He nods. He meets my eye and begins to pull off his shirt. I put a hand on his. “It’s okay. We don’t have to keep going.”
“But you’re right,” he says. “I do love being told what to do.”
He’s watching me again, at least, even if his expression still feels like he’s shut down.
I rub a thumb over his mouth. “Then do what I tell you, and wait until you feel present. Tell me when you do. Tell me when you’re ready to keep going. Then we’ll start again.”
He frowns. “But I want to now.”
“So you don’t feel triggered anymore?”
He rolls his eyes. “No, but—”
“Are you whining?”
He smirks. “A little.”
“You like being told what to do, right? Then do what you’re told.”
Logan practically laughs. “You get off on being strict, huh?”
I eye him. “Yeah. Maybe. But I also like to give rewards, if you listen.”
His grin fades. I think he might be coming back to himself more now—from that shine in his eyes, he might be imagining what I mean by rewards. Still, he isn’t happy when he grumbles, “Fine.” Maybe he’s being a little dramatic. We are actors, after all.
We have quick showers separately. When he’s finished, I prep a little, just in case, not with any expectation of what could happen. Feeling less grungy from a day of travel and in a fresh t-shirt and shorts, I find Logan out in the kitchen, refrigerator open.
He glances over the top of the door. “Nothing’s in here. We have to go to the store if we want to eat.”
I’m excited to explore a different town, especially one so off the beaten path. I like smaller town atmospheres, and I’ve felt stuck in LA for so long. We grab wallets and walk out to the rented car. The green of trees and twitter of birds and yellow sunshine, glistening on the still lake, is peaceful. Even the breeze feels like it enters my skin and relaxes me from the inside out.
We play music in the car ride over to the town, twenty minutes away. Logan sighs but agrees when I ask to take a break from the heavy metal station, and we turn to some relaxing Solange instead. The town feels more like a series of spread-out buildings and houses in the middle of a forest, until we reach the grocery store. It’s small, not one of those big-chain supermarkets, but it has everything we need. We get a few glances, but if anyone recognizes us, they don’t say anything. It feels like we’re ordinary people—no fame, no movies. Just two boyfriends walking through the grocery store, his hand touching mine. I’m afraid to let myself get lost in this moment, knowing it could end.
*
Logan plays some alternative rock in the kitchen as we cook spaghetti together. Neither of us are very talented chefs.
“What do you think you would do if you weren’t acting?” I ask him.
He leans back as he considers. “God, I have no idea. It’s the only thing I’ve ever done.”
“Do you ever imagine walking away from all of it?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes. But I have no plan. I’m afraid of what’s on the other side.”
It seems he’s given this more thought than I was expecting. “Do you want to leave the industry?”
He nods slowly. “Sometimes I think this whole industry is a trigger. If I left…I don’t know. Maybe I’d feel safer.”
“That’s what I want for you,” I tell him. More than anything.
He grabs a glass of water. “What about you?”
“This was always my dream,” I say. “I love acting. I’m not sure about the fame. That’s not what it’s supposed to be about, right? I don’t know. Maybe one day I’ll want to escape, too.”
*
We spend hours doing nothing. We take a walk by the lake, the rocks smooth under my feet. I stand in the cold water up to my ankles while Logan collects stones that he likes. We lounge around in the living room while he reads one of the yellowed and forgotten books from a shelf, and I lie down next to him, falling in and out of sleep and mixing up reality with dreams.
The sun is going down by the time I’ve woken up and stretched. Logan isn’t beside me anymore. I get a glass of water and wander the house until I find him in the bedroom, lying down under the covers. I think he might be naked. His shirt is off, anyway. He watches me as I finish my water, putting the glass on a table. I go into the bathroom to splash some water on my face. When I walk back out, Logan’s still staring.
“That was one of the best naps I’ve had in a while,” I tell him.
“Mattie.”
“Yeah?”
I recognize the look on his face. It’s the same one he’s given me in a few scenes we’ve shared, like he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do to me.
“What is it, Logan?”
He’s still unexpectedly shy sometimes. “I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Stop messing with me.”
I wait for him. He knows what he has to say.
He takes in an impatient breath. “Please.”
I sit on the bed beside him and kiss him. “You sure?”
He nods his yes, and I believe him when he grabs me and pulls me on top of him. I breathe a laugh as I kiss him again, sliding the covers away. I was right—he already took all his clothes off. That’s disappointing. It might’ve been nice to play with him, telling him to undress slowly, but I can think of other ways to have fun. His hand grips at my shirt, trying to tug it off.
“Patience. Be patient.”
“You promised rewards.”
I laugh again, but he’s serious—practically squirming beneath me, trying to press his hips up into mine. “Please.”
He’s getting better at begging. I smile as I kiss him. “Okay.”
Logan
Matt really shocks the hell out of me and uses a belt to cuff my hands. It’s like he knew the one way to torture me. Really get at me, not being able to touch him. He grabs my jaw, forcing me to look at him as he grips my dick, taking his time going up and down. If I try to pump up into his hand, he pulls away completely. I could cry, I really could. Just when I think I might get close, he presses a thumb to the tip, making me jerk under the pressure.
“Not yet.”
I can’t even beg properly, since he’s stuffed my mouth with a sheet. I give a muffled “Fuck you,” and he laughs at me. He straddles me, sitting in my lap, my dick rubbing against his.
“Is it okay if you go inside me?”