Second act, p.6
Second Act, page 6
He wasn’t going to argue. If he didn’t get inside that gorgeous ass soon, he’d probably come just from rolling around on the sheet. He lined up and pressed home. Dion hummed as Bryce breached him, a satisfied sound. Bryce went slow, but they fit together smoothly, so slick and deep he became sure Dion had prepped for this. He dug his fingers into Dion’s raised hip, winning a grunt from him.
“Yeah. More.”
Bryce slid his other arm under Dion’s neck and braced across his chest. Dion was small and slim enough for Bryce to restrain him, but solid enough that he didn’t have to hold back as he picked up speed and force, the smooth glide becoming sharp snaps of his hips. Dion grunted with each thrust, but there was a whine in it that begged, and needed. Bryce paused, buried deep.
“Don’t motherfucking stop,” Dion snarled, wriggling against him.
Bryce leaned up to put his mouth against that gorgeous tousled hair, near Dion’s ear. “Should we change this up? What do you like best?”
“I’d like to come. Soon.” But there was a hint of appreciation in Dion’s voice. “Best? Hands and knees. I want you to plow me deep. And hard. I won’t break.”
Bryce pulled out, holding the condom but treating Dion’s ass less carefully than he’d have imagined mere hours ago. He grabbed both narrow hips in his hands and lifted, as Dion got his knees under him and planted his elbows on the mattress. Bryce didn’t give him time to settle, just slammed back in deep.
“Jesus!” He’d have eased off, but Dion added, “Yes! Like that! Perfect.”
“Like this?” He was startled to hear a porn-growl coming from his own lips. He’d become so damn paranoid about recordings after a YouTube near-miss that he’d kept recent hook-ups reduced to silent fucking in the dark. It was stunningly exciting to be able to let loose for once. Dion’s body was perfect in the lamplight, arched under his hands, the gorgeous curves of his ass opening to take Bryce’s thrusts. Bryce muttered, “Yeah. So hot. Taking me, like this.”
Dion whined and panted, writhing in his grip. Bryce tightened his fingers until he was probably marking that smooth golden skin and plowed Dion, fast and hard and breathlessly, letting his own grunts and growls escape without thought. Climax hit him without warning, a burning spill that shuddered out of him, making his fingers clench and his throat ache with his deep shout. He dropped his head back, panting open-mouthed, locked in deep.
When he regained his senses, Dion was wriggling between his hands, pushing futilely and begging, “Please. More. Please!”
He leaned forward to slide an arm under Dion’s sweat-slick chest, then sat back on his heels, pulling Dion up with him. Dion spread his thighs and went with it, splayed and impaled across Bryce’s lap. Bryce dragged Dion’s lean body backward, slim shoulder blades plastered against his chest, reached around for Dion’s erection and gripped it, tugging smooth and fast. “Come. Like this. You here on my dick.”
Dion writhed, his whole body locked and rigid. He groaned. Bryce changed his grip, sped up, and Dion cried out. His cum shot between Bryce’s fingers, and dripped, slicking the glide of his palm over Dion’s hard length until Dion shivered and pushed at his arm. “Enough. Wow. Fuck.”
Bryce shifted his hips enough to roll his half-hard cock inside Dion and muttered, “We did that.”
Dion twisted around to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. And very well, too. Let go now.”
He eased back, realizing his hand was sticky and his cock was sensitive and yeah, they were done. Except some small part of him that didn’t want to let go of the moment. It had been so damned long since he’d felt this good. He ignored it, though, holding the condom as Dion rose to his knees and swung off.
Cleaning up was a matter of passing tissues and dropping the wrapped condom in the bin, of a swipe at the sheets, and a laugh from Dion as he wiped the pillow and then a spot on the headboard. “You made me come so hard.”
“Good.” His voice was still lower than usual. He cleared his throat.
“Very good.” Dion slid out of the bed gracefully, but instead of reaching for his clothes he picked up a couple of wet hand-towels off the dinner tray on the side table. “Here.” He tossed one over.
Bryce caught it and did a better job of his hands and face. “Are there boy scouts in Quebec?”
Dion grinned. “Not my thing. I like to make my own rules.” He brought the tray back to the bed and gestured with his chin. “Sit up a bit. We can share this.”
Bryce turned to put his back to the headboard, and Dion swung back into bed beside him, handling the tray like a classy waiter as he swung it around and settled it across their knees. He lifted the cover off the bigger plate and licked his lips. “Wow. Homemade poutine. If I’d known, I’d have insisted we eat before the sex.”
“Really?” Bryce stared at the odd mix of fries, and lumpy gravy. The beef tips next to them looked more appetizing. Even the broccoli looked better, and he wasn’t a big fan of veggies.
“Well, it was probably better this way round. But you haven’t lived until you’ve tried this.” He reached for a fry and raised it, dripping with gravy, toward Bryce. “Lean forward, dummy, or it’ll be all over the sheet.”
Obediently, Bryce leaned over the tray, his lips parted. Dion pushed the gravied mess into his mouth. It was better than he expected. Soggy fries should be a problem, but somehow, lumpy with white glop and drenched in brown gravy, they became something else. “Wow.” He reached for another one. Maybe three. “What did you say this was?”
“Poutine. Fries, gravy, cheese curds. The taste of home.” For a moment something less happy threaded through Dion’s voice. “Or would have been, if Mom had ever been willing to serve something this low class.” He sighed, then smiled at Bryce. “Luckily, Jacques has better taste, and he makes the most perfect gravy.” He popped a fry in his own mouth and licked his finger slowly. “Mm, mm.”
“It’s awesome.” Bryce made himself take a stalk of broccoli before washing it down with more gravy-fry goodness. “Probably has sixty-million calories, of course.”
“We’ll have to work it off.” Dion’s grin promised to make that fun.
By the time they’d polished off the plate, though, a mellow mood had settled over them. Dion lifted the tray to the floor and shoved it in the direction of the door without getting up. “I’ll get that later.”
“Messy to step in,” Bryce commented, without making any move to do something about it.
“Lumpy maybe. I don’t think we left anything to be messy.” Dion slid down the bed, snuggling in against Bryce’s hip.
Bryce wasn’t usually a snuggler. He’d tried, a couple of times in the early days when he’d taken a stab at something more than a one night stand. But usually he felt restless after sex, as if his skin was too small, as if someone might jump out of the woodwork and… something. He wasn’t sure what he was worried about, only that it made it hard to settle. Tonight, though, the poutine was working some kind of magic. He felt full and warm, and the bed was soft. Dion had pulled the covers up over them and the cool air outside was much less welcoming than the comfortable space under them.
He eased himself down on his side. He was surprised when Dion tugged at him, clearly intent on being the big spoon, but Bryce only resisted for a moment. He was floaty, like he’d been cut loose from a weight, and his whole body was relaxed. He was willing to just go with it. He settled back against Dion, feeling smooth hairless pecs against his shoulders, and a soft cock at the small of his back. Dion clearly wasn’t thinking about another round yet either.
Dion wrapped an arm around him and stroked his chest, running his fingers over the lines and planes of muscle there. It tickled but it also felt nice. Appreciative. Bryce eased his calf back over Dion’s ankles to keep him close.
“So hard,” Dion murmured, pressing against his abs. “I’ve been with some hot guys, but never one who was cut like you are.”
“Well, it’s kind of my job. If I want to get the parts, I have to give them what they’re looking for.”
Dion mouthed his shoulder softly. “Yeah, exactly what I was looking for.”
“Right now, I’m not seen as a dramatic lead, I’m action. That means I need the body for it. Demon Hunter was going to have a lot of fighting scenes, and a lot of ripped shirts to push the homoerotic subtext. They made me audition with my shirt off.”
“Probably so those old Hollywood queens could drool over you.”
“Maybe. It worked, at the time. Doesn’t matter now. I can eat all the poutine I want.”
“Well, not really, right?” Dion’s touch slid across his chest. “You’ll be back there soon, getting a new part.”
“Hopefully.” Maybe.
Dion’s fingertips trailed over his hip, downward. “You don’t actually have that knife tattoo. There was a lot of discussion on your fan page over whether it was real or not.” He pressed a kiss in against the angle of Bryce’s jaw. “I like being the guy who knows you don’t have any ink.”
“Some actors do, but covering them over is a pain. I figure, keep a clean slate. That way if the part calls for a tattoo they can make any fake they like. And if I try out for a historical or something, there’s no worry about having to keep make-up over a real one.”
“You’re really dedicated to your acting, eh?”
“I guess.” He hadn’t thought of it that way. “It’s important to me. When I headed west it wasn’t just to get out of this town. I always wanted to act, although I’d figured I’d do college drama first. But once I was in L.A. I really knew I had to give it everything to make it work.”
“Well, you succeeded.”
“There were tough times. Still might be.” He could feel his muscles tense, which was stupid. He knew how to dig in and work and not depend on any one thing or one person. He’d be fine.
Dion nipped at his ear. “You could always have done porn.”
Bryce laughed, although it wasn’t as funny as Dion had meant it to be. “I actually considered that, a few times. But I wasn’t sure I could get it up for straight porn, and gay porn would be the kiss of death for getting het parts in big-budget films.”
“Mm. I’d pay for your porn.” Dion hugged him in closer wrapping a leg over Bryce’s thighs.
It was kind of nice, being surrounded by another guy like this. He tried a self-mocking laugh. “Might be a good thing my dick is only average or I might have gone for it.”
“Guys with monster dicks seem to be all about their monster dicks. Like, ‘Hey boy, I got a fat nine inches here. Bet you want it.’ And I’m like, ‘Oh yeah, I’d love to get reamed by that thing while you admire yourself in the mirror.’”
Bryce snorted.
“I like your dick.” Dion reached down and patted it, but Bryce only managed a sort of twitch in response. Dion didn’t seem to mind, going back to snuggling against him. “Anyway, you’re on the way up now. A lot of the best actors didn’t get their big break till they hit thirty.”
“You’re good for my ego,” Bryce murmured.
Dion crooned melodramatically, “Oooh, baby, you’re so big and strong and handsome and brilliant.”
Bryce smacked lightly at the wiry arm across his chest. “That wasn’t a hint.”
“Just doing my best to be your number one fan.”
For some reason, that deflated Bryce’s good mood a bit. He sighed, and thought about getting up, maybe picking up the tray. But it was still warm and comfortable here, and Dion’s arms were locked around him with surprising strength. He fell asleep still thinking about whether to ask him to let go.
When he woke, he felt disoriented. He wasn’t used to sharing a bed, and although he remembered right away who Dion was he still froze, trying to figure out his next move. Dion had rolled away from him, and was sprawled face down, his blond hair tousled and his cheek pillowed on his hand. The lovely oval of his face was softer in sleep. Bryce never used the words cute or sweet or adorable, certainly not about a guy he’d slept with, but that left “young.” Awake Dion with his wicked— in every sense— tongue had felt like an equal, but seeing him sleeping reminded Bryce that Dion just graduated college while he himself was now less than a year away from thirty. Taking a pretty, starstruck boy to bed simply to prove he was over another guy was one of the douchier things he’d done in his twenty-nine years.
He eased out of bed and stretched silently. He was sweaty and a bit sticky and restless. A shower would be good. He slid the dresser drawer just wide enough to reach in for a pair of clean sweats, and slipped the bottoms on. Then he eased the room door open. As he stepped through, Dion mumbled from the bed, “Don’t forget the fucking tray.” Bryce turned, picked it up, turned back and stepped out of the room right in front of Jacques walking down the hallway.
Bryce closed the door fast, but a glance at the total stillness of Jacques’ face made it pretty clear he’d heard that sleepy murmur. Bryce froze.
Jacques reached out and took the tray. “Here. I’ll bring that down to the kitchen.”
“I know what this looks like—” Bryce stopped, because it was exactly what it looked like.
Jacques said softly, “My brother’s a grown man. I don’t police who he chooses to sleep with.”
“Still, you have to wonder.”
“For all I know, he convinced you to take him to bed. More likely, it was mutual.”
Bryce dropped his eyes, and nodded. Jacques stepped past him, and Bryce headed for the bathroom. He’d taken a couple of steps, before Jacques added, “All I ask is that you try not to hurt him. He’s impulsive, and he’s had a crush on you forever.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Well, ‘don’t want to’ isn’t the same thing as trying your damned hardest not to.”
Bryce wasn’t sure if it was his guilty conscience that made him hear a hint of blame in Jacques voice, but it made him pause. “If you mean Cody—”
“Ten years without a word, and he’s only now really getting over you.”
“He’s getting over guilt, maybe. Regrets. Not me. If he’d wanted me that fucking much, he knew where to find me, all these years.”
“And you knew where to find him.”
“I wasn’t the one who said no that night.” Bryce spoke through clenched teeth. “He told me to go away without him. He said the farm mattered more. And I don’t see where he ever changed his mind.”
Jacques dropped his gaze. “Perhaps. He is tied to his damned acres and his cows. Even now, I haven’t convinced him to live here with me, because it’s a quarter mile from his barns.”
Bryce sighed. “He’s a stubborn bastard.”
Jacques looked up. “I think I’m winning, though. I’ve offered to set up cow cams in the barns. Remote cameras. I will let him have a room in the house to watch his mooing babies. And with Max getting engaged…”
“Max is engaged?”
“Yes, Cody told me just tonight. So if he brings home a wife, I may get Cody to live here.”
“How lovely for you.”
“You’re over him too, you know. I saw you together, and there is hurting and an old friendship but I don’t think you really want each other now.”
Bryce felt cold, and tired. “You can’t know how I feel. But I promise I won’t try to take him away from you.”
“You couldn’t, Mr. Movie Star.”
“And I’ll make sure that Dion knows we’re just fucking around. Is that what you want?”
“That will do.” Jacques turned and carried the tray away down the stairs.
A little creaking noise made Bryce look over his shoulder. The door of his room closed one final inch, and the latch clicked.
Bryce couldn’t gather the energy to figure out what Dion might have heard, or what he’d have thought. He made it to the bathroom, peed and took a fast shower, and headed back to his room, his short-cropped hair already drying. When he went in, the beside lamp was on, the bed was empty and Dion’s clothes were gone. Bryce climbed under the covers. The room was cold, especially with the dampness from his shower, and it was a long time before his feet and neck and ears warmed up enough under the clutched blankets to let him fall asleep.
Chapter Five
Bryce woke with the feeling that something fundamental was missing. He lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to work out exactly what the hell that was. Everything was different, which was the problem. He wasn’t in his familiar, if crappy, apartment. He wasn’t getting up with the dawn to work the job he’d thought he had. He was back in Minnesota but everything here was changed too. Perhaps what was missing was a humming tension deep down, a mix of longing and anger and determination that had driven him for so long.
He’d had a lot of hopes and regrets and a need to prove himself all locked away in a box with Cody’s name on it, and he felt like he’d opened the box and found it empty. He was adrift, directionless. He wasn’t the same man who got on that plane in L.A., determined to have it all out at last.
And yet he felt surprisingly good. He sat up, pushed back the covers, and his hand encountered a crusty spot. Oh, yeah, he should feel good. He’d gotten laid at last. This visit might not be everything he was expecting, but some of the unexpected had been excellent. And a wisp of concern from his discussion with Jacques could be easily swept aside. After all, Dion had said it himself. It had just been some great, hot sex between two men who were attracted to each other. Exactly what he’d needed, what they’d both clearly needed.
He got up, dressed and followed his nose down to the kitchen where Jacques was frying bacon. Bryce sniffed loudly and Jacques turned and grinned, as he slid several slices onto a warming plate. “I heard you getting up, and I figured you’d want some breakfast. With bacon.”
“What if I didn’t?”
“I’m sure I’d find a taker for it.”
Dion wandered over from where he’d been sitting at the table in the side nook and reached toward the plate. Jacques smacked his hand away. Dion gave Bryce a grin that was warm and free of shadows. “You’d give me your bacon, right Bryce? To keep my strength up?”
