Off Stage

by Jaime Samms

  “Yes,” Len replied. His blush deepened. “Yes, Sir. I did like that.”

  Vance smiled. So hard for so many men to admit that. Hard for Len too, no doubt, but he did admit it. That took guts.

  “Why are you up, darlin’?” Vance was utterly unable to find a single drop of annoyance at this interruption to his alone-time.

  For a few heartbeats, he was forced to watch Len’s futile effort to control his body’s involuntary twitchy unease. It pained him, but that was something he couldn’t help with. Until Len began to really feel comfortable in his own skin, the fidgeting would plague him.

  “The shower woke me,” Len said at last. “And.”

  Hesitation. Silence.

  “And?” Vance prompted finally.

  He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the pink blush over Len’s upper body deepened, sneaking over his shoulders and even down his biceps.

  “It sounded… warmer in here.”

  Sounded warmer. Vance shook his head.

  “You were cold?” was all he said. It was hard to believe, with the pile of blankets and sheets Len had burrowed under, along with Vance’s oversized terry-cloth robe he’d worn to bed. That was a cold that went soul deep, Vance thought.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  God Almighty. His voice was angelic, even with the undertone of scratchiness that always resulted from having a cock thrust a bit too rough and a bit too deep.

  “Where’s the robe I gave you?”

  Another shiver and twitch of his shoulders. Once more, Len’s teeth flashed, banishing the pink from his lower lip as he bit down. “I-I thought you’d prefer me… like this.” His head bobbed, like he thought to lift it and changed his mind. His lashes flickered. “To see me.”

  “I very much would like to see you, darlin’,” Vance admitted.

  Len nodded and dropped the hand covering his dick. It was clear he wasn’t exactly disinterested in the proceedings, even if his interest was making him blush.

  A rush of hard need slammed through Vance. Fierce satisfaction followed close on the heels of a desire to see Len obey his wish, even without being told what to do. He was reading Vance, anticipating what he’d ask. He was paying attention.

  Despite the semihardness of his cock, though, Len’s nipples were tight, and gooseflesh covered his chest.

  “You still cold, darlin’?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Vance smiled and let his satisfaction and approval invade his tone. “Come on, then. Git your pretty butt in here.”

  Finally, Len lifted his head. “Are you sure? I’m not—”

  Vance held up a hand. “Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t sure. Git in here.”

  Len pushed to his feet and scampered to the shower, stepping inside when Vance opened the door for him.

  “Thank you, Sir,” he said, directing the words mostly at Vance’s navel.

  Vance opened his arms and immediately, Len snuggled tight to his chest. The proximity let Vance feel Len’s tight nipples and delicate shivering. He was taut with nerves and tension, his arms clamped to his sides inside of Vance’s embrace.

  “Yer all right, darlin’,” Vance soothed, like he would a horse, newly broken and unsure if he wanted the weight of a saddle again so soon.

  Hoping to help his younger lover relax, he smoothed a palm down the length of Len’s spine. “You’re all right,” he said again. “I’m gonna look after ya for a bit here. You’ll see.”

  Len nodded without lifting his head from where it rested on Vance’s shoulder. “What should I do? What do you want from me?”

  “Shhh.” Vance shifted his caress from his palm to his knuckles, dragging them down Len’s spine and over his bottom, using touch to soothe and calm, not to arouse. “Nothing, darlin’. Nothin’ at all. Just be here and let me look after you.”

  Len sighed, breath wafting out of him and over Vance’s skin, extra warmth in the steamy environment. Some of the tension eased from Len as Vance stroked him.

  “I liked it,” Len whispered.

  Vance felt the words, felt Len’s lips brush them tenderly against his shoulder. That somehow made them more sincere.

  “Earlier,” Len continued, “when you had me….” A delicate shiver ran ahead of Vance’s fingers down Len’s spine. “I mean, when I… took care of you. I liked that.”

  “I liked it too, darlin’.” Vance stopped his petting and flattened his hand over Len’s back, holding the slight body against his, feeling every inch of connection, skin to skin. “I liked it plenty.”

  “I’d… do it again.” He twitched, his shoulders jerking, but it was an isolated moment and then his body went still again.

  “You know things could get complicated,” Vance said. He didn’t want to dash the young man’s hopes. He didn’t want to dash his own. He could get real used to this body—this spirit—that had lit in his life like a lost bird. “What with your singer—”

  “Trev’s a dick.” The words sounded at once angry and heavy with regret that he’d said them at all.

  “Oh?” Gently, Vance moved Len away so he could see into his face. This was a different tune from earlier in the night.

  “I mean.” Len drew in a breath, glance skittering everywhere that wasn’t Vance’s face before landing on Vance’s lips. “I—I love him and all. But he does shit, dumbass stuff that could get him killed.” Len wrapped his spindly arms around himself. “I love him. Used to think he’d be….” He hesitated. “I don’t even know. Wasn’t ever right, though. He’s my best friend, but he doesn’t listen to me and just… takes what he wants. Does whatever he wants. I can’t.” He dropped his chin, face to the floor. “Anymore. I can’t do it. Can’t do him anymore.”

  Vance took a step back. “Do him?” He fought the wildfire fury of jealousy down, thankfully not letting anything more than curiosity etch his words.

  “Not—not do him, do him. I just can’t… take him anymore. It hurts. And it’s lonely.”

  “So you and he never….” Vance’s throat closed over the words that would have completed that sentence.

  Len shook his head. “Not like you and me did last night. He’s not like you at all. He needs his own babysitter, and I’m too tired.” He looked straight into Vance’s eyes. “I’m not built like he needs. I’m more built like what you need.”

  Vance studied him carefully. “Len, I don’t need—”

  “No.” Len boldly interrupted him. “No. Of course you don’t. I was wro—”

  “Shh.” A finger placed lightly over Len’s lips silenced him. To Vance’s charmed surprise, Len kissed his finger, never letting his gaze waver even as he blushed bright pink.

  “We’ll take it slow, darlin’.” He let his fingers drift to Len’s chin so he could hold him still and study him.

  Len’s gaze didn’t waver. His tongue flicked out and he nibbled once more on his lower lip.

  The sight made Vance’s pulse throb and he let out a hungry growl despite his determination not to put any pressure on this fledgling relationship. He was only human and Len hit all of his buttons. “You are a devil, ain’t you?” he whispered.

  Len blushed.

  “Keep that up, and I will need you.” Vance bent and kissed him, taking until Len moaned and gravitated toward Vance. His hands, small but incredibly strong and sensitive, sent tingles of sensation over Vance as he roved up over Vance’s chest. He splayed his fingers, digging in under Vance’s mat of wet hair and letting out a moan of satisfaction when he’d gotten good and tangled in the mass. His eyes were closed and his face flushed when Vance finally pulled out of the kiss.

  He couldn’t make himself release Len’s face. He cupped both hands around his cheeks. “You’re trouble, Len.”

  Len smiled faintly and resumed his quiet lean, trusting his weight to Vance as he wiggled his fingers and played in Vance’s curls.

  “You’re hairy,” Len replied.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  Len rubbed his cheek against Vance’s
chest. “I like that.”

  Vance groaned. “Too easy.”

  Len shook his head slightly. “Not always. Hardly ever, in fact. Just ask Trev.”

  “You’ve never?” Vance lifted Len off him so he could see the younger man’s face.

  “With Trev?” He shook his head more emphatically. “He’s already too… everything. Demanding. Stupid. If I let him fuck me too?” Once more, he shook his head. “Just no. I’m sick of him.” But his pretty blue eyes got glassy when he said that. The words were heavy, muddy.

  “Len?”

  Len sent a spray of water splashing across Vance’s chest with the violence of his denial and dug his hands deeper in Vance’s fur. “Never min—”

  His breath hitched and snapped the word in half.

  “Okay.” Vance pulled him close. “You’re okay.”

  “Sh-shouldn’t have done that to him.” His voice drifted away and his shoulders curled in.

  “Don’t you worry about him.”

  “I—”

  “He’s fine. Stan’s got him well in hand. I made sure he’s safe and well away from you for now.”

  “I hurt him, though,” Len said. “I was so mad. And I did that.”

  “I know.” This time, when Vance traced his hands down Len’s back, it was with the hope he could soothe away some of the increasingly violent tremors wracking his lover’s body. “People do things, Len. Fight. And make up. Right now, there are more important things for you to worry about than Damian. You have to concentrate on you and understand if you can do that to him, there are things you have to deal with. Best do that away from him. You need some time apart. You’ll stay here. Where you’re safe. Stan can keep that brat under control. He’s not your responsibility, and as long as you’re trying to make him your problem, you’re ignoring your own issues.”

  “You don’t know what my issues are.” Len said. His voice no longer held the desperate tone of a few minutes ago. It was flat. Emotionless. If Vance hadn’t had more than enough experience dealing with this kind of shock in the past, it wouldn’t have terrified him like it did to hear it.

  “Then you’ll tell me,” he said, “or you’ll tell your therapist.” He could allow no room for argument or dissent.

  Len nodded, too brief, too feebly.

  Vance wasn’t convinced, but for the moment, he let it go. He held Len a few more minutes, letting the warmth of the gently falling water chase away some of the chill and shaking, and doing his best to get his head around what he’d just done. He hadn’t consulted his better sense before laying claim to Len, taking him in hand and telling him how things would play out. So much for taking things slowly.

  Len needed stability, though. He needed calm and predictability, and no way was sharing digs with Damian going to give him any of that. However close they were, however much they cared about one another, right now, they were bad for each other.

  Len needed a positive environment where he felt safe to deal with the leftovers of dead lovers and a messy childhood. Vance was good with the abused and the broken. Just because he’d never taken on a sub in this condition didn’t mean he didn’t have the skills or the caring Len needed. If he’d learned anything from dominating men and horses, it was that two things were universally effective when taming a damaged spirit: patience and a firm hand.

  19

  “WHERE IS he?” Damian shoved Krane’s hand away. He didn’t need the man’s fucking health drinks and goddamn calm. He needed to know where Lenny was. His friend hadn’t answered his calls all morning, and Damian knew Lenny would be freaking out over the fight. He had to get hold of him and let him know he was okay. That it didn’t matter. Didn’t change anything.

  “He’s fine,” Krane said, still so fucking calm even as he shook spilled celery and apple juice off his fingers.

  “How the hell do you know?” Damian snarled.

  Krane watched him steadily, infuriatingly silent.

  “Just tell me!” The vibrations through his skull from grinding his teeth in frustration made Damian’s brain hurt.

  “You.” Krane pointed to the stool at the foot of the hotel room bed. “Sit down. Your head is killing you and we have to change your bandages. One thing at a time.”

  “My head is fine.” Even though he wanted to cup his forehead in his palms and whimper, he wasn’t about to let Krane be right about that too.

  “Bullshit.”

  Damian blinked at the older man. Krane never swore. He was too refined for vulgarities.

  “Sit.” Krane pointed to the chair. “Now. Head first. Then hands, and you can tell me what actually happened last night.

  “I already told you—”

  “Selective bits and half-truths, yes.”

  Damian snapped his mouth shut. “What would you know?”

  Krane pointed to the stool. “Sit.” The word whipped through the air between them, stinging and making the hairs along the back of Damian’s neck stand on end.

  Damian crossed his arms over his chest, wincing when the motion jarred the backs of his hands. He clenched his jaw, despite the way it made the ache in his head dig deeper. None of it stopped him taking a step forward, though, inching closer to Krane’s stool.

  “Sit,” Krane said again, this time his tone even and low, calm as a still, deep well, and just as cold.

  The chill flared a wave of goose bumps up Damian’s arms. Fuck, but he wanted to do what the man said. So easy to let Krane take over. Take control. But he wasn’t the kind of guy who needed that. He never had been.

  Krane hadn’t moved. His glare was bright and snapping with impatience, though he stood still as stone. And about as impenetrable.

  Damian frowned. “If I sit, will you tell me where he is and why he isn’t answering his phone?”

  Krane’s lips pressed together, whitening around the edges. If Damian thought his gaze had been cold a moment ago, it was nothing to the icy composure in his glare now.

  That didn’t frighten him. The goose bumps and the chills were from his headache. The shaking was because he was hungover. Because he was hurting—aching—like he’d been in a bar brawl. Which, of course, he had. Just that he couldn’t call a fight with Lenny a brawl. That would be making it something common, something that didn’t matter, and he knew it did. At least it would matter to Lenny, even if Damian was willing to write it off to too much to drink and too much adrenaline from the show.

  “Not like you’re going to do anything if I don’t do what you say,” Damian said, fighting the shivers. “If I just leave.”

  Krane shrugged. The light went out of his eyes. Though he didn’t actually move, his body language seemed to change from do as I say to do as you please, but don’t expect anything from me.

  “Then leave, if you’re going to. I can’t stop you. I can’t make you do anything, can I?” He met Damian’s gaze, and there was firmness in his expression. Not anger or frustration, just firm, unwavering acceptance. “You have to choose.”

  Choose what?

  Damian swallowed. No way was he asking that out loud. Not ever.

  “I can’t control you, Damian. I can’t do anything unless you let me.”

  “Why w-would I?” Damian cringed inwardly. He hadn’t stumbled over his words in front of Krane, ever.

  Krane smiled and Damian couldn’t decide if it was a friendly expression. “That isn’t something I can answer, now is it?”

  Damian shifted his feet. What the hell? It wasn’t like Lenny wouldn’t turn up eventually. He wasn’t one to run away.

  Damian’s hands throbbed. Why did he even care?

  Because Lenny had lost his temper and turned violent and out of control, and it had been Damian’s fault. He’d pushed that one step too far, and he couldn’t blame Lenny for wanting to hurt him back. Damian had made his night out to be about all the things Lenny refused him. He’d done it on purpose. Could he blame Lenny for deliberately turning on him?

  What had he expected? For Lenny to stop him? Make him stay in
the hotel instead of letting him go out and find a stranger? Maybe he had expected Lenny to be the one in control because Damian wasn’t. Couldn’t. It had been too much to expect.

  “He’s safe?” Damian forced himself to meet Krane’s cold glare. “You know for sure he’s okay?”

  “He’s safe,” Krane assured him.

  Damian clenched his jaw, nodded. That was all he was going to get. “I’m sorry about the juice,” he said at last, hoping to fill the empty space.

  “It’s fine.” Krane’s glare hardened. “This time.” He handed over the glass. “Drink what’s left and—”

  “Sit. I know.”

  Damian took the glass and sat on the stool. Krane watched until he’d emptied the contents, and then retrieved the tumbler. “Don’t move,” he warned as he went to the bar and rinsed the glass, filled it with cool water, and brought it back.

  “Does being bossy make you feel better?” Damian asked, even as he obediently took the glass Krane handed him and drank.

  “It makes you feel better.”

  Damian handed the glass back but said nothing. Arguing truth was childish. Admitting it was… impossible.

  Krane smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it took some of the severity from his face and Damian found himself wishing the expression would reach deeper.

  Once Krane retrieved the first aid kit and another bag from the bathroom, he settled on the bed behind Damian, legs straddling him so he could reach Damian’s temples. The smell of mint engulfed Damian and he couldn’t help but let out a small sigh. This would help. It always helped. A few minutes later, Damian was struggling not to lean back into that strong chest and rest.

  “Tired?” Krane asked softly.

  “Shouldn’t be.” Damian yawned, though. He’d slept most of the night and well into the morning. He really shouldn’t be this bone-tired.

  “Relax.” Krane took him by the shoulders and pulled him back. When Damian encountered the warm strength of Krane’s chest, he let out a sigh.

  “I’m not like this,” he said.

  “Like what?” Krane smoothed his fingers across Damian’s brow.