Off Stage

by Jaime Samms

  “Sure.” His eyes narrowed.

  “What?”

  “You know what you really need?” He pushed himself away from the wall and took a step toward Damian.

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me.”

  “You need a good keeper.”

  “Fuck you.” Damian had the other boot on now. He didn’t bother bending to tie the laces. “I’m out. It’s been… whatever.” He opened the door, but the bigger man was behind him and stopped it opening all the way with an arm stretched past Damian.

  “I’m serious. Guy like you could get into serious trouble. You don’t even know what a loose cannon you are.”

  Damian had a sore enough ass and the track marks to give himself a pretty good idea. “I got shit to do. You going to let me go or not?”

  There was a pause during which bands of steely fury tightened around Damian’s chest.

  “I shouldn’t.” The man moved his hand and pulled the door open, though. “But you’re a fucking disaster waiting to happen. For once, I’m gonna let good sense rule and let you go. Don’t think I have the energy for trouble like you anymore. See ya round.”

  “Whatever.” Damian stepped into the hallway and hurried to the elevator. The sooner he put the whole, mostly cloudily remembered weekend behind him, the better. He did not need perfect strangers telling him he was more trouble than he was worth.

  He only realized it was midday when he finally made it to the street. With any luck, Lenny was working today, and he wouldn’t have to face his roommate when he got home.

  It seemed good fortune was with him. The apartment was deserted. He tossed his clothes in the hamper, showered, and fell into bed. Hours later, he distantly heard Lenny come home, the apartment door slam, and his bedroom door sneak open.

  He was awake, exhausted, and sore. He didn’t move.

  Lenny’s footsteps crossed the floor, and he whispered Damian’s name. When Damian didn’t answer, a soft glow shone through his eyelids, and Damian realized Lenny must have pulled his phone out to shine the light on him. The sheets moved, and a chill swept over Damian as Lenny turned his hand over. It took every ounce of willpower he had to not bolt upright and hide the needle marks from Lenny’s snooping.

  At least this way, he wouldn’t have to say anything about it. Lenny wouldn’t ask what he already knew, and it could maybe just go away.

  There was a moment of stillness in the room before Lenny spoke.

  “You’re a fucking chickenshit asshole, Trev,” Lenny whispered. “Least you could do is open your fucking eyes and look me in the face.”

  Damian didn’t move. He was a chickenshit asshole.

  Something, he had no idea what, crashed into the wall inches above his head, and bits and chunks of whatever it was showered down on his pillow. Hard fragments of plastic bounced off his cheek and forehead before he managed to cover his head with his arms.

  “You better duck and cover,” Lenny growled, and for a tense heartbeat, the room stilled, silent, electric with his anger. Then his footsteps clattered out. The apartment door opened and closed with a resounding crash that bolted Damian upright. For a few minutes, he stared into the darkness trying to think straight. His head hammered at him and his stomach churned. His entire body throbbed with the force of the migraine thumping in his skull. He didn’t want to know what Lenny had destroyed. Didn’t want to think at least the violence had missed him this time. He curled back under his covers.

  Now would be a good time to just die.

  6

  THE MUSIC cracking and sawing just under the regular office sounds was not the sort one usually used for ambiance. It should have been blaring from powerful speakers to a room full of sweaty, demanding fans. Stanley strove to hear the delicate strains of pure guile that was Damian’s voice underlying the heavy guitar riffs and thumping beats. Even barely heard, it sent shivers of pleasure up Stanley’s spine. It helped that the music was a strong enough counterpoint to stand up to the young singer’s ability, but Stanley knew, on its own, that voice would get the young man pretty much whatever he wanted in life.

  “Including you, Krane, if you don’t get your head out of your ass,” he muttered to himself.

  Except he had to know the music to sell it, so he had to listen to it. It was his job to understand what this band, this singer, had that no one else did. Besides a direct line to his libido, of course, because that wasn’t going to sell jack shit.

  Frustrated, he tossed his pen onto his desk, the squeak of his office chair grating on his nerves as he pushed it back. “Miri!”

  A second before his voice broke off, she was sticking her head in the door. “Find some oil for this damn chair. Or get me a new one.”

  “You love that chair,” she said calmly, striding over to the stereo to turn it off. “Last time I tried to oil the squeak away, you docked me a week’s pay. Fix it yourself.”

  “Hey! Turn that back on!”

  “Mr. Ashcroft is here. He came to discuss the photos for the Men’s Health project. I’m going for lunch. I’ll be back in”—she glanced at the cell in her hand, then at Stanley—“you know what? Just give me a call when it’s safe to come back, yeah?”

  “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve been listening to this shit all morning, and now you’re going to look at mostly naked pictures of your fuck buddy with him? Do I really have to connect those dots for you? I so don’t want to get in the middle of that.”

  Stanley managed to laugh off her comment, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. “Fine,” he told her. “Take the rest of the day off.”

  She peered at him over the rims of her glasses.

  “With pay.”

  Her grin was magical.

  “You’re killing me, woman!” he called as she sauntered out of the room.

  “What’s that about?” Vance asked as he appeared in the doorway.

  Stanley sank back into his chair, motioned for Vance to take the seat opposite, and pulled out the envelope of photos. “Just Miri being her usual charming self. I looked these over. I know which ones I think you should use.”

  Vance grinned. “What do you think?”

  “Do you really need me to answer that?”

  Vance’s grin grew. “No, but I wouldn’t stop you telling me.”

  “You’re a fucking hot, sexy bastard, okay? Now can we do this?”

  “So we can get to the good part?”

  The honeyed flavor of Vance’s voice caught Stanley’s attention, and he looked up from where he’d been organizing the photos on the desk. “Excuse me?”

  “What?” Vance was sprawled in his chair, legs spread, sizable package on prominent display. “Ah’m sorry.” He drew out his drawl and grinned as he sat up. Slowly, he pulled his feet in and leaned across the desk until he was as close to Stanley as the expanse of teak would let him get. “Did you not want me to fuck you till you couldn’t see straight?”

  God, his drawl was thick, like he knew exactly how the sound of it washed through Stanley and made him want to splash around in it, drown in it, much like the sound of Damian’s voice.

  It took three tries for Stanley to gather enough saliva to swallow. Vance had always followed his lead into bed, always been firmly in control once they got there, but always let Stanley get him there in the first place. Raw displays of power like this were rare between them, and more than a little awe-inspiring. “Not that I would ever say no,” Stanley managed at last, “but this is a first.”

  “Hardly.” Vance rose and planted both palms on the desk, and the force of his presence was enough to make Stanley lift his face as Vance stood and leaned in even closer. “I’ve fucked you in your office before. Plenty o’ times, Stan.”

  “Never offered before,” Stanley said, voice catching on tiny, hitched breaths.

  “You never gave me half a breath to think about it, did ya? You just get horny and blink at me, and there we go.” He lifted one hand to trail it along the sleeve of Stanl
ey’s suit jacket. “Now you have a new project. Figured I best get my good times in while I still can.”

  “What—”

  Stanley didn’t get a chance to ask what that meant before Vance was hauling him out of his chair by the lapels and kissing him. That too was something different. Not that they hadn’t kissed before, but normally, Stanley had to beg for that lip-lock, or Vance had to be half-hammered to allow it.

  “What’s going on?” Stanley stared into Vance’s darkened eyes as they parted.

  “Don’t think so hard,” Vance admonished softly, letting his drawl slip away to its normal, light inflection now that he had Stanley where he apparently wanted him. He strolled to the far corner where the stereo sat silent and flicked it on, spinning the volume knob until Damian’s voice filled the room. “The way I see it, you’ll be too busy soon for an old has-been like me, so I’m takin’ advantage of the rest of your downtime.” He rounded the desk to stand behind Stanley and press his crotch against Stanley’s ass. “Problem with that?”

  “N-no.” The force of Vance’s thrusting caught him off-balance, and he had to catch himself with his hands so he didn’t face-plant on the desk. His fingers spread over the photos of Vance’s near-naked, very near perfect, form.

  “Good.” Reaching around as he spoke, he opened Stanley’s belt and zipper. “You’re gonna get grubby fingerprints all over those nice photos, Stan.”

  Conscious of ruining the pictures, Stanley tried to stand straighter, but Vance remained in place, wrapping his arms around Stanley to open the buttons of his shirt. He stepped back as he pulled both shirt and jacket down until they caught at Stanley’s wrists.

  “Undo the cuff links,” Stanley muttered, twisting his hands to get them free.

  “Haven’t I told you how old-fashioned those things are? No one wears ’em anymore, and now look at you.” Vance tossed the jacket aside, twisted the shirt in one fist, and yanked Stanley’s pants down. “Trapped.”

  Fire flared through Stanley, flickering up his spine and through his veins as Vance tightened the twist on the shirt. Stanley stood rooted behind his own desk, mostly naked, cock stiff and dripping, and his hands captured in the tangle of cotton. This kind of takeover was one step too far and he should want to fight it off, but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

  “Vance—”

  The singer said nothing as he wrapped the shirt in a secure, mangled mess, keeping Stanley’s hands fast, and shucked his own jeans.

  “How’s this for different?” Vance whispered in Stanley’s ear.

  Stanley let his eyes drift closed and his weight melt back into his friend. Only a heartbeat passed. Vance didn’t give him a chance to get comfortable. Only that brief moment, long enough for them both to realize Stanley had no answer for that, before Vance was pushing him down.

  His chest contacted the desk hard, forcing out a grunt, and then Vance was prying into him with all of his usual force and command. Only Stanley had never been helpless to get out of the man’s grasp before. Not that he’d ever felt the need to, but this time, he had been denied even the option.

  “Vance—”

  “Don’t make me gag you too, Stan.” Vance’s fingers dug deeper, a hand pressed between Stanley’s shoulder blades. He was trapped against the desk, his cock contained between the hard surface and his belly as Vance pumped those strong calloused fingers in and out of him. A sheen of sweat covered him. Glossy photos stuck to his chest.

  “Will you let me up?” Stanley asked, striving for a neutral tone.

  Vance immediately eased out of him and pulled him upright. They watched the ruined photos flutter back to the surface. “Now what?” Vance asked.

  Closing his eyes, Stanley rested against Vance and tried to remember how to breathe. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m either about to fuck you in that way that makes you forget your name, or steppin’ into the other room while you get dressed, then takin’ you out to lunch.”

  Stanley nodded. “What? You can’t do both?” He reached for the joke, hoping it might calm his racing heart to make light of this.

  Vance met him halfway, pressing a smile against the side of Stanley’s neck and dragging out his next words into a countrified threat. “I can, but you’ll be sittin’ there, eatin’ your steak and smellin’ like this good ol’ boy.”

  Stanley groaned, wiggled his fingers, and found Vance’s heavily muscled thigh within reach. Heat pooled between them, simmering along their skin where they touched. “Why the ties?”

  “For five minutes, Stanley, stop tryin’ to figure me out or guess what comes next. This is not rocket science. It’s sex.”

  “At least rocket science makes sense.”

  “We don’t. We never did. Probably never will. Listen to that kid sing an’ tell me I’m not right to grab what I can while I can.”

  “Vance—”

  “Nope. I really will gag you. I know us. I know you. You will have that guy wrapped round your bedpost by the end of the month, whether you think you’re goin’ to be virtuous or not. He makes you pant just by openin’ his mouth. This is my last shot at you, maybe ever. So I’m doin’ it my way.” Stanley snarled and tried to pull away, but Vance had a grip in the tangled shirt. “I figured I’d try something that might make it memorable.” Carefully, he began to untwist the material.

  “Don’t.” Stanley shivered, but the shake went deeper than skin and he found himself unsteady, floating, and suddenly, that ruined shirt was a lifeline, a bit of reality between him and the free fall of Vance stepping away.

  “Don’t fuck you?”

  “Don’t let me go.”

  Once more, the hot breath of his friend’s words wafted across Stanley’s neck. “Lettin’ you git on with things is not lettin’ you go, Stan.” He licked gently at Stanley’s earlobe and drew in a breath. “I’m always, always on your side. Maybe not always up your arse, but I’ll always have your back, yeah?”

  Stanley nodded.

  “Good. Now bend over.”

  Stanley couldn’t stop a small snigger as he lowered himself to the desk once more. It was quickly and thoroughly cut off by the press of cold lube and a broad dick at his entrance.

  “Ready?” Vance asked, even as he took what he wanted.

  “Oh, God!” Stanley gasped and bucked, but the burn quickly dissipated as fire leaped and danced up and down his limbs. “You were never not going to fuck me, were you?” he panted, trying to get the words out in something like a calm, level voice.

  “Have I ever stopped halfway?” Vance drew back, thrust hard, and another wave of heat flushed over Stanley’s skin, burning through his answer and leaving his thoughts in ashes.

  He rode the waves of heat and the chills of helplessness. Every touch, enhanced because he could not reciprocate, tossed waves of gooseflesh and pleasure over his skin.

  “V—” His cock rubbed too roughly on the desk, his arms ached, his hole flexed around Vance’s girth, and he cried out. It was too much, and not enough, as Vance stopped just short of completely burying himself with every thrust.

  “You want more?” Vance asked, breath like a bellows across Stanley’s back.

  “Gnnnh!” Stanley shifted his feet, spreading his legs and lifting his ass. It brought just enough lessening of pressure on his cock to ease the pain and the next thrust went deep, slamming them together, thigh to buttocks.

  “Like that?”

  “Gah! Yes!” Stanley tried to thrust back with what little leverage he had. He was helpless to do anything but take what Vance wanted him to have. Only what Vance wanted him to have. Everything Vance wanted to give. “More,” he whispered, sure Vance couldn’t hear the begging.

  He didn’t say anything if he did, but his thrusts got harder, deeper, and faster until Stanley was incoherent, unable to stop the babble. Vance’s grip on his arms bruised.

  “Come for me, Stan,” Vance demanded, driving deep and pulling Stanley back onto him.

  He did, hard, his voice garbled from the
force of it, but loud enough to carry through all the rooms of the office.

  Vance was not far behind, his orgasm coming fast, hot, and silent.

  Bent over the desk was no place for postcoital afterglow. Uncertainty settled, thick and awkward between them. After a few moments of heavy breathing, Vance helped Stanley upright and rested his chin on Stanley’s shoulder. Damian’s voice, crooning through what passed for a ballad for him, washed over them.

  “He’s good,” Vance said softly.

  Stanley said nothing.

  “And hot.”

  “Don’t do this.”

  “Stan.” Vance straightened and methodically untwisted the shirt. “You know we’ve never stood in each other’s way, right?”

  “You’re insisting something is going to happen I haven’t even thought of.”

  “Because I know you. I know you think you won’t, but I’ve seen this kid. I’ve heard him sing. I’ve watched him strut. I know what that does for you.”

  “What do you think? I’m a slave to my libido?”

  Vance slapped his ass, but said nothing.

  “I admit, he’s hot. But I’m a professional,” Stanley said after a moment.

  “You wait,” Vance said, freeing Stanley’s hands at last. “When he comes to you, there is no way you’ll turn him away.”

  “Now you’re just delusional. He’s not interested in me. You even notice the way he looks at that guitar player? If they aren’t doing each other, neither are we.”

  Turning Stanley, Vance chuckled, and then kissed his forehead. “We’re not. Not anymore. You’re just not payin’ attention. You’ll see. It’ll happen, and when it does, I hope you’re ready for it, because he might be young, but I get the feeling there’s a lot goin’ on under all that makeup.”

  “He’s twenty-eight. Not that young.”

  “Twelve years, old man. Keep in shape is all I got to say about that.”

  “Asshole.”

  Vance grinned. “I’m going in the other room to wash my dick. You comin’?”