Three Player Game

by Jaime Samms

  “Someone’s at the door,” Lee grumbled.

  “Lunch. I’ll get it.”

  “Not like I’m getting up.”

  Vince said nothing. He collected the food, tipped the staff, and closed the door again. “Well,” he said as he wheeled the cart to the space between their beds, “you can’t eat lying on your back.”

  “Not hungry.”

  “You can’t have any more pain killers until you put some food in your stomach.” Vince stood next to the bed, hands on his hips.

  “Fuck off, little mouse.”

  “Lee, I am so over your shit. You’re right. When I started working for Blaire, I was the office mouse. I worked under Oscar for the first five years of my career, and he almost broke me.” Vince stepped closer to the bed. “But I didn’t break. I learned. You want to order me around in the office?” He gave a little shrug. “We’ll see. But, right now, I’m not your underling. This isn’t office politics, it’s you and me, and I would appreciate some respect.”

  Lee glared at him.

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Would you look who has a backbone after all.”

  Vince curled a lip. “Now, do you want help sitting up, or are you good?”

  Lee considered this. “Help,” he said at last, slanting his glare away from Vince.

  “Happy to.” Vince exercised the utmost care helping Lee to sit. He set out the lap tray he’d asked for and served a bowl of soup and a plate with a sandwich, pickles, and a cucumber salad onto the tray, then poured Lee water. “Anything else you need?”

  Lee stared at the food. “Is this cream of broccoli?”

  “It is.”

  He peeked under the top slice of multigrain bread at his sandwich innards. “And roast beef?”

  “Yes. With Dijon and Havarti cheese.”

  Finally, Lee looked up at him. “I never told you what I liked.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Vince settled on his own bed and took the dome off his leek and potato soup. “I pay attention.”

  It was hard, holding back the urge to tell Lee to eat. But the man was stubborn. Vince had to take his time. Let Lee make up his own mind. He dug into his own meal, and after a few minutes, Lee picked up his spoon.

  Vince hid a satisfied twitch of a smile behind his sandwich.

  The set echoed with the soft thwap of Pete’s Dockers on the concrete as he paced. It seemed cavernous now that nearly everyone had gone home. Once the postproduction of the season’s last episode was done in a few weeks, the place would stay empty for the better part of a month. The adrenaline junkie in him mourned the quiet.

  He smiled to himself. That junkie was in recovery. Mostly.

  “Hey.” Alicia jogged over to him, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Matty said you wanted to see me?” Her pretty eyes took on a troubled expression. “I thought shooting went pretty smoothly today.”

  He knew why she was nervous. The light stand fiasco had in no way been her or Matty’s fault. But the director, Eric, was jumpy lately, quick to snap heads off necks, and she had been in the line of fire. Matty had almost lost his job over the light stand, but Pete had stepped in—admittedly, he might have overstepped—to distract attention away from him, and they managed to salvage the rest of the shoot without too much lost time.

  “Shooting went great,” he assured her. “And don’t worry about the other day. Shit happens. We finished mostly on schedule, so it’s all good.”

  “Are they going to let Matty and me help you guys out?”

  “Soon as you’re off the clock on post, your time is your own. The game shoot is tied to Wolf’s Landing now, so my understanding is it’s union. If you want to pick it up as freelance work, and you’re off Wolf’s Landing’s clock, who’s to say no?”

  “So you’re still doing it.”

  Pete grinned. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

  “Well. I mean, you, they could pull back in.”

  “Nope. I’ve booked my time off already.” And part of that time would definitely be spent helping the fledgling Three Player Game Productions get their game off the ground. If he had to put up with Vince being out of town for going on a week now, he would damn well make sure the flagship project of the company keeping him away was successful.

  “You okay, Mr. Doyle?”

  Pete blinked at her. He never got used to people calling him Mr. anything. “Pete. Please. Mr. Doyle is my dad. Or my uncle.” Bosses. He was just Pete. Or Little Pete when he went home to the LA suburb where he’d grown up. But not Mr. Doyle.

  Alicia scrutinized him. “You look . . . tired, I guess.”

  He’d thought she was going to say piqued, or ragged, or at the end of his last fucking tether. He rubbed at the back of his neck and stuck his other hand in his pocket. The warm, heavy weight of the danburite crystal in his pocket let him breathe out, reminded him Vince was just a text away. Everything was fine. He was fine. Not squirrely around the edges at all.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “I am tired.”

  “When’s Vince coming back? Frederic’s been dancing on clouds since Blaire came home.”

  “Tomorrow, I think. Depends on Lee.” And how that rankled. It shouldn’t. He didn’t mind Vince’s interest in Lee. He shared it, even. But he missed his lover more than he liked to admit. Vince had a way of filing away the sharp points that herding a bunch of temperamental artist types chiseled into his soul on a daily basis.

  “Well. You should meditate tonight. Clear your head a bit.” Alicia smiled at him. “You know what Fjóla says. Meditation ma—”

  “Makes your day. Yeah.” He smiled at her as they finished the catch phrase together. “I know. And I will. Promise.” He enjoyed the yoga classes Fjóla held at her tiny studio on Main, and though they rarely spoke outside of work, he’d often seen Alicia there.

  “Good. Because tired bosses make for grumpy bosses, and while you might not be my boss, the set is a teensy-tiny little place some days.”

  Pete nodded. “It spreads,” he agreed, thinking of Eric’s vibes trickling down to him through the chain-of-command runoff.

  She was halfway to the door when he remembered why he’d wanted to talk to her in the first place. “Oh, hey. Alicia?”

  “Yeah?” She turned, but kept walking backward. He didn’t blame her. He wanted out of there too.

  “Mind if I snag your number from the files so I can text about the Three Player job?”

  “Be my guest. I’m not going anywhere. Matty either. He told me to tell you. Just, you know, we sort of come as a matched set these days. He’s gotten good at reading my mind and all that.”

  “Perfect. Thanks.”

  She waved and was out the door in another second. Pete didn’t have to wait long for the stragglers to make their getaways. It was nice to tell the security company they could lock up, then head home himself.

  Once there, it was another matter, though. His little house was tidy, as he liked it, but empty. Normally, he liked the quiet neighborhood. It was a perfect contrast to his hectic job, and better for him than living in downtown LA had ever been. He needed to turn off sometimes. The quiet street; tidy, minimalist house; and Vince all helped him do that.

  Only now, the street was too quiet. The house too bare. And Vince too far away.

  Follow routine. Routine always made him feel better, so Pete checked his phone for a message one last time, then got himself a glass of milk and a slice of bologna from the fridge. He left a handful of precooked shrimp in a bowl in the sink to defrost for later, and rinsed his glass. He tried texting Vince, but wasn’t surprised when the text went unanswered. He might still be jazzed from work, but it was close to midnight. Vince and Lee were probably asleep.

  Together? Lee was hot. Pete wouldn’t deny that. But Vince wouldn’t. Not without talking to Pete first. Would he?

  “I need to get out of my head.”

  What would Vince have him do?

  “Shower first.” Always shower first, rinse the day off. C
lean himself, inside and out, even if Vince wasn’t there to use the inside. Act as though he were, and there would never be any surprises.

  Pete took his time in the shower, washing from head to toe methodically, letting the gentle spray of the rain shower lull him. When he was done, soft and warm, he wrapped himself in a robe and headed for his meditation space. It was just a tiny spare bedroom, but in the far corner he had set it up with a yoga mat, some candles, and a cabinet to house his various meditation aids. A tall screen shielded his quiet corner from the rest of the room.

  On the door side of the screen was a single bed on which he always had clean sheets. A second cabinet held other kinds of relaxation paraphernalia, but those things he didn’t use without Vince there to supervise. As he passed the cabinet, he paused. Vince had locked it with a thin chain and tiny padlock, but he had given Pete the key.

  In case you ever need something. You can take it out and put it on the bed. I’ll know you need it. The idea was that having to physically unlock the cabinet made it a conscious thought process, but the simple act of leaving what he longed for on the bed was a freedom of sorts. The actual decision on when and how they would play could be left up to Vince.

  Now, Pete stooped, unlocked the cabinet, and perused the contents. There wasn’t anything terribly hard-core. A soft flogger, various sizes of plugs and dildos, a blindfold, a ball gag, silk ties for restraint. He removed a silicone dildo and the flogger, placed them neatly, side by side, on the foot of the bed, then locked up the cabinet and proceeded to his meditation area.

  A white taper candle, a crystal bowl with water, and his danburite crystal set out on a plank of cedar wood helped him focus. It took a long time, but for a little while, he managed to quiet the endless list-making monster in his head.

  It took him even longer to get to sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the various scenarios that might ensue when Vince finally got back. His imagination combined the flogger, dildo, and Vince’s promised plug with too many variations to list, not a few of which included Lee and his pretty, angular features and lean body, and Pete ended up having to beat off to get some relief.

  On the plus side, the exertion helped to exhaust his brain enough to let him sleep.

  The door slamming woke Pete, and he all but vaulted from the bed, not bothering with clothes or glasses as he rushed out of the bedroom toward the front of the house.

  “Well.” Not Vince’s voice. “That’s a view and a half.” A fuzzy Lee leered at him from the threshold.

  “Fuck!” Pete whirled and dashed back to the bedroom, slamming the door in his wake.

  “Kitchen, Lee. Now.” Vince issued the order from just inside the kitchen door, but Pete wasn’t looking back to find out if Lee followed it. He didn’t seem the type.

  Humiliated, Pete sank to the bed and stared at the spot of carpet between his feet. He heard voices and footsteps, but didn’t bother trying to sort out what was going on. Had Vince texted him to say he’d be home tonight? He was sure he hadn’t. He’d been checking obsessively all day. His phone was in the kitchen, though, so he couldn’t check now. At least, he thought it was. He remembered checking for messages before getting himself a glass of milk when he’d made it home.

  A soft knock sounded on the bedroom door.

  Pete ignored it.

  “I’m coming in, Pete.” The edge to Vince’s voice brooked no argument, so Pete remained where he was and said nothing.

  The door latch clicked, the hinges creaked, and the floorboard right inside the threshold squawked as Vince stepped into the room. More creaking of the hinges, then the door latch snicked closed.

  “Hey.” Vince sat next to him. “That was something.” He held out Pete’s phone to him. “This was in the fridge.”

  “Really?” Pete glared at the phone. It had been a while since he’d done something quite that airheaded.

  “A little distracted, were you?” Vince retrieved Pete’s glasses for him from the bedstand and handed them over.

  “Must have been.” He settled his glasses on his face, then took the device and unlocked it. A string of texts greeted him.

  Leaving for airport now. Flight to Victoria, Ferry to PortA.

  Landed. Lee’s in pain and feeling green around the gills. Ferry in 1/2 hr. travel sucks :(

  Blaire sent car to meet us. Don’t want to leave Lee alone, so bringing him with. Home soon. He’s bitchy, so brace yourself.

  Just got to town. CU in 10

  The texts had started around seven that morning, and continued while he’d been laying awake for so long, fantasizing then masturbating, and then—eventually—sleeping. It had been light out when he’d finally dozed off.

  “Sorry.” Pete glanced at the time. Almost one in the afternoon. “Overslept I guess.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Lee must think—”

  “Hey.” Vince swiveled around to face him better. “Don’t worry about what Lee thinks. Are you okay?”

  “Besides being humiliated?”

  Vince slid a hand under his chin and lifted his face. “Hey. Nothing to be embarrassed about. If he says anything, I’ll shut him up. Don’t worry.”

  Pete searched his eyes. “Welcome home,” he offered with a little shrug.

  Vince smiled his crooked half a smile at him. Instantly, everything else fell away.

  “Come here.” Using the grip on his chin, Vince pulled at him until their lips met.

  Pete let his eyes drift closed and Vince’s warmth steal over him. Despite being naked, the shivers melted under Vince’s teasing touches.

  Pete lifted a hand to Vince’s face. Slight stubble greeted his fingertips, dancing a spray of delight down his synapses. Vince’s soft lips caressed his, his hand on Pete’s chin held him steady, but not tight. Calm washed over him.

  “Better,” Vince said. He wasn’t asking.

  Pete dipped his chin. “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Vince pulled his robe over Pete’s shoulders, stood, and held out a hand. “Come on.”

  “Out there.”

  “Out there. We have a house guest.”

  Pete nodded and got to his feet. He was being silly. Sex didn’t faze him. It never had, really. He’d just been caught off guard, and he’d been a bit on edge already, and Lee was Vince’s work colleague, not someone to be showing off his morning wood to. Not that it matters, Doyle. Get over yourself.

  “Okay.” Pete smiled. “Big boy shorts.”

  They walked out hand in hand.

  Lee would have made more of the brief, intriguing show he’d gotten when they walked in the door, but he was in too much pain. Getting on and off the plane had been the worst part, though he was grateful Blaire had sprung for first-class when he’d rebooked for them. That had helped. Lee would save the lecture on stripping their budget for creature comforts for when it wouldn’t make him sound like an ingrate. Thankfully, the ferry had been more comfortable, but by the time they’d gotten to the car ride from Port Angeles to Bluewater Bay, he’d been so done.

  All he’d been able to do, sitting there for that long, horrendous ride, was wish he had one box unpacked or his bed put together, but he hadn’t bothered to unpack even the stuff he’d had for months at the new place, and his bed was just the box spring and mattress on the floor, with the expensive teak frame leaning against the wall. He’d been lazy. Now the thought of all the boxes there, mocking his laziness, made his stomach churn.

  Vince had disappeared after his little piece of ass fifteen minutes ago, leaving Lee pining after more pain killers. He picked at the cheese dippers Vince had tossed on the table before he’d vanished into the bedroom and closed the door in his wake.

  “And what might they be doing in there?” Lee wondered aloud. He could imagine a lot of things. Things that took his mind off his aching back, so that was something. Before he could decide which of the younger men would top, though, the bedroom door squeaked open and they were back.

  “That’s too bad,” he mused, ru
nning an appraising gaze up and down Vince’s boyfriend, who was, sadly, now clad in a well-loved bath robe.

  “Excuse me?” Vince’s boyfriend squeaked slightly, and pushed at black-rimmed glasses, face a mask of indignation.

  “Manners,” Vince snapped at Lee. “You’re his guest.”

  “And who’s idea was that?”

  “Shall I take you to your place? I’m sure it’s comfortable. You certainly went on a bit after the investor left our meeting, bitching about the boxes and the plumbing.”

  Lee ground his teeth. He would have argued more if Vince hadn’t been right. He glared at the cheese dippers. “Is this supper, then?”

  “If you don’t behave.” Vince moved closer, standing over him, arms crossed over his chest. He glared down at Lee, eyes dark, mouth a grim line.

  For a prolonged moment, silence reigned, before Lee finally snorted. “Whatever, little man.” You don’t intimidate me in the least. He pushed off against the table, intent on getting to his feet. He almost made it too, before the muscles spasmed, and a sharp cry escaped despite his best efforts.

  Instantly, Vince was at his side, arm around his waist, taking his weight. “Stubborn,” Vince muttered. “Pete, get his other side.”

  “I don’t need your pet to—”

  “Enough!” Vince’s voice cracked like a whip.

  Pete gasped and covered his mouth with a hand.

  Lee gaped, a tingle of ancient trepidation spiraling up around his spine. He shivered and goose bumps rose on his arms.

  “Close your mouth and let us help you to the couch,” Vince said, calm underpinning the steel of his tone. “You will lie down and ice your back. Pete and I will make some food and come get you in a half hour or so. Remember, ten minutes on, twenty off. Yes?”

  Lee growled. He had enough people telling him what to do. Oscar had tried to run his life, then had taken his job, his home, and almost his livelihood. Now he had Blaire breathing down his neck, inspecting every last thing he did, dictating his every move, leaving his hands tied when it came to everyday decisions he used to make without issue. No chance was he letting Vince order him around just because he couldn’t get up and walk away.