And then he saw Scott drive up, and he narrowed his eyes. Not this prick again. Seriously—what did Dex have to do to tell this loser to blow town?
They’d watched—they’d all watched—as Dex had gotten involved with the guy who had the girlfriend and the acid tongue, the guy who was so vain he got pissed if you came on the tattoo on his ribs during a scene. It just hadn’t seemed fair.
Dex was… he was the hub of Johnnies. He made sure you ate when you were on location and made sure your favorite lube was on hand during a scene, but it was more than that. He made you feel comfortable when you were in front of the camera, and checked in periodically with all the guys and sounded them out and made sure they were okay with what they were doing. Kane had actually heard Dex tell guys—good-looking guys hung like fucking bears—not to shoot a scene. “You’re not going to be comfortable here—and that’s fine. But you don’t want to do something you won’t be proud of later. Every guy here, gay or straight, feels some sort of pride in what he’s doing. If that’s not going to be you, we don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
And the thing is, that last part about hurting yourself? He meant it! Those guys could have made Johnnies a lot of money, Kane was sure of it—but Dex… Dex knew what hurt. He didn’t want the guys hurt.
That’s what had driven Kane to hang around and hold onto Chase when he was losing his fucking mind in bed. Chase was a friend, and he was hurt! And Dex was there, and when Dex was there, Kane felt compelled to do the right thing.
So Scott, who routinely referred to Dex as his “strange on the side” when Dex couldn’t hear him, did not deserve Dex, not in a year or a hundred of them.
Dex deserved better.
Kane was done with his churro and about to get out of the Navigator and go kick Scott’s ass the hell away from Dex’s front door when Dex came hauling ass down the street in a way not Dex-like at all. Dex was a country boy. He walked like that—slouchy, easy, like he had time. Except not now. Now, Dex’s shoulders were straight and he was practically running with a sort of manic energy Kane had never seen in him.
And then he started yelling, which was something else Kane had never seen.
“I said not to come over,” he snapped, and Scott, who apparently did not have the sense God gave a cockroach, stood up off of Dex’s porch steps and tried one of those smiles that most people seemed to think worked really good at getting other people into bed but Kane had always thought of as sleazy.
“Yeah, but Dex, you never mean it—”
“I mean it. I meant it every time.” Dex shouldered his way past Scott, and then, much to Kane’s surprise—and gratification—he slammed the door in Scott’s face. Excellent! Finally that asshole was getting what he deserved! The door opened again, and for a moment, Kane was totally disappointed. Dammit! When was Dex gonna learn that some people weren’t worth his—
And that’s when the first CD case came sailing out the front door and nailed Scott on his high forehead with the corner.
Scott yelped like the dog he was and picked up the CD with one hand while he was rubbing his forehead with the other. “Death Cab for Cutie? Dex, you love this band!”
“I do!” Dex yelled, and it wasn’t Kane’s imagination, he was talking damned loudly for a guy who’d never raised his voice. “I do! And I love Coldplay and The Killers and Arcade Fire and”—each band was punctuated by another airborne CD—“Adele and Florence and the fucking Machine too!”
“But—” Scott ducked Coldplay. “Baby, I bought those because you—” A quick right saved him from The Killers. “Loved them! Oolf!” And he wasn’t quick enough and Arcade Fire caught his cheek, cutting a little and leaving a small trail of blood tracking down his face. He was so shocked that he just stood and took Adele and Florence and the fucking Machine in the chest as the cases clattered to his feet and shattered on the concrete walkway.
“I do love them!” Dex shouted, still too loud for Dex. “I love them, but I don’t love you, not anymore, and I’d rather pay for my own goddamned CDs than be your fucking booty call!”
Dex was standing in the doorway, panting, and his voice trembled and cracked on that last sentence. Kane, who didn’t pick up on subtleties often, thought that might be a good place to enter the scene. He got out of his beloved SUV quietly and walked with as much stealth as he could manage to the shadows beyond Dex’s porch light.
“You know it’s not like that—”
“Are you leaving her?”
“No! We’re getting married in February! You know that!”
“Do you even want to leave her? Chance broke up with Tango, you know that? I think it very well may fucking kill him. I’m not sure he’s even right in his own head. But he didn’t want to hurt Tango anymore, so he did it. What have you done to not hurt me, Scott? You name one thing you ever done to not fucking hurt me, and I’ll get on my knees and blow you right here.”
Scott swallowed, and for a moment, Kane almost thought he looked sorry. “You knew what we were doing,” he said with a trace of defensiveness, and Kane thought that yes, yes, it was definitely time to say some lines.
“I know what you’re doing now,” Kane said pleasantly, taking some joy from the way Scott jerked, his arms going out like a startled baby’s.
“Yeah, what’s that?” Scott snapped.
Kane smiled. He didn’t know why, but for some reason, when he smiled his regular, ordinary smile when he was mad at someone, it made them shut up and get all skittish like. The same thing happened to Scott, and Kane liked the effect so much he put more teeth into the smile.
“You’re leaving, because Dex shouldn’t have to tell you more than six, eight times.”
“Yeah,” Scott sneered. “You need that much babysitting, don’t you, Kane?”
Kane shrugged. “I ain’t smart, but Dex is. It’s why I’d listen to him if I were you. What have you done to not hurt him? Have you protected him once? And I ain’t talkin’ ’bout rubbers, ’cause that shit’s just fuckin’ courtesy. He asked you to name something you’ve done to not hurt him. Do it.”
Scott shrugged. “You’re saying that like it was a relationship or something? Jesus, are you just too stupid to know a fuckbuddy when you see—”
Kane hit him. He’d been in enough fights to do the job right too—put his shoulder behind it, caught the bulk of the punch in that line from his knuckles through his wrist—and he was pretty gratified when Scott went down in one blow, just like the bad guys in the movies.
“Holy shit!” Dex said. He still sounded goofy, but now he was a little hazy, like he was having trouble focusing. “Kane, I can’t hardly believe you did that!”
“Kane, you fucking psycho!” Scott was trying to yell, but Kane had nailed him in that pretty-boy mouth, so his lips would be all swollen, and he had to admit he’d done it on purpose. They’d shot a scene together, and for a guy who said he fucked guys for fun but loved girls, Scott’s main talent in life had always seemed to have been giving blowjobs and rim jobs. He was fantastic at it, and that was no lie. Kane figured that maybe it had been the guy’s sweet mouth that had kept Dex coming back. If Kane took out his mouth, maybe Dex could make the breakup stick. It was sort of like doing a public service, really.
“Go away,” Kane said shortly, and he kicked one of the CD cases that hadn’t shattered at him. “And take your shit with you.”
And then he walked up the porch and shooed Dex inside so h
e could close the door on Scott before Talking Asshole could argue.
Dex was blinking at him, his eyes decidedly glassy and a little bit teary too. “Jesus,” he muttered. “I can’t take any of that back.”
“Nope,” Kane said, looking around. He’d been there before because Dex liked having people over for holidays and dinner and shit, and Dex’s house was sweet. He’d always known it, but now it was even more important. Dark hardwood floors and brightly colored area rugs sat under the butter-soft mahogany leather couches. A big-screen plasma television dominated one side of the room, and the other side opened into a white-tiled kitchen with the big block thing in the middle, complete with dinette chairs so you could eat there, and a table in the corner so you could have a few guests over to eat too. The hallway went back into what was probably two bedrooms, if Kane didn’t miss his guess, and that area was carpeted with sort of a teak-brown carpet, while the walls were painted a soft cream.
It was so warm and soft and… just frickin’ classy, and Kane thought sadly that he should wait until morning so Dex could turn down his request when he was sober. Dex wasn’t going to want Kane and his bullshit in this nice place. It was hardly fair to ask, but, well, maybe he’d let Kane crash in his guest room and borrow his pajamas for the night.
“God, Kane,” Dex said after a little too much time had passed. He was sniffling and wiping under his eyes and nose. “What are you doing here?”
Kane sort of gasped and then grunted. “Going to fetch you Kleenex. Your nose is bleeding, Dex. Jesus, what did you do?”
“Cried like a pussy,” Dex said, plopping on his couch like he’d sort of given up on something.
Kane came back from a bathroom with sky-blue walls (it was so damned cheerful it actually scared Kane a little) and gave Dex a wad of tissue and a damp washcloth. Dex looked at them both dumbly, and Kane put the tissue on his nose and his hand on the tissue and then wiped off his face around the Kleenex.
“I was asking what drug you did, but then your nose started bleeding, so I figure it was either coke or meth, right?”
“Coke,” Dex mumbled. “And it sucks. It was great for a little bit. I was totally gonna tell him to go fuck himself. Wore off kind of quick, though.”
“Yeah, that’s ’cause you didn’t do enough,” Kane called from the kitchen. Damn—Dex’s ice machine was working and everything. Dex did know how to live civilized.
“Wasn’t even a line,” Dex agreed. “Which is fine.” He sighed. “I’m not doing that shit again. I don’t see why anyone does it ever.”
“Why’d you do it in the first place?” Kane asked, coming back with the ice and cleaning Dex up some more. Dex’s glassy eyes were half-closed, like he was crashing, and Kane thought he’d probably have to get his boy to bed in a minute.
“Because,” Dex sighed. “I had to watch that fucking video with you and Chase. God. God, it was scary. He was….”
Kane swallowed. “Do I need to hear this?” he asked, and Dex looked at him and shook his head.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said.
“Yeah, but it was what? Three days ago? I can’t stop thinking about it.” Kane shook his head. “I would have needed something to watch it too, you know?”
“There’s nothing we can do about it,” Dex said, and Kane could tell he hated that. “Chase was at the gym today. His eyes are like… like there’s nothing there. He’s… if I knew how to commit someone for their own good, I’d do it.”
Kane grunted. “You’d think his girlfriend would pick up on it,” he said, and Dex grunted back.
“Mine didn’t,” he said softly.
Kane looked at him and grimaced. “This thing we do? It complicates shit,” he said.
Dex shrugged. “Allison knew what I was doing for money, but I didn’t tell her I’d started doing it because I… I cared about someone.” Dex’s face darkened. “I’m not sure if it makes me better or worse than Chase.”
Kane thought about it. “I think it makes this whole business complicated,” he said after a moment. “That’s why I don’t sleep with women right now.”
Dex squinted at him. “I didn’t know you slept with guys off the set,” he said, puzzled, and Kane shrugged back at him.
“Only Johnnies guys,” he said, because that sort of made it different. The guys you worked with knew the score, right? Except when one of them said I love you, be my booty call, but I’m not leaving my girlfriend. There was no way to score that. Kane smiled a little to himself. Well, throwing CDs at him had been a nice start. “So,” Kane continued, “you’re gonna wanna go shower.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re sweating up a fucking storm and you bled all over yourself. And then I’ll feed you—”
“I’m not hungry,” Dex said, smacking his palate. “Mouth tastes like shit.”
“Yeah, but you’re gonna eat anyway ’cause I said so. Then you’re gonna fuckin’ crash.”
Dex sighed. “I’ll take that shower,” he conceded, and he stood up. Sure enough, there were sweat stains at his pits and at the neck of his T-shirt. Dex turned around and looked at Kane, his pretty blue eyes all glassy from the drugs and red from crying as he stood. “He’s a total asshole,” he said, wiping his eyes with the palm of his hand. “It was worth getting high to get rid of him.”
“Just don’t make a habit of it,” Kane said, worried. “That’s bad.”
Dex shook his head and started twitching a little. “I feel like ants are eating my skin.”
“Ewww!” Honest horror. Kane had done some drugs in high school, some X and some pot and some K—but he’d never done coke because until he did porn, it was actually too expensive for him. “Is that normal?”
“I have no idea.” Dex sounded totally forlorn, and his shoulders drooped, and it didn’t look like he was going to make it to the bathroom after all.
Kane stood up because you just didn’t leave a brother looking like that when he was down. “Here. I’m gonna put my arms over your shoulders, okay?”
Dex nodded and leaned into him. “That’s nice,” he said. “You don’t have to do that.”
Kane shrugged and kissed the side of his sweaty head. That bright-gold hair was wet on the sides, and Kane sort of wished if they were going to be this close that he could see it clean. It was soft, and it looked cool, and one of the perks of fucking guys for a living was that you got to touch them like that and check that stuff out. Kane liked to touch—stuff made more sense when you could feel it.
Right now, Dex’s shoulder—he had one of those stringy athlete’s builds, the kind that really made the muscles pop but that didn’t get big or bulky, like Kane’s—felt hard and bony but not so solid. Dex was usually the sort of guy who would manhandle you back when you were doing a scene, but right now he felt fragile, and Kane wanted to fix that.
“C’mon,” he said. “Shower first. Food next. How’s that?”
Dex leaned his head on Kane’s shoulder, trusting as a kitten. “You feel so nice,” he mumbled. “You could take care of someone, you know?”
Kane kept his arm firm while walking Dex toward the bathroom. “Only you,” he said truthfully. “And only ’cause you’re stoned. Otherwise you’d have too much good sense to let me.”
“You’re good people,” Dex said earnestly in the way of all stoned people everywhere, forever, since the history of fermented coconut milk and coca beans.
“I’m a psycho. You heard the man.” Kane pushed him into the bathroom, put two hands at the ribbing of the plain old gray hooded sweatshirt, and pulled it up and over Dex’s head. It was sopped with sweat and bloodstains, so Kane dropped it in the hamper. Wow—a hamper! What a fucking awesome idea! Kane made a note of that—he would need a hamper wherever he ended up living. When he was done, he moved closer to unbutton Dex’s jeans. Dex was usually a pretty slick dresser—leather jackets, tight jeans. He must have been needing comfort if he was wearing his baggy old 501s, so worn that everything was frayed.
B
ut baggy or not baggy, Dex’s body underneath was just… damn.
Of course all the boys at Johnnies were just… damn, but Dex was special. He tanned well, which was a surprise since he was such a blue-eyed boy, but he didn’t tan often, so in the winter his skin was just a sweet shade of pale gold and rose. Kane found that he was running his hands down Dex’s hips and his thighs, framing that cut little diamond of a stomach with his thumbs, planing his palms down to Dex’s flanks as he pushed the jeans and underwear down to Dex’s feet. Kane sat down on the closed toilet (with a little cover, which was something else Kane had to think about), and there he ran into the time-honored snag of having forgotten to take Dex’s shoes off first.
Dex let out a tired little sigh, and Kane giggled. “Here, sweetheart, you can lean on me and I’ll get your shoes off.”
Dex grunted. “You know, I could probably muddle through.”
“Yeah, but I want you to remember that I was good to you tomorrow. I got a favor to ask you, and it’s sort of huge.”
Dex pulled his foot out of his battered tennis shoe while Kane held it, and then balanced while Kane peeled off his sock and shoved it back in the shoe, and then they repeated the process.
“Why don’t you ask me now?” Dex asked, and Kane shrugged.
“’Cause you’re stoned and sorta weepy.” Kane swallowed. “Man, I’m feeling bad enough after the scene with Chase. I don’t want taking advantage of you on my conscience.”
He looked up at Dex, that long, tanned body, and touched him some more. Dex’s cock stayed at half-mast, probably because of the coke, but that was okay. He shivered at Kane’s touch, and Kane looked up and smiled.
“Now see,” he said proudly, patting Dex on the flank and standing up within inches of Dex’s lean, naked body, “this is one of the bennies of doin’ porn for two years. Three years ago, this would have weirded me the fuck out, and I would have bailed. But now? I’m just gonna turn the water on and let you get in there, okay?”
Dex nodded and then closed the gap between them and laid his head on Kane’s shoulder. “Are you comfortable enough to give me a hug?” he asked.