Head 01 Hot Head (28 page)

“Maybe you should tel Alek it’s off. We don’t owe that guy anything.”

“No! After this next, sure. Hel, I just figured out how to max out the bonuses. We’l clear thirty-five hundred. But when that’s over, I need you to remind me

about this conversation, okay. Don’t let me forget what I’m teling you.” Dante smiled at him with familiar affection. “You gotta be my monster-sized, coppertop Jiminy Cricket.”

“Uh, okay….” Griff could feel the crooked smile on his face. “If I sit on your shoulder, I’l crush your midget ass.”

“Nah, I’m sturdier than you think.” Dante had the same crooked smile.

And everything between them was okay again. Amazing.

Griff steered them onto the FDR. Their exit wasn’t far uptown. “But what if you won’t listen, jackass? Tomorrow you might have empty-walet amnesia. If

you get desperate, you may not want to remember anything about tonight.”

Dante thumped a thigh with his fist, next to the bulge under his zipper. “Then stick your damn tongue in my mouth, G. I guarantee that’l get my attention.”

THEY found parking on East Ninth and walked back to First Avenue. When they found the restaurant, Griff held the door open to let Dante into the crowded

noodle bar. The place was packed with suits and staffed by artsy types.

“Noodles okay? This place is kinda Korean-Japanese. Momofuku.”

“Cool. Yeah. You’l have to order for me. I feel like such a guido in here.” Dante looked down at his tight T-shirt and ironed jeans.

“What, ’cause now you’re a
porn star
?” Griff grinned, raised his red brows and jerked his head at the tables. “You look great. C’mon.”

A pretty waitress with cropped blonde hair and a nose ring led them back to long benches, where they sat wedged between loud, chatty groups. The air

smeled like scalions and pork and something peppery.

As they slid past people to sit down, Dante’s phone gave a silvery chirrup as he got a text.

Griff smiled and looked up at the menu on the wal. “Booty cal?”

“No, asshole. It’s my sister.”

Griff thought of lonely Loretta hopping around Dante’s front stoop wishing for her horned helmet while little Nicole waited patiently for the aria to stop. “Cal her back. It might be important.”

“I’l cal her later. We’re on a date.”

“The fuck we are!” Griff’s eyes snapped up and he sputtered, “We’re having dinner.”

Dante raised his eyebrows and smiled expansively. “You said we were. Expensive Asian dinner in Manhattan. You drove. You’re paying. After I came to the

firehouse and put my tongue in your esophagus.” By then Dante was laughing at him. “Relax. I’m teasing you, G.”

“Oh.” Griff went back to scanning the menu and growled, “Numbskul.”

“It actualy feels good to sit down and eat somewhere I don’t know every goddamn person I see.” Dante craned to look around at the crowd chatting and

digging into the exotic entrees. “We’re almost invisible. We could make out here and no one would blink.”

The hell?

“I didn’t realize this place was so popular. I read about it in the paper.”

“’Cause you read, unlike some of us.” Dante held out a hand like he was presenting proof. “For the record, if this isn’t a date, I’m not putting out.”

“Jesus!” Griff looked to the diners on their right and left, but nobody was paying attention.

“So back off, bub. I gotta save my load for the shoot. And you should do likewise.” Dante raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the table in front of Griff,

like he could see right through the wood to the half-hard-on wadded in Griff’s chinos. He jabbed a finger across the table at Griff’s chest. “And you better buy me a damn pork bun! Two pork buns!”

For some reason that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. They cracked up like a cork had popped, exploding with laughter, spraying beer out their

noses and choking for breath. The other diners didn’t get hit but shot a couple of annoyed glares their way. Griff and Dante didn’t pay much attention to anyone else. At these prices, Manhattan could fucking deal with two firefighters taking a breather.

The hard laughter drained al of the tension until it was just them again, across a table.

When the waitress came back and Griff was ordering for them, Dante was a perfect gentleman. Almost like it
was
a date and he was on his best behavior.

When Griff and the waitress had finished figuring out their meal (noodles, squid, pork buns), Dante raised his Kingfisher beer in a toast, but he didn’t say any of the things he could. He didn’t have to; they were thinking the same thing:

things he could. He didn’t have to; they were thinking the same thing:

Thank you, buddy…. Nearly home free and out of the crazy…. Nothing’s been wrecked beyond salvage…. Everything is what and where and when

it needs to be…. And oh yeah, you are my favorite fucking person on this earth.

Griff raised his own beer, readier than he’d ever been in his entire life to laugh about nothing special with the only person who would always be special to him.

-
Clink
-

The dinner almost lived up to the company.

DANTE was practicaly chipper when they met Alek that Wednesday. He ambled inside the HotHead studio like an old friend and greeted Alek with a backslapping hug.

Griff folowed close behind, the duffel ful of gear slung over one shoulder. Half of him wanted the day to be over already; half never wanted the day to end.

Alek was as polite as always, apologizing for the cold temperatures and offering drinks.

Griff didn’t have a shot of whiskey, but only because it was 11 a.m. and he was starting to feel like a boozer. He opted for a bottle of water. The cold air was actualy nice against his hot skin. In truth, the lights in the sitting room studio were warm, and Griff knew it would get sweaty before the day was done.

Alek was shifting furniture and setting equipment. He circled back with the clipboards so the two friends could sign their agreements for the day. He nodded

his approval. “And your lab work?”

Dante snapped his fingers and dug around in the duffel, puling out two wrinkled medical forms.

Griff blushed. He and Dante had gone and sat in a clinic in Chelsea to get swabs and blood drawn, like an engaged couple applying for a marriage license.

They were sexualy active men, so they were just keeping an eye out. It was overkil anyway; they were both tested regularly for the FDNY. Part of the job.

Nevertheless, when they’d booked today’s shoot, Alek had been insistent about it—for his records, he’d said. Those pieces of paper said they were free of

HIV and hepatitis and the clap and SARS and whatever-the-hel else—squeaky clean and ready to rumble. Alek nodded at the forms and took them back to his

desk.

While they were waiting for Alek to finish at the desk, Dante nudged Griff. “So we’re good with whatever. I mean, like, you don’t have to worry if you

happen to get anything on your skin or in your mouth.” Dante fake grimaced, like he was making a joke. He wasn’t. “I don’t want you to get freaked out.”

“I won’t get freaked, D. I’m a big boy.”

“No shit.” Dante squatted next to the duffel and puled out their turnout gear. He muttered under his breath to Griff. “The whole thing today is those extended activities. For the bonuses. Folow my lead.”

“Yeah. It’s fine, D. Whatever you think. Let’s get this shit done.” Griff accepted his folded pants, trying to look like he didn’t want Dante extended and active on him.

“Okay. Cool.” Dante puled his T-shirt off, mussing his black hair. He shook his head and squinted an eye at Griff.

Griff squinted back. “You got a plan, right? You know the things you want us to do.”

Dante nodded. “Al set. Al of it’s pretty harmless; I don’t want to freak you out.”

Griff realized that Dante thought his resistance was revulsion. That would help. “No freaking. Let’s just get it done, man.”

“I picked out the stuff that pays good-sized bonuses… without us, you know, having to completely queer out on each other.”

God forbid.

“Sure.” Griff puled off his own shirt and pants, standing there in his boxer briefs. This seemed almost natural now. Amazing how things started to seem

normal over time. This HotHead crap had loosened him up so much.
That’s something, I guess
. Maybe when this was over, Griff would be able to figure out how to meet a guy who actualy wanted him back.

Dante shook out his wadded bunker pants. “Whatever I do, just act like you realy, realy like it.”

“Not a problem.” And it certainly wasn’t.

“Thanks, man. I’l make it up to you. I swear.”

That’ll be the day
.

Griff caled across the room to Alek. “What do you want us wearing?”

Alek looked at the ceiling for a moment. “Hmm. Just the pants, I think. Suspenders over your bare chests. Maybe your boots?”

“Helmets?” Dante bent and grabbed their helmets, holding them up on his two hands like hard puppets. “I finaly remembered to grab them.”

“Absolutely!” Alek beamed his approval. “You can discard them whenever you like, but helmets to start, definitely.”

Griff took his; Dante had taped over anything identifiable. Standing in his pants and helmet and bare chest looked exactly like—

“’S’like posing for the calendar.” Dante chuckled and shot him a look.

“I wouldn’t know.” Griff shrugged, unsure how to defuse the situation.

“Wel, except for the cocksucking.”

Griff grimaced and ducked his head. He focused on getting undressed.

“Hey, Alek, you want us to, you know, weed-whack at al?” Dante tugged at his pubic hair. “Clip the curlies.”

“Uh, no. Our members prefer natural hair. Are both of you…?”

“Manscaped?” Dante smiled. “I’m fucking Italian; I been mowing my lawn since I was thirteen. My brothers taught me.”

Jesus.
“I’m not.” Griff’s eyes bulged. He’d never thought about trimming down there.

Dante gave his crotch a once over. “Griff’s pretty neat on his own. Scottish hedge!” He snorted.

Griff did not.

Once they were in their half-gear and helmets, Alek gestured them onto the set; he was already snapping stils and filming them from a tripod. He’d done this

the last time for legal purposes, filming their signed contracts and their ID. Then he had them face the lens to state their names and ages and their permission to be filmed. “Have either of you been coerced or threatened in any way?”

Griff chuckled. “Hardly.”

Dante spoke up. “Nope. We’re here to shoot a blowjob scene for HotHead. And we’re psyched.”

Whoo-hoo!

Griff had a sudden uncanny feeling that he was a game piece on an enormous, ridiculous board game with house fires and bar fights and cum-shots. He tried

to think back over the steps that had led them to this room on this day doing these things for this website.

Life is so weird
.

Alek looked over the paperwork. “And you have agreed to perform felatio on Mr. Muir?”

Dante nodded and tapped a page of his contract. “Uh. Yeah. And we’re gonna try to do a little more too, if that’s okay.”

“That’s wonderful, Mr. Anastagio. As long as you both feel comfortable.”

Griff cracked his neck and tried to relax his shoulders. In a couple hours this would be over and Dante’s house would be safe and things would go back to

normal, if that was even possible.

In the sitting room set, the coffee table was gone and the carpet area was bare. Alek snapped more pictures.

“I wanted to give you space to move around: seats, floor, wal.” Alek pointed at two cameras on high stands aimed down. “Those wil run the whole time,

and I’l be walking through with this.” He held up his own compact video camera.

Alek gestured at a pile of slick magazines, women spread and pert and airbrushed. “If you need magazines. To keep yourselves hard.”

Dante roled his eyes. “You kidding? My junk’s like iron, man. Once it’s up it won’t go down.”

“Often when straight models are asked to work together, it can be a problem.” Alek was giving them permission to lose their erections.

Griff decided right then to try and lose his erection at some point if it was possible.
Fat fucking chance.
He adjusted the helmet on his head.

“The main thing is to stay relaxed as possible. We’l take it in stages. When either of you needs a break, let me know.” Alek looked between them. Griff

nodded. “Speak to me at any point. Feel free to shift position or make suggestions. I can edit around anything but your ejaculations.”

Alek climbed on a short ladder to adjust a foil square bouncing light at the set. He snapped a couple shots from up there, then resumed taping.

Dante leaned over. “Hey, G. You gotta talk as much as possible. Okay? Dirty talk gives us a bump.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. What do you want me to…?”

“Whatever feels good, tel me. Real nasty. Tel me how to suck it. Talk to me.”

Griff nodded. “I’l try.”

“Dirty as you want, man. Don’t be gentle; don’t be nice. I can take it. It’s al good, yeah?” Even in his helmet and worn bunker pants, Dante looked like a