by Anna Zabo
“God, Ray. You’re such a fucking miracle.” There was still the edge of abandonment in Zavier’s voice.
Ray had no idea what to make of that statement.
Zavier pulled out and Ray shifted. “I should—” Get up, or at least get off of Zavier. Couldn’t be comfortable for him, though he enjoyed the confinement and the burn against his ass.
“No. Stay.” Wasn’t so much a command as a plea. “I like you here, like this.” There was a softness in Zavier’s voice Ray’d not heard before. He relaxed against the hard, warm body beneath him. Somewhere along the line, Zavier tossed the condom off the side of the bed.
“Poor rug,” Ray said.
“I’m sure its seen worse, or the same. Hotels are liminal spaces.”
He snorted. Couldn’t help it. “You say the strangest things sometimes.”
“No more than you.” A press of lips and enough admiration that heat rose to Ray’s cheeks. “Singer and songwriter.”
“I’m—”
“Shush, Ray. Just let me hold you.”
Both their breathing evened out. The morning and the night before tumbled through Ray, heavy but comforting. Zavier’s arms were loose around him, one warm hand near his cock and the other idly stroking near his nipple. Pleasant little shocks cascaded down Ray’s limbs. Heat and light. Splinters of color. He hummed the notes and felt Zavier inhale.
“Will you sing for me, Ray?” A rough whisper, full of those emotions Ray still couldn’t name.
“What song?”
Zavier stilled. “A new one. Something no one has heard before.”
Ray shivered in his strong arms. “You’ve heard pieces.” Helped puzzle out the beats in his head. Listened when he needed an outlet.
Zavier kissed the back of Ray’s neck. A request without words.
So Ray sang the lyrics that had been dancing in his mind for days. Chased the colors and movement and sounds.
In the heat of summer
We were gods of a thousand dreams
In the night of winter
We were dust and ash
Where did the light we held go
Strands of silver and gold
When will we meet the sun again?
Stretch out your arms toward the moon
Sing to your soul to find the room
Dare to dream
Scream out loud
Dare to be
Who you are
When the last note faded, his voice was as rough as Zavier’s had been. “That’s all I have.”
“Oh, Ray.” Those hands drew them tighter together. “That’s glorious.”
“It’s ‘Dare to Be.’”
“I know.” Zavier’s breath ghosted across the back of his neck. “Ray, what do you see when the music’s in your head?”
He found Zavier’s hand on his hip, and twined their fingers. “Colors. Shapes. If I close my eyes, I see the music dancing.”
“And what do you see when you sing ‘Dare to Be’?”
He shivered against Zavier and felt more than heard the soft moan in response. Wasn’t sexual, but so intimate. They could stay like this forever, the two of them. “Red. Deep red, like good wine. And blue, like the sky in summer, dotted among the red. They move and twist and everything turns to crystal and light.”
Zavier kissed his neck. “Thank you.” Such reverence and joy.
Ray closed his eyes and tried to etch this perfection into his mind before it slipped away. Because of course, it would.
That happened when the alarm on Zavier’s phone chirped. A sigh from beneath him. “Time to get up. We need to be washed, packed, dressed, and back on the bus in an hour.”
Ray groaned in frustration. But they both moved and separated as they hurried to get ready.
Still, the warmth in Ray’s soul didn’t abate, and burgundy and bright blue danced in his head.
Chapter Twenty
Ray’s ass was sore enough that dancing tonight was going to be interesting, but it was the Hollywood Bowl and fuck if he wouldn’t give it his all. Still, he had to survive the bus ride there, enduring Zavier’s placid and knowing smile, Mish’s smirk, and Dom’s blush. Guess sound traveled. Well, oops. A large part of him didn’t care because he’d enjoyed himself. The other part was still absorbing what Zavier had told him—that he was aromantic.
So much of their relationship snapped into focus, and lingering doubts about the future drifted away. Zavier didn’t want this to end. If anything, he wanted to extend their partnership longer.
Hope slipped into Ray, soothing away fear. They could be together, be friends, make music, have sex and play. He could kneel for Zavier and sleep next to him. Ray could love Zav and...
Since Zavier’s legs were tangled in his, Ray felt the exact moment when he tensed. “Shit,” Zavier muttered while staring at his tablet. He tapped and swiped and his frown deepened, then swung his legs around to sit up, and Ray lost that warmth and connection. “Fuck!”
“What?” They all said the word—him, Dom, and Mish—at nearly the same time.
Zavier was trembling, and given his expression, it was from anger. He silently handed his tablet over to Ray.
He braced himself mentally, then looked. Another photo, this one taken through sheers of a window. It took Ray several seconds to puzzle out what he was looking at—a man in the throes of passion. Naked, though the photo was blurry enough to keep it from being explicit. Another figure lurking behind. Cold terror shot through him, because Ray was the man in the photo. That was Zavier behind him.
They could deny it, he guessed, but, fuck he was shitty at lying. “This—this is from Houston.”
“Yes.” Zavier’s answer was clipped and precise.
“But we were twenty floors up!”
“Maybe a drone. Maybe a photographer in another room.” Zavier stood and paced to the berths, then back. “Someone knew exactly where your room was.”
“That’s creepy,” Dom said, voicing the thought running through Ray’s mind.
He checked the caption. Yeah, the gossip site knew it was him. His room, after all. Right hair color. All that shit, but the identity of the person behind Ray was unclear. He read on, then nearly dropped the tablet. The story mentioned seeing a young-looking fan entering the elevators.
Zavier took the tablet out of Ray’s hands and passed it to Dom. Mish read over her shoulder. “Fuck,” she murmured.
Ray looked up at Zavier. “How’d you find that?”
Zavier sighed. “A friend sent it to me. She—looks out for me.”
“Your elusive mentor?” Dom again.
Zavier nodded. “Nadia Rudd.”
That should have come as a shock. Maybe would have, had Ray’s mind not been fixated on that photo and the article. But it also made some kind of sense that the woman best known for escorts and sex parties would have been a mentor to Zavier.
That she was helping Zav—warning him—also spoke volumes.
“Who’s the other guy?” Mish asked.
Zavier sat down. “Thankfully, that’s me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is not what you—what we need right now.”
“No kidding.” Finally Ray’s anger rose. “Why now? It’s been weeks!”
Zavier shook his head. “Doesn’t make sense. No one sits on something like that.”
Ray could only blow out a breath and stare up at the ceiling of the bus. No use asking what he should do—there really wasn’t anything to do. “At least we know. I’d hate to be blindsided by this from Carl.”
“Oh god, that shitfucker’s gonna have a field day.” Mish handed the tablet back to Zavier.
Yeah, he would. “I don’t understand why no one’s contacted us. I mean, yeah, Carl’s an asshole, but the rest of the label?” This wasn’t the sort of shit you fooled arou
nd with. “Companies usually get these things pulled down right away.”
Ray shook his head. “I don’t know. They’ve never done a damn thing about any of the shit that’s out there about us. Hell, they wanted me to lie about abusing alcohol, and I’m still paying for that.”
Fucking hell. This was going to get interesting.
* * *
In fact, the first words out of Carl’s mouth when he strode onto the bus were, “You fucking perverted fuck.”
Ray’s stomach lurched and he stood, but Zavier slipped between them. Carl shoved him aside. “You fucking druggies, Ray?”
He froze. No one but the band—and of course, the guy—knew the guy had been carrying drugs. “No, I’m not.”
Carl held up the tablet. “Photo says otherwise.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Zavier said. “That’s me behind Ray, and yes, I’d swear that in a court of law.” He paused. “I’m nearly three years older than Ray and haven’t touched drugs since pot since high school.”
A little color dripped from Carl’s face. “They saw the dealer go up.”
Oh shit. Tension visibly coursed through Zavier, then there was none. “You little fucking—” He raised his fist.
Ray moved, pushing past Carl and banging Zavier up against the wall of the bus. “No. Nope. Zav. Not worth it.” He wouldn’t let Zavier end up with an assault charge, not to protect him.
“That piece of shit set you up.” Zavier snarled the words, his face red, his body shaking. “Tried to destroy your career and the band and—”
Ray gave him a little shake. “You still have the recording?”
Zavier blinked and the fight in him fled, or maybe he wrestled it under control. Hard to tell. He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I do.”
When Ray faced Carl again, Carl was white and red. Terror and anger. “It was you who told that guy to go up, wasn’t it?”
“You have no proof at all.” Carl practically spat the words.
Ray nodded. “It’s true. But we do have a recording of Zavier confronting the man before anything happened, my reaction to the drugs, and telling him to get out.” He shrugged. “So you can figure out how to get those gossip sites off my case, unless you want them speculating about your involvement, too.”
The fight left Carl, too. “I should have never signed you, Demos.”
“You shouldn’t even have a job, you washed-up, out-of-tune has-been.” Rage made Zavier’s words sharp.
Mish cleared her throat and rose. “I think you should go, Carl, before I decide to stick my boot up your ass. You fuck with these guys again, and I won’t be so kind.”
Where Carl had been furious at Zavier, that slipped to fear as Mish loomed over him. He managed to squeeze around Ray and flee the bus.
“Well, fuck.” Dom exhaled. “I thought we were gonna see blood.”
Zavier scratched the back of his head. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my cool.”
Ray gripped his shoulder for a moment. “Role reversal again.”
Zavier dropped to the couch. “I knew he’d come at you again. Didn’t know he was such a shit to set you up with a drug dealer.”
Yeah, that had been unexpected. Completely. He should have been as upset at Zavier, but he clung to the bubble of calm that enveloped him. “I think I need to talk to the label. Get a new manager. Find out what they’re doing about this, since Carl is of no use.” He dug his notebook out of his bag. “But right now, we’ve got a set list to finalize and whatever shit they’re feeding us here to eat. Come on.” Better to focus on here and now. He ushered them out of the bus.
* * *
Ray seemed unaffected by the realization Carl had nearly ruined his carrier. Unfortunately, Zavier couldn’t shake the desire to wring every bone from Carl’s neck. He took another breath and followed Ray into the venue. A strange reversal of roles, indeed. He wasn’t usually given to violence. The kink was completely different—that was a shared desire and entirely consensual, and while he might hurt people who wanted that, he’d never harm them.
He wanted to harm Carl. Wanted justice. His body ached with anger and hatred rolled through his brain, lacing his blood with pain, enough so that he still shook as they walked.
Dom clapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah, I know. I wanna kill him, too.”
Zavier let the laugh be bitter. “I don’t get why he’s so calm.”
“Ray?” Dom peered ahead. “Because you have his back. We have his back. Carl can’t prove jack shit. You can. We can corroborate. Nothing will come of it all.”
“Fucker is slimier than pond scum.” Zavier hated the burning in his gut, his need to lash out. Dom was right, they had all the cards, but the thought of Carl harming Ray...
That set Zavier off completely.
“Pond scum at least serves a purpose. That man?” Dom shook his head.
The green room was full of fruit and yogurt, donuts, and coffee. Zavier made a beeline for the table and snagged a chocolate donut. Maybe if he stuffed his face, he’d feel better.
Ray met his gaze and gave him a little smile. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t, but Zavier nodded.
They hashed out a stellar set list, building on their experiences from the past shows, then got ready for sound check. Right before they headed onstage for that, Carl arrived again, looking all kinds of worried, angry, and unhappy. But he was trailing a man in an expensive suit who was smiling like a used car salesman.
He introduced himself to Ray and the “rest of the band” as Anthony Vea, a vice president from the label. “I have some fantastic news for you.” He paused, his grin widening. “Your latest album has officially gone platinum.”
Holy shit. Now that was good news. Ray seemed startled, then ecstatic. He pumped the bigwig’s hand, then grabbed Dom and hugged Mish.
When Ray turned his way, Zavier shrugged. “I wasn’t on the album.”
That earned him a punch in the arm. “Shut up. If it weren’t for this tour—”
“Ray is quite right,” Mr. Vea said. “Sales have shot up tremendously since you joined the band. We expect we’ll be seeing more sales milestones from Twisted Wishes in the future.” He cleared his throat. “The band has some time off here in Los Angeles and we’re hosting a party to celebrate.”
Ray nodded. “Yeah. I mean, that’s fantastic.” He was beaming.
Here was proof that Carl’s actions hadn’t entirely fucked Ray over, so he wouldn’t have to murder the bastard after all. For now. Something still needed to be done about the man, but there wasn’t any time to pull the exec aside to talk about him, mostly because Carl never left his side. Typical. Still, Zavier had one question to ask. “What’s going on with the photos of me and Ray?”
The VP’s smile evaporated. “There’s no conclusive proof that they are of Mr. Van Zeller, as blurry as they are.” He paused. “But I suppose you’ve just confirmed that to us.”
“I supposed I have,” Zavier said. “Carl was sure they were of Ray, though.”
The exec glanced at Carl, whose face was rapidly turning red.
“There was also some rather litigious insinuations in the article I read.” Zavier shrugged. “Seems like something you’d be on top of, you know?”
“Zav.” Ray’s voice was soft. “If they can’t prove it’s us...”
“They can’t.” The exec shifted uncomfortably, focus sliding between the two of them. “However, I’ll double-check that the legal department is working on it.”
A touch on Zavier’s arm. “Let’s celebrate our successes and let them handle it?” Ray’s look was a pleading one, and the band was being called for sound checks anyway.
When they stepped out to run through a few of the songs, Zavier shuddered. The sheer amount of energy in the air—the historic view from the Bowl. It was too much to put into words.
G
regor from Five Asylum gave them a wave from the side of the stage while they played, and called Ray over when they finished, probably about the platinum record thing. Ray shook Gregor’s hand and slipped what looked like a business card into his pocket.
Connections. Good. Ray needed support outside the label, too.
After they retreated to the dressing rooms, Ray collapsed into Zavier’s arms. “We’re going to shatter this place tonight.”
He held Ray—vibrating, ecstatic, lovely Ray—and kissed his forehead. “Yeah. You earned that right. You deserve to be here.”
Ray pulled back. “So do you.”
He couldn’t help grinning—Ray’s joy was always infectious. “Should I wear the leather pants?”
“You better.” Ray’s eyes were as glowing as his smile.
Zavier did just that, and as predicted, they completely shredded the audience with their performance. Even before they got back to the hotel, the reviews online were calling it a show of a lifetime. The photos? Those were gone, as was the article. All-around good news.
They didn’t bother with any elaborate play that night, though Ray begged for the cuffs and to be fucked hard.
That was a different type of music to Zavier’s ears, as were Ray’s grunts, moans, curses, and ultimately, Zavier’s name on his sweet lips. As he held Ray afterward, everything was perfect, except for the unsettled knot that had taken up in his soul.
His own words came back to haunt him, ones he’d said to Ray. Carl’s gonna come at you again. Bastards like that can’t help it. A bastard like Carl had something else up his sleeve. He’d not lose Ray to that. Or lose the band. This was his life now, and he’d do anything to protect it.
* * *
Despite the presence of press and Carl, the Twisted Wishes platinum-record party turned out to be a pretty sweet shindig, especially since Ray got to see Zavier strutting around in a tux. Granted, he’d seen Zav’s outfit up close and personal in the hotel room before they’d all piled into the limo to the ostentatious restaurant the label had booked. He’d even been on his knees at the time, naked with his hands cuffed behind his back.