Chasing Death Metal Dreams (26 page)

Carlos gasped, “Close. Like that. Oh Jesus, never thought.”

It was hard to pay attention, with his own arousal thrumming in his ears, but he tried to use his fingers in the ways that made Carlos moan the loudest, stroking that firm small rise of flesh as he panted and thrust.
God!
He bit Carlos’s shoulder lightly, right at the base of his neck, tasting skin and sweat, breathing in the smell of his man, and Carlos
screamed
and came.

Nate kept rubbing until Carlos shoved his hand away. Then Nate yanked his arm out from under, leaned back enough to see what he was doing, and jerked himself off in fast, desperate, hard pulls, his other hand tugging at his aching balls. In less than a minute, he came, blindingly, breathlessly, coating the dimly seen hollow of Carlos’s spine with his spunk. He shuddered, his back arched for one more long nerve-blind moment, and then collapsed on the bed. Every muscle felt limp and shaky, and his sigh trembled. “Hell yeah.”

Carlos laughed, an odd almost-soundless shaking of his shoulders, and pounded the bed a couple of times with his fist. Then he rolled over to face Nate, and pulled him in close, arms locked like iron around him. It was too hot, too sticky, and Nate’s face was squished against Carlos’s neck at an angle that made it hard to breathe, but he just wrapped his top arm over Carlos’s shoulders and clung tight. After a long frozen moment, Carlos let go and pushed away from him. “We’re a mess. Let me get a towel.”

“I don’t care,” Nate said.

“You will when you’re glued to me in the morning.” Carlos slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom without turning on the light.

Nate rolled on his back, still breathing shakily, his body limp with satisfaction. Carlos was gone long enough for him to start to doze, before he felt a towel dropped on him. He cracked an eye open. Carlos stood beside the bed, a lean dark silhouette in the dim room. “Wipe up and then toss it back here.”

Nate cleaned himself with the damp corner, getting the lube off his hands and dick and pubes. “Done.”

Carlos took the towel, but just threw it in the direction of the bathroom door before getting in and rolling with his back to Nate. Nate hesitated, but Carlos’s ass landing on his thighs again, bare this time, was a clear invitation to spoon. They lay quietly for a while, Nate’s hand lightly draped over Carlos’s hip, thighs touching. Nate thought there might be more to say, but damned if his brain could come up with it. Carlos was silent too, and after a while his slow, loud breathing suggested he’d fallen asleep. Nate brushed the faintest of kisses over Carlos’s bare shoulder.

This was indefinably different from anything he’d ever known, lying here with the bulk of this man against his leg and under his hand. He thought it was a good different— surely it was— the way they fit together, the way he caught himself unconsciously trailing his fingers and lips over Carlos’s skin. There was a resonance when they touched like this that felt like a magnet locking onto its mate. But still he couldn’t sleep. Vague unformed worries drifted through his mind.

The cat was fine, he was certain. He’d filled food, water and litter before leaving that morning. And Eli was no doubt having the night of his life, out there somewhere. Nate’s absence would be no more than a moment’s disappointment. They hadn’t been joined at the hip since they were ten. This, with this man in this bed, was where he was supposed to be, here with the person who needed him most, the person he wanted to take care of tonight.

He slid back a little, easing his sticky warm skin away from Carlos’s without waking him. Carlos murmured something undecipherable in Spanish but didn’t stir. Around them, this unfamiliar room held little clues about who Carlos was, small pieces of Carlos that he didn’t yet know. He had the sudden urge to get up and check the bookcase some more, to flip through the stack of CDs in the corner, looking for guidance to what Carlos liked and wanted. For proof that he really was as straightforward as he seemed. That for once Nate had something right.

How did you ever really know anyone? He’d had awesome sex with Carlos, laughed with him, talked, dreamed, even cried with him now. But he still had a nebulous fear that he was missing something that would come back one day to bite him.

Nate turned restlessly, trying to banish old worn-thin memories. Carlos wasn’t a cheater; he wasn’t selfish and oblivious, interested only in his own needs Nate didn’t think Carlos would ever just walk away with a laugh like their time together didn’t matter. Those other guys who’d done that to him didn’t matter now.

Nate resolutely ignored the little voice that suggested maybe Carlos was too good to be true. Carlos
was
a good guy. He was worth everything Nate wanted to share with him. Really, the question was if
Nate
was good enough.

Tonight, he was confident he’d done a good job. He’d managed to take Carlos from that bleak failure-landscape he’d been in, and make him come, and make him sleep. Could he keep doing that? Could he be enough for Carlos if KnifeSwitch failed, if things got messy? For three years he’d made sure he didn’t have to live up to anything more than the needs of a skittish alley cat. He’d never yet been quite enough for another man to be content.

This time, he’d do it right. This man he would keep. He promised himself. Bitter little memories of how he’d been wrong before had no power over this new chance at something good. He swore it. Still, it was a long time before he drifted off.

****

Chapter 13

Carlos woke with the feeling that something was very strange, but when his eyes popped open, he was in his own bed in his own room. Sun was filtering through the curtains at an angle that clearly showed he’d slept late. Which was okay, because this was a weekend. Wasn’t it? He stretched and yawned, feeling his throat dry and his arms and fingers achy the way they usually were after a really intense show.

Then Nate’s voice said, “Boy, you sleep like the dead.”

Carlos rolled over fast, pulling the bedclothes around him. Sure enough, Nate sat in the chair by the window, fully dressed, drinking a mug of something and looking at his phone.

Carlos cleared his throat, his tongue feeling gross and coated. “I think something died in my mouth.”

Nate laughed. “You still sound better than you did last night. Here.” He brought over a bottled water.

Carlos was hit with a flash of déjà vu. “You were here last night.”

Nate smiled. “No kidding.” His smile faded. “Don’t you remember? You weren’t drunk.”

“No.” Carlos rubbed his face. “Yeah, I remember.” He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking, to just go to bed and sleep with Nate like that. But what he remembered made him flush with heat.

“It was a great end to a very, um, exciting day.” Nate went back across the room and pulled the curtains open.

Carlos blinked, sat up and stared down at the bottle, paying attention to cracking the seal on the cap like it was a surgical operation. His brain raced through all the events of the day before, the big and the small, pleasure and pain. “I really fired Foster, didn’t I?” he said eventually.

“I think that’s pretty much for sure.”

“I’ve tried before, and he’s weaseled his way back in.”

“Mia will kill you if you let him do that again, I bet.”

“Mia would be right.” He sipped the water slowly, trying to get his thoughts in some kind of order. He felt light, unreal, like a wind could come along and blow him out of bed and right out the window into the bright air. Not to fly, but to drift and fall, buffeted by whatever force went by. He shivered.

KnifeSwitch might be dead.

If Mia wanted to keep going, he would. They could audition, find a new bandmate, maybe two for a fuller sound. Maybe someone who was an amazing lead, and then he could focus on the cello, and make their sound more distinctive. But he had a sinking feeling that her hug last night hadn’t just been shared disappointment, but some kind of good-bye.

He jumped as Nate set a plate on the bed beside him and nudged his leg. “Eat something. I know you didn’t get dinner.”

There’d been fast-food vendors at the concert, and Nate had eaten a couple of greasy brats, but Carlos hadn’t been able to stomach that crap. “Thanks.”

“It’s toast with that almond spread you had. You need to shop. I was going to get all fancy with jam and fruit and stuff, but you don’t have any.”

Usually he hated having people poking about in his things, but to his surprise he just felt a bit warmer. “Did you eat anything?”

“I might have tried the spread. In a spoon.” Nate picked one up and licked it.

Carlos grinned. “Not as gross as it looks?”

“Okay. So it’s like high-class peanut butter. You still need to shop.” Nate trailed his tongue around the spoon again.

“Are you trying to give me ideas?”

“Is it working?” Nate laughed. “No, just playing. Actually, I’d appreciate a lift back if possible. I have to work at two.”

“What time is it?”

Nate pulled out his phone. “Eleven-thirty.”

“Damn. I really slept in.”

“You were cute.”

“I’m never cute,” he muttered. The water was easing his throat, and he needed to get up. He set the plate aside, swung his legs out, and then froze realizing he was completely naked. Like, no shorts, no dick, no nothing. He took a shallow breath and stood. He vividly remembered the touch of Nate’s fingers, the press against his back and teeth in his shoulder and that rush of being handled and used and satisfied in a way that left both of them crashing into sleep. Nate knew everything now. And had made him breakfast.

“I need the john,” he said casually. “Back in a minute.”

He still took time in the bathroom to put his pack-and-play back on in a pair of shorts and then pulled yesterday’s sweats over the top. The weight and bulk of his dick felt like armor against whatever came next. He scratched at his beard stubble and decided to leave it. There was a flaky patch on his back where he’d missed some jizz last night. He washed his upper body thoroughly, toweled off, and went out to find a clean T-shirt.

Nate raised an eyebrow at the shirt. “The Rolling Stones? Seriously?”

“My tía gave it to me.” He grabbed the plate off the bed and carried it to the table with the rest of his water. From his usual chair he could look out the window at the trees opposite; in the other seat, he could see Nate better. It was no contest. He sat facing Nate.

When he’d choked down the toast, overloaded with almond butter, he said, “Any plans for today?”

“Besides asking, ‘Medium, large, or extra-large?’ for seven hours.”

“Well, yeah, before or after. Or, you know, during.”

Nate’s smile was sweet and bright. “I could be persuaded.”

“It’s Sunday. And no practice. I’m pretty free.”
Maybe too free.

“Give me a ride back to my place, and we’ll discuss it.”

Getting out of the house and on the road kept them from having to say anything much for a while. The I-5 toward Lacey had its usual mess of crazy drivers, since it wasn’t three a.m. in a leap year. But eventually the Pinto was cruising at a steady forty-three miles an hour. With slowdowns.

Nate stretched his legs in the passenger seat. “I’ll be glad to get out of these clothes. I stink like a wolverine in heat.”

“Like a
what
?”

Nate quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’ve never been to a zoo and checked out the wolverine cage?”

“Um. No.”

“Well, take it from me, they reek.”

“You’re not that bad.” Carlos didn’t mind the smell of male sweat, especially on a guy he’d slept with.

“So.” Nate hesitated, clearly trying and discarding words before they could be heard. “Last night was okay for you too, right?”

“The part where my band blew up in my face, or the sex part?”

“Dork.” Nate elbowed him.

“Don’t hit the driver. Yeah, it was fine.”
It was amazing.

“So we’re, like, gonna stay friends and sleep together and shit, right?”

“Don’t want to shit together. Gross, dude.”

Nate coughed. “Okay. Got it.”

Carlos let a few more miles roll by before saying, “We’re kind of far apart up the fucking I-5 but yeah, I don’t want to break up.” It was his turn to fumble for words, how to ask what he didn’t want to say, but did want to know. “Does it bother you that I don’t have, you know, a regular dick?”

“Not really. We might have to talk about the sex stuff more, sometime when I’m not about to jizz all over your spine. But everyone’s got something. You are still damned fucking hot. And damned hot, fucking.”

“Mm.” Carlos made a nonsense sound and squinted. The bright sun made his eyes sting and burn. Should have put on his shades.

Nate added slowly, “I might be a better boyfriend if you tell me more, like if you’re going to have more surgeries, or if there’s stuff I should be careful about. But you don’t have to. I think we’ve proved we can get each other off.” He gave Carlos a slutty leer. “That’s all we need, right? To keep each other happy?”

Carlos was going to just nod, but he found he really needed to ask, “So… you wanna be, like, exclusive boyfriends?”

“Aren’t we? I want to be.”

Carlos let go of the wheel, reached over, and for the first time in his life held a guy’s hand while driving him home. “Yeah. We are.” Nate nodded, tipped his head back and closed his eyes. His fingers clasped Carlos’s firmly, until their palms got sticky and Carlos let go.

They drove on in silence that felt comfortable and easy. Carlos thought how it would be, having someone to talk to about, well, everything. Someone who didn’t seem to want things from him that he couldn’t give. Someone he could imagine staying with long-term, and letting into all of his life.

Maybe he wasn’t quite there yet. Maybe he didn’t want to share the kick-in-the-gut feeling of reading “
Doctors complete first successful penis transplant
”
on Facebook, and closing it down without letting himself check out the details. Not yet. But with Nate, he could imagine someday getting close enough to even talk about shit like that. Or about how hollow he felt inside, wondering if the band was dead and he was now just a dental receptionist. Or how he wanted to call home and talk to Mamá and Papá, someday, maybe, if he could get up the nerve… He shoved the emo stuff back down, and took Nate’s hand again. This was good— this, right here, on a mellow summer Sunday.