Rock Rod 3 (2 page)

"I wasn't not okay, I was just..."

"I get it." Peter kisses his ear and drags his nose along Alex's hairline. His breath tickles. "Trust me."

***

Alex wakes up to a disorienting sensation and opens his eyes blearily to see Peter climbing out of his bed.

"I'm just turning the light off," Peter says softly. "Those phosphorescent bulbs are the worst."

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"Only about an hour." Peter climbs back into bed with him and tosses an arm and a leg over him, squirming up against his side like a big warm suckerfish. He yawns against Alex's hair. "I was thinking about napping too."

Alex's rumbling stomach says it's dinner time, but the wayward flutters in his belly say it's time to hold still and enjoy the surprise cuddling. "You're really good at that."

"Napping?" Peter asks.

"Sucking dick."

Peter chokes out a laugh. "I enjoy it," he manages. "Glad you liked it."

"I want to get good at it." Alex is pretty good at school, but he's mediocre at just about everything else he can think of. Sports. Lifting. Dancing. Even video games. He wouldn't put it on his resume or anything, but it would be cool to be awesome at something as fun as sucking dick.

"Yeah? I'm sure I can arrange some practice for you," Peter says, either shifting his weight to get comfortable or intentionally rubbing Alex's hip bone suggestively. It's hard to say.

"With you?"

Peter snorts a breath. "Of course with me. I'm not going to pimp you out for cocksucking lessons."

Alex's face goes warm. Practicing BJs sounds like something boyfriends do. Or at least something two guys do when they plan on spending a lot of time together. But he's only been around Peter a few times. Just because they're glued together on his dorm bed doesn't mean they're getting married or anything. He needs to slow down.

"You're having thinky thoughts," Peter says.

"I like you." The words feel really heavy, like they were spoken by the narrator in a movie trailer. He feels like an idiot. Especially since Peter freezes against him, his heart starting to pound so hard Alex can feel it against his body.

Peter breathes noisily for a few long seconds, sounding like he's arguing with himself without speaking. "Why?" he finally asks, sounding annoyed.

Alex pushes up onto one elbow immediately, no longer caring that he's naked and Peter's dressed. "Are you shitting me? Come on."

"Come on what." Peter scowls.

"Why wouldn't I like you? You're cool. And funny. And sexy. And really hot." Alex scowls right back at him. "You know basically everything. And you make me feel really good."

Peter exhales hard. "You just think all of those things because you're…."

"Because I'm what?" It's crazy how fast Alex goes from feeling fluttery-happy to totally pissed off. "Some ignorant redneck? Not gay enough?"

"Gay enough?" Peter echoes, voice rising. "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know! You asked me about having girls in here and I've only touched another guy's dick like…." Alex trails off, trying to count. Is it two times if he's counting Peter and Andre? Or does he count each encounter as a time, which brings his number up a little bit?

Math takes the wind out of his sails.

"I asked you if it's loud when you bring girls in here because you have sex with men and women," Peter says quietly. "Not because I was making a value statement about who you have sex with."

"But you think I'm inexperienced."

"Of course I think you're inexperienced." Peter sits up and scratches at his elbow. "Because you are inexperienced. And when you get more experienced I'm pretty sure your options will be wide open. People are going to be lining up outside your door. You won't need to hook up with somebody like me."

Peter's words hit Alex like a slap. He scrambles to sit up, and they look like a couple of overgrown kids at a slumber party, facing each other from the head and foot of the bed.

"What does that mean?" Alex asks.

"I'm a porn performer." Peter looks away. "Usually, anyway. And I don't do relationships. I've never even had a boyfriend. And... I'm just not good for you."

"I think I can decide that on my own," Alex says. "I mean seriously, what the fuck? You're being really dramatic."

Peter's gaze flashes back to him, angry but kind of owlish. He obviously can't see a damn thing without his glasses on. "Dramatic? You're the one who accused me of accusing you of not being gay enough. For no reason."

"Can you blame me? I feel like an idiot around you like…." Alex trails off, staring at the sheets between them. "Actually I don't feel like an idiot around you." Usually it's the opposite of that.

Peter crosses his arms and glares at him warily.

"You're really patient and you don't talk to me like I'm stupid," Alex says. "I'm sorry I overreacted. I feel really insecure knowing basically nothing about good sex."

"You mean gay sex?"

"No, I mean good sex. I don't think it's all that different. But everything I did before was in the dark and rushed and not that great. The things I've done with you, and for Miranda are good. And everyone knows a lot about how to do stuff right and make it good." His voice goes hoarse. "I just feel dumb."

Peter crawls across the bed to him and kisses him, cautiously, like he thinks Alex is going to push him away. Alex makes a small, happy sound and takes Peter's face in his hands and makes it a deeper kiss. He tries not to sniffle too much at the same time, because gross.

"I forget why we're mad," Peter says against Alex's mouth.

"Because I like you." Alex hasn't forgotten that part. Nope. "And I think it freaks you out that I like you."

They keep kissing slowly. It isn't a super horny kind of kiss. It's nicer. Like a wet mouth hug. Nicer than that. It's just really nice.

Peter doesn't say anything, so Alex adds, "It freaks me out too."

"Fine," Peter says, grinning against Alex's mouth, "At least we're even."

After that they don't talk about it anymore, and Alex is okay with that. Because he actually does want sushi and he wants to talk to Peter about school and life and stuff. And just because he also really wants to hold his hand and call him his boyfriend doesn't mean he's incapable of waiting.

Hopefully.

***

When Miranda's phone number flashes on Alex's phone, he panics just a little. He's been face-fucked and finger-fucked and fucked-fucked on camera for Rock Rod Studios. What will she want him to do next?

His voice squeaks until he clears his throat with a cough. "Hi."

"Alex," she says, voice warm but not actually warm at all.

He stands up a little bit straighter. "Yep. It's Alex."

There's a stretch of silence. Every nanosecond of it makes him feel a little bit stupider. "I need to talk to you. Would you mind coming by the office?"

"Did I mess up?" He cringes at how painfully unsure he sounds. He's been replaying his scene with Andre but not really in a critical review way as much as a trying to finger himself in the shower while jerking off way. Getting fucked was super fun and fingering himself is fine but it's definitely not as much fun. And he and Peter haven't leveled up to full on fucking.

"It's about Peter."

Alex blinks. His body goes kind of cold and hot at the same time in an incredibly unpleasant way. "Is he okay?"

"Yes. Nothing to worry about." The way she says it sounds like Alex has a lot of things to worry about, though. "Can you swing by at two?"

"Sure." He'll have to request a car, but that's fine. It's fine. He's not flipping out.

***

Alex doesn't call Peter because Miranda wants to talk to him about Peter. And he's kind of almost dating Peter and Miranda is sort of his boss and Peter's boss too and it's all very confusing. It seems like the best idea is to keep this to himself.

Usually Alex makes small talk with his drivers—telling them all about his plans to join the ranks of people who own cars, or finding out if they're also students. But today he crams himself against the side door and looks out the window miserably, like he's on his way to a dentist appointment.

Peter's car isn't outside of the studio. Alex isn't sure if that's relieving or disappointing.

When Miranda meets him in the lobby, her hair is pale purple. Almost grey. It's really pretty. Like a mermaid's hair, probably.

"Hey, honey." She pulls him into a hug and smiles, and it eases some of the intense cramping going on throughout Alex's entire midsection. When she releases him, she studies his face and her bright-orange-lipstick mouth squirms into a curious shape. "Are you all right? You look like you feel like shit."

"I was just, you know." Alex shrugs. "Worried."

"I told you not to worry, you silly thing." She takes his hand and leads him back through a corridor past the only rooms he's ever been in at the studio. At the end of the hall, her small office glows with soft pink light from fuchsia lamp shades and a string of twinkly lights tacked to the wall. She gestures to a loveseat covered in porn magazines with covers that gleam.

Alex pushes them aside gingerly, trying not to stare at the enormous breasts and enormous dicks and super ripped abs. He's reasonably fit, but he doesn't have a freaking nine-pack like the men and women on those magazine covers. Do people like the way he looks naked? He hadn't really thought of that, besides trying to exfoliate a lot so he wouldn't have butt pimples.

Miranda shuts the door and sits on the edge of her desk. When she crosses her arms, it doesn't matter that her tattoos make her look like a beautiful woman from a circus side show. She might as well be his middle school principal. He knows he's fucked.

"Did Peter tell you that I pulled him off performing?"

Alex nods, throat dry.

"Did he tell you why?"

Alex shakes his head tightly.

"Alex." Her eyes narrow. "Will you please, please relax. You're not in trouble."

"This feels in trouble-y," he says. "Sorry."

She exhales a quiet, amused sound and plops right down on the shaggy pink carpet at her feet, sitting cross-legged and looking up at him. It actually does a whole lot for the whole terrifying thing. Especially when she smiles. "Better?"

"Yeah." Alex shifts on the seat, not sure if he's supposed to join her on the floor like they're in preschool, or if he's supposed to stay where he is. She's the one writing the checks.

"Normally I wouldn't share anything personal about Peter with another performer, but it seems like you two have gotten close."

"We fooled around a couple of times."

Miranda laughs. "Oh, I assumed that was the case. I knew Peter would want to get a hold of you the second you walked in the door. What I meant is that you've apparently had entire conversations that didn't involve figuring out who was going to blow who first. Am I correct?"

"This is weird." Alex scratches his jaw. Is she some kind of sex psychic in addition to being a really talented porn director? "I mean yeah, you're right. I like him. I think he likes me. A little?"

The amused look on Miranda's face softens. "I watched him watching you. And yeah, I think he likes you. A little."

A hot blush creeps up Alex's throat. His stomach gives a little backflip too. And he also starts to get more worried. It's way too many emotions happening all at once. "Is that bad?"

"Maybe not." Miranda shoves a floor cushion over and digs underneath a pile of magazines and books to find a small netbook covered in cat stickers. "Do you know what kind of porn Peter shoots for Rock Rod?"

"Electrocution," Alex says, the word blurting out and then slowly dying off as he attempts to reel his brain back in and essentially never speak words again. "I mean. There's a thing in your butt that uses electricity to feel like being... um. I'm getting too specific aren't I?"

"Let's call it fetish porn for the sake of simplicity," Miranda says, watching Alex's face like she expects it to turn blue. "Sometimes it's BDSM, sometimes a little roleplay. Object insertion. Impact play. Gangbangs."

The word gangbang sends a pang of hurt through Alex that he can't pinpoint at all. Tons of guys have touched Peter. It's his job. And Peter has probably fucked tons of guys because he likes it and there's nothing wrong with it. But the thought of Peter being fucked by a lot of guys at once isn't hot to Alex. Not at all.

Jealousy prickles through him, surprising and pretty terrible.

He frowns before he can steel his pained expression.

"It's okay." Miranda reaches up onto the desk behind her and grabs a half-eaten roll of mint candy. She tosses it to Alex like she's throwing a puppy a chew toy. "My husband shoots gay porn, you know. I'm usually fine with it, but once in awhile something throws me off and I have to do about a billion hours of yoga to work through it. And talking. Talking helps a lot."

Alex doesn't know what's the most surprising—the fact that Miranda is married or that she's married to a dude or that the dude she's married to has sex with other dudes.

"Anyway," she goes on. "The talking part doesn't come easy. Especially if you're new in a relationship. I don't think you and Peter have had a chance to plant your trust tree."

"You're worried I'm going to be jealous?"

"I know you'll be jealous. And I didn't say I was worried. Are you worried?"

Alex shoves one of the chewy mints in his mouth and gnaws at it until it goes soft. "No."

Yes.

"Good. I want to show you something else. This isn't on any of our sites. Peter knows I don't keep it under wraps though. It's a good teaching tool for our new subs."

Alex is pretty sure she doesn't mean substitutes or submarines or sandwiches. He saw Peter sweating and crying and begging and coming like the universe was ripping apart.

He's starting to understand what it means to submit.

"Okay," he says, dread mixing with an uncomfortable thread of arousal.

He slides down to the fuzzy carpet beside her and watches her open the netbook and click around the local network for a video with a long string of numbers as the title. When it begins to play, Peter's on his knees with his wrists bound by black ropes above his head. He's blindfolded. And he's crying.