Thom, cameraman and all-round go-to guy as far as Brandon could tell, waited for Brandon to quit fidgeting. "It's okay. Settle in and find your comfort zone."

Brandon kind of wanted to punch him for that, but popping your new boss was never a great idea, and besides, so far the dude had been awesome. Him and Jake, who'd shook Brandon's hand before settling in the corner with his electronic notepad. Jake seemed shy, but cool. Hot, too. And Katherine? Damn. Not at all what Brandon had figured a porn producer would be like.

Not that he'd ever given too much thought to porn besides which DVD he wanted to steal, er, borrow, from his roommate's stash, back when he still had a guy to split rent with.

He settled on a cocky smirk. "Nah, I'm cool. It went down like this. I'm in the grocery store, right? Peanut butter, noodles, whatever. I see this hot guy over by the produce section."

"I think I see where this is going," Thom said with a tilted grin that invited more. "Just two buddies shooting the shit, right?"

Brandon started to relax. "You know it. I'm thinking it's just like the movies." Brandon warmed to his story. He'd told it over in his head a couple dozen times by now, smoothing off the edges. He needed this damn job and he'd show 'em he might be new, but he had what it took. "Anyway, he's on one side of this free-standing bin full of cucumbers. I walk up, he looks at me, I look at him."

"I definitely know where this is going." Thom checked the camera angle. "Don't mind me. You're doing great. Go on."

Brandon warmed to his story. "He gives this one cucumber a rub when he looks at me, and I think hah, yeah man. So I pick up one bigger, and it goes from there." To a cucumber the size of a freakin' zucchini, but that was beside the point. "I think we're workin' up to a hookup in the parking lot, but he laughs, apologizes for goofing off, and he tells me I ought to call this Steel Mill Productions place. He thinks I've got what it takes."

"Did you call right away?"

"Yeah." And found out it was an amateur porn company, and spent the next three days swearing he'd never go to a grocery store again. Then he'd run out of ten-cent noodles and an empty cupboard wasn't the only problem he'd had to face. "Took some time to think about it, and--" Brandon shrugged. "Here I am. Put me to work, boss."

"All right." Thom folded his hands and settled down in his chair. "Let's go ahead and get started. The bed stand should have everything you need. Lube, lotion. Everything's new. Just remember to relax. Do what comes naturally. Are you ready?"

"Ready, aim, fire." Brandon stretched out on the bed and crossed his legs at the ankles. Otherwise, he'd have started to jiggle his foot. "Let's do this."

Clothes off, lights down a little, something quiet playing in the background. Spanish guitar, maybe? Nice. No one else in the room with him except Jake, and Jake, quiet as a mouse, might as well not be there.

Brandon bounced on the bed to test the springs. No squeak and screech at all, and though that headboard was made for banging if he'd ever seen one, it didn't budge.

Weird.

Eh. The comforter was soft and pouffy to lie on, the pillows smelling factory-fresh, full and fluffy, and even if there were cameras everywhere, wasn't hard for a guy to get in the mood with the royal treatment.

Brandon closed his eyes, knowing he had good lashes that fanned over his cheeks, and wet his lips. Cocksucker lips, he'd been told, by more than one guy. He spread the fingers of one hand over his chest and found one flat nipple, and reached for his cock with the other. He stroked the soft flesh.

Patient, easy does it. Think sexy thoughts. Brandon searched his spank bank for something never-fail, aiming for the memory of the first time he'd had his dick sucked. Instead, he lit upon something far more recent. This one guy he'd seen when he followed Thom from the entryway of Twentysomethingtwinks back to Studio One, the interview room/set. Hot and then some, six-foot-one with broad shoulders and ripped abs. He'd stood over a panel crammed with flickering lights, levers, complicated-looking dials, and a video screen.

Oh. He'd been editing someone else's performance, hadn't he? Wonder if he's watching me now?

Brandon's strokes picked up speed. His cock started to rise. He ran his thumb over the head, twisted his wrist on the way down, the way he liked best, took his balls in hand and squeezed. Rough, that was what he liked. That fine edge between too much and just right was where Brandon lived when it came to getting his rocks off.

He guessed Thom wouldn't have shown him the slick if he hadn't wanted it to be used. Maybe it put a shine on that looked good on camera. What did he know? Brandon considered it, then wrinkled his nose. He'd never been much of a lube kind of guy. He spat on his hand instead, got it good and slick. There. That's it.

Cock fully hard and slipping fast through the circle of his fist, pinching and rolling first one nipple and then the other, Brandon didn't have to pretend to be turned on, and he didn't have to draw on anything to keep him horny. The friction and the pressure in his balls were enough to get the job done.

Not enough to keep him happy, though. Brandon tipped his head back, spread his legs wider with his feet planted flat on the bed, fucked his fist, and thought about tall men with wicked green eyes, puckish grins, and someone else's hand on him. Someone who'd keep him on the edge for hours and make him beg before he shot.

Someone he might soon be in this same bed with.

Brandon bit his lip and groaned.