Dan Jacobs was covered in fake blood and he was trying to eat and drink without messing anything up. Zeller was helping him, Logan was scowling, and the other principle actors stood by and laughed. Brandon was standing literally in the corner, trying to be inconspicuous. I was pretty sure I was the only one that noticed him.
Then again, I noticed everything.
Today they were shooting the scene toward which the entire season had been building. At least, the mystery and suspense side of it. Brandon’s serial killer was finally going to be caught and, if I understood things right, killed in a spectacular fashion. Because he’d kidnapped Frank Geary and there was no way he was giving up without a fight. They’d spent most of the morning shooting Geary’s torture scene and the raid where the detectives burst in and rescued Geary. But Stevens had called for a new set up, and they’d all taken a break while they reset for different camera angles.
After what seemed like hours, but I knew was actually only about forty-five minutes, they were finally ready. Some last-minute scrambling to get the final things in place, and they were setting up for the shot. Brandon trudged wearily from his spot in the corner to the middle of the action. He looked pale and drawn, and I knew he was getting weary. I moved three feet to the left. From my new position I could still keep an eye on everyone, but Brandon could also see me. He already knew I was there, of course, but it helped him to have visual confirmation.
As soon as he caught sight of me, Brandon’s shoulders relaxed. He took a deep breath, gave me a hint of a smile, and focused his attention on whatever the director was saying.
I couldn’t hear their conversation, but Brandon nodded and headed toward the middle of the set where Jacobs was taking a seat in the folding chair. One of the interns set about putting the ropes back on Jacobs. It was a lengthy process, and the script supervisor came out to make adjustments for continuity. The scene wouldn’t be shot until she was happy that the ropes, blood spatter, and everything else would be consistent.
I watched the whole thing with a careful eye, having seen it done dozens of times over the past two months. I was waiting though. Waiting for that moment they called “action” and my boy became someone else before my eyes. With so many people on set, I needed to be even more vigilant. But because everyone was in one place, all of the security, as well as Miranda, was here. I still couldn’t afford a moment’s inattention, but I could make what was happening in front of the camera my sole focus.
Quiet fell over the set, and one of the PAs stood in the middle of the scene facing the camera with the clapper board in hand. There was an adjustment to a light, and another small tweak to one of the ropes on Jacobs’s leg. Then at Stevens’s nod, the PA called “mark” and hurried off the set. The silence stretched, and I kept my gaze on Brandon.
“Action.”
And there it was, with just that word, Brandon was suddenly a psychopath hell-bent on an indeterminate killing spree. His entire face changed, especially his eyes, and he didn’t look anything like the man who cuddled with me on the couch. In fact, had I met the man before me in a dark alley, I wouldn’t have hesitated to put a bullet between his eyes.
Jacobs spit out some fake blood, his brown eyes flashing at Brandon. “You’re a psycho.”
“Now, now,” Brandon replied in a sing-song voice. He patted Jacobs’s cheek. “Name-calling isn’t very nice. I know you have more manners than that, Detective Geary. I’ve seen them.”
The way Brandon said that last line, his voice dropping in timbre, made it sound much more menacing than the words themselves should have sounded. I was utterly in awe of his talent, and how much I believed that the man I was watching could have actually committed dozens of murders.
“They’ll find you. And when they do, you’ll be arrested, tried, and sentenced to death.”
“Maybe,” Brandon said like he didn’t care. He leaned in, drawing his knife across Jacobs’s belly and blood from the hidden pack gushed out as Jacobs tried and failed to hold in a scream. Once Jacobs went quiet again, Brandon straightened and licked some of the blood off his knife. “Maybe they will. But you’ll still be dead and your guts will be on the floor so…”
Brandon made a few more specific cuts, each one releasing a torrent of blood that soaked Jacobs’s clothes. He fought and screamed, but as he lost more blood, he lost energy. There was a fuck-ton of fake blood, and it would be hard to recreate. Instead, they’d been meticulous in the planning, carefully rehearsing down to the second, with the hopes of only having to do it once. The way I understood it, they would put in time cuts during post so that it looked like this scene had taken place over hours instead of the ten or so minutes it was taking to shoot it.
In the window behind Jacobs and Brandon, the light was slowly fading until it looked like dusk. This was it. Brandon’s last moments on set. If it went off like it was supposed to, he’d be done shooting his last scene of the season. The light dimmed even further, and it actually looked like late evening.
And then Stevens said the word “go” and the rest of the main characters burst into the room, guns drawn. There was tense silence as Logan ordered Brandon to drop the knife. But instead, Brandon smiled sweetly. For just a second, I saw a hint of my Brandon in there. Then he stepped up behind Jacobs and put the knife to his throat. Logan didn’t hesitate, he just lifted his gun and pulled the trigger. Brandon’s head jerked backward, and he crumpled to the ground.
“Cut! No one move!” Stevens shouted.
I held my breath.
Everyone remained silent and frozen as a guy from special effects walked on to the set with more fake blood. He fiddled around over Brandon for a long few minutes, and when he stepped away, my heart started to pound. There was a spot of blood in the middle of Brandon’s forehead, and more was seeping from underneath his head, the puddle growing bigger. His ice-blue eyes were wide and staring, and the man didn’t even blink.
Stevens motioned to the man operating the camera on the crane. It swooped down, and then ever so slowly pulled back, the shot going wider and wider. Stevens was actually watching it on the monitor—I had noticed that he didn’t use them like the other directors—and his gaze was intent. Then suddenly, he breathed out a sigh.
“Logan. Go.”
Logan instantly holstered his gun, and rushed to his partner’s side, pressing a hand against the man’s stomach even as he reached up to cradle Jacobs’s head. Logan was muttering, low and quiet, but the boom mike was right over his head so I’m certain audio was picking up whatever he was saying. It didn’t matter to me. I couldn’t take my eyes off Brandon’s lifeless form.
“Cut! That’s a wrap! We’re done with this scene!” Stevens’s shout startled me. The set came alive with activity as people began to move and clean up. It was only about seven o’clock, but I knew this scene was the last on the schedule today.
I had thought I was prepared to watch. I had thought that I’d have no trouble separating fact from fiction. This was clearly a TV show, and from my position I could see miles of cables, cameras, people, and props. There were hundreds of things reminding me that this was not reality, that it was all pretend. And yet, the adrenaline was pouring through my veins, fear and worry pooling in my gut, as if I’d actually just seen my boyfriend get shot in the head and bleed out on the cement floor of a warehouse.
It was taking all my willpower and all the skills I’d learned in therapy to keep me in the here and now.
Brandon was getting lots of praise. I could tell by his constant blush, and the way he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. He kept his gaze on the floor, or their shoulders, never looking anyone directly in the face. I knew this was it, that he was done, and that it would take time for him to get off set. He’d been with the cast and crew for almost eight weeks, and though they weren’t quite finished filming every scene for the finale episode, Brandon wouldn’t be back. So I was actually surprised when he shook his head and made a beeline right for me.
I held my ground, staring at h
im until he stopped directly in front of me.
“Take me home, sir. Please.” Brandon lifted his gaze for a split second to look at me, and then dropped his lashes. “Please, sir.”
That was all I needed. I could see how much this had taxed him, how much he needed me to take him away from this and make it better. Suddenly, I was settled back in my own skin, back in the present, with no trouble. I reached out and cupped his chin in my hand, not caring that I was getting a smear of corn syrup and red food dye on my skin. Brandon met my gaze only because I wanted him to. But the yearning I saw there, the utter need, told me everything I needed to know.
“Lassiter,” I said quietly into my comm, not taking my gaze from Brandon.
“Connors,” Miranda responded instantly. I did not miss the amusement in her tone. She was on the other side of the set, maybe thirty feet away, and I was sure if I looked in her direction I would see that glee all over her face. But I couldn’t look away from my boy.
“I’ll be taking off in a few minutes, if you have everything secure.” I knew that she did, and that she would be just fine to close down for the night. With the filming done for the day, most of the cast and crew would be gone within a couple of hours.
“You know that I do,” she said confidently.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You got it. Lassiter out.”
Finally, I tore my gaze from Brandon to do a quick sweep and see that everything was well. It took less than a minute for me to take in the entirety of the room, and when I was done, I looked down at Brandon. He almost vibrated with tension.
“Go get showered and changed. I’ll meet you at the front door in twenty-five minutes.”
Brandon breathed out a sigh and relaxed just a fraction. “Yes, sir.”
* * * *
I had Brandon naked and beneath me about three minutes after we arrived home. He smelled like soap I didn’t recognize, but clean and healthy and whole. I had him pinned, his arms stretched over his head and held by the wrists and his legs trapped by mine. I pressed my entire length against him, holding him down and not letting him even have wiggle room. He needed to be at my complete mercy, and I needed him to be there.
For long moments I did nothing more than hold him, neither of us moving, both of us breathing. The whole scene from earlier had been far more traumatic than I’d expected. I just needed to know he was safe, and having him in my control allowed me to feel that bone deep. He needed to simply feel, his choices taken away. Our needs meshed, as they had from the very beginning.
“Jared,” Brandon moaned, drawing my name out as much as he could without being able to suck in a full breath. It was enough to break the spell, to move this to something more. I pulled back suddenly, leaving him bereft as I reached for the bedside table and the condom and lube.
“Hands and knees,” I ordered gruffly.
Brandon didn’t question, he just instantly rolled over onto his front, and pushed himself into position. I rolled on the condom one-handed while I traced the line of his back with the other. Then I slathered lube on my cock before reaching with the same hand to slick him up. I wanted him ready, because I would never hurt him that way, and I loved that his body opened instantly to my questing fingers. He pushed back against my hand, wanting my fingers deeper, faster. I clamped onto his hip with my free hand, slowing him. He would take what I gave him when I wanted him to have it.
It didn’t take long for him to be slicked and stretched, and I wiped my lube-covered hand on the sheet before sliding off the mattress. I grabbed his hips and tugged, spreading his knees wide and positioning him exactly where I wanted him. Then I leaned forward, looming over him, stretching his arms once again over his head until he was basically trapped below me. His ass was in the perfect spot, my cock nudging at his hole. He tried to move, to force me inside, but he had absolutely no leverage and he wouldn’t get it until I was ready.
I made him wait until I forced a mournful whine from his throat.
I pushed in slowly but steadily. I was relentless as I made him take all of me. As soon as my pelvis met his ass, I started thrusting. There was nothing sweet and gentle about this. It wasn’t what either of us wanted right now. We both needed it to be fast and hard, a reminder of that we were alive and whole and together. I knew that surely as I knew anything. Brandon needed this as much as I did.
I set an almost punishing pace, the thrusts hard enough to force grunts from my chest and whines from Brandon’s throat. In this position, with me standing, I had the perfect leverage to nail his prostate. And I knew that with the right angle and the right amount of force, I could get him to come without touching his cock. We were both ramped up far enough that it wouldn’t take either of us long to get there. And I was determined Brandon would go off first.
I slowed for just a moment, changed the angle, and readjusted my hold on his hip. On my next plunge in, he howled and his entire body went tense for just a moment. Jackpot. I kept that angle, hammering away at his sweet spot, knowing when he started to come his body would drag me over. I was already close enough that it was a struggle to hold it in.
And then I heard it, the tiny whine/moan that signaled his impending orgasm.
I leaned forward and bit his shoulder. And that was all it took.
Brandon let out a near scream as his ass clenched down on my cock, the contractions rhythmically squeezing me as he came. I kept thrusting, but I let my control go. The combination of his ass, his delicious smell, and his tiny noises were enough to do me in. I thrust in hard and froze as my balls emptied.
I let go of Brandon’s hands so he could get them under his chest before I collapsed on top of him. I wrapped him in my arms, kissing the side of his face, just holding him tightly as we both came down.
When we were breathing easier, I made to move off of him. But Brandon grabbed my arms, and his ass clenched around my dick.
“Don’t pull out.” His voice was barely more than a whisper and I almost didn’t hear it.
It took some creative maneuvering, but I managed to move him farther up on the bed so that I could lay us both on our sides. I kept a tight hold of his hips, pressing his ass to my pelvis the whole while so I wouldn’t slide out of him.
“Brandon,” I said, tucking him against my body. “I’m gonna fall out when I go soft.”
“Okay,” he whispered. “Pull out just before that happens then. I hate losing you. I love you inside me.”
I practically rolled on top of him, so that half of my body was covering his, and reached a hand between us to hang on to the condom so it wouldn’t get lost when I finally went limp. I knew what he needed. He wasn’t feeling secure, and I gave that to him. I thought the domineering sex would be enough to remind him. And though it had helped, there was clearly more going on here.
“Talk to me, Brandon.” It was a demand and my boy instantly took a breath to comply.
“Filming is over now. Contract is done. I won’t have to go back to the set at all. I don’t even think for pick-up shots. Vincent wouldn’t have let me go today if he needed more.” Though there wasn’t a single stutter, his accent was stronger and his words were rushed. I felt him start to tense up, but the moment I squeezed him, he relaxed.
I pulled out of him slowly because I no longer had a choice, but I did nothing more than toss the used condom in the direction of the garbage bin before I tugged and muscled him up the mattress. I trapped him underneath me once again, but this time I made sure we could look one another in the eye. Brandon wouldn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he watched his fingers as he traced them along my collarbone. I let this go on for several minutes, studying his face until I was pretty certain I knew what was going on in his head.
“Brandon,” I said quietly but firmly. “I told you the first night that you can stay here as long as you want. I meant that.”
It took a few seconds for my words to penetrate, but as soon as they did, Brandon relaxed completely, and his beautiful eyes snapped up to meet
my gaze. I loved the smile on his face, the relaxed and happy expression. And I couldn’t help but kiss him until we were both breathless.
Brandon snuggled happily into my side, his body warm and pliant against mine. He took a couple of deep breaths, then kissed my neck.
“I’ve been invited to the season wrap-party on Saturday. The studio said they’d pay for my suite until then.” Brandon’s voice was soft and conversational. But I caught a hint of something else underneath that made me smile.
“Are you going to make them pay for a room you won’t be using?” I asked, mimicking his tone.
Brandon’s breath caught, then he let out a soft laugh even as he pushed closer. The way he was feeling right now, I was sure he would crawl inside me if he were physically capable of it. He’d have to be satisfied with being pressed as close as he was able.
“Maybe not,” Brandon said carefully. “If you don’t mind me hanging out here for the next couple of days.”
“Mind?” I asked playfully. I kissed the top of his head, then his temple, then his cheek, and finally his mouth. I lingered there, teasing and licking, until he whimpered and started rubbing his groin against mine. “No, Brandon, I don’t mind at all.”
His contented sigh was all I needed to hear.
Chapter 7
“Do I need to neutralize that threat with extreme prejudice?”
Brandon’s entire body gave a tiny jerk like I’d startled him, then he turned his head to look at me, confusion all over his face. “What?”
“You’re staring at that display like it mortally offended you.” I said, pointing with my chin. I steered the shopping cart around him and started down the next aisle. “I thought perhaps it needed to be eliminated.”
Brandon shook his head, a tiny laugh escaping. “Quinoa is evil.”
I blinked. “Pardon me?”
He dismissed that with a wave, then started walking, pulling his baseball cap down farther over his forehead. He always wore it when we went out in public, and made sure he kept it pulled low enough that it halfway obscured his features. He didn’t get recognized all that often—he was a character actor and the public didn’t often make the connection to his real face—but the paparazzi continued to be a problem.
Something Like Trust Page 6