Hot Set (Art of Love #2)

6. Alex

Chapter six

Alex

B randon lived in the most spacious apartment I’d ever seen. But then, maybe that’s because I’d always lived in cramped dorms or studio apartments falling to pieces. I’d expected his space to be colorful and eccentric, but it was surprisingly sparse. It felt like this apartment belonged in one of the home magazines my mom really liked looking at.

“Welcome,” Brandon said, waving me in, “To my humble abode.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

There were two sofas, pristinely white and pushed together, so they seemed to form a singular L-shaped sofa. I followed Brandon to the vacant end of one. Already, a crowd had gathered and sprawled out in Brandon’s living room. Seth and Bioncia were crammed on one end of the sofa, talking in hushed tones, occasionally punctuated by Seth’s eccentric hand gestures. There was Celeste, chewing on the tip of a pen, and curled up nearby in an armchair. Stretched on the carpet near Celeste, Scott was scribbling something on the top sheet of a pile of papers; he was rewriting in earnest, while everyone else tried to piece things together. Script pages were spread all over the sofas, the coffee table, and the floor. I plopped onto the sofa and looked at some of it, my eyes skimming over dialogue. Apparently, the film now featured a time travelling peacock.

Brandon sat beside me and threw his head back against the sofa cushions. I glanced at him. From where I sat, Brandon’s face was highlighted very nicely by the light above him. It was something I’d have really played up if I were filming him. Some yellow and orange highlighter would’ve really made his cheekbones pop, although they were already impressive.

I returned my gaze to the papers before me. Why was I even thinking about how good he looked? That was weird, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t be thinking all that much about how Brandon looked. But he was a nice-looking man. That was all. And as a make-up artist, it only made sense that I’d look at him a bit.

Except that I didn’t look at most men the way I looked at Brandon. I frowned and tried to puzzle that out. It wasn’t possible for me to like him; desire him. But when Brandon’s arm brushed against mine, I felt a sharp, strangely warm shiver spread across my skin.

“Well,” Brandon said, “Grab a pen and feel free to join in. You want a beer?”

For a few seconds, my thoughts were so cluttered that I forgot how to speak. My heart seemed to be pounding too quickly and too loudly, and I felt as though I was circling around some profound realization, very much involving Brandon. “No, thank you,” I said, swiping a red pen off the table. “Is there a method to all this?”

“Kind of,” Brandon replied. “Our goal is to go through the remaining pages and either change or remove every instance of Caitlyn’s character.”

Right. Focus on the task at hand. That would make my life easier. I shook my head, as if the physical movement could force my thoughts into some kind of order.

“ But ,” Seth cut in, “We have to make sure that we keep in mind the scenes we’ve already filmed.”

“Right,” Brandon said.

“I wanted to just replace Caitlyn with a different actress in every scene,” Seth said, “But Brandon said I couldn’t.”

“Because it’s a bad idea,” Brandon said.

Seth snorted. “Are you kidding me? It’s a great idea. You could claim you were being artsy and submit it to all those film festivals you’ve been talking about.”

“Seth clearly doesn’t know the difference between making art and being cheap,” Brandon said.

I smiled and laughed. Brandon tilted his head, reading over the script I held in my hands. My breath caught as he leaned close to me, and I tried to focus instead on the scene at hand. The scene was outlandish, involving some knight who’d come through a time machine and was plundering a museum. There was mention of Sherlock Holmes banging Queen Elizabeth. What was this movie?

Brandon reached forward and scrawled in blue ink across the page. As he did, he perched the script on my leg; I could feel the faintest pricks of his pen through my jeans. He was sitting close, and I wasn’t sure if he realized it. I tried childishly not to look at him, as if not looking at him could make the situation less…

Less something. Less what, awkward, maybe? Less butterflies in the stomach and warmth? Yeah, maybe that.

I shifted my weight without moving away.

Brandon had left a note for Seth’s character, Wesson, to mention the tragic death of Caitlyn’s character, Morgana.

“For continuity,” Brandon said.

Right. I nodded like I’d been deeply concerned, but really, I couldn’t help but think how casually nice it had been having him be so close to me.

The evening wore on, as we all contributed notes on pages of script. At the end of the night, we pulled the script together and read through it. The plot sounded like it was pulled from a troll fic online. There was no way anybody could possibly take this seriously, but it was certainly entertaining. And that was the point of movies, right?

As the night dragged on, people slowly filed out, Bioncia first, then Celeste. Scott and Seth left shortly after. Brandon seemed oblivious to it all. He kept working, seemingly determined to soldier through the night with the help of caffeine and sugary confectionaries. I stifled a yawn and stretched before sprawling over on one end of his sofa.

A sharp series of bird-like chirps filled the air. I frowned and tipped my head back, searching for the sound.

“My phone,” Brandon said.

“Did someone forget something?”

Brandon looked at his phone and shook his head. “It’s my father,” he replied.

His dad ? “It’s like…” I trailed off, searching for a clock. “Late. Really late.”

“Five-thirty,” Brandon said. “It’s not unusual. That’s when he gets up to go jogging in the mornings. Normally, I’m up weight-lifting this early, anyway.”

I frowned. “That’s got to be annoying, though.”

His phone beeped again.

“It is,” Brandon replied, “But I guess I kind of had this coming. I keep avoiding him, so I suppose his new approach is to get me when he knows I’m not working.”

“Technically, you are working,” I said.

“Yeah, but it’s not the same as being at the set,” Brandon said.

Another text alert. God, Brandon’s dad must be obnoxious. I vaguely remembered Seth saying something about Brandon’s dad wanting him to join the family business, but this seemed like a bit much.

“Tired?” Brandon asked after a few minutes.

“A little bit,” I said.

I wasn’t looking forward to the drive home after a night of work, at any rate. I stifled a yawn.

“You don’t have to go tonight,” Brandon said. “You could sleep over if you want.”

I tilted my head and considered him. Brandon was still hunched over his stack of papers, a pen cap clenched between his teeth. I watched his red pen move across the page, its faint scratching lulling through the air. He really was invested in all this. That was admirable. Despite his alleged lack of direction, Brandon had an ambition that I never had.

Another text alert.

I sat upright and stared at Brandon. I was so tired, and because I was tired, I was thinking very bizarre things about Brandon. Maybe it was because I didn’t have any friends. He was just a man; that was all, and attractive, although anyone with eyes could see that. I shook my head and buried my face beneath a couch pillow.

“Is the script so bad you’re going to smother yourself to death?” Brandon asked.

“No,” I replied, my voice muffled.

Another text and a sigh. “I have to take this,” Brandon said.

No kidding. I heard the slap of Brandon’s feet on the hardwood floors as he walked away. “Hey, Dad.”

I sucked in a deep breath and tried not to listen in. Sure, Brandon hadn’t told me not to or anything, but I would’ve felt of weird eavesdropping. I tried to tune it out by thinking about the script and Brandon’s apartment.

“I know, I know,” Brandon said. “I’ve just been working really hard on this—”

I sat upright and removed the pillow from my face. When I peered over the sofa, I found Brandon pacing around in the kitchen. He looked like he was halfway to creating a furrow in the tile floors.

“I just don’t have time right now,” Brandon said.

Pause. Brandon’s shoulders slumped.

“I know,” he said. “I will. I promise. Okay?”

Another pause. Brandon tapped his fingers on the kitchen counter and sighed. “Well, I can’t just quit this—I know, but when I started, you said—”

Pause.

“Well, how was I supposed to know how long it would—” Brandon’s voice had changed, becoming more frustrated.

Pause. Brandon looked toward me and offered a weak smile.

“I know, Dad. Okay. I mean… all right. Bye.”

Brandon ended the call and slid his phone further down the counter. With a sigh, he buried his face between his hands.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

Brandon sighed and plopped onto the sofa beside me. “It’s my dad,” he said.

“He… wants you to join the family business?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Brandon replied, “And he won’t stop going on about it. I honestly think he…I mean, he agreed to fund this film, so I guess I shouldn’t complain. But now, he’s mad because it’s going on longer than he wants. How was I supposed to know how long it takes to make a film? I’ve never done it before, and I can’t just quit.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

Brandon shook his head. “I know it sounds like I’m whining,” he said. “I don’t mean to. I just… I’m frustrated.”

“I get that,” I said.

I hesitantly placed a hand on his forearm and leaned a little closer. The warmth of his body seemed to drift in and mix with mine. “It’ll be okay,” I said.

“I don’t know that it will be,” Brandon said bitterly. “My father is becoming quickly tired of funding my passion projects. I guess when he agreed to fund this one, he didn’t expect it to take so long.”

I nodded; unsure what else I could offer.

“It’s just—it’s not just about me . It’s all the other people working on this project, too!” Brandon exclaimed.

He shifted around on the sofa and looked directly at me. His steel-blue eyes bore into me, and it felt as if Brandon could see everything about me. Every little thought that had ever entered into my head. My breath caught. Brandon leaned closer, so close that his breath came in short, puffs against my cheek. My heart hammered in my chest. It seemed as if time itself had become suspended around us, and when Brandon leaned just a half-inch closer, something about the known world shattered.

His lips were against mine. They were softer than I expected. His breath smelled like freshly brewed coffee and cream, and the scent of it mingled with the scent of his cologne, dark and woodsy. All my thoughts swirled around, disconnected. Brandon was warm and smelled nice, and he was kissing me. So, I kissed him back. I knew how to kiss. It was as natural as breathing.

As Brandon’s hands went to the small of my back, I curled my hands in his hair and pulled him closer to me. I tilted my head and kissed him in earnest, drinking in the scent and taste of him. Even when we broke the kiss, I remained close and pressed my forehead against his. “Is that better?” I asked.

“A little,” Brandon said, sounding nearly breathless.

He pulled me into another kiss, and I let him. I shifted closer, as close as I could. The sofa dipped beneath me. Brandon fell backward, or lay backward. I was too busy kissing him and getting close to him to really notice. I clambered over him and broke the kiss again. Color rose to Brandon’s face. I gasped for air as I leaned over him. My hands trembled as I traced the smooth muscles of his chest. Somehow, I’d overlooked how tight his shirt was and how much it showed. Brandon traced the line of my spine. My breath came in a sharp, little hitch. Every little touch sent warmth pulsing through my body, all the way down to my bones. Brandon shifted and pulled me under him.

I was half-hard from his touch, and when he leaned over me, my face warmed from the intensity in his eyes. When his hands found the zipper of my jeans, a delighted shiver shot through my spine. Brandon looked at me, his eyes searching my face. I nodded. After he unzipped my pants, I lifted my hips and let him ease them down. My boxers came next. The air in his apartment was cold against my bare thighs. I felt exposed; wonderfully exposed.

Brandon moved closer. I shivered in anticipation. Everything seemed more vibrant, hotter and brighter. Slowly, Brandon lowered his head. His hair brushed against my hips and my belly. Then, his tongue eased against my tip.

I tilted my head back and shifted my hips, coaxing him onward, but Brandon needed no urging. He took my whole length in with a jarring suddenness. I groaned and groped blindly before digging my fingers into the fabric of his sofa. Brandon began with slow licks, up and down, and every movement sent a jolt of warmth and pleasure through my belly. My muscles all tensed. “Oh, God,” I said.

Brandon made some sort of muffled noise. I leaned up slightly and watched the movements of his blond head as he worked me up and down. He sped up, and I groaned. Brandon had clearly done this a lot, and I felt like I was on fire, every cell of my body hot and ready. His hand fondled my balls, and I came. For a second, everything grew blurry. I gasped and threw an arm over my face. I’d never really understood why orgasms were always talked about as some great and wonderful thing, but I did then .

I sat upright, peeling my sweat-damp skin from the sofa. Brandon watched me; his eyes darkened. Even through the fabric of his jeans, I could see that he was hard. “I’ve never done this before,” I said, in a voice that didn’t sound much like mine.

But I was going to do this. Brandon had done this for me.

“I’ll guide you through it,” Brandon said, his voice husky.

I fumbled with the button on Brandon’s jeans, my hands shaking. I hoped I could do this. I hoped I got it right. I pulled down his jeans and briefs together and with a sharp, sudden tug. Brandon leaned back, and I considered his cock. I had no idea what to do with it. Would he even fit in my mouth? I’d never tried sucking a man off before. For a fleeting second, I thought of the few women who’d sucked me off over the years.

“As long as you don’t bite me, it’ll be fine,” Brandon said.

I laughed, but when I looked up to meet Brandon’s eyes, another shiver shot down my spine. I swallowed hard and leaned my head down. Using my hand, I guided him into my mouth. I tried to mirror his movements, swirling my tongue around his tip.

“Just take your time,” Brandon said.

My face warmed when I thought of how he must be looking at me. He was hard already. Maybe my inexperience wouldn’t matter so much. I took him more into my mouth, parting my lips.

“Are you all right?” Brandon asked soothingly.

I nodded; the motion awkward with him still in my mouth. I breathed in deep through my nose, taking in the tangy smell of sweat and sex. God, I was atrocious at this. Still, I persisted. I took my hand around Brandon’s shaft and stroked him, while I tried to put him further into my mouth. I’d only taken him about halfway in when I felt him press against my gag reflex. I moved my tongue, circling around him. He seemed very…thick, not that I had any experience regarding the size of men’s cocks.

I certainly wasn’t going to ask.

Brandon groaned, and the sound ripped through the air with the headiness of my thoughts. I licked faster and stroked harder, speeding up the same way he had. Brandon bucked his hips and shifted, groaning and moving on the sofa. For a wild second, I thought he might fall off. All at once, his muscles tensed and tightened. He made a strange noise, something between a shout and a growl. “I’m going to come, Alex,” Brandon announced, the words sounding strangely calm with his flushed face and tense muscles.

I wasn’t entirely sure what to do, keep him in my mouth or take him out? I chose the former, worried I might otherwise mess it up. Brandon came. I noticed the warmth first, then the thickness and saltiness of his semen. It was strange and unexpected; women didn’t taste like much of anything. At first, I was too startled to think much of it, but as it settled on my tongue, I decided I did like it. Quite a bit. The taste was strong and present, but not overwhelming. Like Brandon, in a way. This suited him well. I sucked in a deep breath, my nose filling with the tang of sweat and the scent of his cologne. Brandon grew lax against the sofa. Slowly, I tipped my head back, guiding him out. I wiped my mouth against the back of my hand, smearing his juice against the back of my hand.

“See? You’re a natural,” Brandon said.

The words barely registered. A profound and sudden tiredness pulled at me. I barely thought of anything as I lay down beside him. This had all been sudden and unexpected, but nice. So nice. I licked my lips, drinking in the last of him. I wouldn’t mind tasting him again. Far from it. Brandon shifted close to me. It seemed like no time at all that he grew still and fell asleep, and then—

Then, reality seemed to snap into place. I untangled myself from Brandon and moved away, watching him in the darkness. What had we done? What had I done? I should’ve been consoling him. I should’ve been making everything better, and instead, I’d just gotten caught up in it all.

And now what? Should I leave? Should I stay the night? Which was worse?

God, I worked for him, too. I was so stupid.

I pulled on my jeans and sat on the opposite end of the sofa, far from him. Desperately, I tried to salvage my thoughts, but I wasn’t having any luck. Leaving after sex would be bad; I knew that. It was better to stay and face what I’d done.