“Harder. Please. Harder.”
“Take it. Take it deep.” Jalen’s voice was a low growl that reinforced everything about who they were together, who they were in this space that only they made. Jalen dished out, and he took it all in, every rough caress, every mark, every bite, and together it spun into something beautiful.
“Give it to me . . . yeah . . . like that.” Given enough time and practice, he could probably come only from Jalen’s dirty words and him nailing his spot. But from the sound of Jalen’s freight-train breathing, time wasn’t something they had in great supply.
And that was totally fine. Trevor let himself drift, giving himself up to the sensations of his arms restrained by the headboard, Jalen holding him in place with his big hands, Jalen’s cock hard and insistent. He didn’t need a mad race to orgasm to enjoy every second of this.
“Fuck. I’m gonna . . .” Jalen shifted, hooking Trevor’s leg on his shoulder so that he could get a hand on Trevor’s dick. And okay, coming was definitely back on the table, Trevor’s balls drawing up tight at the first contact.
“Need you . . .” Jalen muttered, hand jerking Trevor’s dick in time with his hard thrusts.
“Right there,” Trevor moaned. “Come on.”
“Oh fuck. Love you.” Jalen’s thrusts lost all finesse, and that was what did it for Trevor, seeing Jalen lose control, seeing the moment when all the tension bled out of Jalen’s face and arms, mouth going slack on a groan as he came. His hand stroked Trevor almost frantically, but it was the sight and sound of Jalen coming that pulled the first spurt from Trevor, tipped him over into wave after wave of pleasure.
Jalen showered him with kisses as they came back down, stroking Trevor’s hair and face.
“Oof.” He was a bit abrupt in his pullout, though, and Trevor couldn’t hide the grimace.
“Oh shit. Did I hurt you?”
“A little sensitive. That’s all. You were amazing.” Trevor stroked Jalen’s jaw after he took care of the condom and lay back down. “Did you . . . like it?”
Please say yes.
“It was different.” Jalen smiled. “Definitely not what I expected. In a good way.”
“Good.” Trevor kissed him. His old friends, guilt and shame, kind of lurked at the edge of his consciousness, but he kept his focus on Jalen, on this happy place between them. Those after-sex feelings had become a lot easier to deal with in the last week. Not gone entirely, but manageable now.
“You’d want to do it again?” he asked Jalen.
“Oh yeah.” Jalen laughed. “Is it okay if I say that rubbing off might still be my favorite, though? And going down on you. I like it all. Love the sounds you make while I fuck you, though.” He gave a mock shiver. “That’s hella hot. Yeah. I’d want a repeat.”
“Good.” Trevor nuzzled into his arms. “And I liked it far better this time. Felt so different with you.”
“Kind of like it was both of our first time?” Jalen sounded pleased at that thought.
“Exactly like that. It was different because it was us. And it’s up to us how much we do that. I still love all the other stuff, too.”
“It really feels good? Up inside, I mean?”
“No electric eels buzzing me.” Trevor laughed, still loving how Jalen described prostate stimulation.
“Huh. I guess I’ll find out sometime,” Jalen mused, not sounding put out by this prospect at all.
“You’re interested in switching?” Trevor propped himself up on an elbow, trying to see whether guilt was motivating Jalen, but all he saw was curiosity.
“Well, not right now. But someday, yeah.” He gave a sheepish smile. “I figure on being with you a good long time. We’ll get around to that at some point in the next decade. After all, anything that gets you so worked up, I should probably try once.”
Trevor’s brain shorted out on the word decade. “You want to be with me that long?”
“Uh yeah.” Jalen’s smile fell away. “You don’t?”
“I do. I love you.” Trevor stroked Jalen’s warm and sweaty chest. “Love you so much. I worry about the future, though. What’ll happen if we don’t win this thing?”
“We’ll find a way.” Jalen’s voice was sure and steady. “But to be sure, let’s do it. Let’s win. Let’s keep singing together forever. You make me want that.”
“I want that, too.” Trevor let Jalen kiss him, let himself drift on the fantasy of a future of making music together, however uncertain that was.
Chapter Twenty-four
@NewDirectionShow Happy Fourth of July and Happy End of Week Four to all our groups! Here’s to a great Week Five!
@StandOutTrevor Check us out! Here’s the four of us exploring DC! Happy Birthday America!
@StandOutJalen With my guy, ready for some explosions . . .
“Can you guys see okay?” someone asked as all the performers jockeyed for space, grand finale done, everyone waiting for the fireworks. Postperformance adrenaline still surged through Jalen. They’d killed it, sounding even better than the dress rehearsal. Their cohesion and unity improved every time they sang together, and Jalen could hear little signatures emerging in their presentation—the way Trevor attacked the bridge, Carter’s tone, Carson’s scary ability to harmonize even when someone else flubbed. And him—Jalen had a signature sound, too. He’d had part of the lead on both songs. To think, when he’d arrived he’d figured he might rap here and there—he’d never pictured delivering a song to tens of thousands. Never let himself have that dream.
People online were starting to call him the showman of the group. If that meant feeling like he was born to perform, made to have the music flowing through him, dancing for the crowd, then he’d happily wear the label.
“Here they come!” Trevor bounced on his toes like a kid as the orchestral music swelled, signaling the start of the fireworks. He’d been in great spirits all day—exploring the National Mall with Jalen, Carter, and Carson in the morning, enduring the long wait for their turn to perform in the afternoon and evening. They’d posted tons of pictures of them at the various sites and done a couple of phone videos singing and goofing off with other tourists.
The goofing-off part still felt really new—it was like last weekend with Trevor’s illness had changed all of them, changed who they were as a group. It had certainly changed Trevor. He didn’t actively rail against group activities anymore, and he was more open, both with the fans and with the other guys. And maybe a bit of that was the new medications and better food—a less cranky Trevor with fewer big blood-sugar–induced mood swings was always a good thing.
But the biggest change seemed to be this new place they were in as a couple. A strange place where they were secure in their feelings for each other, but with their future currently hanging in the balance, every follower, every share, every viral video pulling them closer to the finish line and the big prize. Jalen wanted to believe that they did indeed have a forever kind of love and that they’d make it work no matter what, but he had a strong feeling that selling Trevor on the we-can-both-crash-at-my-moms’-place plan was going to take some doing.
Better win.
“Look at that one! It’s like a giant cake!” Trevor clapped. His smile made Jalen’s whole body puff up with emotion.
“Make a wish,” he said, already knowing what his was. He wrapped both arms around Trevor, held him close.
“Hey, look.” Trevor nudged him to look to their left. Carter and Carson mirrored their pose, Carson’s arms wrapped around Carter, both of their eyes on the lit-up sky.
“About damn time,” Jalen said. “Told you someone got lucky last night.”
“Yeah. Me.” Trevor tipped his head back, tempting Jalen to drop a fast kiss on his laughing mouth.
“Proud of yourself, huh?” Jalen laughed, but he’d felt that same cockiness all day, like the memory of last night made him walk a little taller, laugh a bit louder. Which was stupid, because he was the same guy he’d been before, and he’d meant it when h
e’d told Trevor that he didn’t think of himself as a virgin. But cherry popped or not, something had changed last night, another milestone crossed together. That was the key—it had been something they had shared together. And maybe the actual act didn’t matter so much. It was the trust they’d given each other, the things they’d whispered to each other afterward as they’d fallen asleep.
“Jay?” Trevor sounded a bit uncertain.
“Yeah?”
“I want to be like them.” He jerked his head in the direction of Carter and Carson. “Not the almost cheating, obviously. But I want us to figure out ways to be together even when things aren’t easy.”
“Even if we didn’t have the show . . .” Jalen finally gave voice to that fear.
“Especially then. Winning would make things easier, and I’m grateful to the show for hooking us up, but what we have goes beyond that right?”
“Oh yeah.” Jalen wanted to laugh with relief. Thank God he wasn’t alone in this scary place. “I’ve discovered how much I love singing again, but I’d want to be with you even if we have to get other jobs—singing with you isn’t all I want from you.”
“What if . . .” Trevor started, then stopped. Took a deep breath. “What if I wasn’t sick? What if the new medicine regimen works well and I’m not such a . . . needy mess?”
“You think I only like you because you’re sick?” Jalen tried to wrap his head around that one.
“You’re a fixer.”
Jalen nodded because it was true. “I like that you need me, yeah. I like taking care of people I love. But it’s not about you being sick or having issues. I like that I can do things for you that others can’t. It’s like the whole show thing—what we have is more than the show, more than what you need right now. It’s here.” He lightly tapped Trevor’s chest. “And I want you healthy. And not hating yourself. And having money again, and all the other shit you’re worried about.”
“You’re the boyfriend I never knew I wanted.” Trevor laughed. “And you make me want to be someone I never thought possible and that’s scary as heck.”
“Ditto,” Jalen said, mainly to make him laugh.
“Think we’ll be able to see more fireworks from the hotel room?” Trevor’s eyes had a devious glint.
“Maybe. What you got in mind?”
“I wanna blow you while the sky lights up.” Trevor’s voice was pitched so that only Jalen could hear, but his ears still turned pink.
“That can be arranged.” Jalen hugged him tighter, tried to memorize this moment.
Trevor didn’t know what it was about flights to and from Vancouver, but so far he had yet to be on one that didn’t have a major delay.
“I’m going to go find some snacks. Maybe something that passes for breakfast. You need anything?” Jalen asked the group.
“Popcorn and a latte, but I’ll come with you,” Carter popped up.
“Americano. Extralarge. Three sugars.” Michelin dug out a leather wallet embossed with a guitar and fished out two twenties. “Everyone else’s snacks are on me.”
“Think you can find me something with protein?” Trevor asked, grateful not to have to dip into his limited supply of cash.
“Absolutely.” Jalen patted Trevor’s shoulder before heading out with Carter. Carson was half-asleep in the chair across from Michelin and Trevor. Michelin had emerged from wherever first-class passengers got to hole up right before their scheduled departure time and had joined them after the delay was announced. He was dressed in what Trevor would classify as incognito—striped beanie covering his bald head, battered blue jeans, and a green T-shirt advertising a comic book Trevor had never heard of—no trace of Michelin’s signature black look.
“Looking forward to the last week?” Michelin asked.
“Terrified more like it,” Trevor admitted. “I want this so bad it’s not funny.”
“When you wake up desperate to work on your next song, that’s when you know it’s real.” Michelin nodded. “Channel all that terror into the music. You guys will be fine.”
“I just want to be able to do this full-time, like Lucas and the rest of Embellish.”
“Forgot you know my pet project. Yeah, they’re gonna be big. But so will you.” Michelin scratched his chin. “An a cappella supergroup and a pop boy band. Pretty damn unlikely from a country crossover dude, but what the hey. I like eclectic.”
“It’s cool that you do this . . . mentoring.” Trevor fumbled for the right word.
“Hey, I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten what it was like to be young and hungry.” Michelin did that almost-a-smile thing again. He wasn’t that old for sure. Maybe midthirties if that.
“Speaking of that . . . Dawn told me about you paying for my medical bills.” Trevor looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers around one another.
“She wasn’t supposed to reveal that,” Michelin groused. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is to me. Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I did.” Michelin scratched his chin. “My mom died last year. Cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
Michelin shrugged. “Shit happens. But back when I was doing the state-fair circuit in my teens, she was diagnosed with diabetes. My family ranched and there was no insurance—back before it was easier to get coverage. Anyway, I still remember my dad sitting at the kitchen table, scared about how we were gonna pay for her meds.”
“Oh wow. That’s harsh.”
“She would have liked you.” Michelin had a wistful, far-off look in his eyes. “She was a teacher before she settled into the ranching life with Dad.”
“She’d be proud of you. Proud of the mentoring,” Trevor ventured.
“I hope so.” Michelin sighed and rubbed his knees. Sitting down like this, slumped in his chair, Michelin didn’t seem so imposing and larger than life. “Anyway, you don’t have to thank me. Just keep singing. And keep healthy.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am not that old,” Michelin groaned and leaned back, closing his eyes. No, he wasn’t that old, but there was a world-weariness to him that made Trevor want to make him laugh. Smile. He deserved more laughter than whatever quotient he was currently getting.
“Oh my God,” Carter said, returning with an armful of food, flopping next to the still-sleeping Carson. “I just had a text from Dawn and you’ll never guess what the final challenge is.”
“I’m gonna go find the head before you guys decide to blame me.” Michelin set his coffee cup in his seat and wandered away.
“You’re going to hate this.” Jalen sat down on Trevor’s other side, handing him a little container with a chicken salad and some crackers.
“It’s a strange breakfast, but I can make do.” Trevor was trying to be more flexible these days.
“Not the food. It’s called the nightmare round, and they’re giving each group a song they think would be our worst nightmare to cover. And only likes count to the final total—key is not to end up with too many dislikes, because those will be subtracted from the final score.”
Trevor’s stomach turned. No way could he eat the salad now. “What’s ours?”
“One word,” Carter said, pausing dramatically. “Whitney.”
The weather was about the only darn thing Jalen liked about Monday.
“There are just divas you don’t touch,” Trevor said, pacing in front of the park bench where they were taking a filming break. They were shooting their video in Stanley Park, the huge park at the tip of downtown Vancouver. The camera crew had wandered away from their pity party, the camerawoman wandering over to the water’s edge, where some people were stacking rocks in Zen configurations. It wasn’t only the crew who were sick of them. Jalen had heard Trevor’s we-can’t-do-this refrain nonstop for the last twenty-four hours.
“And especially not by guys,” Carter added, not helping. “We might as well just go accept our second-place checks.”
“You guys are losers.” Jalen had fin
ally had enough. He kicked the metal rung of the bench. “Who the fuck cares that we’re guys?”
“We tried going funny and that was made of fail.” Carson groaned. And he was right—their first impulse had been to go all sarcastic and do a parody, but that had been an utter mess. They needed to nail down an arrangement prior to heading to the studio that evening—they only had a set number of takes in the studio, and then postproduction would work its magic on marrying the studio version to the park footage. But if they couldn’t get their act together the only park footage was going to be them bitching.
“So we don’t go funny. We sell the hell out of this song. We make it a ballad and we make it us.”
“A ballad?” Trevor stopped his pacing. “Like slow it down?”
“Like strip it bare.” Jalen growled, frustrated. This was where not reading music was holding him back. He couldn’t articulate what he meant. If they didn’t try to copy the original up-tempo beat of “So Emotional,” they might have a better shot of doing something that wouldn’t get panned. “Okay, pretend I’m Trev.”
“That’s not possible,” Carter deadpanned.
“I’m serious.” Jalen looked away, hummed to try to find the place in his head where the perfect arrangement lay. He could almost see it. He didn’t have a tenth of Trevor’s range, so they were just going to have to imagine how good this could be. Imagine. That was it. All the uncertainty of the last few weeks. All the doubts. The deep, abiding conviction undercutting all of it that Trevor was the one for him. He sang, letting all of that out.
“Oh wow,” Trevor breathed as Jalen finished.
“Now imagine some trills and your falsetto,” Jalen commanded. “Imagine you singing with everything. You don’t have to fight the diva. Channel her.”
“Channel my inner diva?” Trevor worried his lower lip. “I’m not sure I have one—but I’ll try. For you.”
“For us,” the other two chimed in.
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