But he didn’t have to look at his finances to know that he could move somewhere, anywhere, even if it was another apartment in this complex where he could still watch over the guys.
One of the first things that had become apparent when he’d started this gig three years ago—when his school tuition had run out and his parents had stopped talking to him and he was so close to his internship, he could almost taste the steady income—was that most of the kids who started in the porn business really were kids. They were young, energetic, and could fuck like gods, but they were also rash, impulsive, and led by their hormones.
The first time Skylar—who had moved out to be exclusive with Rick nearly a year ago—had dropped his drawers in the living room and moaned, “Help me, Dr. Lance—what’s wrong with my butthole?” Lance had realized that someone needed to offer nonjudgy, no-frills advice, even if it was just “Hemorrhoid cream, my brother, and maybe lay off bottoming until your next scene.”
Dex tried.
Lance had seen that when Dex had told him about the flophouse in the first place. He remembered the way Dex’s pretty blue eyes had studied Lance’s face intently, like he was looking for something Lance wasn’t sure was there.
“Yeah, the flophouse,” he said thoughtfully. “Who told you about that?”
Lance had still been capable of blushing back then. “Uh, Skylar. We just did a scene together, and I mentioned I couldn’t afford the dorm this year.”
Dex had leaned forward over the desk in his office and steepled his fingers. “Medical school, right?”
It had occurred to Lance at that moment that Dex was maybe only three years older than he was, and he was studying Lance with the astuteness of a school counselor. “Yeah. I’ve got one more year to go, and then I’ll be paying off my loans. But all my parents’ assistance dried up—”
Dex raised his eyebrows, and Lance blew out a breath. “Yes, they found out I was gay and that college fund my father had saved for me was suddenly my little sister’s.” It hadn’t been that much anyway, which was why he was helping Morgaine out with law school. Their parents might have decided not to speak to him, but Morgaine was still his biggest fan.
Dex nodded. “Would you believe it’s not the first time I heard that?”
Lance felt his mouth twist. “No, really? Geez, mister, I thought I was the only one.”
Dex let out a little laugh. “Not everybody who does porn here is gay,” he said. It had been about six months before they’d started hiring women and diversifying, so Lance’s eyebrows had climbed to his hairline. “No—seriously. Some of the guys are bi, and some of them are straight but not hung up on it. They have to do a lot of mental and physical gymnastics to get hard, though. We really do prefer the guys who are into it. But yeah. It’s an issue. You seem to have dealt with it, but….”
Dex bit his full lip, and in spite of spending six hours having sex with the irrepressible Skylar, Lance felt his libido flutter. Dex had still been doing scenes at that point—God, wouldn’t it be great to do a scene with Dex?
“But what?” Lance asked, feeling emotionally naked for the first time in the six months since he’d been kicked out of the house.
“But the flophouse, where Skylar gave you an invite to crash, is sort of… think of an unsupervised playroom where everyone is over eighteen and used to being naked.”
Lance smirked, because he had this cartoon image of guys with boners just boinging around the house.
“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s worse,” Dex confirmed. “I try not to recommend it to the guys who’re making more money or have their shit together. There’s drama—scads of it. It’s naked high school with no girls to keep it sane. I break up a cat fight at least once a week. If I could afford to hire a gaybie-sitter, I totally would.”
Lance shrugged. “Honestly, it sounds like the dorms, but nobody’s saying, ‘I only touched a penis ’cause I was drunk.’ I start my internship in less than a year. How bad could it be?”
“Suit yourself.” Dex stood up and shook his hand. “Now Kelsey will cut you a check for the scene today—but don’t forget to check with her at the end of the month, because that’s when the royalties come in, okay?”
Lance nodded, remembering that he got a flat fee for filming the scene and then a cut of the profits every time it was downloaded. The more popular the actors, the more they got paid, which was pretty cool, really. Kelsey, the receptionist, seemed a little disorganized but also pretty competent, and she’d been cheerfully normal about the fact that everybody entering the ordinary-looking office building was going in the back to have sex.
“Will do. Thanks, man.”
Dex winked. “Thank you! Gotta tell you, you make really pretty porn.”
Lance smiled, feeling the heat of the compliment way down to his toes. Dex had been behind the camera and had made him feel professional and respected for six hours, while Lance, in his birthday suit, did the thing with a pretty, flirty model who probably worked out with ben-wah balls six times a day to obtain that kind of control over his sphincter. Until this moment, right now, there hadn’t been a single moment of connection or sexuality between them.
But now, with that pretty angel’s mouth coming up in the corners and those blue eyes sparkling, Lance felt the hint of possibility. And part of the attraction was that Dex was watching out for him, making sure he was happy.
Lance had admired that sort of responsibility, even then. It was the thing that had driven him through medical school, the idea that if everybody helped their neighbor, the world would be a better place.
Now, three years later, he was really glad he and Dex had gotten to film that scene together—but he totally regretted not moving on that spark of attraction outside the office. Dex had started dating Scott not long after that, even though everybody knew Scott was a douchebag. And when that imploded, Kane had apparently been waiting to move in. The two of them were married now, and both off-screen but still working the business. Lance had watched Dex organize medical watch for a model who’d tried to hurt himself, prepare Christmas for the guys who weren’t allowed to go home, and find apartments for guys who got kicked out. He’d found lawyers, helped place siblings who needed mental health care, and with the help of John Carey, the founder of Johnnies, he’d started a job-placement project for guys who wanted life after porn.
Dex was more than just a boss for Lance’s part-time gig—he was a role model for anyone in the sex industry who wanted to see how to be an adult and an adult-film star.
Unfortunately, Lance had been too focused on his endgame to even see where that attraction would have gone.
He sighed and dug into his medical journals, trying not to pine for something that never was. The thought kept haunting him, though, that it wasn’t that he had missed out on Dex, but that he was missing out on something bigger.
Here in apartment 126C, he pretty much had sex on tap—but he hadn’t been interested in anyone for over a year. And even then, it had been Reg and Bobby, who were better together than they’d ever been with him. He’d been their pity fuck, both of them, and other than that?
Well, it was a good thing he filmed scenes once every six weeks, wasn’t it?