Chasing Death Metal Dreams (7 page)

“What?”

Before he could answer, the main garage door rolled up and two guys came out— Eli laughing at something his drummer was saying. The light behind them showed the other band members of Serpentine set up for practice. Eli looked up, spotted Nate’s car, and jogged over.

Nate froze. He couldn’t get away from Eli without powering backward down the drive, and his reflexes were too slow. Eli tapped on his window, and he hesitated a moment more, then rolled it down. He carefully didn’t look over at Carlos, although he could tell how stiff and tense he was in the passenger seat.

“Hey, Nate, sorry!” Eli’s model-perfect smile lit up his face. “I didn’t think we’d run this late.”

“You weren’t supposed to be here at all,” Nate snapped, not hiding the irritation in his voice. Living over the practice space for a metal band only worked if he knew when they were going to be there. Serpentine at full howl could make not just sleep but conversation, rational thought, and walking a straight line impossible. There was a reason he’d only fostered the one deaf kitten. “We have a fucking schedule.”

“Yeah, but I knew you were at work. I figured we’d be gone before you got home, but we’re stuck on the new song. The last verse sucks. If you can give us about ten minutes we’ll get out of your way. Or maybe twenty. I want to run through a couple of things.” Eli ran a hand over his head, tousling his long brown hair, and tilted his head appealingly, glancing further into the car toward the passenger seat. “Hey, it’ll be like a free concert, right? You don’t mind?”

Nate winced and didn’t look, but somehow he wasn’t surprised when Carlos rumbled, “And worth about what we’ll pay for it.”

“Hey!” Eli straightened, then looked more closely. “Wait. I know you.”

Carlos swung the passenger door open and got out, leaning on the roof. Nate scrambled to do the same, swinging his door open hard enough to smack his damned brother on the hip. Eli bit off a yelp, stepped back, and eyed Carlos’s tattooed forearms. “I do know you. KnifeSwitch, right?”

Carlos frowned, his dark brows coming together until he looked dangerous. “So?”

Eli looked back and forth from Nate to Carlos, clearly adding one and one and getting at least two, but for all his pretty face, Eli wasn’t dumb, and he just said, “So, you were pretty good Friday night. Great lyrics.”

Carlos’s attitude eased off a notch. “You too.”

Eli laughed easily. “Not talking about our lyrics, I bet.”

Carlos’s smile was grudging, but it was there. “Nope. Your bassist has a great touch, the arrangements are cool, your voice doesn’t suck, but your lyrics do.”

Eli sighed. “Yeah. None of us can write much better than some high school kid in his parents’ basement.” He gave a theatrical toss of his head. “It’s a burden to look this good, play this well, and suck that bad. At least our covers are
awesome.
” His teeth flashed in a white grin. Carlos smiled wider in response.

Nate had always envied Eli that— the way he could get people on his side. It was partly his looks, because being six-two, with great cheekbones and a swimmer’s build never hurts in the popularity sweepstakes. But it was also Eli’s easygoing nature and the way he was willing to laugh at himself that made everyone like him.

Nate tried to be like that but he just wasn’t. Carlos saying “Your work sucks,” would have made him curl up like a pill bug in defense of his soft underbelly. Nate’s only consolation was that Eli was arrow-straight and not interested in guys, so he didn’t have to compete with his brother for dates. He knew very well who’d have lost.

Carlos said, “Do you always flirt with your brother’s dates?”

Nate stared at him, stunned that he’d admitted the date part out loud. Carlos’s chin jutted aggressively, his eyes were fixed on Eli, and Nate saw that his hands had clenched to fists, the muscles of his arms taut under those blood-dripping daggers. Whatever had made him put that into words, it wasn’t a casual mistake.

Eli’s voice was as smooth and easy as ever. “Only to make him crazy. Brother’s duty. I’m straight.”

Carlos raked his gaze up and down Eli. “Ever thought about changing that? You’re pretty hot.”

Eli’s expression hardened. “No. And mostly my brother’s dates don’t flirt back in front of him.”

Color rose under Carlos’s caramel skin. “That was just… fuck if I know what that was. Self-defense? In advance?”

“You don’t need defense from me, man,” Eli said. “I’ve got a gay brother. I don’t care and I don’t tell.”

From the garage, the drummer yelled, “Hey, Eli? Are we gonna wrap this up already?”

Carlos looked from Eli to Nate. “I don’t mind going for a walk for twenty minutes.”

Eli shook his head. “We can pack up and go.”

“Nah.” Carlos stepped away from the car, shut the door and stretched nonchalantly. “I’ve been sitting for hours. A walk’ll be good.”

Nate said, “Dude, still here.” But when they both turned to him, he dropped his gaze. “I guess I could walk a bit. Except I’ve been on my feet all night, so Eli, you’ve got fifteen minutes to make that song work, and then get out.”

Eli slapped his shoulder. “Got it.” He turned and jogged back to the open door. A moment later, the band drove hard into the opening chords of a song.

Nate turned to Carlos. “Let me park off the driveway, and then you can tell me where you want to walk to.” He waved a hand at the street, lined with mismatched houses and sprawling, unlandscaped front yards. There was no sidewalk, and no view. He slid into the car, leaving Carlos to look around, and drove another twenty feet to park off to the side of the drive.

When he walked back, Carlos was staring at the garage, his head cocked, listening. Nate said, “Free concert, my ass.”

“I like your ass better. Although they’re not bad.”

Nate had to smile. “Where should we go?”

Carlos shrugged. “I didn’t mean to keep you on your feet. Maybe we can go sit somewhere out of the way.” He waved at the huge old willow tree on the side lawn.

“Sure.” Nate headed over there. He’d actually spent a lot of time up this tree as a kid, feeling sheltered and hidden by the green tracery of its branches. This time he circled the trunk and sat on the far side with his back against the rough bark. Carlos came and sat beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.

Nate sighed. “Sorry about all that. Usually Eli’s good about keeping the band out of my hair.”

“Maybe it’s a sign we should forget this,” Carlos muttered.

“No! Unless you want to.”

“I want to get fucked.” This time the low voice held a different kind of tension. “It’s been a while. I want your dick up my ass.”

“Oh!” Nate shifted to ease the stretch of his jeans. “Yeah. That’s, um, good.”

“You do top?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Or I could suck you off, like last time. I liked the taste of you.” Carlos reached over, his hand landing on Nate’s groin, gripping him through the denim. “Right here even. We have fifteen minutes.”

Nate grabbed his wrist, pulling up against that wiry strength. “Hands off. This is my parents’ front lawn. I don’t care how many hundred yards back the house is, I’m not getting sucked off here.”

Carlos’s chuckle was low and dirty, but he let go. He didn’t pull his hand back, though, rubbing slowly instead. “So you want to just pass the time for fifteen minutes.”

Nate elbowed him in the ribs and managed to disconnect that rubbing from his eager dick. “By talking, not by making me walk past my brother with a giant boner.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Not happening.”

Carlos eased his hand away. “Spoilsport. Okay, what
do
you want to do?” He turned toward the garage enough for Nate to see the faint glow of the floodlamp light his eyes and trace the line of his jaw. The haze of stubble across his cheek caught Nate’s attention. He’d never gone for the rough look before, but on Carlos it was damned sexy. Nate reached out to touch, then pulled his hand back.

“Sorry. We could talk, I guess.”

“Or I could write your brother better lyrics.” Carlos’s attention was fixed on the garage, listening. Eli’s voice moved from rough and hard to smooth and slow as molasses. “Seriously? He’s rhyming ‘fire’ and ‘higher’? Teen girls do better.”

Nate said defensively, “Tom, the drummer, writes the songs.”

“He should stick to drumming.” Carlos fumbled in a pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pencil stub.

“Like what? You can do better in ten minutes?”

“Hell, yeah.”

“Why?” Nate heard his voice thinning, as one more person paid closer attention to Eli than him. “Why bother?”

Carlos’s shrug rubbed their shoulders together. “Because I can. Because there are still ten minutes before I can make you come like a rocket.” He hesitated, then blew out a sigh. “Because if he owes me a song, I’ll trust him better not to spread gossip around the scene.”

“Oh.” Nate kept silent as Carlos turned the notebook to catch the faint light, scribbled, listened, scribbled again. Eventually Nate said, “Would it be that bad, to be out?”

“Wouldn’t be good,” Carlos grunted. He crossed something out, scribbled again. “You must know, with your brother and all. No one’s making money at music anymore. I mean, if Devin Townsend has to crowdfund his albums, the rest of us are fucked. But it’s hard not to try, so I try. I can’t afford anything going against me at all. Yeah, there’s gay guys in metal. You know there are. But almost none who are out, not rubbing noses in it, not waving flags, because there’s enough asscracks in the audience to make it a bad, bad idea right now. Especially when you’re trying to catch a break.”

“So what do you do? For sex, I mean. Pick up random guys and hope they don’t know who you are?”

“Pretty much. I use Grindr or go places where they like more EDM than metal. A mouth is a mouth, in a dark hallway. Get off and get gone. It works.”

“Sounds lonely.”

Carlos glanced his way, eyes glittering. “Well fuck you. How’s your way been working out?”

Nate almost snarled back, but for once, he managed to catch the words before they left his mouth. “Also lonely,” he admitted. “I’ve had a few hookups recently, but I don’t like them much. Dated a few guys who didn’t click. You’re an exception. It’s been a long time since I was with someone who was worth a second look.”

Carlos grunted. “I think there’s a compliment in there.”

“Yep.” Nate bumped his shoulder. “You’re third-look worthy.”

“We need your bro to shut up so we can get that second, um,
look
taken care of.”

“True.” Nate tipped his head against the tree, closing his eyes. It was calm under the tree, the sound of the band just muted enough not to vibrate through his bones. A light breeze brushed his cheek, and when the band stopped for a moment, he could hear the soft shush of Carlos’s pencil on the page. The band took up the song from the top again, Eli’s voice carrying them. Nate leaned sideways until Carlos’s shoulder was a support under his, and waited to be shrugged off, but Carlos chuckled and kept on writing.

“I sometimes wonder what I’ll be doing ten years down the road, or twenty.” Nate raised his knees as his erection subsided, and wrapped his arms across his shins. “Art’s a bit like music. Lots of us at the bottom, picking up crumbs, and only a few at the top who actually earn a living.”

“Are you any good?” Carlos said it like he was interested, judgment reserved.

“You’ll have to tell me. I’ll let you look.” Mostly he didn’t want to know what guys he dated thought of his art, but he suddenly wondered what Carlos’s blunt opinion would be.

“After we fuck,” Carlos said, in the same conversational tone. “Sex first, etchings later.”

Nate laughed. From the garage, the music stopped and the door opened again with a mechanical rumble. Carlos ripped a page out of his notebook and passed it to Nate. “Here. Give that to your brother. Tell him it’ll sound better if one of his band can do a second voice on the underlined bits, but either way it won’t suck as bad as what he has now.”

Nate took the paper. “Don’t you want to give it to him?”

“Nah. If he really hasn’t told his band about me, I’d like to keep it that way. He may be your brother, but they’re not.”

“All right.” Nate pushed to his feet. “Back soon.”

“You’d better be.”

Nate rounded the tree and headed for the garage. A glance back showed that Carlos was nearly invisible, a dark lump on the outline of the gnarled trunk that only resolved into a seated figure if you already knew what it was. Nate moved faster across the grass.

When he reached the circle of light from the garage, the guys were well into packing up. Eli looked his way. “Two minutes, bro.”

Nate jerked his head. “Can I see you a sec?”

“Sure.” Eli set his guitar down and came toward him. Nate backed out and around the corner enough to be out of view. Eli reached him and said barely above a whisper, “Sorry. I really didn’t mean to cock-block you. Is that guy still around?”

“Carlos. And yeah, he’s waiting for you all to get your asses out of here.”

“Sorry. We’ll make it fast.”

“Wait.” Nate grabbed Eli’s arm. “He did this for you.” He held out the bit of paper.

“He what?” Eli took it, looked at it, and frowned. “Is that what it looks like?”

“He said it was better lyrics than the crap you were singing.”

“Um.” Eli read through it once, then again with his lips moving almost silently. “Well. Yeah, that could work. Fuck, yeah. Although we’d have to change this one line here. Um.” He looked up at Nate. “Why? Is he, like, asking for money or…?”

“How do I know why?” Nate said irritably. “Maybe he wants to help. Maybe he’s showing off. Maybe he wants to make sure you owe him to keep your mouth shut.”

“I would anyway. He doesn’t have to bribe me. You know that, right?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t.”

“I guess. Listen, I won’t get in the way right now, but this is pretty cool. I’m gonna take it with me, try it with the guitar. If it’s good, tell your guy I might want to buy it from him.”

“He’s not my guy, and I think it was free.”

“I want to have the rights, clean and clear. I won’t pay much, but something.”