Between the Push and Pull Ch. 01

"Alright, here's your food," Louie came crashing through the kitchen door, the noise enough to rouse Ryan from Erik's hypnotism.

He dropped a giant plate of steaming pasta in the middle of the table. "What we've got here is ravioli with veal, prosciutto, mozzarella with fresh tomatoes, and parmesan sauce."

"Homemade ravioli?" Gary asked.

The look of disgust on Louie's face said it all.

"Of course it is, sorry I asked." Gary raised his hands in surrender.

"I'll be back with the Caprese salad," Louie turned back to the kitchen.

"Wow, you weren't kidding," said Erik.

"See? Told ya." Gary piled a steaming heap of pasta onto his own plate and dug in without waiting.

Ryan let Erik grab a portion before helping himself. The food smelt great—the part of his brain that appreciated good food was able to acknowledge that fact—but the rest of his brain was still a little fuzzy from Erik's mind probe.

Louie came back out with the salad and carafe of red wine. For a few moments, none of them said anything and just enjoyed the unexpectedly good food in silence.

"So Ryan," Gary started again, much to Ryan's dismay. "What do you think? You up for it?"

Ryan wasn't sure that he was. He liked doing porn because he could fuck and get paid for it. It was generally mindless. But what they were proposing was not mindless fucking; it was mindful fucking, which Ryan wasn't sure he could or wanted to do.

"I don't know," he answered.

"Well, let me tell you the story we're working on?" Erik offered.

Ryan shrugged.

"Two guys, obviously. One is a stripper at a gay nightclub, working from paycheck to paycheck, just worried about staying afloat and nothing much else. The other is a PhD student, studying the social-something-or-other about the gay clubbing scene. The PhD student goes to gay nightclubs for research and strikes up a friendship with the stripper..."

It's just a coincidence, it had to be; there was no way Erik could know.

Ryan put his fork down and leaned back in his booth as far as the cushions would allow him. He didn't want to listen to this anymore, didn't want to relive a past life.

"Ryan? You okay?" Gary's voice sounded distant.

Ryan couldn't meet Gary's concerned look. He heard himself mumble something to the effect of "Sorry, not interested," and suddenly found himself out on the sidewalk, squinting under the bright afternoon sun.

No, he was definitely not interested.

*****

Ryan knew this day would come; he'd been waiting for it for more than a week. More than a week of dreading the bar because Erik could show up at any point and Ryan would have to find a way to avoid him. And now, here he was, in all his black-haired, blue-eyed glory, leaning over the bar in a way that made his muscle ripple and strain against the fabric of his shirt.

"Oh look," Amanda sidled up to Ryan. "Your admirer is back."

Ryan grunted and forced himself to concentrate on the drinks in front of him.

"He's staring at you, hard."

Ryan grunted again.

"Damn, it's like he's trying to undress you."

"Thank you, Amanda. I think I get the idea."

"I'm just sayin'. I'd like to get me a man like that."

"You're welcome to him."

"I don't think he'll have me. He only has eyes for you."

"Don't you have customers to serve?"

"They'll survive without me for a bit. I'm enjoying myself with teasing you."

"Well, go enjoy yourself doing something else."

"Ouch," she actually sounded kind of hurt and Ryan gave himself an inner scowl.

"Sorry, I didn't mean that."

"Yeah, right."

Ryan felt bad for his rudeness, but it did the job. Amanda went back to bartending and left Ryan on his own. In hindsight, that probably wasn't the greatest decision on Ryan's part, because he suddenly found himself across the bar from Erik who was waving a 20 in the air and being very difficult to ignore.

Ryan snatched the 20 out of Erik's fingers, "What do you want?"

"You to tell me why you ran out of the restaurant."

"What do you want to drink?"

Erik smirked, "Stella on tap."

Ryan moved to pour Erik's beer, rang up the purchase and brought it all back to Erik. He left it on the bar and turned away before Erik could say anything else.

If Ryan thought he could avoid an actual confrontation by ignoring Erik, he was sorely mistaken. Erik took up residence on a bar stool and watched Ryan move about the entire evening. Ryan could feel those piercing blue eyes following him back and forth, driving him more and more crazy as the evening wore on. Every time he glared in Erik's direction, there were those eyes, twinkling and smiling at him and succeeding in making Ryan more irritable.

A couple of hours into what Ryan realized was a childish but gratifying game of sulking, he glanced over and didn't see Erik staring at him. Rather Erik was talking to Amanda, both leaning over the counter and whisper-shouting into each other's ears.

"What are you doing?" Ryan didn't realize he walked over until he was standing next to them.

"Talking," Amanda replied.

"Don't talk to her," Ryan scowled pointedly at Erik, who had the audacity to smile and shrug.

"He can talk to whomever he wants. And I can talk to whomever I want." Amanda glared at Ryan with her hands on her hips. "What is wrong with you today, Ryan?"

"Nothing," said Ryan. "Just don't talk to him."

He walked away. Ryan knew he was overreacting. He should have just politely declined the offer and went on with his life. It's not like they were deliberately trying to dig up something that Ryan would prefer to keep deeply buried. There's no way Erik could have known about his past life. He should have just declined, and they would have found someone else, and everyone could just move on. So why was he being so difficult?

He paused with a cocktail shaker in one hand, and the other hand stuck inside the icebox. Why was he being so difficult?

"Seriously, Ryan. You need to chill out." Amanda had followed him over. "I don't know what crawled up your ass and died, but you need to sort your shit out. Now."

"Sorry, Amanda," Ryan slid a scoop full of ice into the shaker. "I just- I don't know. He just annoys me. You can talk to him if you'd like, it's none of my business."

Amanda huffed and grabbed the half full shaker from the bar counter. "Well, it's sort of your business," she said as she started pouring vodka into the shaker.

"What do you mean?"

"He was asking about you."

"About what?"

"Nothing specific, just what you're like and stuff like that."

"And what did you say?"

Amanda popped the top onto the shaker and lifted it above her shoulder with a smirk, "I told him to ask you out and find out."

Ryan just barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes.

The rest of the night went something like this: Amanda and Erik kept up a steady conversation as she passed by his stool and topped up his drink, while Ryan stuck to the other end of the bar sneaking glances over at them and trying unsuccessfully to quash the antsy-ness he felt in his limbs.

By the time the house lights were on and Steve was ushering people out, Ryan was practically bouncing on his toes, itching for the punching bag hanging in the corner of his apartment.

Ryan wasn't surprised when Steve let Erik stick around the bar until the clean up was done. It looked like Amanda was still keeping him company until they both had their jackets and were waiting for Ryan to finish up.

"Come on, Ryan," Amanda sounded annoyed. "You can't avoid us forever."

Ryan draped the last hand towel over the sink faucet and finally turned toward them.

"We're going to grab a bite at Mike's and you're coming with us." Amanda wasn't asking.

"I'm tired, I just going to go home," because the last thing Ryan wanted to do was grab a bite with the two of them.

"You're not tired, you're just avoiding us."

Amanda was right. Unless he had a shoot during the day, he usually was fine going out for a bite with people after the bar closed. Not that Amanda knew about Ryan's day job, but either way he hadn't done a shoot since that last one with the twink.

"It's just a bite, nothing else," Erik piped in.

To Ryan's surprise, Erik sounded genuine—none of the teasing, flirting tone he's used in all their previous interactions.

Just then, Ryan's stomach let out a rumbling grumble, voicing its opinion about getting food.

"See? You want food," Amanda smiled and led the way toward the door. "Come on, let's go."

Walking to Mike's was déjà vu. Erik and Amanda were ahead of him chatting away while Ryan did his best not to stare at Erik's ass.

At one point, Erik unexpectedly turned around and despite what Ryan would like to believe were his fast reflexes, he was pretty sure Erik had caught him staring. The smirk on Erik's lips, and the twinkle in his eye that could be seen even in the dark, kind of gave it away.

Mike's was a cross between a greasy diner and dive bar, open extra late to cater to those who themselves worked at bars and clubs. The music was kept low and the only service available was at the bar. Everyone was expected to pick up their food at the counter by the kitchen and clear their own tables on the way out.

Showing up at this time of night meant the place was packed with other bar workers just finishing their shifts, and the three of them were lucky to snag the only open table by the door.

"So..." Amanda picked at her fries. "What else are you referring to?"

Both Ryan and Erik stared blankly at her.

"Back at the bar, you said 'Just a bite, nothing else,'" Amanda looked at Erik. "What did you mean by that?"

Ryan busied himself with his burger, but felt Erik's eyes on him. He took a giant bite, stuffing as much bun and patty in his mouth as he could fit, and returned Erik's look with one of his own. Erik was the one who wanted to go out for a bite, so he could be the one to answer Amanda's unending questions.

Erik looked like he was going to say something about Ryan's undeniably childish move, but seemed to stop himself at the last minute. Instead, he smiled at Amanda, dimple hard at work.

"Oh, I propositioned him," he turned a smoldering gaze back to Ryan. "And I didn't want him to feel pressured."

Ryan almost choked on his mouthful of food. While he struggled to breathe, Erik reach over and rubbed circles across his back, generating a heat that Ryan was unprepared for.

It only made him choke harder.

"Whoa, take it easy," Erik's voice sounded a lot closer than it did a second ago.

"Are you okay?" Amanda suddenly sounded much more distant.

Ryan managed to swallow a chunk of food and sucked in a lungful of air to re-oxygenate his brain. In the process, he breathed in that muskiness that did nothing to help clear up his brain.

When he was confident that he wasn't going to die from choking, Ryan open his teary eyes to find Erik within kissing distance. His lips were full and glistening, parted just enough for Ryan to want to stick his tongue in the opening.

The unbidden thought was a jolt to Ryan's cock and he pulled away just in time to see Amanda cover up giggles with her hand. That earned her a glare.

"You should definitely take him up on the offer," Amanda said between her giggles. "Looks like you were just about to right here in the middle of Mike's."

Another glare and another bite—smaller this time.

"No pressure, really," Erik had turned to his own food and Ryan couldn't help but watch his lips stretch to accommodate the tall burger.

"Oh, you've got it bad, honey," Amanda laughed out loud.

Ryan resisted the urge to tell her to shut up by stuffing more burger in his mouth.

Amanda and Erik did most of the talking and Ryan offered up the necessary affirmations when he was addressed directly. Mostly, though, he focused on eating his food, and ignoring the way his body was reacting to Erik's proximity.

Sure, Erik was hot. Steaming hot, strikingly beautiful, and undeniably sexy. Ryan didn't think he had a type—but if his body's reaction was any indication, Erik was probably his type.

By the time they were back out on the street, the earlier antsy-ness Ryan felt at the bar had him practically twitching. He needed to get home and work out the restlessness on his punching bag.

Thankfully, Amanda said a quick goodbye, punctuated by a big yawn and headed off down the street. That left Ryan standing on the sidewalk with Erik, neither of them quite knowing what to do next.

"Look," Erik started. "I came by today because I wanted to see if you were okay. Because it was kind of weird the way you just ran off."

Ryan shrugged.

"And I'm hoping I can talk to you some more about the project. We'd like for it to be a collaborative process. And a lot of it isn't set in stone yet, so if you have any input, that'd be really great."

The way Erik was talking about it, Ryan had to remind himself that they were talking about making a pornographic movie, and not some in depth research study. But Erik sounded so normal, so nonchalant, that Ryan was finding it hard to say no. Why was he being so difficult?

Something on his face must have given him away, because Erik's dimple made an appearance again.

"Are you free tomorrow? Let's meet up and I can show you my ideas. There's a coffee shop near my place where I go to work sometimes. I mean..." Erik's dimple deepened. "You're also more than welcome to just come over, if you'd like."

"Where's the coffee shop?"

Erik chuckled and the bubbling brook sound rolled through Ryan's body, feeding the energy itching along his limbs.

"Upper West Side. Amsterdam and 110^th. Hungarian Café. 10:30?"

Ryan frowned. That wasn't a neighborhood that he'd been to in a long time; it was a neighborhood he'd actively avoided for the past three years. Ryan had no interest in returning there, but before he could say anything, Erik was already walking away.

*****

Ryan climbed up subway steps and breathed a breath of crisp fall air. All around him were students with book bags, academic discussions floating in the air, and event flyers plastered across every open surface. The constant exchange of ideas to challenge the intellect; the smartest minds on earth dissecting theories pulled from the messiness of real life into the sterility of the ivory tower.

At one point, this had been his entire life and everything he knew. Now, as he walked down the street, Ryan ducked his head and stuck his hands into his pockets, avoiding eye contact in case he ran into someone he knew.

The fact that Erik lived in this neighborhood surprised Ryan. But when he thought back to his few encounters with the other man and the references Erik had made in conversation, a blurry picture was forming—one that Ryan wasn't sure he was entirely okay with.

Ryan rounded the corner and spotted the café down the street, with its distinctively striped awning and wrought iron café tables on the sidewalk. He'd been to this café before, several times actually. It was a popular spot for students at the university. Several tables were decorated with laptops; someone's dog sat quietly while his owner chatted with a friend over coffee.

Erik was seated next to the window, reading the New York Times. A slight furrow marred his brow as his eyes darted quickly across the page. The newsprint rustled when he flipped to the next article, quick and efficient, demonstrating his dexterity over handling newspapers publications.

"Hey."

Erik looked up at Ryan's greeting and the grin that broke out hit Ryan with a force that almost felt physical.

"Hey," the dimple made its appearance. "You made it. I wasn't sure you would."

"Yeah, I wasn't so sure either."

"Well, I'm glad you're here." Erik folded up his newspaper and slid it into the messenger bag sitting on the floor next to him. "You should grab a coffee, and a pastry. Their pastries are delicious."

"Yeah," Ryan agreed as he headed to the counter. "I loved their Portuguese egg tarts."

When Ryan returned to the table, Erik had out a moleskin notebook and a pen.

"Portuguese egg tarts, eh? So you've been here before."

Ryan hadn't realized that Erik heard the remark made under his breath.

"Yeah, a couple of times," Ryan admitted.

"This is kind of a local place. Did you used to live in this neighborhood?"

Ryan had decided to be civil to Erik during their meeting, but he was having a hard time finding something civil to say that would also stop Erik from digging into his past.

"I've been through here a few times," Ryan said, but the narrowing of Erik's eyes suggested that he wasn't buying it. "How about you? You live here, right?"

"Yeah, just down the street."

"It's close to the university."

"Yeah, it's convenient. I'm a student there."

Erik's easy admission left Ryan at a bit of a loss. That was exactly the type of information that Ryan was hoping to keep to himself, and here Erik was, offering it freely.

"What do you study?" Ryan almost wished he hadn't asked. Why was he acting interested when he really should just get down to business?

"Art history," Erik shifted, placed his forearms against the table, and leaned toward Ryan. "Specifically, the commercialization of art, not just visual arts, but also performance."

"That explains the study you mentioned," Ryan shifted, too. Farther back into his seat and away from Erik and his watchful blue eyes.

"Yeah, but my research isn't usually about... our kind of art. I just got bored one day, started browsing through random papers and stumbled across that one."

"So how does a... PhD..."

"Masters," Erik corrected.

"How does a masters student like you, end up in... our kind of art?" Again with the personal questions, Ryan couldn't believe what was coming out of his mouth.

Erik shrugged, the movement fluid and graceful, the muscles glided over each other under the thin fabric of his shirt.

"Kind of fell into it, I guess. Isn't that what happens to everyone? I've always been an artistic person, was a dancer growing up and through most of undergrad. Did a little acting in high school and tried to get some side acting jobs when I got to New York. And then I heard about a casting call for... our kind of art, and I showed up because it sounded interesting and it paid well. I actually went through a couple of different production houses before Gary's. He's a solid guy, not nearly as sketchy as other people out there."

Ryan found himself nodding, "Yeah, Gary's alright."

"And you? How did you get into this?" Erik sounded genuinely interested, but the questions were making Ryan's hands sweaty.

"Similar to your story, really," Ryan coughed to get the slight tremor out of his voice. "Saw a casting call, thought it was interesting, and here we are."

Erik shifted back in his seat. "Right, here we are."

Ryan looked out the window as if something fascinating had caught his eye. A line of bicyclers rode past on the road.

"So let's get to why we are here," Erik opened his moleskin and laid it flat on the table.

Ryan refocused his attention—Erik's smile was gone, his blue eyes were clear but no longer piercing as if trying to read into Ryan's soul. This was what Ryan wanted, so why did he feel guilty about it?

"I mentioned the study before. It said that there's an increasing number of women, straight women, who prefer watching gay porn," Erik's voice is even, as if the study was on something much more mundane than porn preferences of straight women.

"But even within the gay porn universe, there are certain viewing trends. Specifically, women tend to prefer story lines, ideally a love story. They want to feel a connection to the people they see on the screen, and want to see that there is a plausible reason for why they are together.

"So my idea is to give them that. Create two characters with full background stories, they meet under some plausible scenario and end up falling in love. The whole thing takes place over the course of a series of videos, each about 40 minutes. I was planning on doing most of the writing, with input from whomever the other actor is, and Gary will direct."