Have A Little Faith In Me (22 page)

“Fuck me,” Rocky ordered him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Rocky reached for his own pants, and Dex helped, four hands yanking them down.

Dex laughed.  “You’re in long johns.  And you’re making fun of my tighty whities.”

“They’re not long johns.  They’re thermal underwear.  And I was cold.”

“Not for long,” Dex promised.

Rocky reached for the bedside table, and opened the drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. 

“Oh, you were ready, weren’t you?”

“Hell yeah.”  Rocky’s eyes didn’t leave his as he squeezed some lube onto his hand and reached down, slipping a finger into his asshole, then reaching for Dex’s cock.

“I’m tested, I’m negative, all that…I know you’re safe,” he smiled.  “Sleeping with virgins and all that.”

Dex laughed.  “So…how many men have you been with,” Dex said.  “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I don’t mind at all.  I’ve been with two men.  That’s it.  More than once with each, a lot more.  But just two.”

“You weren’t looking for casual sex, then.”  Dex’s hardon rested against Rocky’s ass crack, ready but patient.  “You wanted…more.”

“Yeah…yeah I did.  I didn’t just want to get my rocks off, that wasn’t enough for me.  I wanted
passion
.  I wanted something…so intense it just…vaporized ordinary life.  Blew it away …”

Dex nodded.  “Yeah.”  That was what he’d never felt with a girl. 
Passion.
  The fierce desire to merge his flesh into another’s, to smash their atoms together so hard that the result was nuclear fusion.

He took Rocky’s wrists, and pinned them back above his head.  The look in Rocky’s eyes told him this was the right decision.  This tough little guy, this scrapper, this strong defiant survivor, wanted to submit to him.  Wanted a place where he could relax, be safe, let someone else take over, do the hard work of protecting him…

Dex pressed the head of his cock against Rocky’s asshole, wondering if he was doing it right.

Rocky saw the flicker on his face.  “That’s it.  You got it.  Just push.  Straight ahead.”

He pushed.  He passed the barrier, the powerful muscle of Rocky’s sphincter slipping down his cock like a ring onto his finger.  Rocky’s eyes widened.  “Oh fuck!”

“Too much?”

“No.  No no no.  But it’s been a while.  Stop there for a minute.”

Dex leaned down and kissed him, on the lips, on the brow, on the chin, on the cheek, giving Rocky what he knew he really needed – confirmation, that this was love, boundless, accepting, giving.

Rocky groaned and Dex felt him relax.  He pushed in farther.  Rocky sighed.  “That’s it.  Give me all of it now...omigod you’re huge.”

Dex grinned.  “Yeah?  That’s workin’ out for you?”

“Hell yeah.” Rocky arched his hips, pushing himself onto the last of Dex’s cock. 

Dex sighed.  It was strange, that here he was, filling Rocky’s body with so much of himself, and yet he felt filled… this union was filling his own empty place, the hollow in his guts where the ache had been, the desire, the…

“I’ve been so lonely,” Dex blurted suddenly.  “I had no idea.”

“I know,” Rocky said.  “You’re not alone anymore.”

“No?”

“No.”

“This isn’t a fling?”

“Hell no.  This is it, man.  This is the shit.  The real thing.”

Dex nodded.  Smiled.  “Okay then.”  And he began to move his hips, exploring Rocky’s ass with his cock, testing his resistance, his endurance.

“You’re inside me now,” Rocky whispered, and Dex knew what he meant.  The words inflamed him, and he began moving faster.  He grabbed at Rocky, his hands going from his shoulders, to his ankles, to his hips, pushing him around from one position to another, both of them urgently seeking the position that would get Dex in deepest.

When his orgasm came, it
was
like fusion.  How often had he just retreated inside himself when the orgasm came, forgetting the girl he was with and focusing only on the release, the moment of forgetting…

He didn’t want to forget now.  He wanted to see Rocky’s face, pain and pleasure indistinguishable on his features.  He wanted his eyes open, he wanted Rocky’s eyes on his. 

“Look at me.  Don’t let go,” he said.

Rocky knew what he meant, and held his gaze.  Dex thrust slower, trying to prolong his own agony, to make this moment last, their first time, to make it last forever.

Then there was no more holding it back.  He nearly whimpered as his dick began to pulse inside Rocky.

“Now!” Rocky said.  “Hard, now, give it to me.”

Dex growled like an animal and let go, forgot care, forgot caution and pounded away, Rocky’s cries of “Yeah, yeah!” egging him on.

Dex felt turned inside out by the force of his orgasm, every nerve on his skin so alive to the touch of Rocky’s skin on his, the heat of his body, the sound of his voice.  It went on and on, till he was nearly crying from the crushing tensions inside his body.

“Oh shit, oh shit…” He pulled out, shuddering at the last slick stroke on his now hypersensitive penis.  He collapsed on top of Rocky, both of them breathing hard.

Rocky laughed.  “How was
that
for your first time.”

“I’m speechless,” Dex panted. 

“Speechless?” Rocky whispered in his ear, his turn now to stroke Dex’s head, to comfort him.  “You’re a songwriter.  You can’t be speechless.”

Dex’s nerves tingled at Rocky’s touch, the love, the acceptance he’d denied himself for so long, too long.  Rocky’s feet wriggled, tangling in his legs, his toes stroking Dex’s calves.  Dex felt himself stirring again already.  He reached under Rocky, cupped his ass cheeks in his big hands.

“Well, maybe I’ll let body language do the talking tonight…”

“Thank you,” Dex said to the bar’s small but enthusiastic audience.  “Really appreciate your coming out tonight.  It’s really hard to get a slot on this stage, you know.  I had to do a lot to prove myself to the owner,” he grinned.

Raucous laughter and whoops were the reply.  Everyone knew Rocky was the club’s owner.

Dex tipped his hat in the direction of the rear tables.  He could see Rocky in the back of the club, raising a glass to him and grinning.  Even if the lights had been in his eyes, he’d have known Rocky was there.  He was always there for Dex.  Sketching his lover on a drawing pad, drawing him on stage, over and over.

Settling in Austin had made perfect sense for the new couple.  It was a musical capital, and the ideal place for Dex to launch his new “alt country” career.  And despite everything, Dex hadn’t wanted to leave the South entirely. 

“I can’t see myself in New York City,” Dex had said to Rocky one night, the lovers entwined after another long session of making up for lost time.  “It would be like…Midnight Cowboy or something.”

Rocky laughed.  “Aww, Joe Buck, that’ll be my new nickname for you.”  He sobered.  “I’m not going back to Redneckistan, Dex.  Fuck those stupid bigots.  Fuck all of them.” 

Dex felt his lover tense at the thought.  It was easy enough to flip him over, and mount Rocky’s hips like a saddle on a horse.  He started massaging his traps and shoulders.  “Whoa, Nellie.  Easy now.  We’ll work it out.”

And they had.  Austin was where they’d met, it was a place they both knew and liked, and was as much a part of Texas as…well, if Texas was always making noises about seceding from the Union, Austin had already seceded from Texas. 

Getting out of his contract with Sam Griggs had been the hard part.  Which had surprised him – once he and Rocky had done the interviews, told the world, he’d waited for the call.  There was a “morals clause” in his contract after all.

Walking through Sam’s offices had been like running a gauntlet.  The chill in the air had surprised him, but then he’d nodded to himself, accepting it.  This was country music, and these folks were good Christians, most of them.  Dex of the Delta Devils
was
the Devil now. 

“Son,” Sam said, “I wish you’d come to me first.  Let me and Janet handle this thing.  Now we’ve got this shitstorm on our hands.”  He paused.  “I don’t approve of what you’re doing.  I think it’s wrong.  But,” he raised his hands, “I’m a businessman.”

Janet nodded.  “All publicity is good publicity.”

“And I’ve been thinking about this whole alt-country thing for a while now.  I want to spin off a new label, Dex.  You’ll be the first artist on it.  You’ll be the star.”

“There’s a lot of people out there who hate country music because of the conservative aspect of the culture,” Janet added.  “Having a gay man singing country music could really be a bridge to that market.”

Dex shook his head.  “No.  That’s your script.  Not mine.  I’m done with other people’s scripts.”  He stood up.  “You can sue me for breach of contract, Sam.  That’s okay.  I can live with that.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.  “If I want, son, I can keep you from recording.  From releasing a record that’s not for me, for my label.”

Dex thought back to his conversation with Rocky the night after their whirlwind of “coming out” interviews.

“I guess I’m done,” he said glumly.

Rocky looked up from the nest he’d made for his head on Dex’s chest.  “Done what?”

“My career.  Over and done.”

Rocky shook his head.  “I do not believe what I’m hearing.”

“What?  You think the good old boys are gonna come out now to hear me sing about beer and wheelin’?”

“No.  But you…those songs, ’39.5’ and ‘I’m a Gonna.’  Those are fucking…Springsteen level songwriting.  Your musicianship, the way you played on ‘Wicked Game.’  You…Jesus H. Christ, Dex, do you think I fell in love with you because you’re a big handsome old horse?”

Dex squeezed Rocky’s ass.  “You fell in lust with me ‘cause of that.”

Rocky’s stern look didn’t change.  “You,” he said, stabbing Dex in the chest.  “Are.  Good.  So fucking good.  And now, you go back there.  Back to those songs you wrote for yourself.  Back to the songs you wrote before the machine took you over.  That’s who you really are, Dex.  That’s who you’re going to be again.”

And thanks to that conversation, Dex was ready for Sam Griggs, and anything he could throw.

“I know you can,” Dex agreed.  “But you can’t stop me from performing.  You can’t stop me from writing my songs and singing ‘em.  Or stop people from recording those songs on their phones and putting it on YouTube and making me bigger than any marketing department, begging your pardon, Miss Janet, could ever do to sell out my shows.”  He smiled.  “You stop me from recording.  Go on, then.  And see what that does to
your
image.”

Sam laughed.  “God damn, son, you have come a long way since that teenage kid walked in here with his guitar and a handful of earnest songs.”  He pulled a document from a folder on his desk and signed it with a flourish.  “Here,” he said, pushing it across the desk.  “You’re done.  Good luck.”

Dex exchanged guitars for the next number.  “This is a song I haven’t sung before.  It’s a surprise.  For all of you, of course.  But for someone out there in particular…”

Rocky and his band sat in the owner’s booth, at the back of the bar.  He looked up from signing an autograph for a fan at the sound of Dex’s words and smiled.

He’d known Dex was working on something secret.  They’d bought a place on Lake Austin, and built a little studio on the property, separate from the main house.  Dex had been out there a lot, with a tie hung on the studio’s front door – their private joke, now, the ultimate Do Not Disturb sign.

He was grateful to the Boulders, and to Korey, for giving him this time with Dex.  This could have been their “arena moment,” the big transition to the big touring money.  But that would have also meant a grueling schedule, always on the road, always in a hotel somewhere, for months at a time. 

He couldn’t do it, not now.  After all this time, to have found what he’d found with Dex…he had to have him every night.  At least for now. 

On the bright side, that meant they spent a lot of time writing and recording.  Which, between piracy and Spotify, was the least profitable part of a musician’s work.  But it was enough, and the others had found that they also liked having roots, settling in somewhere, doing regional tours and TV guest spots.

“And,” Korey added now, “the best thing is, the harder it is to see you live, the more we sell out the venues you do play.”  He sighed, looking around at the small audience.  “I just wish you guys had bought a bigger bar…”

Rocky stopped him.  “Hold up.  I want to hear this.”

Dex took a deep breath.  He didn’t know how this would go over.  Unlike Rocky, he was still fumbling towards…something spiritual, if not religious.  Southern Christianity had rejected him, but he was still having a hard time doing the same.  He wanted to believe…

He got the idea for this song from Kid Rock, and his take on “Sweet Home Alabama.”  A riff, an alternative, an homage to a song that meant so much to him.

The song opened with the familiar notes, some of the first he’d ever played.  The audience was confused.  This wasn’t an original song…

Then he started to sing the new lyrics.

I would look in the mirror

Was I the only one who could see

I tried to say to myself

Have a little faith in me

All the hate and the lies

Were all I could believe

Then I met you and nearly died

Cause you had a little faith in me

Rocky was overwhelmed by what came up, what came out of him, as he listened to the song.  This simple act, someone writing a song for him…nobody had ever…

He hated tears.  Hated  the pain that caused them.  It had never occurred to him that he might cry for joy someday.

Dex’s eyes were on his, grave and serious.

And when I thought I’d lost it all

You’re the one who was there for me

When I had no faith in myself

You had a little faith in me

Rocky got up, moved like a man possessed, to join his lover on stage for the first time since their duet, their contest, a million years ago now it seemed. 

Dex smiled his thousand watt smile at Rocky.  Someone tossed him a microphone.

Together they sang the chorus, as one.

You had a little faith in me

You had a little faith in me….

THE END

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