Chapter 2 #2
Fuck, does he want Pax all to himself? Is that what these stupid feelings are?
Blake can’t even remember the last time he cared what a hookup did before or after they were in his bed.
This is… unprecedented, to say the least. Also weird, and Blake doesn’t like it one bit.
Maybe he’s just getting too old for this — that’s what Hayden said, anyway, when Blake slapped the contract down on his desk, all puffed-up bravado and cocky charm.
“Aren’t you tired of this kind of stuff?” he’d asked, totally non-judgemental but cocky about it all the same.
“Tired of hot sex on tap with no strings attached and maybe free money? Uh, no,” Blake had replied without even pausing to think about it.
Turns out that maybe Hayden was more on the money than Blake thought. He hates when Hayden’s right. Kid has the most annoying “told you so” face on the planet.
Dinner is served smorgasbord-style in the kitchen Rachel showed him earlier, and Blake mixes and mingles with nearly everyone but Pax while they eat and drink.
The alcohol flows freely, but Blake is sharp enough to take note that the producers have no apparent interest in discouraging the cast from partaking in as much as they like.
They want them tipsy, want them to let their guards down. It’s working.
The atmosphere is fun, though — like a big party, even before the “official” one down on the beach starts.
There’s music and dancing, someone stacks and lights the fire pit, and everyone chats freely and drinks deep.
Blake winds up having a conversation next to the pool with Leah (over yet another margarita), where he finds out that body is no coincidence since she actually is a yoga instructor, and that was the main topic when she was chatting up Pax.
According to Leah, Pax likes yoga too, does it every day.
While Pax in various yoga poses provides for some stellar mental imagery that Blake greatly appreciates, Pax and Leah bonding over a shared interest?
Not so much. Regardless, Leah’s job alone would have had him bending over backward (ha) to get her into bed just hours earlier, but now…
Blake can’t seem to stop himself from stealing glances across the crowd at Pax.
If Leah notices, she doesn’t say anything.
When eight o’clock rolls around, a couple of the producers un-melt from the scenery to encourage them all down to the beach.
The fire pit is roaring in the sand, and there are chairs circling around it on three sides, facing the ocean.
That fourth side (between them and the waves) is where the main cameraman sits, but besides him, the ample crew from earlier is nearly gone.
Blake knows that realistically, there are likely other cameras — both mounted and being held by operators trying to stay inconspicuous, but since only the one guy is in sight, it’s easier than Blake thought it would be to ignore that he’s there.
Or maybe that’s the alcohol talking. Either way, Blake sort of forgets to be nervous, forgets to remember that he’s being filmed, that his actions might end up being watched by millions of people.
He’s just Blake, having a good time, thinking about ways to hit on a hot guy he can’t take his eyes off of.
So when a producer pulls Vincent aside and whispers in his ear before handing him a blindfold, Blake barely notices.
He’s too focused on watching Leah and Amber grind on each other while laughing and singing along to the music.
Too busy enjoying the way the warm, tropical night air caresses his skin, making him feel free.
Too caught up in Pax grabbing his hand, spinning him around clumsily until they’re both stumbling and grabbing onto each other for balance, hands hot on each other’s skin, thin t-shirts the only barriers between them.
“Alright, alright!” Vincent yells, raising his hand and trying to get the group’s attention, while Blake tries not to be resentful that Pax’s hands drop from his hips.
“Let’s kick things up a notch, what do y’all say?
Blindfold game,” he suggests with a sly grin, dangling the eye mask from his fingertips.
“No rules — kiss, touch, whatever you wanna do to the person who’s blindfolded. Then they get to guess who it was.”
If this isn’t the weakest excuse to get them to take the simmering sexual energy to the next level, then Blake’s a monkey’s uncle. Ploy or not, though, it isn’t a bad idea — hell, Blake’s up for a little physical contact, a little preview of coming attractions. He just — fuck, he hopes Pax is, too.
Since he’s holding it, Vincent puts the blindfold on first. His eyes are barely covered when Amber springs out of her seat, shoving that boring Dr. Matt dude unceremoniously out of the way in her quest to beat him to Vincent’s side.
Their kiss is long, with Amber wrapping her arms around Vincent’s neck and really going to town.
They’re both attractive, and Blake would definitely have been into watching this earlier, but —
Now he’s stealing glances across the fire at a sex-haired hippie, whose own eyes are glued on the steamy scene unfolding. Blake averts his own back to his toes, feeling silly. No way is Pax into him like that. Even if — but no, and definitely not this quickly.
Except that the next time Blake looks up, Pax is looking back, blue eyes reflecting the firelight, which only increases the intensity he’s directing Blake’s way.
There are three people in between them, but Blake is feeling brave.
Clearing his throat, he lifts an eyebrow.
“Pax, not for nothing, but I remember every single person who’s looked at me the way you are now.
’Course, if I forget, I can just count the notches in my bedpost.”
Instead of replying, Paxton’s gaze only intensifies as his head tips thoughtfully to the side. Oh, yeah. Blake’s getting some tonight.
Before he knows it, it’s his turn, and Blake’s fingers and toes tingle with anticipation as he slips the mask down over his eyes.
He tries to stand still and not fidget as he waits, but it’s tough — especially when he hears a small scuffle in the sand and more than one person laugh, including that laugh, deep and throaty.
His mouth goes dry immediately, and Blake licks his lips quickly in response, hoping no one is standing right in front of his face to see.
Pax, Pax, please let it be Pax.
There aren’t words to express the disappointment he feels — and the utter confusion that comes flooding in quickly over that — when the lips that touch his own are soft and feminine.
He reaches up and feels a perfectly smooth cheek — not a trace of stubble anywhere.
So much for getting to rub his face against that darkened mess peppering Paxton’s sharp jaw, this is definitely a chick.
The kiss isn’t terrible, it’s just neither what he expected nor what he was hoping for.
The stale flavor of tacky lipstick sticks to his tastebuds as the girl pressing her mouth to his sweeps her tongue across the roof of his mouth.
Blake’s polite about it, even tries to enjoy it, but he’s glad when it doesn’t last more than a handful of seconds.
A delicate hand touches his cheek and then is gone, and ten seconds later Blake’s told he can unmask and make a guess.
Scanning the crowd, Blake pretends to think carefully, furrowing his brow and making a show of playing “Eeny Meeny, Miny, Mo.” He taps his lips with one finger.
The answer is obviously Leah. “Pax,” he says out loud, rubbing fingers over where Pax’s five o’clock shadow is, just to be a dick, and everyone howls with laughter.
Even Leah, which, points to her — Blake loves a chick with a good sense of humor.
“Just kidding,” he says sheepishly. “Lee?” Leah grins widely and winks, but Blake is far more interested in the way Pax’s smile drops off of his face in an instant.
After sitting back down, Blake has to watch Ariana and Dani exchange two grope-sessions in a row, not even remotely pretending to want to touch anyone else.
They sit back on the bench next to him hand-in-hand, and then Vincent makes out with Matt, probably having something to do with the producer in his ear again.
Up last is Pax, and Blake is fuckin’ ready.
Ain’t nobody about to beat him to this opportunity — he’s not above fighting, if he has to.
More than one person moves to stand as Pax snaps the blindfold into place, but Blake is out of his seat like a shot, charging into Pax’s personal space and grabbing him around the back of the neck like he’s goddamn sure of his welcome.
Their lips crash together, and Pax is kissing back just as soon as Blake’s mouth is on his — no hesitation, no fear.
He gets his hands on Blake’s waist and Blake threads his free one into Pax’s hair, destroying all space between them.
In his arms, Pax is warm, solid, his hair soft between Blake’s fingers and his mouth talented but sweet.
Jesus, Blake can’t get enough. It’s beyond the fact that Pax is an incredible kisser (he is) — there’s a spark every time their lips meet, an electricity buzzing between them that Blake can’t help but chase. He feels good in Pax’s arms, feels like he could never tire of this.
All too soon, they’re separating, breathing hard against each other’s faces as their cast-mates squeal and clap.
“I fold,” he hears Leah say, from somewhere to his left. “Holy shit.”
Letting his fingers linger in Pax’s as he pulls away, Blake returns to his seat and tries to look casual and not ravaged. Fuck, he feels ravaged, and all they did was kiss. Once.