by Allan, S. H.
OUT in public in his hometown, Flynn could be a normal person, but after an incident backstage with an obsessive fan many years ago, he got a bodyguard. He used her when away from home, at any public event, and at all his shows, even those close to home. Many times over the years, Missy had proven worth her paycheck. The name couldn’t be less apt. She was very tall, very wide, and all muscle. She couldn’t have been less prissy. In a matter of seconds, she could flatten both Flynn and Josh at the same time. She was the best bodyguard Flynn had ever had, and he had run through quite a few that first year.
However, by all accounts she hated Josh. She had never said as much, but her cold reserve, her inability to talk to him, and the glares and snarls pretty much nailed it. He tried to convince himself it was just jealousy—she had been there first, and who wouldn’t be attracted to Flynn? The man was a dark-haired Adonis. But by now, Missy should have come to terms with the fact that the rocker was gay and would never be anything else. Josh had always thought she should accept that he was there to stay too, but now he wasn’t so sure himself, and it terrified him. He was absolutely positive the woman would blame him for any breakup, and in turn, break up his face—although, if he messed up and lost Flynn, Josh would let her.
At the break between acts, Missy escorted Josh to his assigned seat in the audience. The bands had a section roped off for their guests, and apparently she thought he was too dumb to find it himself. He was too scared of her to do anything but follow. He was surprised when she sat down beside him. He looked at her face, but she was staring straight ahead, expression unreadable. Damn. Flynn didn’t trust him not to work while at the concert. Or maybe he thought Josh would take off. He sighed and settled into the less- than-comfortable seat.
Soon, the set started, Flynn jumping around the stage like he was on a pogo stick. The band started with one of their biggest hits, “Melting Through a Memory,” a song about PTSD. Then Flynn took a moment to greet the audience and thank them for being there. Bugs Are Nervous began playing more hits, a Linkin Park cover, and a couple of lesser-known tunes. Flynn took time between songs to play to the audience. The fans ate it up. There was a lot of audience participation, and Flynn got cheers when he praised them and the state for voting for and passing the marriage equality law. The singer knew how to work a crowd, and people were screaming along to the music.
Flynn was moving nonstop and singing hard, belting out the songs with the band playing loud behind him. He was sweaty and probably exhausted, but it never showed. Josh thought his boyfriend had never looked sexier, and he sat entranced. When Flynn threw his hands over his head to urge the audience to sing along, his shirt rose above his low-slung leather pants, revealing an expanse of skin, a bit lower than normally shown in public. The smooth white was a contrast to the black clothing. Josh gasped and had to put his jacket in his lap. He was in love with the man inside, but he was also in love with the body.
Throughout it all, Missy remained indifferent, sitting stiffly upright in her chair. Josh asked himself again why the woman was there, as she didn’t appear to be enjoying herself. He idly wondered if she ever watched the shows. Maybe she was used to watching from backstage and didn’t appreciate having to sit with the commoners. He tried to ignore her and pay attention to his lover.
Near the end of the show, something unexpected happened. The guitar and bass players put down their instruments, grabbed stools, and picked up acoustic-electric guitars. The drummer sat back and crossed her arms. Flynn headed to the microphone stand.
“Thank you for being the best fans ever. It’s always so good coming home!” The crowd roared. Flynn waited for the noise to die down before continuing. “We’re going to try something quite different now, and we hope you’ll like it.” There were a few whoops and cheers, but the audience waited quietly for what would come next.
Josh was confused. When Flynn mentioned trying out new material, Josh just thought the band had a new song or two. He didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary. He looked at Missy, who was smirking. A momentary flash of jealous pain washed through him; the bodyguard knew what was going on, and Josh didn’t. He pushed it down when a second thought occurred to him. What if this was how Flynn was going to announce he had a new lover and was leaving Josh? It would be just like him to do something dramatic and public, like invite the new guy onstage and introduce the interloper as his new lover. Josh pushed the thought down. Flynn wouldn’t do something that cruel. He wouldn’t. This time he really was sure.
Josh shook his head and focused on his boyfriend. The band members were picking out a light melody, quiet, more like background music than anything. Flynn was nodding along to the tune a bit, like he was gearing up for something. He looked decidedly nervous. Flynn anxious? During a show? That was weird—really weird.
Finally, Flynn turned to the audience. “As you folks know, I’m gay and out and proud.” Lots of cheering and catcalls followed. “I’ve hit the jackpot and have a wonderful, amazing man in my life.” Josh tried to swallow the lump that suddenly grew in his throat. “When I’m on the road, I miss him so much it hurts.” The fans were absolutely silent. Finally, Flynn moved his gaze to look at Josh. With all the spotlights on him, it was unlikely the singer could even make out where Josh was in the crowd, let alone meet his eyes. Yet somehow, Flynn was staring right at him.
“While on this tour, I wrote a song to let him know what he means to me and how hard it is being away from him all the time. I hope you like it.”
There were a few claps and more whistling, but mostly people remained silent. Flynn put the microphone back on its stand, adjusting it a little. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and let forth the most beautiful voice Josh had ever heard. It wasn’t the half scream or growl or shout the audience was used to. It wasn’t the soft croon he heard at night when he was sung to sleep. It was the voice of an angel.
Josh was frozen, transfixed, as Flynn began his song a cappella. After the first chorus, the guitarists began to play again, but the instruments were soft and distant, providing only background to Flynn’s singing.
The lyrics were beautiful, talking about his undying love, the loneliness he felt while on the road, how he ached for his lover’s touch, and the joy he felt when he heard Josh’s voice. Flynn sang about how frustrating the long hours were. He loved his fans and didn’t begrudge the need for hard work. It was just that he was often so exhausted when he finally got to the hotel, he only had a few minutes to talk to his boyfriend he adored. Sometimes this reality was too much to bear, and he wrote his feelings down in a song instead of calling and having to hang up so soon. At those times, he would lower his head, ashamed for being a coward.
Genuine pain ripped through Josh as he realized what Flynn was saying. This tour had been particularly hard and time-consuming, and rather than having an affair, Flynn was just too distraught to talk. He was spending his time writing this song instead. Josh felt like the worst kind of heel for doubting this man who loved him so much. The feeling with which he sang the song left no doubt.
But it was the beauty of Flynn’s voice, the range he had, and his ability to sustain long, high notes that was the most amazing part of the song. During the dark parts, the melody sank deep in his register. When the words turned to great passion, Flynn’s voice rose higher and higher until his voice hit notes at the very top of the possible male register, and Josh had to remember to breathe. Flynn’s range was extraordinary, and the power of his singing mesmerized the crowd. In Josh’s opinion, Flynn was better than any Amy Winehouse.
Little could be heard from the stage other than Flynn singing, and not a sound came from below. The piece ended on a very high note, which his boyfriend sustained longer than Josh thought possible, and when he finished, there was dead silence until the audience erupted. Anyone who had been sitting was now on his or her feet, and the applause and yelling were deafening.
Josh stood but swayed, dizzy with emotion and shock. Flynn could really sing. Josh had never dou
bted it, not really, but still, he hadn’t been prepared for that incredible ability. He’d make sure Flynn stopped hiding his talent; Josh would make his boyfriend sing to him every night. That was if Josh didn’t have a stroke from the excitement and collapse and die first.
A strong hand grabbed his elbow to steady him, and he glanced at Missy. The expression on her face was unfamiliar, but he thought she might have smiled for a moment. Then she helped him sit, as his legs were too weak to keep him upright. Once seated, he quickly turned back to the stage, where Flynn was looking almost bashful as he waited for the noise to die down again.
“Thank you, thank you. You are all incredible, and we appreciate your support. A lot of people are unable to be out and proud, or they suffer alone without anyone standing by them when they face the cruelty of the ignorant.” Flynn could be eloquent when he wanted. “I am profoundly grateful for my bandmates”—he gestured to the rest of Bugs Are Nervous—“and to you, our fans. You have embraced who I am.” There were more cheers and shouting. “I have just one more thing I need to do. Would you all like to meet the man who inspired that song?” Again, the audience screamed and stomped their feet. “All right, people, I give you Josh Flohr!”
Josh stopped breathing for real this time. He couldn’t move. He hated crowds; he hated being the center of attention. He really hated being the center of attention in front of a crowd. What was Flynn doing?
The crowd began pounding their feet and clapping their hands in rhythm. “Josh! Josh! Josh! Josh!”
He felt like he was going to faint. Missy clutched his arm and pulled him to his feet. The sudden action got his lungs somewhat working again, and he struggled to keep breathing as the bodyguard led him to the aisle. He followed along only because he would fall if he didn’t; his legs were still noodly. When he got to the steps leading to the stage, he could see Flynn, halfway down, grinning at him. Josh tensed his jaw. No one was getting any tonight. His boyfriend would pay for this, angelic singing or not.
Halfway up the stairs, Missy had to put an arm around his waist to steady him as he grew more and more terrified. Josh focused on Flynn’s face and concentrated on taking one step at a time. The singer’s expression was completely supportive. Josh could imagine Flynn was saying internally, “You can do it, you can do it.” Fuck you, Flynn. But his eyes were also full of love, and Josh glommed on to that as he stumbled across the stage.
When he reached his lover, he grabbed for the outstretched hand as though he would die if he didn’t. Flynn whispered, “Look at me—don’t look at anything else. It’s just you and me, baby.” Josh tried; he really did. He was still terrified, but he held his boyfriend’s gaze and tried to calm himself. Somewhere along the way, Missy had disappeared, and Josh gripped Flynn’s hand like a lifeline, taking strength from his boyfriend in order to remain upright.
Flynn adjusted the microphone, and the crowd quieted. “Josh, the first time I saw you, you took my breath away. I knew I had to get to know you, so I did everything I could to make that happen. We became friends. Within a very short time, I knew you were the one, no doubt in my mind.” There wasn’t any sound, so the audience must have been hanging on every word. Josh tried not to think about them and focused instead on what Flynn was saying, which was making his cheeks flame.
“You are the smartest man I’ve ever known. No one can make me laugh like you do. Your kindness and generosity blow me away. Sometimes I get jealous because you do so much for everyone, but I always know it’s who you are, and you could no more turn away a person in need than you could stop breathing.” Josh wasn’t sure about that. He was having a hard time breathing right now.
“You’ve been there for me through everything: celebrating with me during the good times and being my rock through the bad. When I’m in your arms, I feel safe and loved. Every day I wonder how I got so lucky that the man of my dreams loves me back.” What? Didn’t Flynn know that Josh was the lucky one?
Suddenly, Flynn sank to one knee, and all thoughts left Josh’s head. “I want to spend my life with you. I want to be there for you as you’ve been there for me. I want to be yours and you to be mine forever.” There was something in Flynn’s hand, which he was holding out. “Joshua Doren Flohr, will you make me the happiest man on the planet and marry me?”
Josh’s legs gave out, and he fell to his knees too. He didn’t even have to think about his answer. “Yes! Oh God, yes, yes, yes,” he whispered. But his words were amplified by the microphone, which apparently worked just fine picking up sound down there. As his boyfriend—no, fiancé—slipped the ring on his finger, his ears filled with the sounds of the fans showing their support with great gusto at great decibels.
Flynn’s smile took over his whole face, and Josh was shocked to see tears in his lover’s eyes. Flynn gently placed his hands beneath Josh’s jaw, leaned down, and kissed him, slow and deep. If the crowd had been loud before, the sound was positively ear-splitting now. Josh barely heard them. He pulled Flynn into his arms and lost himself in the embrace. He needed Micro’s cleanup service again.
Eventually, Flynn pulled them to their feet. He kissed Josh’s hand and whispered, “Love you, baby, so goddamn much.” The fans were too loud to hear that, so it was just for Josh. He couldn’t speak over the lump in his throat, instead trying to convey his love with his eyes. Then Missy was there leading him offstage. He held Flynn’s gaze until he stumbled, and then let the bodyguard herd him out of sight. He tripped on a cord and she had to catch him. He looked up to thank her and saw her hiding a grin. She could grin? His thoughts left that wonder as she hoisted him up and carried him back to the dressing room. He was too overwhelmed to be embarrassed. Mostly. Behind him, the crowd was back to normal loudness again as Bugs are Nervous began playing another hit, “Digging Her Grave,” about a Tulalip tribeswoman coping with life on the reservation.
Missy put him down. “Congratulations. You’ve made Flynn very happy and that makes me happy.” Josh blinked. Was he in an alternate universe? No, this was too fabulous. He must be dreaming all of this. Still smiling, she said, “If you break his heart, I will break every bone in your body.” She didn’t look like she was joking, and he was relieved when she left.
Marriage. It was now legal in this state. He was marrying Flynn. He was marrying Flynn! His heart soared. He had never been happier.
“I NOW pronounce you husband and husband. It’s time for you to kiss.” The Unitarian minister smiled as Flynn grabbed Josh and pulled him into a tight embrace, proceeding to try to suck his throat out through his mouth. Around them, family and friends applauded and whistled. When they separated, Josh knew he was grinning like a lovesick puppy. His husband was the most beautiful man he had ever seen, the most amazing person he’d ever known. He reveled in his good fortune.
Josh took Flynn’s arm and turned down the aisle. Everyone was standing and smiling. Even his usually stoic father joined in and tossed rose petals over their heads as they walked. Flynn was clutching him back, finally stopping midway along to pull Josh in for another kiss.
Out in the foyer of the little chapel, they kissed once more; then Josh dragged his husband into the room they had gotten dressed in. Micro, their Best Dog and ring bearer, followed, slipping in just before Josh closed and locked the door. Flynn narrowed his eyes, and Josh gave him a sly smile.
“We’re alone.” Josh smirked. Flynn nodded slowly. “We need to take our clothes off to change into our other outfits for the reception.”
“We’re guys, Josh. We only have one outfit.” His husband’s clothing was custom-made and looked more like something Sid Vicious would have worn than the more traditional tuxedo Josh was wearing. Just looking at Flynn in the outfit made Josh’s heart beat faster.
“Hmm. Well, we shouldn’t be the first ones to the reception. That just isn’t done.” Micro barked in agreement.
Flynn narrowed his eyes. “Okaayyy….”
Josh reached for the fastener on his husband’s pants. “I think it’s time we c
onsummated our marriage.”
“So soon?”
“Sweetheart, as soon as I saw you in those clothes, all I could think about was taking them off you.” He demonstrated his feelings by untucking the shirt and tugging at the pant zipper. Micro sighed and hopped up on a chair for a quick snooze. She was familiar with this routine.
“Well, I can’t deny you anything.” Flynn laughed into Josh’s mouth and pulled him closer.
When they came up for air, Josh stopped his husband’s roving hands for a moment. “Flynn, this is the happiest day of my life. I don’t even want the party. I just want to take you and Micro home and start our lives as husbands.”
Flynn laughed again. “Baby, don’t worry. We have forever. You’re never getting rid of me.”
“No kidding. Missy said she’d kill me if I even tried to leave you. She’s one scary woman.” Then Josh grew more serious. He pulled his husband closer and buried his head in his true love’s neck. He whispered, “I’m never letting you go. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.” He breathed in Flynn’s scent; it smelled like home. “You’re my one and only. Now make love to me.” And so his husband did.
S. H. ALLAN has been a therapeutic foster parent for almost fourteen years, focusing on teenagers—which is a lot like herding cats, but a lot more rewarding. Dogs make her happy, and the senior dogs for which she provides hospice have to tolerate a giddy younger pup or three. Whenever possible, she ignores them all in favor of reading smutty gay love stories. S. H. knew writing was her destiny when her classic, Mr. Cuke and Mrs. Tomato, was put in the school library in third grade (coincidentally, along with the stories written by all her classmates). Politically active and socially conscious, with a useless M.A. and over twenty-five years working in high tech, S. H. fits in well in her beloved Pacific Northwest, except for that health conscious stuff. Tofurkey is one thing, but she says, “Seriously, no donuts?”