Love On The Road

by Peter Styles

  Damian is wearing one of the band’s shirts. It stretches perfectly across his chest, almost tight but not quite. What really catches Jordan’s attention, though, is the fact that the sleeves are gone and Damian isn’t wearing a jacket. I forgot about his tattoos, he thinks, dazed. They are inky and stark against Damian’s skin, curling perfectly around each other.

  “I’m imitating a security guard today,” Damian says, laughing. He’s talking to Sam. “Probably a bad one, though. I’ll sit on the edge of the stage—I doubt anyone will come up, but you never know with drunk people.”

  “Don’t fall off,” Sam replies.

  Damian rolls his eyes before descending the steps, catching Jess and talking to her for a moment. Jordan can’t stop staring. What’s wrong with me? It’s like I’ve never seen someone’s arms before. He wonders, trying to remember the last time he’s seen Damian’s tattoos, and thinks it was probably that night at the bar. He has no clue why, but he’s hoping he’ll see more of Damian’s arms in the future. Just as he’s thinking about them, he sees Damian reach for a chair from the far wall. He lifts it effortlessly with one hand, carrying it back to the stage. Jordan can see the curves of his muscles, even from a few feet away.

  “Jordan. Are you ready?” Jace interrupts his staring, a single eyebrow arched in question. Jordan tries to swallow his pounding heart.

  “Yeah. Yes, I’m ready.”

  “Sure. Well, we’re about to start. Jess is getting the lights.”

  Jordan nods, but he’s paying attention to Damian, who is placing his chair right at the edge of the stage, a few feet away from Jordan. I’m not going to be able to concentrate, Jordan thinks, somehow both wanting to laugh and scream. He’s trying to memorize what Damian looks like, thinking maybe he can hold out by creating a mental image, and then Damian turns and catches his gaze. Jordan swallows his panic, wanting to talk to him and explain—I’m sorry, I’m an idiot, I didn’t mean to act like that – but then the corner of Damian’s mouth turns upwards and he adjusts the chair, sitting backwards in it and resting his chin on his crossed arms. Then, as if nothing has happened, he winks.

  I’m definitely a goner. The wink is all it takes for him to realize that whatever mistake he made, Damian isn’t holding a grudge. In fact, Jordan has the suspicion that Damian is purposely teasing him, staying in sight but out of reach. Jordan can’t complain, even if he does wish he were closer. In fact, it may be the only time Jordan has wanted the show to be over quickly; all he can think of is Damian and how it would feel to trace his tattoos, memorizing them as much as he memorizes the rest of Damian’s body.

  Jace starts the set then, the lights in the bar dim and Jordan has no choice but to focus on the show. By the time it’s over, he barely remembers half of what’s happened. As soon as he finishes, all he wants is to talk to Damian, but he’s cut off when Jess appears to talk to him with Sarah. Even Jace is caught up in the conversation. The rest of the group start disassembling the set around them, moving quickly. Jordan wants nothing more than to excuse himself and help, but Jace shoots him a look that pins him in place. First, I messed up for not leaving and now, I’m messing up if I do. There’s no winning. By the time he and Jace extricate themselves, politely declining an invitation to an open bar, the road crew are already done.

  “Sorry,” Jordan says immediately, helping Kieran peel up the last few pieces of duct tape from the floor. “I meant to help.”

  “We managed,” Kieran smirks. “Anyway, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can eat. And sleep.”

  Jordan feels better, knowing the others aren’t still mad at him. He’s more concerned with finding Damian, though, who is nowhere to be seen. Jordan assumes he’s on the bus but he knows there’s no chance for privacy once they’re inside. I’d like for the world to give me just five minutes, he thinks, annoyed. He doesn’t get five minutes; instead, Jace tells him you’re driving and Jordan is ushered into the driver’s seat, barely able to look around the bus and ensure everyone is inside. He glances in the rearview mirror too many times, finding Damian each time, drinking up the sight of him like a parched man. He feels as if he’s burning in his seat, the desire to touch making his skin crawl.

  He can’t directly apologize, but he knows he should be apologizing to everyone. Jordan isn’t crazy about bringing the incident up, since everyone seems to have moved on, but he knows it’s important.

  “Hey,” Jordan starts, raising his voice a little to be heard over the chatter. “Guys, I’m sorry I was an idiot earlier. I should have tried harder to ditch Sarah—I feel like shit for not helping set up.”

  “Well, you are an idiot,” Sam points out. It’s not a vicious remark; he sounds like he’s laughing when he says it. “And you should feel like shit for ditching. You know what that means.”

  “I don’t, actually.”

  “You’re buying dinner!” Jace cheers, throwing his arms over his head. Jordan just laughs as the others join in, shouting about lobster and caviar. It feels like the world has righted itself, things slipping back into place.

  Almost. Jordan can still see Damian in the rearview mirror and he can’t figure out what he should do, once they stop. Luckily, Jace gives him an opportunity, pointing out that they should get motel rooms before they find food. After five minutes of figuring out how many rooms they need—just two, Jace explains, if we get a single and a double with a pullout—the group finally settle in and Sam flips through his phone, calling out everything nearby on the map.

  “Burgers,” Jace decides for them. “There’s a place down the street that’s open.”

  “Here,” Jordan says, thinking quickly. “Use my card. I’m going to shower—I’ll be driving first tomorrow.”

  “I’m going to call home,” Damian says suddenly. “It’s about time to check in, with the time difference and all.”

  “Okay. We’ll bring you back something,” Jace says easily, but he grins as he waves the others toward the sidewalk. It isn’t until they leave that Jordan realizes they haven’t decided who is staying in which room. You could decide, Jordan thinks to himself. Take a chance. He swallows his anxiety, telling himself that if Damian says no, they’ll be able to sleep in separate rooms for the night. He doesn’t think no is going to be the answer, though.

  “I meant it, when I said I was sorry. I’m supposed to set an example. I’m the oldest one here and this band is my responsibility—if it fails, it won’t be because of them. It’ll be because of me.”

  “Fail? I think you’re about as far from failing as you could get,” Damian says, an eyebrow arched. “Jace told me you’re the band mom, but I didn’t realize you’d get this tortured over one mistake.”

  “He told you I’m the band mom?” Jordan almost laughs. It makes more sense than he cares to admit. Maybe he has a habit of looking out for the others and trying to take responsibility, but it’s because he feels like it’s his role. It was my idea to start the band. “I guess. I just…I know how much of their lives have been taken up by the band. I want it to be worthwhile, you know? Not something they regret.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Damian says, smiling softly. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but Jordan knows he has to keep going.

  “I need to apologize,” Jordan says quickly, before Damian can speak. “I was an idiot, before. I shouldn’t have just ignored the fact that Sarah was flirting with me. I wasn’t interested and it was rude to her and you.”

  “Thank you for noticing,” Damian finally says, looking a little startled. “I…we haven’t really…talked about anything, so I wasn’t going to say anything about it. You’re free to do what you want. I just…wasn’t sure where we stood. I thought maybe you were interested.”

  “I wasn’t,” Jordan says quickly. “I don’t…I’ve never gone after women, anyway.”

  “Okay,” Damian says, starting to smile again. “You know, I haven’t gone after anyone in a bar in a long time.”

  “Why?”
/>
  “Bad experience. Some guy with a partner I went home with in college. I felt like such an asshole.”

  “That wasn’t your fault,” Jordan points out. He feels incensed at the imaginary man for using Damian. He’s too good for that.

  “Well, they’re together now, so I guess it doesn’t matter,” Damian snorts. “Anyway, that’s in the past. The point is, I’m going to be very clear about what I want. No confusion or dancing around it.”

  Damian starts to walk to the room, hands in his pockets, and Jordan feels his pulse quicken. Is that what I needed? Some sort of declaration? He almost can’t believe Damian said it. Even if it’s not direct, it’s an indication that he wants more from Jordan, that he’s going to be willing to try.

  “You can shower first, if you want,” Jordan offers. It’s not what he means to say. Damian hides a small smile, glancing away in the direction of the others.

  “I don’t think there’s time,” Damian says innocently, swiping the key card before opening the door. Jordan follows him in, mouth dry. “You know, they’ll probably only be gone for half an hour, tops.”

  There is so much implied in his words but all Jordan can think about is how much he wants to touch Damian, so he does. He reaches out, feeling like he’s doing something extremely risky, and his hands find Damian’s arm. He’s warm, Jordan thinks distantly. Everything feels foggy and then Damian turns, his eyes dark in the dimly lit room, and Jordan can’t bring himself to hesitate anymore.

  He’s been thinking about their kiss in the parking lot; part of him had wondered if it had ever happened. The moment he kisses Damian, he knows it did. It feels just as good a second time—even better, maybe, because Jordan has been burning to touch Damian ever since he saw him at the show. For a brief moment, their kiss is just as careful as the first one, as if it’s a reassurance that they’re real. That this is happening, and not just some fantasy. The moment passes, though, and then Damian is pulling Jordan closer as they stumble further into the room.

  Jordan isn’t sure where they’re going; he realizes belatedly when Damian makes a small noise of surprise that he’s backed him into a wall.

  “Sorry,” Jordan mumbles, reluctant to pull his mouth away. “Do you—”

  “Less talking, more doing,” Damian says, breathless. “No time, remember?” His eyes are bright and mischievous and Jordan almost stops completely. He planned this, he realizes, wanting to laugh.

  Damian throws Jordan’s leather jacket somewhere; Jordan doesn’t care enough to pay attention. The room is cold and he shivers faintly. Damian’s hands slip under his shirt and his skin prickles for an entirely different reason; Jordan is exploring Damian’s mouth, memorizing the taste, and the other man laughs as he breaks away to get the shirt off.

  Why didn’t we do this sooner? He can’t come up with an explanation, especially since Damian’s hands are tugging at his jeans. It occurs to Jordan that Damian is still completely dressed and he frowns, wanting to fix the situation. Unfortunately, when he pulls at Damian’s shirt, there’s a resounding rip.

  “Did you…just,” Damian murmurs, looking down between them. The holes where the sleeves have been cut off are suddenly longer, the edges rough where the seam has torn further down the length of the shirt. It gives Jordan a perfect view of the line of Damian’s side.

  “I like it better this way,” Jordan says, laughing. The sound dies when Damian looks up, eyes dark. The shirt flies over Jordan’s head, discarded hastily, and then Damian is pushing back at Jordan. He gives as good as he gets, kissing and biting, and Jordan feels a moan vibrate between them.

  Somehow, they make their way to the bed and Jordan has to remind himself that they don’t have much time. He doesn’t think they’ll need it, though; he feels embarrassingly like a teenager again, jeans too tight, pressure heavy below his belt. There’s too much he wants to do and he feels like they’re being sloppy. Damian easily balances over him, legs braced on either side of Jordan’s waist, and Jordan can see every inch of skin shaded in gold from the bedside lamp. He really does have freckles and moles everywhere, Jordan thinks, tracing a path between a few specks with his free hand. Damian shivers under his touch and Jordan moves up off the bed, wanting to taste. He can feel Damian shake under his mouth; he concentrates on trying to figure out everything on his tongue, salt and skin and something he can’t place.

  Jordan is pulled back into the moment when he feels Damian’s hands at his jeans, careful fingers pulling them down. It’s just as awkward as getting undressed on a bed always is, but something about the way Damian never breaks concentration or shuffles awkwardly makes it feel natural. Jordan tries to kick away his pants and Damian is somehow already out of the way, sucking a spot on Jordan’s neck like he’d been about to do so anyway. By the time his jeans are discarded, Jordan is already on edge, dizzy with need. All he wants is one touch, but Damian leans out of reach, slowly working at his pants.

  “I thought you said we didn’t have time,” Jordan teases—or at least, he tries to tease, but he’s out of breath and needy and it’s clear in his voice.

  “That doesn’t mean we can’t have fun,” Damian smirks. “Only one rule, now—don’t touch. And tell me if you need me to stop.”

  “That’s two,” Jordan says, but he chokes on his words when Damian leans over him, breath ghosting on Jordan’s stomach. His hands move instinctively and he has to force them back onto the bed, gripping the sheets as if they can ground him.

  Damian smirks before his head lowers and then Jordan bites back a yell; his thoughts are shattered and all he registers is a mouth at his underwear, teasingly close but not close enough. Thankfully, it only lasts for a minute before Damian’s hands are pushing the offending material away. The slide feels like sandpaper against sensitive skin and Jordan hisses, flexing his hands in the sheets. He wants to touch but he can’t; the pressure building seems to be burning him from the inside out and he can do nothing to help it. Jordan almost wants to argue but then Damian ducks down again and he loses all coherent thought.

  He’s never felt anything as warm as Damian’s mouth. Jordan feels as if he’s on fire, his entire body heated and sensitive. He barely has the presence of mind to look down, trying to see past his heaving chest. When he sees Damian, he knows he’ll never be able to forget the image—not the messy, dark hair or the way there’s a flush across Damian’s cheeks. Not the way his lips are red and his eyes unfocused, almost closed as he moves. I’m going to have a hard time looking at him without giving myself away, he thinks. Maybe he doesn’t want to, though. Maybe now, they can acknowledge what they’ve been leading up to. What they’ve wanted since they first met.

  Damian’s tongue moves and Jordan groans, tilting his head back into the sheets. There are spots behind his eyelids and he almost can’t keep his eyes open; the world is fading into the background and all he wants is to feel what’s happening. Damian’s hands are at his hips, pressing carefully, exploring the skin and bone in electric touches. The end comes in a rush, the white-hot burn of his climax making Jordan cry out.

  “Please—let me—”

  “Yes,” Damian says, voice heavy with strain and desire, and Jordan reaches out. He works his hands under a layer of cotton, feeling the heat trapped within. He barely has time to pull at Damian, feeling the body above him push down into his touch, and then Damian is shuddering.

  Jordan only has to turn his head the barest amount to capture Damian’s mouth again, sighing. He can taste the sharpness lingering there, mixed with his unique taste.

  “I think we both need to shower before they get back,” Jordan says. His voice is rough to his ears.

  “Probably,” Damian laughs, rolling over to lie against Jordan’s side. “Common courtesy and all. Want to join me?”

  Jordan has half a mind to say yes, but he knows that if he does, he’ll probably be too tempted to actually shower. He’s not keen on being discovered that way, either. What about him? He realizes belatedly that he’s not sure wh
at Damian wants.

  “Do you…are you…should I keep this—”

  “Secret? No—I mean, unless you want to for some reason,” Damian fumbles, his blush reddening.

  “I don’t,” Jordan says quickly. Never again. He’s had enough torture pretending there’s nothing between them. He’s not about to start again. “They shouldn’t care. And if they do…”

  “They won’t,” Damian agrees. His small smile is reassuring. “They probably will care if we answer the door half-naked and just showered, though. Come on.”

  Damian rolls out of bed, stretching briefly, and Jordan blinks. There’s a canvas of tattoos on Damian’s back he hadn’t seen before, some connecting with his arms. He’s curious, wondering if he can coax Damian into explaining all of them, but he decides it isn’t the right time. Especially since the others are probably heading back.

  As if on cue, Jordan’s phone buzzes and he checks it, reading the text from Jace. He leaves the bed to open the bathroom door leaning in to speak over the shower.

  “What do you want? They’re ordering for us.”

  “Cheeseburger with everything on it,” Damian says. “And a Coke. Oh—onion rings!”

  “Got it. Hurry!” Jordan teases, slipping back out. He relays the order alongside his, waiting for Jace to respond. We’ll be fifteen minutes, it says, and Jordan smiles. He’s pretty sure that Jace knows exactly what’s happening at the motel. The others probably do, too, now that he thinks about it.

  “Your turn,” Damian calls, emerging in a towel, his hair still dripping.

  He is beautiful, Jordan thinks, watching him for a moment. Damian has a lean figure, he thinks, but his arms are surprisingly muscular.

  “I’ve never seen you exercise,” Jordan says, the comment slipping out before he can stop. “I mean—”

  “You’re probably usually asleep when I do,” Damian laughs, “but I haven’t done much on the bus, other than push-ups and sit-ups. It’s weird, not being able to run.”