Rock Rod 3 (6 page)

"Do you want to talk about it?" Alex asks quietly, using his library voice and also feeling like an asshole.

"Talk about what?" Peter's fingers trace the outline of his tablet over and over. He watches them like he's never seen fingers before.

"Being sad?"

"I didn't say I was sad."

Alex reaches across the table to catch one racing hand. "You didn't say you weren't."

Peter squeezes back at Alex's hand and then pulls it away and sits back in his chair with a heavy exhale. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Why can't you be a stupid dude bro?"

"Because then you wouldn't like me so much?" Alex tries to ignore a twinge of jealousy that doesn't make any sense. Who cares how many stupid dude bros Peter hooked up with?

It's not all jealousy though. A deeper layer of worry adds to the general unsettled feeling that's making Alex's chest hurt. A dude bro would treat Peter like shit. He would like his body, but he wouldn't care about Peter's kindness or sense of humor or the quiet vulnerability he's shown Alex little slivers of.

"You're just observant and it's weird," Peter mumbles, smiling faintly.

"Seriously though." Alex rests his head against his arms on the table so he can get a better look at Peter's expression since Peter seems to be trying to turtle himself into an invisible ball. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Peter shrugs. "I had a hard time sleeping last night.

"Because of the fuckmachine?" Alex whispers.

Peter stares at him for a second and then laughs, his voice bright and echoing. Someone shushes him from behind a shelf of books and he ducks his head, starting to blush. "No. Jesus, Alex."

"I don't know!" It's been three days since Assinator 3000, but in those three days Alex has gone through some pretty vivid emotions. Like replaying every second of it in his head while masturbating rapturously. But also like having trouble getting to bed because he starts thinking about how extreme it was, and what his parents would think—not only knowing he's bisexual and currently super into guys but also knowing he got it on with a sexy espresso machine with a green dick.

"I don't always sleep great," Peter says, looking at his tablet. His smile slips away as he speaks. "I see my therapist this afternoon. I'll tell her." His voice gets sharp and defensive, as if Alex has some stake in whether or not he goes to the doctor.

"Okay? I'm not the boss of you."

"Yeah but you can't do your next shoot if I can't keep my shit together." Now Peter doesn't sound mad at Alex, he sounds mad at himself.

"So?" Alex sits up and leans over the table to get closer. The edge presses against his ribs. "I don't care about that."

"What about the money?"

"I get paid as an RA. And I can get a regular job if I need to. I worked at a gas station for all four years of high school. I mean I know how to run a cash register." Alex takes a sharp breath, trying not to get frustrated with Peter for thinking all he gives a crap about is somewhere to stick his dick for a porn gig. "I care about you. Not that."

Peter's breath gets uneven. He crosses his arms at his middle and looks at the bookshelf next to the table. "I'm having a hard time. That's all. I can't explain why, and it's stupid because I'm having fun with you. And you're a good thing. And I wish I wasn't..." He huffs a breath. "My therapist calls this negative self talk. The part where I remember that I'm fucked up."

Alex watches him. "I'm new to porn but I have managed to get through college and, you know, life so far. I know what anxiety and depression are. You're not fucked up."

"I used to do drugs." Peter looks back at him, a challenge in his eyes. "I’m an addict. I'm clean. I go to meetings."

Alex's heart rate picks up. He tries to be neutral and calm about it but he's never done drugs. He hasn't smoked weed or cigarettes. He doesn't even drink much beer anymore after growing up in a small town where every weekend consisted of sitting in pickup truck beds and pounding Natural Light. Peter's confession feels like something out of a movie, something almost as foreign as making porn for the internet.

Maybe he really is uselessly naive.

Except.

"I don't care," he says, relieved because he means it. "I don't really know anything about drugs. You can tell me about it some time if you want. But I don't care. I don't think you're gross or bad. Actually I know you're not. You're Peter. You're just you."

Peter wipes at his eyes hurriedly and sniffles out something like a laugh. "And you are tenacious." When he meets Alex's gaze, there's a smile there. Tired like before, but not as sad.

"How do you think I got here?"

"To the library with a weirdo?"

"To college." Alex kicks him under the table. "With an incredibly cute boy who gives me awkward boners when I'm in class."

"Clearly by being stubborn and charming."

Alex's face starts to feel hot. "Hey, so. When you asked if I was breaking up with you?"

"Um." Peter blinks a few times. "Wait, are you?"

"No." Another light kick under the table. "Does that mean we're dating?"

Peter licks his lips. And then nods. It's the tiniest, most timid nod Alex has ever seen, and it's completely at odds with his broad shoulders and big hands and the sexy confidence that makes him look like a really hot dude-cat most of the time. Not that cats are hot. But Peter would be a hot cat if he was a cat.

"That's good, right?" Peter asks, just as Alex realizes he didn't respond beyond thinking about sexy animals.

He grins. "Yeah, it's good. It's really good."

***

This time, Alex has an easier time getting ready for his shoot at Rock Rod. He doesn't skimp on grooming, but he definitely spends less time obsessing over the state of his intestinal tract.

Miranda asked him to stay away from Peter for two days to build sexual tension up.

It's working.

Is this like the way people who are about to get married stop masturbating and having sex for a while to make their wedding night awesome? Probably. Except Alex hasn't abstained from masturbating. In fact, now that he is the proud owner of some decent lube, his masturbation game is on point.

His crotch still feels all tingly from one last sprint before Cory picked him up in her incredibly old, pale pink pickup truck. The truck bounces and rumbles as they drive, Alex attempting to take meditative breaths and Cory belting out everything that plays on the classic rock station. He likes Cory a lot. She's just comfortable to be around. Probably because she seems really comfortable in her own skin.

"Your armpit hair," Alex says, spotting it.

She glances at him. "Yeah?"

"It's blue."

She grins. "I know, right?"

Alex laughs. "That's great."

No one he's ever hung out with is anything like Cory and Miranda and Peter. Even though he doesn't have any tattoos and his hair's never been a wild color and until very recently he had no idea what anal beads were, he feels at home with all of them. Almost like family. Except family that he gets naked and has sex in front of.

Cory turns the radio down. "Are you feeling squiggly about this?"

"No." Alex swallows. "Actually, a little. I just hope I don't suck at it."

"Dude you don't need to do anything fancy. Make out with your boyfriend and fuck him like a boss."

"It sounds so simple." Alex huffs a quiet laugh. "And yet."

"Are you for serious that you've never topped before?"

"I've topped... like. I've had sex with a girl a few times." He drags his teeth at his bottom lip. "But it just kind of happened."

"Bi." Cory nods and snaps her gum. "Right on."

"Do you think Peter will like it?"

They pull into the studio lot and she idles for a moment in the parking space. The air conditioning blasts at them, lukewarm and perfumey from the air freshener clipped to one of the vents. "Peter has heart-eyes the size of Montana for you. You could give him a head rub and he'd probably find a way to get off on it."

"What about the other stuff?" Alex meets her questioning gaze. "The BDSM stuff." He can't remember ever saying it out loud before, and he's pretty happy he got the letters in order.

She blows a bubble. "What about the BDSM stuff?"

"It makes him happy."

"Sure does."

Alex sighs. "I don't know how to do any of that."

Cory lets out a laugh and turns off the ignition. "Neither does my boyfriend. So we go to a club sometimes, and I get flogged and I feel really great and it's all good. You might have to let go some, that's all. The world isn't binary. Just have fun."

"You're like a sex Yoda."

She grins. "Basically. Come on, kiddo. Go get that ass."

After signing in and turning in his second STI screening report to Miranda, Alex heads to one of the studios. It's set up to look like a dorm room, and they got it more or less right. Bean bag in the corner. Cheap twin bed. Cheap desk. Some sort of ancient laptop on the desk.

He spots a Dali poster on the wall and blushes.

"Small crew today," Miranda says, clasping his shoulder. "Just me and Cory so you guys can be nice and comfy."

It's only them in the room, so he turns to look at her. "Hey, I have a question."

"Sure!"

He blurts it out before he can lose his nerve. "Why did you show me Peter not safewording? It doesn't actually have anything to do with doing this."

She's wearing vivid purple lipstick that isn't shiny, so her lips look like velvet when she smiles. "Bad habit of meddling. Peter's like a little brother to me. I adore him. I guess that was my version of standing on the front porch with a shotgun. Be gentle with him."

"I still don't really get it."

"Did it make you guys talk?"

He scratches at his neck. "Yeah."

"Perfect."

She starts to fool with the camera on the tripod, so he clears his throat. "Miranda?"

"Yeah, hun?" she asks without looking.

"This will be my last shoot. At least for a while. I want to date Peter. And I want to see if we can do it on our own, you know." He takes a deep breath. "With no meddling." It's not that he doesn't appreciate what she's trying to do or the fact that she cares, but he's an adult and Peter's an adult and if they can't figure this out without someone holding their hands they’ll never make it work.

She looks back over her shoulder, her hair swirling with two different shades of red and purple. "I was hoping you'd say that. Now hop on that bed and let me test the lighting, stud."

He expected her to get mad or argue, and now that quick rush of pre-emptive adrenaline has nowhere to go. It makes him shaky and weird when he climbs onto the bed in a pair of boxers from the prop room. "Sorry, one more question."

"Gosh, you're pale. And always, Alex. Always ask any questions you have."

"I need to start an internship next semester. Are you interesting in growing your business?"

She laughs. "We need to work on your pitch. But now that you ask, I am definitely looking for some help with our overall marketing and growth strategy for next year. Let's talk when you're not half naked."

He grins, a warm spark of hope washing away a lot of the discomfort and half-cocked adrenaline. Speaking of cocked, Peter walks in just then, wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs and his glasses. It's like he got sexier during the forty-eight hours Alex didn't see him.

Alex's boxers tent slowly. "Hey," he says.

Peter stands just behind the camera and cups his cock, stroking it until it's hard, his eyes on Alex the whole time.

Alex thinks he might pass out.

"So. We're good on sexual tension I think." Miranda laughs. When Cory walks in carrying a plastic basket full of jizz syringes and baby wipes and lube, Miranda nods. "Let's do this, boys."

They were probably supposed to do some cheesy lines. Some kind of setup. Or an interview. Or anything at all. But Alex forgot to ask and now he doesn't care. Because Peter crosses the small room and Alex pushes up on his knees in the bed and they meet with a crushing kiss that sends a joyful heatwave through Alex.

"You look hot," Alex says, getting his hands all over Peter's back and front, skimming his palms along every muscular line of him.

"I've been thinking about this all day." Peter's voice is husky and low, but there's a broken quality to it, like he can barely stand to speak for how bad he wants to get fucked. Alex climbs out of the bed and keeps kissing Peter and tries to clear his head.

"Thinking about what?" he asks, feeling really clever for saying that and not grunting
yes ass fuck now
.

Peter trembles. "Your fingers in me. Your cock in me." He groans as Alex's roaming hands cup his ass. "Jesus. Alex. Thinking about you fucking me. You know I wanted it the first time you came home with me. I want it so bad."

Alex doesn't speak. He can't. His throat feels tight and it's nothing like the way he felt being completely unraveled at the mercy of someone far more experienced. He feels hot like he has a fever. Like it'll cause him physical pain if he doesn't rut against Peter and touch his hole and fuck it open and feel how tight and wet he is inside.

He ghosts his lips across Peter's ear and whispers so the camera won't pick it up. "Safeword?"

"Juniper," Peter whispers back, stuttering. "You?"

"Cheetoh."

Peter laughs like he was holding his breath and nods. Then he gasps when Alex turns him and pulls his hands behind his back.

Alex doesn't really know what he's doing, but he knows it feels good when Peter bows his head and widens his stance and starts shaking. "Hold your wrist in your hand," he says, guiding Peter to stand the way he wants him to with one wrist clasped in his hand at mid-back. Sort of like a cadet in boot camp, or at least the way Alex thinks that goes.

Then he slides Peter's briefs down and helps him step out of them and steps back to admire the way Peter looks, his cock rigid and dark with blood, his balls shaved bare and smooth, his thighs trembling.

"Don't close your eyes," Alex says.

Peter pauses for a breath. "Okay."