Page 2 of Bobby Green

In bed he’d been insatiable, had made as many of the decisions as Reg could stand, and Reg could stand a lot.

Or he could with Bobby.

Dex left, venturing into the hallway of the small office complex that Johnnies called home. This room had been outfitted to look like a bedroom—there were a couple here, so they could shoot more than one scene at a time. But the front office had a reception area and offices for John, the owner, and one for Dex, who did most of the editing, and now one for Reg, who didn’t fuck for money anymore but arranged public appearances and things.

Until now.

He’d taken off his shoes and shirt, folded it neatly, and set them on a shelf in the corner with his shoes. There were locker rooms for clothes, but sometimes a director would decide he wanted different things for a shot, so always be prepared, right?

Also Reg had a place to keep his coffee, which was a plus. He should have brought water, like what Bobby was drinking, but he’d forgotten.

He hadn’t done this in a couple of months.

He stopped fidgeting with his stuff and then walked to where Bobby stood, arms crossed over what was already a magnificent chest, the recent scar still healing across his ribs and stomach notwithstanding. He stared at Reg with a no-bullshit expression that made him look years older.

“I’m sorry,” Reg said, not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t know it was you, or I would have made Dex get someone else. I’m sure I’m the last person you want to do a scene with and—”

“Reg, stop talking,” Bobby said sharply.

Reg looked up at him in surprise. He usually let Reg finish rambling—was, in fact, one of the few people who could stand to listen to Reg talk at all.

“Bobby?” His voice sounded broken to his own ears.

Bobby took two steps forward, looming over Reg’s five foot ten without apology. “You look like shit,” he said. “You haven’t been taking care of my boy.”

Reg bit his lip, miserable. “I told you to fuck off,” he whispered. “Twice.”

“Changes nothing.”

Reg still couldn’t look at him. “I… I can’t—”

Bobby reached out, and for a moment Reg thought he’d touch him tenderly, brush his cheek with his knuckle or hug him, and the thought made him want to cry.

Instead he grabbed Reg’s hair and tilted his head back slowly, until Reg had no choice but to look him in the eyes.

“You listen to me, Reggie.” He sounded angry and sad at once, and his mouth kept working, like he was having a hard time not letting his face crumple and cry. “We’re not here to fuck. That’s not why Dex put you in here.”

“But—” Reg gestured. “The scene!”

“You want to do a scene?” Bobby yanked him forward until their bare chests touched, and Reg’s body lit on fire with want. “Fine. We’ll do a scene. But you need to think about this right now, Reggie. If we do a scene, we’re not doing it for the camera, and we’re not doing it for money. We’re doing it because we’re together, and I’m not letting you push me away one more goddamned time.”

He was so close, his mouth soft and threatening, his arms locked around Reg securely.

Oh God, Reg felt safe.

He never felt safe in his life—unless he was right here.

He never felt wanted, just right here.

But he was too old. Too old and too stupid, and this kid… this kid here… he needed someone with promise. Someone he could regard as an equal, right?

Reg swallowed hard and thought about pulling away.

Bobby lowered his head and stayed poised, a breath away. A kiss away. A lifetime away.

“C’mon, Reg,” Bobby whispered. “What’s it going to be?”

Vernal Bobby