Warning: This chapter contains sexual content that is explicit and graphic. Reader discretion is advised.
Ryan moved around behind the bar with a practiced ease, his brain only half aware of what he was doing and his body acting on muscle memory. Glasses were arranged in neat rows, mixers and shot glasses placed at their stations, kegs hooked up to their taps. There was something soothing about going through familiar motions, and in the several weeks since that scene, Ryan wanted nothing more than to immerse himself in the familiar.
“Hey.” Amanda gave him a wary greeting.
Ryan returned with a noncommittal, “Hey.” He could feel her eyeing him behind his back.
About a week after the shoot, when he’d already been distant and cold for days, Amanda had tried to say something. But this wasn’t something Ryan was willing to discuss with her—or with anyone, really. It wasn’t something Ryan himself really wanted to dwell on. So he shut her down, and she hadn’t tried to raise the issue again.
Ryan told himself that it was better this way; he didn’t need any unnecessary snooping into his life. But truth be told, he felt guilty treating Amanda so coldly; she didn’t deserve it.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, but she was too far down the bar to hear him clearly.
“What?” she asked, turning at the sound of his voice.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, heading to her end of the bar. “I know I’ve been treating you like shit, and I’m sorry.”
Amanda took a deep breath and sighed. “Yeah, you have been treating me like shit. I don’t know if I should forgive you.”
Ryan cringed but couldn’t come up with anything clever to say.
She glared at him, but didn’t look nearly as angry as she had in the past. “So tell me why you turned into a bitch?”
Now it was Ryan’s turn to sigh. “I…” How exactly to do you explain to your straight, hetero female coworker that he’d bottomed in a gay porn video, and now he felt exposed and vulnerable and scared?
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Right, complicated.” She turned back to her setup.
“Are you still mad at me?”
“Yes,” she answered. “But not as much as before.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“Yeah, I know.” She sighed again.
The door swung open as their first customers trickled in for happy hour.
Amanda shot him a good-natured, lopsided grin. So maybe she was still mad, but she’d get over it. Ryan returned with his own grin and went to take a customer’s order.
It was a Tuesday night, so they weren’t that busy—just a steady trickle of customers throughout the evening that kept them both moving.
Ryan was hauling a case of wine from the basement storeroom when someone spun him around, grabbed his head and planted a firm kiss right on his lips.
“Holy fuck, you’re blowing up the internet!”
Ryan managed to keep hold of his case of wine and pulled back enough to see Erik’s giant smile and flashing dimple.
“What the fuck?!” Ryan retreated and bumped into a bar stool, toppling it to the floor.
“You’re blowing up the internet!” Erik’s hands were raised as if that would explain what he was talking about.
Ryan just glared at him and made a beeline for the safety of his bar.
“Ryan!” Erik called after him, but Ryan ignored him.
“Ryan, what the hell is wrong with you?” Erik leaned over the bar and peered down to where Ryan was crouched, shuffling bottles under the counter. “I’ve sent you a million text messages and tried calling a million times. So has Gary. Where the hell have you been?”
“Nowhere,” Ryan replied, fully aware that he sounded like petulant child.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Erik shouted loud enough for heads to turn and stare.
Ryan glared at him again, grabbed him by the arm and led him back to the basement storeroom and away from the eyes of paying customers. “You can’t come in here shouting like that,” he admonished.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Erik turned to face off against Ryan. “I only came in here because you’ve been ignoring us, and I’m only shouting because you’re acting like a child.”
Ryan crossed his arms and set his jaw. “Why are you here?” he bit out.
Erik stared at him incredulously, before raising his hands in surrender. “I just came to tell you that our scene is blowing up the internet. More specifically, you are. The website crashed last night with the number of people trying to access the video. People can’t stop talking about you.”
Ryan blinked. He hadn’t given the video itself much thought. He’d been too focused on how he felt to think about the fact that everyone in the whole world could see what had happened. That little ball of unease that he’d been carrying around in the middle of his chest for the past few weeks suddenly grew a lot bigger.
“Ryan, you okay?” Erik’s hand reached out for his shoulder, and he flinched at the contact. Erik dropped his hand to his side. “You haven’t seen the video, have you?”
Ryan shook his head.
“Right, because you don’t like watching videos of yourself.” Erik sighed. “Well, you should watch this one, because you’re fucking amazing. Better than all of your other stuff combined.”
Ryan shifted on his feet but didn’t respond. He didn’t really want to know what his “fucking amazing” looked like. He’d rather not go there at all.
“Listen, you can watch it or not watch it. It doesn’t really matter. But we need to schedule the next shoot. Gary’s been trying to get in touch with you. So get back to him, okay? We’re ready to go at the end of this week.”
Ryan shifted again but still didn’t respond.
“I guess I’ll see you, then.” Erik sighed and showed himself out.
Ryan took a few more moments for himself but couldn’t figure out what he thought or felt about Erik’s visit. All he knew was that doing another scene was the last thing he wanted.
The rest of the night went by uneventfully. Amanda had seen the little altercation between Ryan and Erik, and aside from a quick question to make sure Ryan was okay, hadn’t brought it up again. Ryan was grateful for that.
Now he sat at home, laptop open with the cursor hovering over the Play button. Gary had sent him a link to the video; he’d ignored it, along with all the other attempts to contact him.
To watch or not to watch, that is the question. Ryan shook his head; don’t be corny. And don’t be a child; just watch it.
He clicked on the Play button.
It was weird watching the scene from this side of the camera lens, his memory of being on set clashing with what ended up in the final cut. The first couple of scenes were a little awkward, and Ryan cringed at the sound of his own voice from the alley. But then they were on the couch.
Erik looked sinfully hot in those low-riding sweatpants, tattoos swirling across his skin. The camera captured the way they danced as he moved, just like Ryan remembered it. And Ryan himself looked good, too, he had to admit.
Gary had wanted a very particular look, so Ryan had gotten a haircut right before they started shooting: short on the sides, volume across the top with a neat side part and very subtle blond highlights in his normally dark brown hair to contrast with Erik’s deep black.
Those fake glasses were well chosen; they framed and shadowed at the same time, drawing attention to Ryan’s unremarkable brown eyes while making it more difficult to see them clearly. The narrow-fit vest, smart bow tie, and tight jeans—they all worked for—what did Erik call it? That nerdy hot look.
Now Erik was doing that thing with Ryan’s earring. Ryan couldn’t tear his eyes away from the image of himself, mouth parted and gasping, arms wrapped tightly around Erik, eyes fluttering rapidly. Ryan swallowed thickly as he watched himself be tugged onto his back, his chest heaving as he struggled to orient himself.
While Ryan lay there blinking at the ceiling, Erik had stood up and dropped his sweats, his hand palming a thickening cock. Ryan had missed all of that on set.
The next several sequences weren’t that bad, closer to the script that they had agreed on beforehand. The camera captured that look on Erik’s face as he feasted on the sight of Ryan’s body, which, from this side of the screen, looked toned and defined, not muscular like Erik, but with no misplaced fat, either. Ryan approved.
Ryan’s sucking on Erik’s cock and then getting face-fucked was okay, too. Ryan liked how Erik looked when he arched back, body fully on display while his cock was firmly caught between Ryan’s lips.
After that, the video went downhill. Ryan watched as Erik’s mouth and fingers played on his body, and the camera caught every second of Ryan’s mind falling apart—no carefully constructed expressions, just his raw emotions written in plain writing across his face.
His body was thrashing as Erik’s fingers danced in his ass. Ryan’s hands in a death grip on his knees, head flailing about. Incoherent mumbling sounds came from Ryan’s mouth; he didn’t remember that part.
Then the video cut to Erik, braced on his elbows above Ryan’s body, his face pressed against Ryan’s cheek, hiding it from the camera. Ryan’s memory flashed to the words Erik had whispered into his ear: “Easy. Relax.”
Cut to Erik’s sheathed cock, veiny and engorged, pressed against Ryan’s rosy hole, guided by Erik’s hand. Pressure and release, pressure and release, until it popped in. Cut to Ryan’s face, pupils blown, eyes wide open but unseeing. His mouth hung open, and the mic picked up Ryan’s strangled cry.
Back and forth the camera cut between Erik’s cock slowing making its way into Ryan’s body, and Ryan’s face as his body was being invaded. In between, the video was peppered with wide-angle shots of them, limbs entangled on the couch, Ryan’s body trembling with uncontrolled sensory overload, Erik’s with barely contained restraint.
The fucking started slowly; Ryan remembered the way Erik undulated on top of him. The camera zoomed in between their bodies to see Ryan’s cock rubbing against Erik’s stomach. And their position allowed another camera to focus on Erik’s cock buried in Ryan’s ass.
But every few seconds, the camera would come back to Ryan’s face as it twisted and distorted in tortuous pleasure. And the sounds, Jesus-fucking-Christ, the sounds that Ryan was making on screen. He had absolutely no recollection of making them, of muttering the “oh my gods,” the whimpers of “please, Ev, please.” When did he even decide to shorten Erik’s screen name to Ev?
And the final shot. Ryan remembered that he had been losing his grip on Erik; watching the video, he realized that was because Erik pulled away from him and sat up while still pounding into his ass. Erik then wrapped his hand around Ryan’s cock shown in close detail on the screen, his palm twisting around the head just like Ryan liked it.
Then the camera zoomed out to show the cumshot: thick, white, creamy cum shooting out of Ryan’s cock and onto his body as he arched his back, knuckles white in their grip of the couch cushions, face contorted in an orgasm the likes of which Ryan had never felt before.
As Ryan was still shooting ropes of cum, milked by Erik’s hand, Erik managed to pull out of Ryan’s ass, rip the condom off and rub his cock against Ryan’s. A couple of strokes and Erik was shooting, too; his cum was clear but glistening as it landed alongside Ryan’s. That set off Ryan’s second orgasm, and his body convulsed on the screen as more cum shot out of his raw dick.
The camera panned to Ryan’s face, blissed and high from the cocktail of hormones released into his system; his body shook, aftershocks from the devastating orgasm. The camera angle shifted to bring Erik into view; he was collapsed against the back of the couch, body also shaking, but eyes much more alert than Ryan’s. He was gazing at Ryan, but the Ryan watching from this side of the screen couldn’t decipher what the look meant.
Before he could figure it out, the video ended. Credits rolled.
It was exactly as he feared. The camera had picked up every single feeling zinging across Ryan’s nerves, every thought that raced across his mind, every emotion that even he wasn’t aware he was feeling. It was all there. None of that was acting; none of that was Roman Cox. That was entirely Ryan Cote on display for the world to see.
Ryan ran to his bathroom just in time to dry heave into his toilet.
After the nausea passed, Ryan tracked down his phone. His hand shook as he called Erik’s number.
It rang twice before Erik answered. “Hey, how’s it going?”
“I can’t do this anymore.” Ryan hated how shaky his voice sounded.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t do any more scenes with you.”
“What? Why not?” Erik asked. “Did you watch the video?”
“Yeah.” Ryan dropped his head into his free hand. “That’s why I can’t do any more scenes.”
“I don’t understand.” Erik sounded exasperated. “You’re amazing in the scene; why can’t you do more?”
“I just can’t, okay?” Ryan’s voice was louder than he intended.
“Okay, okay,” Erik responded quickly. “Let’s just talk this through. I want to hear what you’re thinking. But it’s not ideal to do this on the phone. Are you at home? What’s your address? I’ll come to you.”
Ryan sighed. This was not what he wanted to accomplish with the phone call. “I don’t know…”
“Come on, please?” Shuffling sounds came from Erik’s side of the line and a jingling of keys. “You owe me at least a chance to talk this through.”
Ryan hesitated. Not only did he not want to talk about this. He also didn’t want Erik coming to his apartment. It felt far too intimate after the video he just watched.
“Ryan?” Erik sounded like he was running down stairs.
“Okay, fine. I live in Brooklyn.”
“Jesus, fucking Brooklyn,” Erik muttered. “Alright, text me your address and I’ll grab an Uber. Should take about 45 minutes, I guess. I’ll see you soon.”
What do you think Ryan will say when Erik shows up? How do you think Erik will respond? All theories are welcome at the discussion thread: Here!
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