The Stars That Tremble (9 page)

M
OST
baroque concertos followed the same pattern.

The first movement was usually fast, something to catch the audience’s attention. It was an
allegro
or a
presto
or perhaps a
vivace
—fast and bright. The excitement of first love, the initial rush of lust. Sex started that way, with excitement and urgency. It was grasping and pulling. It was mouths fused together, licking and biting, nails pressed into skin. It was the violin tremolo in an opera’s prologue, designed to crescendo and build anticipation. It was trembling fingers and limbs, fluttering hearts, shallow breaths. It was music swelling. It was the rending of garments.

No longer able to wait, Mike and Gio tore clothes off each other as Gio pushed Mike toward his bedroom. They kissed hard and fast, sucking and pulling and pushing. Gio grabbed Mike’s hair and tugged him closer, needing to be closer to him, around him, inside him. His desire was the sort of desperation only characters in an opera could feel for each other at first meeting. Gio’s erratic pulse beat like a mezzo-soprano singing the opening bars of an aria that would bring the house down.

Then Mike pushed Gio onto the bed and crawled over him. His body, clad now only in a pair of black boxer briefs that left almost nothing to the imagination, was a thing of beauty. His skin was smooth, not too hairy, tan from the summer sun. He was sculpted perfectly, though he had a scar on his abdomen and another up near his collarbone. A tiny tattoo of a star on his bicep looked like graffiti on a smooth marble sculpture. So, not perfect, but lived in, experienced. Gio reached up and kissed him. He hooked a hand around the back of Mike’s head and held him close while he explored that mouth. “I want to be inside you so bad,” Gio said.

“Mmm, yes,” said Mike. “I want that too.”

The second movement was usually slow. It was an easier
adagio
or a
largo
. It was an opportunity for a soloist to show off or for the composer to pull at an audience’s heartstrings. A gifted violinist could make the audience weep with just the right pull of the bow across strings, using vibrato and volume changes to express just the right emotion.

Gio pushed at Mike until Mike lay on his back on the bed. Gio reached for his nightstand. He realized he hadn’t asked what Mike wanted, but as soon as Mike had enough space to do so, he stripped off his boxers and pulled his legs apart. And there it all was, Mike’s hard cock lying on his abdomen, his balls already drawn up toward his body, and that space between his cheeks exposed and waiting for Gio.

Gio’s mouth went dry.

He wanted to do this right. He got what he needed from the drawer and then crawled on top of Mike, who grinned and put his arms around him. Gio shifted his hips and slid his cock against Mike’s, which pulled groans from both of them. Arousal moved like a shiver up Gio’s spine. He looked down at Mike and smoothed some of his soft hair away from his face. Mike had beautiful eyes with long lashes, and they sparkled in the dim light of Gio’s bedroom. Gio was breathless, powerless against the force of what was happening between them.

He kissed Mike and thrust against him. Mike curled his body to meet his thrusts. Everything about this was hot and electric. It was heady and mind-melting too, but Gio still desperately wanted to be inside Mike, wanted to make them both fall to pieces. He grabbed the lube and poured a generous amount on his fingers. He had to shift away from Mike a little to drag his fingers over Mike’s entrance. Mike moaned.

They kissed as Gio prepared Mike. Mike somehow got a hand between them and wrapped it around Gio’s cock. “Yes,” Mike murmured. “Yes. I want this.” He gently squeezed Gio’s cock as if to emphasize what he was talking about.

When Gio was sliding three fingers in and out of Mike and Mike had hooked his hands around his knees to pull his legs back and was all but begging for Gio to just fuck him already, Gio rolled on a condom and positioned himself above Mike. He pressed the head of his cock against Mike and pushed inside slowly. It took everything he had not to rush this, not to thrust forward too much and risk hurting Mike, not to go crazy and let it all go yet. He would, he would let himself fall apart or be destroyed, but not quite… not just yet. This time was for exploring, for getting to know, for adjusting to the tightness of Mike’s body and the scent of his sweaty skin and the vibrations of his chest as he groaned.

Then he was seated inside Mike and pressing Mike’s knees to his chest and Mike was below him wearing an expression of delirious ecstasy, his eyes rolled back and his mouth agape. Gio wanted to make this man feel every crazy thing that Gio himself felt. He paused to get used to the sensation, to let himself feel and understand that he was inside Mike, that Mike’s big body surrounded him, that this was not just a furtive sexual fantasy in the middle of the night. Then Gio moved.

The third movement of most concertos was usually fast again,
moderato
or a
presto
,
con brio
or
più allegro
. The tempo changed to keep the audience interested, to pleasure their ears and their hearts, to make them sit on the edge of their seats and pay attention. It was loud and beautiful and triumphant.

Gio’s body seemed to move of its own accord, thrusting and grabbing and arching, moving in and out of Mike with the speed of a violin bow across the strings of the instrument during the last movement of a piece. He started losing his grasp on all semblance of grace or control and instead just let loose on Mike, giving him all he had. Mike grabbed at him, sunk his fingers into the skin of Gio’s ass, tugged at his hair, clutched at his arms. Mike threw his head back and uttered nonsense. He shifted his hips to meet Gio’s thrusts, telling him he needed more when Gio thought he had nothing left to give.

There was a tempo change again, everything faster,
vivacissimo appassionato
, all of it lively and fierce and passionate. Gio kissed Mike but their lips couldn’t stay together through the movement of the bed and the way Mike was moaning. Gio reached down and rubbed Mike’s cock, pulling a whimper out of Mike.

“I’m gonna come,” Mike whispered.

Mike’s moan was a long note held, the prima donna’s high point in an aria, that one beautiful note that broke through space and time and mesmerized an audience. Mike tensed and let go quickly. Then he was coming, shooting across his own chest, his facial expression like nothing Gio had ever seen before.

Mike’s body clamped down on Gio, pulling pleasure out of him, everything suddenly more, more…
più appassionato, più espressivo, più pazzo.

Gio flew apart. He thrust his hips one last time into Mike before letting go, coming deep inside Mike’s body and clutching him close. Mike’s arms came around him, and their lips met in a soft kiss as Gio came down from the orgasm.

With one last flourish from the conductor, it was over.
Bravo!

M
IKE
returned from the bathroom and slipped into bed with Gio. He was still reeling from the incredible night they’d had so far, from how surprising and sexy Gio was. But he was sleepy and content too, and he didn’t want to overanalyze the situation. As soon as Mike was under the covers, Gio put his arms around him.

“We’re bad at waiting,” Mike said.

“I never was a patient man.” Gio shifted on the bed as if he were trying to find the most comfortable spot. “Do you regret it?”

“Not even a little.” He gave Gio a little hug.

“I feel the same.”

Mike didn’t regret the sex, but worry and doubt were starting to creep in. The edges of his mind were darkened by wondering what the consequences of this might be. In this moment, though, he didn’t want to think much about anything beyond the way their bodies felt snuggled together in bed. Pretty damned good, as it happened. Gio’s mattress was soft and the sheets were smooth and felt expensive. Mike felt wakefulness seeping out of him as he sank into the bed.

“It’s over soon,” Mike said sleepily. “The workshop, I mean. In, what, three weeks? Emma won’t be in your class anymore. So no conflict of interest. We can lay low until then. Emma doesn’t get a grade, right?”

“No, it’s just a summer workshop.”

“So I can’t be accused of doing this to get her a better grade. Which I’m totally not, by the way.” Mike yawned.

“I already told you I didn’t think you were.”

“Good. That’s good. Because I really like you, Gio. Tonight was… there was something really special about it. Thank you for coming dancing.”

“The pleasure was all mine, believe me.”

“It was a little bit mine too.”

Gio laughed, and the sound was rich and raspy. “I do agree. There’s something happening here.”

“That song the cellist played when we started dancing. It was from
La Bohème
, you said?”

“Yes.”

“What was it?”

Gio sat up a little. “It’s a duet in the opera. Rodolfo is a poet who lives with friends in the Latin Quarter in Paris. He’s kind of miserable, so he stays behind when his friends go out one evening. While he is stewing at home, a seamstress named Mimi comes to the door to ask for a match to light her candle. He uses a bit of subterfuge to get her to stay, and they talk and, as can only happen in an opera, fall deeply in love in an instant. He sees her bathed in the moonlight, and he sings, ‘O soave fanciulla.’
Oh, lovely girl. It is a love song, but there’s an undercurrent of sadness to the scene because both of these characters live in poverty and we find out pretty quickly that Mimi is sick.”

It was interesting, knowing Gio had this encyclopedic knowledge of a topic about which Mike knew almost nothing. “Do you think I’m ignorant for not knowing more about opera?”

“No, of course not. I’m sure you know plenty about topics I am completely in the dark about. Sandy kept mentioning baseball tonight, for example. I don’t think I have ever watched an entire baseball game.”

Mike laughed. “No? I’ve sat through plenty of opera with Emma.”

“Or the work you do. You remodel kitchens?”

“And bathrooms and living rooms and bedrooms. Anything, really. My bread and butter are kitchens and bathrooms, though. That’s the conventional wisdom, right? Kitchens and bathrooms sell apartments.” Mike lazily stroked Gio’s arm. “I like it. I’m starting to do more of the design work and leave the heavy stuff to my crew.”

“You design rooms?”

“Yeah. I mean, I consult with the client, of course, and he or she
always
has a strong opinion. I usually have to work with the existing wiring and piping too, especially in those old buildings, because the Landmarks Preservation people get their panties in a wad if you try to change anything. But I like the design work. I find it really challenging.”

Gio reached over and smoothed Mike’s hair back. “You’re an artist.”

“Hardly. I help clients choose which shade of granite to use for their countertops.”

“You are far too modest.” Gio smiled. “You dance like you have music in your blood and you must have an eye for beautiful things if you help people design rooms.”

“I suppose.” Mike hadn’t ever thought of it that way. He still kind of thought of himself as a construction worker, even though he’d owned his own business for almost ten years. “I’ve worked hard to build my reputation, you know? I work with a lot of high-end clients these days. I want people to want a McPhee-designed room, and I want my name to stand for quality and good workmanship.”

“That’s incredible. What do you think of this room?”

Mike looked around. The walls were painted sort of an eggplant purple, and the bedding was all a soft gray. He tried to judge it objectively. “Too dark,” Mike said. “This color on the walls just absorbs all the light. Even if you got a lot of sunlight through that window, it wouldn’t do much to light the room. If it were me, I’d choose a lighter color. Something bright but masculine. A different shade of purple, or a bluish gray, maybe. Actually, what you could do is put this color here.” Mike held up the edge of the sheet. “Put this on the walls and then get a purple duvet. I like these colors together, but man, those walls are dark.”

Gio chuckled. “Your apartment must be beautiful.”

“It’s all right.” Mike stayed so busy working on other people’s homes that he rarely had time to do much to his own. “Well, it looks like a teenage girl lives in it. Emma’s going through a phase right now where everything has to have sparkles, so she’s been buying all these accessories covered in glitter and it gets all over everything.”

Gio made a strange sound, like he swallowed too hard, but he immediately covered it up with a cough. “I can’t even imagine being a single father of a little girl. That’s amazing.”

“I’m not exactly a trailblazer,” Mike said, squirming uncomfortably.

“No, but she’s great. It can’t have been easy.”

“It’s strange sometimes. I mean, I knew basically nothing about girls going into it.” He squeezed Gio gently. “I never quite got over my ‘girls are icky’ phase. But, you know, you figure things out. And my sister helps out sometimes.”

Gio used his finger to trace patterns on Mike’s chest. “Do you, ah, need to get back to her tonight?”

“Well, if she’s at Isobel’s she probably won’t be back until lunch tomorrow, so… no.”

“So you’ll spend the night?”

Mike sighed happily. He certainly didn’t want to leave. “Yes, I’ll stay.”