Hurt Me

by Ker Dukey

  I clench my jaw. “Nothing.”

  I’m not about to admit to one of my best friends that I tried gay. Loved it. But then wasn’t fucking good enough to stay that way. I wonder if that’s how Lex felt. Bitterness churns in my gut. I want to get fucked up, but alone.

  Just like Lex.

  Tears threaten, and I pull away from my friend.

  “Everyone out,” Owen barks. “Right fucking now.”

  Seth and Riley are laser-focused on me. They start herding people out, leaving me alone with Owen. Great, I’m being tag-teamed with their shit.

  “We’re about to go on,” I complain. “We can talk later.”

  “No,” Owen says. “We’re going to talk right now. I lost someone I loved because I blew them off. Not happening again.”

  My heart feels as though it’s going to explode inside my chest.

  “I loved him too,” I bark out, my words boiling with emotion. “Not just you.”

  His gaze softens. “We all did, man. He was my brother. It crushed me when he died.”

  “He was my best friend…”

  “And…” he implores.

  “And what?” I roar, shoving him. “What the fuck do you mean ‘and’?”

  He glowers at me. “Stop bullshitting us, Xavi. Everyone knows you two had a thing.”

  Time stops. “A thing?”

  “Fucking? Boyfriends? I don’t know what the fuck it was!” He throws his hands in the air, his face turning red with anger.

  I swing at him, but he ducks and points a warning finger at me.

  “It was nothing!” I bellow. “Fucking nothing because of me!”

  His brows furl together. “What do you mean?”

  My shoulders slump. “He wanted to be more, and I let him down. I wasn’t ready. Maybe if I’d been ready…”

  Owen pounces on me, but not to hit me. I’m crushed in a brotherly hug. “Lex had fucking issues, man. You hear me? That was on him. He loved you, and you loved him. If he hadn’t been fucked over his need for heroin, he’d have waited until you got there. Everyone knows this.”

  Everyone but me, apparently.

  “I think I’m gay,” I whisper, finally allowing it to break free. “I was with Blaine.”

  “I know, man. I know.” He doesn’t release me. “Why are you so scared to be happy?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “Because it should have been with him.”

  “But it wasn’t,” he says softly. “You can still be happy with someone else.”

  “What about the band? Our image. You…” I trail off.

  “You think I care about who you fuck? I just want you to smile once in a fucking while and mean it. I want you to crank out songs like the ones you wrote while at the cabin. I want my friend back—the guy who’s been missing since my brother died.”

  “But people see Berlin Scandal and they see four guys who like to fuck girls.”

  He shakes his head as he pulls away. “No, dumbass. They see Berlin Scandal as the best rock band since Nirvana. What they hear is even more important. Soul in songs. Feelings and depth and a rawness you don’t get from regular, mainstream shit. They hear our hearts bleeding because we all went through some fucked up shit—and our fans can relate to that, brother. Not who’s hole we stick our dicks in. We’re more than our sexual orientation. Jesus.”

  “I thought maybe you didn’t like me and Lex being together because it was fucking with our fanbase…” It sounds pretty stupid, but it’s true.

  “I didn’t like the idea of my druggie brother bringing down the lead singer of my band. Lex needed help, not a partner in crime. I was concerned when it came to his using. And with how close you two were, I worried with time you’d be using like him too.”

  Having Owen’s acceptance is a huge relief. I didn’t realize the agonizing weight crushing me until it’d been lifted.

  “It’s going to be a scandal when it gets out,” I warn. “I can’t do that to you guys.”

  “Fuck them,” he growls. “Besides, that song is fucking amazing. They’ll be more addicted to the new stuff than the fact that you like to suck dick.”

  I give him a playful shove. “Shut up, asshole.”

  His smile is crooked and boyish, reminding me of when we were just a couple kids with an idea to start a garage band. “My lips are sealed. I won’t say anything until you’re ready to tell people.” His brow lifts. “So the cop, huh? Did he handcuff you to the bed?”

  If only Blaine were that simple…

  “Something like that,” I admit, a smile tugging at my lips. But as soon as it breaches my face, it falls. “I think we’re done.”

  “Hence the shitty attitude,” he says. “And why are you suddenly done?”

  My nostrils flare. I don’t want to tell him, but it’s Owen. “He won’t fuck me.”

  “Maybe he likes taking it up the ass instead,” he offers, waggling his eyebrows at me.

  “No,” I say with a frown. “I think I’m too much for him.”

  Owen scowls. “Bullshit. You’re Xavi fucking Jacobs. Of course you’re too much, but that’s what makes you so fucking cool. His dick is broken if he doesn’t want you.”

  I laugh. It feels weird talking about this shit with him, but freeing too. “I thought he wanted me. We did all kinds of kinky shit, but then it was time to come back home. I just…I don’t know. He tried texting me, but I haven’t replied.”

  Owen’s hand grips my shoulder. “Did you talk to him or did you blow everything up to epic proportions like usual inside that fucking crazy head of yours?”

  I flip him off.

  “That’s what I thought,” he says. “After the show, call him. Take him on a fucking date or whatever the fuck. Just talk to him. Maybe it’s you being a fucking freak like usual.”

  My heart stammers. “You think?”

  “At least then you’ll know. And if he’s an asshole who doesn’t want you, that’s his loss. There’s probably a world of hot gay dudes who would fall at your fucking feet the moment you tell everyone. You may bat for the opposite team, but I can guarantee you’ll have a whole team show up with their bats ready to play.”

  I only want one bat.

  I want Blaine on my team.

  “Let’s go, bros,” Seth hollers, peeking his head inside the door. “You two fuckfaces can make out later. Right now, we have a club full of people to unveil our newest songs to.”

  Owen gives me a wink, and we head out.

  The crowd for the small club is jam packed and insane. I’m soaked in sweat as we make it through our usual set and a couple new songs. The last song is the new one, “Burn.” As soon as Riley starts pounding on the drums, I step up to the mic with my Gibson Les Paul and strum the first chord, finding myself thrust back to the cabin.

  With him.

  Long, hot, passionate nights.

  Intimate conversations.

  Being held and cared for.

  Maybe I had misread things. It’s not unusual for me to fuck everything up. Blaine doesn’t seem the type to string people along or toy with them. He never once said he didn’t want to see me when we got back.

  I hate that hope stirs in my gut, but it fuels me on to sing my heart out.

  “Burn…burn…burn…” I croon. “Why won’t you let me burn?”

  As I sing, I scan the sea of faces, feeling intensity coming from someone in particular. I seek out the heat like all those times I wanted the burn on my skin to fucking feel grounded in the moment. When my eyes lock on Blaine’s, I nearly stop breathing. But I keep singing the song, trapped in his gaze.

  A man in a suit leans in close and whispers something to Blaine. Blaine’s hard look transforms into a beautiful one as he smiles. I jerk my gaze to the guy, glaring at him. My words become hard and raspy as I repeat, “Burn…burn…burn…”

  The guy’s hand is on his bicep.

  Touching what’s mine.

  He’s fucking mine.

  Did Blaine think I pushed him away? That I d
on’t want him anymore? Is he already dating someone else?

  I finish the song and thank the audience.

  And then I’m on the move.

  “Get ‘em!” Owen howls into the mic before thanking the fans some more and telling them we’re headed back to the studio to record more songs like Burn.

  As the crowd goes wild, I launch myself past the sea of people trying to throw themselves at me. I’m a man on a mission, and nothing will stop me.

  When I make a break from the crowd and see Blaine perched at the bar with the handsy dude, I rush them. The guy’s eyes widen when I approach, and he wisely jerks his hand back. My hot gaze lands on Blaine.

  He fucking smirks.

  Smug bastard.

  “Mine,” is all I say before grabbing his face with both hands and crashing my lips to his.

  His hands are possessive as he clutches my ass, hauling me between his spread legs. Our kiss intensifies with need. He bites my lip, teasing me, but it’s in a familiar, affectionate way that warms my fucking soul.

  “About damn time you came to your senses, my boy.”

  My boy.

  I’m fucking his, and he’s fucking mine.

  “I need you,” I murmur against his mouth.

  “And you’re going to have me.”

  A chill shivers down my spine. Fucking finally.

  Rubbing his neck anxiously, Xavi paces the floor of my living room. After getting a firm nod from Joshua that it was okay to bail on him, I brought Xavi back to my place. The drive was torturous as hell, my dick ready to explode, but after Xavi checking his phone for the fifteenth time since he got inside the condo, all that heat has turned fucking ice cold.

  “Everything okay?” I ask with a frown, slipping out of my jacket and loosening the buttons on my shirt.

  It’s been a couple weeks since we last spoke. I tried texting him, but got no reply. He clearly needed space. As much as it fucking killed me, I didn’t chase him. I don’t fucking chase people. I knew he would come to me when he was ready, and that happened to be a lot sooner than expected.

  “We’re trending,” he says, shaking his head. “People took pictures of me kissing you.”

  My jaw tightens. “And?”

  “And my fans are going wild.”

  “Bad wild?” I ask, turning my back to get a bottle of liquor from the cabinet. I still my movements when warm arms encompass me from behind.

  “Good wild. They love the new songs and are hashtagging #XaviIsInLove.”

  My heart pounds in my chest. “And is it true?” My tone is gruff as I turn and grasp his face, darting his eyes to mine. “Are you in love, boy?”

  “I promised myself after Lex I wouldn’t ever lie if I was asked that question.”

  “So don’t lie,” I prompt.

  “Fucking madly,” he growls.

  “Fucking madly,” I echo, crashing my lips to his and backing him across the room to my bedroom. Pulling away from his lips, I nip and tease the skin of his neck. I tear his shirt in half, littering the floor with the material.

  “I want to know what it’s like,” he pants.

  “What what’s like?” I growl, yanking open his jeans and shoving him backward onto the bed.

  “What it’s like to have you completely.”

  “Tell me exactly what you want, boy,” I rumble, tearing off my clothes and tugging his jeans from him.

  “I want you to fuck me.”

  Those magic fucking words are like music to my ears. I flash him a wicked smile.

  Pulling open the bedside drawer, I take out a bottle of lube. “You’re a good boy, but I’m going to fuck you like you’re a bad one.”

  His breathing elevates, and his cock strains, creamy liquid coating the tip. I lather up my cock with lube, giving the length a couple long, firm strokes. Snagging Xavi’s ankle, I lift his leg over my shoulder and lean in to ravish his mouth with mine, taking my time dueling with his tongue. His hands explore the planes of my body as I fist his cock, moving to his balls and then stroking a finger down the crease of his ass. I test his hole with a prod, and he accepts me greedily. I stretch him, preparing the muscles for my hard, fat cock. Sitting back, I take his ankles into my hands and spread his legs.

  “Stroke that pretty dick for me,” I tell him.

  Long fingers curl around his girth, massaging. I line my cock up with his asshole and tip my hips forward, breaching the rings of muscle there.

  “Fuck, fuck,” he hisses.

  “It’s just pressure. Relax and let me in, boy,” I command. “Let me fucking love you.”

  Licking his lips, his head bobs manically as his hand furiously fists his dick. He likes the pain with pleasure. I piston my hips, pushing my cock in farther.

  “More,” he begs.

  Releasing his ankles, I collapse over him, catching my fall with my arms and resting them each side of his head. I look into his glazed brown eyes as I sink all the way into him. Our mutual moans fill the room.

  A frenzy takes us over, lips crashing, hands pulling and groping. I punish him with hard, manic thrusts, my balls slapping against his ass cheeks as my dick burrows inside him. We fuck, we dance, we sing, we make love. Sweat creates a mist over our skin, allowing me to glide over him.

  “Turn over,” I growl into his ear, slipping my cock out of him, mourning the loss of his warmth around me.

  Obeying, he flips over onto his stomach, lifting his ass.

  I kiss down his back, lapping up the scent of his sweat and nibbling his ass cheeks, leaving my mark. My tongue teases the crack and swirls his asshole before I straighten, line my cock back up with his hole, and thrust forward.

  Grabbing his hips, I pound into him, my release beckoning. He’s so tight, the muscles of his anus caress my cock with each plunge. Curling my hand around his waist, I grip his hand that’s stroking his cock, and I help pump him until we both cry out our release.

  We collapse on the bed, panting as we come down.

  “That was worth the wait, boy.” I grin, dragging him over my chest and dropping a kiss to head.

  “Sure was, perv.”

  Three weeks later…

  Sitting across from Joshua at his club, Hush, I eyeball the scratches around his neck and the cut on his lip. “You need to tell me something?”

  A sly grin tugs up the side of his face. “I don’t fuck and tell, you know that.”

  It’s not like him to enjoy the rough edge games, but hey, who am I to judge?

  “You decided what you’re going to do about Ronan’s offer?” he asks, checking his phone.

  Sighing, I swirl the drink in my bottle and tap my fingers on the table. “He made an offer that’s hard to refuse. I mean, going with my boy for the three months he’s touring is the cherry on the creamy fucking frosting.” I wink.

  “He finally found your price?” He chuckles, drinking his whiskey.

  “My work can be mentally draining. It might do me good to step away for a while. I can always go back.”

  “So, fulltime bodyguard for the band while they tour next year,” he says with a whistle. “You’ve had worse jobs.”

  Jabbing him in the arm, I check my watch and throw some cash on the table before getting to my feet. He always argues when I try to pay for drinks at his club, but I always win that battle. I wave him goodbye and head down the corridor to the private room I’ve booked for the night. I rap my knuckles on the wood and wait. The door clicks open, and there he fucking is, right on time.

  Xavi Jacobs, lead singer of Berlin Scandal, and my fucking boy.

  “Hey, perv,” Xavi rumbles.

  “That’s going to cost you, boy.”

  His eyes dart to the wall lined with paddles, whips, and crops. “A spanking?”

  I smirk as I let the door close behind me. “You know me better than that. Nothing is ever that simple.” I reach forward and unbutton his jeans. “Pull these down to your knees, then put your hands on the wall.”

  “Are you going to arrest me, of
ficer?” he taunts, his dark eyes flickering with wickedness.

  “That’s detective to you, son. Now, assume the position before you make this ten times worse.”

  With his eyes on mine, he shoves his jeans down his thighs. It fucking gets me hard every time he goes commando. Knowing he’s free-balling whenever we go out is maddening. His cock juts out at me. He presses his palms to the wall and looks over his shoulder with that haughty smirk he’s perfected.

  It’s like he loves to push and disobey just so I’ll set him straight.

  We’re a match made in hell.

  Playfully, I smack his ass cheek. “Don’t look at me. Eyes forward or this will get much worse for you.”

  “Oooh, I’m scared,” he sasses. Fucking brat.

  Ignoring his taunting, I grip his hips, making him step farther away from the wall, then guide his hands down so he’s nearly bent in half. “These,” I murmur as I reach between his spread thighs and gently massage his balls, “should be scared.” With those words, I pop his nut sack.

  He howls, clenching his ass. “Motherfucker!”

  “Keep mouthing off,” I warn.

  His grumbles are kept under his breath. Good boy. Leaving him for the moment, I walk over to the wall and consider my choices. He loves a good old fashioned ass whipping. The more it stings and burns, the better for my masochistic boy. I select a long crop with leather fringe at the end. Paddles are fun, but I’m looking for something more precise. Smirking, I make my way back over to him and toss the crop on the bed before stripping down, then pick it up once more.

  “I won’t go easy on you,” I tell him, gently caressing his ass cheek.

  “You never do.”

  “I’m going to whip the fuck out of you, and then you’re going to ride my dick like a good boy. You’re going to lube your ass up while I watch, climb on, and show me how good you can fuck. And if I think you’re slacking off, I’m going to smack your pretty dick and watch you cry.”

  “I won’t fucking cry,” he growls.

  “I’ll make you cry.” A sinister grin spreads across my face. “And then you’ll come because you love the pain, boy. You love it so fucking much. That even when you’re crying and your dick is in so much pain, you’ll spurt all over my chest because that’s what good boys do.”