Straight Shooter (Rear Entrance Video, #3)

by Heidi Belleau

  “Oh.” Well, that made sense. And Puck didn’t seem angry that Austin was questioning him, either. That was good. That was . . . that was good. He took a deep, fortifying breath.

  “Speaking of which, care to tell me why you asked for that?”

  Austin startled. “I . . .” His eyes drifted down to his spread thighs, down to the pale rows of scars. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Austin.”

  “Shit.” Austin moaned.

  “Did you think you had to prove yourself to me? Prove you could take it?”

  Austin balled his hands into fists. “No! I know I can take it. I’m a hockey player. I can take a hit. I can handle pain.”

  “Mm-hmm.” The unspoken question: So then why?

  Why did he ask for more? Why did he ask for harder? “I thought it was what I wanted from you, I guess.”

  “What you wanted? Why would you want something you don’t like?”

  Oh, this was like before, where Puck had teased out the tiny differences between two words. Spanking versus pain. Want versus . . . “What I needed,” Austin amended.

  Because he didn’t want to be hurt. It didn’t feel good to hurt. He wasn’t a masochist. Wants? He wanted a lot of things. He wanted to be dominated, to be satisfied, to give into all these perverse feelings and have Puck take away this burden of repression. Want was pleasure, was giving in to temptation.

  But need was a different thing. Need wasn’t so generous. Wasn’t about pleasure, only survival.

  “Why do you need pain, Austin?”

  Not did you, as in why did you need pain earlier today? but do you, as in something ongoing. And it was ongoing, wasn’t it? Austin’s need for pain had always been there, right from the beginning. All the things he did to hurt himself, chasing pain, because pain was— “Punishment,” Austin said aloud. “I need pain because I need to be punished.”

  Austin hadn’t realized it before—was too caught up in the porno—but he was here, so some unconscious part of him must have known it anyway: punishment was something Doms did. They punished you. They gave you rules, and then they punished you when you broke them. They punished you for your character flaws, for past transgressions. They punished you for things that had nothing to do with them. It was a kind of absolution—like going to confession, almost—because punishment balanced the scales again, maybe even helped you do better. It wasn’t about silly rules like ending every sentence in Sir or making sure not to miss a single drop of your master’s cum when he told you to swallow. It was so much bigger, so much more, it was practically on the level of karma, except instead of waiting for the universe to reward you or punish you as you deserved, you could seek it out. You could ask for it, and have it freely given.

  Realizing that lifted such a great weight off Austin’s shoulders. Pain was pain and punishment was punishment, but unlike with the overexercising, or the cutting, or any of it, at least now he wasn’t in this alone.

  That mattered. Austin was nothing on his own. But in a team, even a team of two, he was a giant.

  And that was why it was easy to answer Puck’s next question, the most painful one of all: “Why do you need to be punished?”

  “Because I’m like this,” he said, and though he felt strong and brave, it still hurt, still hurt so bad that his eyes watered and his voice wavered. “Because I pretend like I’m a man, but deep down inside, I’m a fag like you said, and I want to be treated like one. Humiliated a-and . . . used like one.”

  He waited for his Hail Marys. Waited for Puck to turn him over for another paddling.

  But instead, Liam took him by the chin and delicately turned his face up, like they were in a romantic old movie and about to kiss. His eyes were shimmering, and his voice was raw when he spoke. “And those scars on your legs, Austin? Are they punishment for that?”

  Austin didn’t want to answer; he’d gone from ecstatic to ashamed in that one look, but apparently his silence was all the answer Liam needed, because he slid off the couch and to his knees on the floor with Austin and gathered Austin into a chest-crushing hug. Liam’s face pressed against Austin’s bare shoulder, and those tears that had been brimming in Liam’s eyes overflowed onto Austin’s skin.

  “Oh buddy,” Liam mumbled into him. “Oh buddy, oh kiddo, oh no. Oh no. I could never. I could never punish you, not for that. I could never. Nobody—”

  As strong as Liam was, Austin was still able to break out of his grip. Maybe it was all the training.

  Maybe it was how furious he was.

  “Stop fucking cuddling me! I’m not gay!” he roared, because he couldn’t possibly begin to vocalize the real reason he was so angry.

  He’d told Liam his deepest, darkest secrets. He’d trusted Liam to fucking help him, to be the one to absolve him, and if not fix him, to at least make the unresolved guilt gnaw at him less. Liam was supposed to punish him the way he needed to be punished. Balance things out. They were a team! They were supposed to work together, help each other. Liam was supposed to let Austin depend on him, lean on him, and in turn, Austin would be loyal, so loyal and so obedient and so good.

  And instead, Liam was spitting in his face, abandoning him, refusing to satisfy the one thing Austin really needed. The pain. The absolution.

  “I don’t understand,” he cried, and God, his throat hurt, his heart was pounding, his head was spinning, the whole world seemed to have fucking flipped while he wasn’t looking. Puck had promised to give Austin everything he needed, and here was Liam snatching it all away again. “How can you say you can’t—you won’t—?”

  It wasn’t worth talking. Not to Liam, who’d taken Austin’s confession and thrown it back at him like it was garbage. Austin turned, giving Liam his back, and angrily yanked his clothes back on.

  Liam didn’t argue with him. Didn’t try to reason with him, didn’t tell him to sit down, kid, and listen to me. None of it. He was just . . . letting Austin go.

  Well, fine. If he was going to give up that easy, then maybe he didn’t deserve the kind of loyalty Austin had to give in the first place.

  Before the whole Bobby . . . thing, Austin and Rob had often pulled all-nighters playing video games. Two guys who couldn’t be any more different, finding common ground. Maybe now that they were over the worst of those differences—or rather, Austin was over them—they could find that place again. He hoped so. Since things had so spectacularly gone to shit with Liam, he was feeling fiercely determined to salvage something out of this whole mess of experimentation, and hadn’t his inability to play nice with Bobby been the very thing that had started him on this path in the first place?

  If he couldn’t have the punishment and absolution he craved, and he couldn’t stop himself from getting turned on by locker room trash talk, maybe he could at least get back on Bobby’s—and therefore the rest of his roommates’—good side. Maybe once he was there, they could help with the mess he’d gotten himself in. Because really, what was the use of two gay roommates and one bisexual one if he couldn’t go to them for advice on how to manage matters of not-straightness?

  And so, a few days after things had imploded between him and Liam, Austin set out on Operation Win Back Bobby. First plan of attack? Woo him with a video game.

  Austin wasn’t any kind of connoisseur gamer or anything, he just liked to shoot big guns at Nazis, zombies, or whatever combination of the two game developers were generous enough to throw at him. Give him a good first person shooter with urban warfare levels, a good selection of weaponry, and lovingly rendered hyperviolence, and he was there. Bobby was a good opponent on multiplayer: no spawn-camping bullshit, only plain old-fashioned skill. Throw in some energy drinks, and they had themselves a great night. Sometimes Max would pop in, dragging Christian along, and they’d have a four-way.

  But Bobby wasn’t really into war games, so much. He preferred creepy Japanese import games with complex puzzles and freaky monsters and gruellingly realistic running mechanics that had your character trippi
ng and gasping for breath every time you so much as nudged the joystick. Three hours of shoot-’em-up and Austin would agree to at least an hour of postmidnight survival horror. Bobby did most of the game play; Austin found the puzzles impossible and the scarcity of ammo or weaponry to be insufferable. They’d sit up together playing, Austin complaining about nearly everything, and both of them getting more and more jumpy as the night wore on, and it was good. It was like being friends. It was friendship.

  Austin wanted it back.

  Wanted it back enough to solve fiendishly difficult puzzles for it. To that end, he took a detour on his way home from class that afternoon, stopping at one of those cramped little video game stores that perpetually smelled like BO. Strode right up to the counter. “I need the most obscure and difficult Japanese survival horror game you’ve got.”

  The nerd behind the counter, still hung up on the nerds versus jocks bullshit from high school, gave him the evil eye. “Are you sure you don’t mean Call of Duty 4?”

  Austin didn’t respond, just stared at the guy until he started to squirm, then hit his headset. “Hey, Richard, customer thinks he’s man enough for Lobotomy Hospital.”

  A few minutes later, Richard arrived with the disc, the nerd behind the counter was a condescending shit some more, and then Austin was on his way home, Lobotomy Hospital in hand.

  When he got there, he found Bobby in the kitchen making himself a mug of tea.

  Austin cleared his throat awkwardly. Held out the bag at arm’s length. “So, uh, I got you this. Thought maybe you’d wanna play it with me this weekend. Or something.”

  Bobby’s neatly groomed eyebrows lifted. “Oh?” he said, gingerly plucking the bag from Austin’s hands. He gave Austin a kind of bewildered, confused look, like he was half-afraid the bag was full of dog shit, and then he opened it and his eyes bugged out. “Is this—” he squeaked. “Oh my God, Lobotomy Hospital!”

  “You don’t have it already, do you?” Austin asked, nervous.

  “I don’t! I mean, I’ve been thinking of buying it since it came out, but I’ve been too chickenshit, to be honest. Guess fate has made the choice for me.”

  “I, uh, I guess it did,” Austin said. “So it’s good? I did good?”

  Bobby smiled at him. “You did good. So is this supposed to be a peace offering, Austin? Buying me nice things?”

  Wasn’t that technically a bribe? Buying Bobby gifts to get back into his good graces? Austin supposed it kind of was.

  And yet it wasn’t like that at all. He thought of Puck/Liam’s little differences, the way he was so careful to make sure Austin really thought about them. Nuances, that was the word.

  “Kinda,” Austin replied. “But mostly I miss you and thought maybe we could play it together.”

  Bobby cupped his own cheek in one hand. “Awww,” he said. “I’d love to, Austin. Love to.”

  “R-really?” Would it really be that easy? That simple?

  “Really. I miss you too, even if I’m sick of killing Nazi zombies with machine guns.”

  “You’ll be happy, then. The dude at the store said in this game you’re armed with nothing but rusty old wheelchair parts.”

  Bobby wiggled with delight. “Ohh, I’m getting goose bumps already! I guess I better go on an energy drink run if we’re gonna do this thing tonight. No way Lobotomy Hospital isn’t gonna be an overnighter.”

  Austin was about to agree when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.

  One new text message.

  From Liam.

  My house. Tonight. 8pm sharp. I know you know where I live.

  Austin stared at the screen, his mouth going dry. Another text message arrived.

  & wear a jockstrap.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he said.

  Bobby’s face lit up with concern. He leaned in, anxiously rising to his tiptoes. “What? What is it?”

  “Uh, I, uh, nothing serious. I mean, nothing, nothing to worry about. But I’m gonna have to take a rain cheque on Lobotomy Hospital. This weekend, maybe?”

  “Oh, come on!” Bobby griped, falling back to the flat of his feet again in obvious disappointment. “You can’t tease me like that. Whoever it is, tell them it’ll have to wait because you have a date with a sentient straitjacket.”

  “I really can’t,” Austin said. He tugged at his shirt collar, still trying to get some spit into his mouth.

  “Really? Who’s more important than me, huh?” Bobby was teasing, putting on a big ridiculous pout, but even Austin could pick up on the fact that he was only exaggerating in order to hide the fact that he really was hurt.

  Jeez, Austin couldn’t leave him like this.

  Well, hadn’t he seriously considered talking to him about the whole Liam thing anyway?

  “It’s Liam,” he admitted. “Williams. From the porn store.”

  Bobby’s eyes widened. “The porn star?”

  Austin’s face went hot. “Jeez, do you gotta put it like that?” he complained, but oh God, it was totally true. Liam was a porn star. A porn star was propositioning him, texting him, ordering him to wear a jockstrap and making his dick harder than survival horror games. “B-but yeah. Liam the porn star. He and I uh—”

  “You what?” Bobby took him by the shoulders, fingers digging in. “Don’t hold back on me, Austin.”

  Austin squirmed in his grip. “I don’t know, okay? I just, I don’t know. I kind of asked him to, you know, teach me some things.”

  “You two are fucking!” Bobby was practically shouting. “I knew it!”

  “Keep it down!” Austin groaned. “But yes. I mean, no. I mean, it’s complicated. We haven’t had sex, exactly, but I’m not going to his place to shoot the shit and watch hockey, either. Fuck.”

  “Oh my Goooooood,” Bobby said. “Forget video games. You want to get back in my good graces, you tell me everything.”

  “Can it wait? I kinda gotta have a shower. And catch a bus. Apparently.” He stared down at the text in disbelief, half-expecting it to disappear the next time he blinked.

  Wait, wasn’t he angry at Liam? Oh, fuck it, maybe this text message was Liam’s Dom way of admitting he’d fucked up and wanted to try again. Whatever it was, Austin wasn’t about to say no to a proposition like that, even if it kinda made him want to puke.

  “Go, then!” Bobby was bouncing up and down, practically squealing, hands flailing like the wings of some kind of bird. “Go, go, go! Lobotomy Hospital can wait. Oh, this is too good, this is too, too good.”

  Austin nodded robotically and headed for the stairs and the shower.

  Well, as embarrassing and fucking weird as this whole thing had gotten, there was no doubt he and Bobby were back on the path to being friends.

  Even if it had ended up taking the most awkward and humiliating route humanly possible.

  Maybe he deserved that.

  The woman across from him on the bus kept glaring at him.

  Probably because he was jiggling his leg so much.

  Well, she’d have to glare some more, or move to another damn seat, because there was no way he could summon the self-control to stop now. Not with all this anxious energy coursing through him.

  Not with this itchy ass, bare against the insides of his jeans where the jockstrap didn’t cover.

  Austin was wearing a jockstrap.

  He’d showered, taking care to clean his ass extra well, and now he was wearing a jockstrap. For fetish purposes, not to keep his cup in place. Wasn’t wearing a cup at all, actually, which may have been a bad decision seeing as his dick was trying its damnedest to bust right through his fly.

  He was really doing this. He was really, really doing this. He wasn’t going to Liam’s place tonight to rehash their argument. He was going there, potentially, to fuck. Or rather, be fucked. Or whatever version of fucking Liam would do without taking out his dick, since that was apparently how it went with straight guys like Austin.

  And Austin told himself that was almost certainly for the best, despite t
he way the disappointment of it twisted inside him, getting all mixed up with his arousal and turning into some kind of volatile Mentos-and-Diet-Coke mixture. By the time he rang the bell for his stop, he was ready to explode . . . in more ways than one.

  Hopefully Puck wasn’t the type of Dom to toy with denial.

  Oh, who was Austin kidding: if he was, Austin would fucking love every second of it, then ask for more.

  That was the kind of person Puck made him.

  No, that was the kind of person Austin was.

  Nothing wrong with me, he recited to himself as he made his way up the sidewalk, and knowing where he was going, what lay ahead, made it easy to believe. He could deal with the crippling self-hatred later, if it came. Now it was all anticipation and adrenaline and buzz, and he wanted to distill and drink it.

  He rang up to Liam’s apartment. “It’s me,” he said. “Uh, Aus—”

  The buzzer went off and the lock clicked. Apparently they weren’t doing small talk. Well, that was totally fine by Austin. Completely one hundred percent fine.

  A short but somehow simultaneously looong elevator trip later, and he was standing outside of Liam’s door.

  Puck’s door?

  They were getting all tangled in Austin’s head. He didn’t need to knock; the door opened right in front of his face.

  Liam didn’t say hello, just stepped back and let Austin shuffle through the doorway.

  “So, uh, your roommate isn’t here?” he asked, because he was nervous about something here and God, please let it be that, please let Liam think it was that.

  “You think I would invite you over if she was? Tell me your safeword.”

  “Luongo,” Austin recited. And as for the other question? “And I . . . don’t know? I don’t actually know what’s going on with you and her, to be honest. You’re roommates and you do porn together and you call her baby but you’re still doing this thing with me . . .?” That wasn’t a question, but somehow his voice rose up at the end there.

  “Would it bother you, if I told you I was sleeping with her?”