Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 6

. . . um, well, you know. Her former teachers, however, would probably have a heart attack to see what she writes about now. Definitely not stories about flowers . . . although maybe the lonely, rich recluse hires a young hot gardener to tend to his roses and then . . . (runs off to write)
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    ****

MAVERICK: SLAYER OF SLAYERS
    by Mark Alders

    FINALLY! A big budget film! He'd been waiting for this chance, and sure the script was dumb (killing a space worm that spews poison in only jeans w/a sword? Please!) but it was the next step in his climb to success. Then Rory was knocked on the head by a falling prop & woke up on the planet Fjpxaz! Wait. Why is the director Kyle here too, and how do they get back?
    ~ Carrie

    genre: sci-fi
    tags: universe; enemies to lovers; first time; movies
    word count: 8,387
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    MAVERICK: SLAYER OF SLAYERS
    by Mark Alders
    "Cut," the director screamed from his chair. He stood, clapping his hands as a sign of his current satisfaction. "Okay, sweethearts, let's take it again from the top. Special effects, we need a little more mustard and mayonnaise for the space worm's blood. I want to see goo, people— Rory, darling, get yourself back into makeup, I want those pecs to be oiled so much they shine like beacons of masculinity. Comprehend?"
    Rory gave his fake prop sword to a stage hand, a fit, neat lad with a solid butt and a cute wink. He wondered if the young man would ever try and advance his career to be more than a back stage helper by deciding to do a director's couch audition. Rory would certainly give him a good, hard prop, and there'd be no mayonnaise with it to make it look real, either. Hmm, mmm, the lad was fine, and Rory couldn't help but watch him walk away, imagining all the wonderful and wicked things he could do with the boy when he was stark naked and fully erect in Rory's bed. What was his name? Peter— no, Paul... heck, he knew it was something beginning with "P". Perhaps he'll just refer to him as, 'will-look-good-with-his-mouth-on-the-end-of-my-cock' boy from now on. Such a name would provide plenty of inspiration, that's for sure.
    "Rory! Sweetheart!" the director bellowed. "Has all that steroid medication gone to your ears, dear fellow? I told you to get oiled up and get back here pronto. The mayo and mustard blood will only look good for a few minutes and we're not made of money here, gorgeous."
    "Yeah, yeah, keep your jock-strap on, Kyle. I'm going. I'm going." Rory ambled toward the makeup caravan, mumbling, "Sheesh, you'd think the man didn't get enough fucking cock the way he carries on." No one heard him.
    Rory was sure the director would have an ulcer by the time he finished this film if he didn't calm down real soon. Then again, he was always like that. Anally retentive. Quite the surprise seeing as he took more dick up his back passage than Kermit the Frog has had hands up him.
    Although, because of Kyle, they were now working on a bigger budget film, so the man had some merit. Sure, the movie was still cheesy, but the hope was the thing wasn't going to be one of those straight to video films only the nerds of this planet would enjoy in darkened rooms after they've masturbated, or worse, straight onto the cutting room floor never to see the light of day.
    Rory bumped into the stage hand as soon as he entered makeup, their bodies touching, hands brushing. "Pavlos," he said, remembering his latest infatuation’s name, and at the right moment, too.
    "Hello, Mister Smith, sir," the lad stuttered.
    "Now, now, don't get all stage fright on me. You can call me Rory, or even better, by my nickname, Maverick."
    The boy bowed his head slightly. "Yes, sir."
    "And you don't have to call me sir, either. That's for people I don't like."
    The lad looked up, brushing the long fringe off his face. A sparkle in his eye ignited a deep and wanting desire for him that Rory felt right at the pit of his stomach— in his cock, too. He was practically hard, and the boy hadn't even cracked a fucking smile yet. "Are you saying you like me?"
    Rory swallowed hard. "I like you a hell of a lot."
    The lad slipped his hands into his jeans top, pulling down on the material, revealing the elastic of his designer underwear. "A hell of a lot as in wanting to fuck me good and hard like I'm your boy bitch?"
    He licked his lips. "Oh... yes."
    Right there and then, Pavlos pulled down his jeans, taking his underwear with it.