Chasing Death Metal Dreams (25 page)

“Come on.” Nate bent to shift a floor tom. “I’ll help you guys load up.”

It took a while, even though Mia had a hand truck in the van so they didn’t have to wait for a turn with the venue equipment. Leaving someone to watch on each end slowed them down further, even though they worked it like a relay, heading back as soon as the next person arrived. They left the small stuff to the end, along with the merch boxes. Nate grunted as he tried to fit the last container into place. “You’re sure this all fits?”

“It all came in the van,” Mia said. “Hang on. Let me jump in and shift that cab a bit more.”

Eventually they had everything in place and bungeed and strapped down safely. Nate followed Carlos as he went round to the passenger side. “Hey. Can I bum a lift?”

“Don’t you have your car?”

He shook his head. “I rode up with Eli. Didn’t want the hassle of parking.”

“You’re not exactly on Mia’s way home.”

Nate tried a winning tilt of his head. “Maybe you could drive me the rest of the way home in the morning.”

Carlos looked startled, then thoughtful. “You mean, stay at my place?”

“Is that okay?”

“I guess.” Nate’s heart sank at how slowly Carlos said that. But then he added, “It’s kind of small. Nothing like yours.”

“I don’t take up that much space.”

“And I’m pretty tired, but—” Carlos pressed his lips together and met Nate’s eyes for a long time.

Eventually Mia said, “I want to get the hell out of here. Jump in the back, Nate.” She reached back and slid the door open.

Carlos said, “Hey!” But by then Nate had squeezed in past the gear and pulled the door shut. He got into a seat, holding the merch box he’d dislodged on his lap.

Mia said, “Strap in and hang on, Nate,” and pulled out of the parking spot.

“Don’t I get a say?” Carlos bitched, but not as if he meant it.

“You had your turn. You didn’t speak up.” Mia made the turn onto the main road. “Come on, big guy. You know you’ll have a better night with Nate than moping on your own. If I had a girlfriend right now, I’d be driving and phoning.”

“If you were phoning, I’d be driving,” Carlos said. “Okay. Sure, Nate, if you don’t expect too much that would be cool.”

“Great.” Nate pulled out his phone and texted Eli.

Got a ride with Carlos.

He didn’t expect Eli would hear the message come in, but if he stopped celebrating long enough to check for Nate, the text would be there. He put his phone away and took a long slow breath. “Man, my ears are ringing.”

Mia said, “Earplugs, baby. Only way to go.” She gave him an exhausted smile.

Ten minutes of dark roads rolled by before they climbed the entrance ramp for the freeway. Mia said, “I’ll be dropping you guys off at Carlos’s car.”

“Sounds good.” Nate eyed the back of Carlos’s neck, and the angle of his jaw, lit and then shadowed as they passed streetlights and headlights.

Ten minutes later, Mia said tentatively, “So, Carlos, you told Foster there’s no band.”

Carlos put a hand up, shading his eyes as if the flashes of headlights were too bright. “Well, there isn’t for him.”

“And for us?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t think I know anything right now.”

“Yeah. I’m fried. We should probably sleep on it. But either way, you were awesome up there, boss.”

“You weren’t bad yourself.”

“Ooh, don’t inflate my ego or anything.” She veered down an exit ramp, rolled to a stoplight, and turned right.

“You know how good you are.” Carlos’s voice was thin. “You can always find a gig. Guaranteed.”

“Maybe.” Nate saw her reach over between the seats and pat Carlos’s thigh. “Just promise me you won’t blame yourself for that mess. That was all on Foster.”

“I should’ve auditioned another guitar. We should’ve been a four-man so when he fucked it up we’d have still had a band.”

“Should’ve. Could’ve. We did audition some guys, and none of them were worth the trouble. Let it go.”

“I should’ve insisted he drive up with us. I should have handcuffed him to the fucking van until showtime.”

“So then what? We could sign a contract and then have it ripped back the minute Foster violated it?”

Carlos rubbed his face. “I guess. Maybe.”

Mia shook her head. “Go home. Get some sleep. We can find another guy and rebuild. Or better yet, a girl. Or… not. Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let him get all broody and emo tonight, okay?”

“Screw you, I’m not emo.” Carlos’s scratchy voice was too flat to carry the joke.

“I’ll try,” Nate said. “He doesn’t take directions well.”

“Think of something. Distract him.” Mia turned into a paved driveway and hit a garage control. The door ahead of them rolled up, and she steered the van inside. There was a newish VW Bug in the next stall.

Nate said, “You live here?”

“My sister does. She lets me store the van here when we have gear in it, for safekeeping. I’m
not
unloading tonight.”

Carlos groaned. “Hell to the no. Thanks for driving, Mimi.”

She nudged him. “Don’t call me that.”

They all got out, and Nate followed Carlos through the open door to the driveway. There was a light breeze, and thin clouds flitted across a half-moon, low in the sky. The air felt like rain, but the ground was dry. Mia hit a control on the garage wall to close the door, then turned to Carlos and hugged him hard. They swayed together for a long time. A flicker of moonlight glistened off Carlos’s cheek.

Eventually they separated, and Mia came over to Nate. She hugged him too, fast and hard. “Take care of him,” she murmured in his ear, and he nodded.

She stepped back and tossed her keys in the air. “I’ll call you. Tomorrow. Late.”

Nate moved over beside Carlos, and they watched as she wheeled a battered Honda bike from around the side of the garage, took the helmet off the handlebars and jammed it over her tangled dreads. She swung a leg over, waved without looking back, and rumbled down the drive and into the street. They stood there, looking after her, listening as the whine of the bike rose and then faded.

Carlos said, “I’m parked on the street.”

Nate followed him to his car, and they got in without a word. The drive to Carlos’s place took about ten minutes, and Nate thought up and discarded a dozen opening lines, before deciding maybe he was best off just keeping his mouth shut. Eventually they turned in at a rutted parking lot. Carlos pulled into a space, turned off the car, and got out, still without a look or a word. Nate hesitated, then got out himself. He caught up with Carlos halfway down the walk. “Hey. What’s with the silent treatment?”

“Huh?” Carlos turned to him, blinking, barely managing a shredded whisper. “Nothing. I’m just tired. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this tired.”

Nate’s eyes prickled. He put a hand out and pressed his fingers to Carlos’s lips. “Don’t talk then. Show me your bed.”

“Not up for much,” Carlos mumbled under his fingertips.

“Not for sex, you dumbass. To sleep.”

“Oh. ’Kay.” Carlos turned and climbed the front steps, in through a lobby where the second door stood propped open, and then up a flight of stairs. At the top he turned left, past a few doors, and opened number 214. “Here.”

Nate looked around as Carlos closed and locked the door. It was a small studio apartment, cluttered and dim in the light from a streetlight outside the window. Carlos crossed the room and flicked on a bedside lamp. He turned to Nate and rasped, “You want the bathroom first?”

“Nah. You go.”

Carlos tossed his keys and wallet on the counter, grabbed a piece of clothing off the floor, went through the only other door, and shut it firmly. The sound of water running and a few random thumps came through the thin veneer of the door. Nate turned in a circle, noticing the poster of Jimi Hendrix on one wall, and of early Carcass in concert on the other, the musicians silhouetted, all black T-shirts and whipping long hair and dark guitars. There was a bookcase full of paperbacks, a desk mounded high with papers, an acoustic guitar in a stand, and an old couch in front of a small TV. The bed was just a double. Good thing they were both short.

Carlos was taking his time in the john. Putting his game face back on, maybe, although Nate hoped he didn’t feel the need when it was just them. He wandered over to the bookcase, glancing through the titles. It was an eclectic mix, Lee Child and John Steinbeck, China Miéville and Patricia Briggs, Spanish-language titles by Gabriel García Márquez and Julio Cortázar. The books were mostly paperbacks and worn with use. A small frame was propped up with a calligraphied quote, done with ribbon loops and flowers. He bent closer to look at it.

From behind him, Carlos said hoarsely, “‘
Les diré que llegué de un mundo raro
.’ ‘I will tell them that I came from a strange world.’ It’s a line from a song I used to play sometimes. My cousin made that for me. She was into ribbon embroidery.”

“That’s cool.” Nate straightened and turned. “I wasn’t snooping.”

“I wouldn’t have said you could come in if I cared.” Carlos was dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, his face and hair damp. He waved behind him and whispered, “Blue towel’s pretty clean.”

“Save your voice.” Nate went to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and found a bottled water. He turned and tossed it to Carlos, who caught it automatically. “Drink that. I’ll just be a minute.”

In the bathroom, he peed and used a corner of the blue towel in some water to wipe up a bit. His reflection in the mirror was far from his best, but he didn’t look half as wrecked as Carlos. Which made sense. He stripped down, wishing he’d worn underwear for once, because he didn’t want to look like he was pushing. When he stepped out, Carlos was in bed, sitting up, chugging the water.

Nate set his clothes aside and gestured at himself. “This isn’t like some kind of hint. Do you want me to borrow a pair of shorts?”

Carlos shook his head and flipped the corner of the covers in invitation. Nate eased into the bed, trying not to make too much unwanted contact, but Carlos set the empty bottle aside, turned out the light, and rolled over, sliding his ass in against Nate’s thighs. Nate eased an arm around him, palm on his chest. He could feel Carlos’s heart beating, too fast for sleep. He murmured, “I’d sing you a lullaby, but there’s a reason I’m not in Eli’s band.”

Carlos snorted softly.

“Would you sleep better if I take the couch?”

Carlos’s grunt sounded negative, and he pressed a hand over Nate’s, pushing Nate’s palm tighter against the sparse hair above his nipple. Despite his resolve, Nate felt a stirring of interest, but he managed to hold still and not acknowledge it. That got tougher as Carlos squirmed around, rubbing up against him. “Dude, you keep doing that and neither of us is gonna sleep,” Nate said. He tried to roll away, but Carlos reached behind him, and pressed against the small of his back, holding them together.

“I need— I want to get off. Maybe then I’ll sleep.” Carlos coughed. “But, like this? Can you get off just frotting like this?”

“Try me.” Nate slid his hand lower to tweak Carlos’s nipple, and raised a knee, putting his foot on the mattress for leverage. He was already nearly hard, and it didn’t take more than a few hip thrusts, sliding up along the warm skin of Carlos’s back, to be achingly ready.

Carlos moved his hand from Nate’s spine to his hip, still pulling them together. He pressed his ass back, mirroring Nate’s motions, speeding and intensifying the rub. Nate grunted and slid down the bed slightly, fitting into Carlos’s warm asscrack, soft fabric sliding around his shaft. “What do you need?”

“Um. Hand. I’m gonna rub myself. No problem.”

Nate couldn’t tell if the tightness of Carlos’s tone was hoarseness or arousal or anxiety. “Do you, um, want me to touch you?”

For a moment Carlos froze, then he murmured, “I don’t have much, down there.”

“Does it like to be touched?” Nate took up slow thrusts again, kneading the muscles of Carlos’s chest with his fingers.

“Yeah.” Carlos sounded breathless. “I’m sensitive. Just, you know, small.” He reached down, shoving his sweats lower. Nate’s cock jolted as the waistband dragged down against his shaft and the smooth skin of Carlos’s ass was bared under him.

“Tell me what feels good.” Nate slid his hand lower, keeping up an easy rocking between Carlos’s ass cheeks that was enough to stay hard. He rubbed his palm firmly over Carlos’s abs, and down the thin furry treasure trail. His fingers brushed curly pubes, then some soft skin. Carlos groaned, his wrecked voice sounding almost painful.

“Still okay?” Nate murmured against his neck.

“Please. God yeah.” Carlos writhed against him, dislodging Nate from his asscrack. He kicked his sweats and the covers down and away, giving them room.

Nate slid an arm underneath Carlos’s waist, wrapping him in closer. It gave him one hand for down low, and one to stroke curly chest hair, pinch tight nipples and slide up along Carlos’s throat to his jaw, then down again. He nudged Carlos’s thigh up, and found his own groove again. Really, this was familiar. He’d done it a dozen times with his first boyfriend when Toby didn’t want him inside. Way smaller, um, dick, sure, but he could adjust. He stroked and rubbed, fingers and thumb, tweaked nipples, gripped Carlos’s pecs, kneading the hard muscles. His cock slid and snubbed along Carlos’s sweaty crack, bumping and dragging in wonderful not-quite-enough ways, and he moaned. “Hell, yeah.”

“Lube.” Carlos stretched an arm out, grabbed something off the dresser, came back with a gloppy touch over Nate’s lower hand, pushing the slick between his fingers.

“Okay.”

“For you too.” Carlos worked his hand around behind his back and slid lube-slippery fingers along Nate’s cock and into his own crack.

Nate held still and shuddered as Carlos, arm crooked behind himself, smoothed lube onto Nate, slicking up his shaft, around the sensitive head, and down the space between them. “Mm. Good.”

Carlos pulled his hand free, braced his palm in front of himself on the bed, and slid his ass up and down just right, stroking over Nate. “Move it!”

“Gnh.” Nate didn’t need to be told twice. He took up the rhythm and the speed, foot planted firmly on the bed, gripping Carlos around the chest, sliding up between the lush mounds of Carlos’s ass, gliding, liquid, stroking, squeezing, muscle and skin and lube. He leaned in tighter, until his dick strained upward, slipping and bumping. Lube was good, hell yeah. He humped against Carlos, breathing the smell of his skin, rubbing Carlos’s groin down below with the same urgency, taking his cues from Carlos’s deep grunts and moans and shivers.