by Jaime Samms
Damian nodded.
“Sing more,” Len said.
Damian watched him and said nothing.
“Come back from the dead, Damian. The band needs you.”
There was a quiet murmuring of assent around the room, and Damian glanced around at them with a wistful smile, which he turned to Len at the end. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said softly.
Len managed a small smile. “I’ll be around.”
He had to walk away. He had to be the one to turn his back, and he knew it would not feel like a favor to Trevor. He knew it would be just another blow to his friend, but it was the only way. So he did it and ignored the imagined scent and sound of his soul ripping in half, yet again.
As soon as the door swung shut behind them, he staggered to a stop, and Vance was there, a hand on his back, taking the guitar from him before he dropped it.
“You okay?” Vance drawled.
Len shook his head. “Hell, no. He wanted me to stay so bad.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Too soon.”
“For him, or you?”
Len let out a snort of repressed anger and frustration. “For us.”
“Probably.”
“Can we go?”
“I’ll take you home if you want.”
“Can we get a hotel?” He looked up into Vance’s face. “I don’t want to drive for hours and be exhausted. I want to go to a hotel, and I want you to fuck me.”
“Len.”
“Please.”
“Come on.” Vance didn’t promise a hotel room or the fucking Len wanted. But he did take Len by the scruff of the neck and lead him back to his guitar case and the rest of his things. He helped Len gather them up and carry it all out of the building. Once in the car Vance had left in front of the building with their driver, Len almost felt as though he could breathe again.
He sat back and made a point of not listening to what Vance told the driver. It didn’t matter. He was too tired, too wrung out to try to get his way. He had to let Vance be in charge. Had to trust him.
“Come ’ere, darlin’,” Vance said from where he sat across from Len. He made a motion with his hand that was not an invitation for Len to sit on the seat next to him but to settle at his feet. Perhaps not the safest place to be in a moving vehicle, but Len gratefully took his place between Vance’s knees and rested his head on Vance’s warm, strong thigh.
“Good boy,” Vance crooned, stroking fingers through his hair. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”
Len nodded and did as he was told, letting the rocking hum of the car soothe his nerves, and Vance’s hands on him soothe his soul.
It was going to be okay.
Eventually.
23
VANCE SANK back into the white leather of the limo’s seat, enjoying the cool, firm touch of luxury at his back. He spread a hand over the wide armrest to ground himself, and twined the fingers of his other hand through Len’s hair. Part of him wished he could see his lover’s face, but Len was hiding, and another part of Vance thought maybe that was okay. Maybe Len deserved a moment to find his balance again. They both did. Even the small portion of the reunion between Len and his best friend Vance observed had been unsettling. Vance recognized by now the signs that Len was feeling as though his world was ripping apart. Much as he wanted to keep all the bloody bits of his lover in place, by brute force if necessary, he knew he couldn’t.
Len had to figure his own shit out.
“You going to cut a new album soon?” Len asked out of the blue. He didn’t look up but settled so his warm breath heated the inner seam of Vance’s jeans, soaking warmth through to his thigh.
“I suppose. It’s what I do.”
“You haven’t been doing much. You have a studio right on the ranch, but you never go down there.”
“No.” Vance stroked Len’s head, shifting himself, allowing the warmth to spread up over his groin and through his belly. “I s’pose not.”
Len wiggled a fraction closer, turning his head so his cheek pressed against Vance’s package.
“Why don’t you?”
“Had other things on my mind, darlin’.” Vance’s fingers tightened, as if on their own, gripping Len’s hair close to his scalp. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pull Len away from his crotch or press his face closer.
“Me, you mean.”
Vance flexed his hips, grinding himself against Len’s cheek. “Yeah,” he breathed.
Len nuzzled.
“Gonna have you suckin’ my cock, you keep that up.”
Len’s jaw dropped. His lips made a small O, and a few hot, panted breaths wafted over Vance’s groin through those softly parted lips.
Vance watched his lover mouth at his jeans, shamelessly nudging his way closer to the erection now straining at Vance’s zipper.
“You’d like that,” Vance whispered.
Len closed his eyes and made a soft, pleading mewl that sent a shiver up Vance’s spine.
“Been so fuckin’ horny for you, boy,” Vance growled, his drawl thickening. He saw no point in ignoring what was true. Months of being careful, of taking only what he thought Len was capable of giving, was wearing on him. He hadn’t taken the man home with him so he could look at him, or teach him to ride a horse, or even to help him get his life straightened out, though of course all those things were ingrained in their lives now.
He’d wanted a play partner, and if it had bloomed into something more real than a few weeks of dominating the man, that one primal fact remained. Vance had wanted him from the start and still did.
Len moved, his motion restricted by Vance’s hand in his hair that kept his face pushed hard against Vance’s cock. But he wiggled around to better face Vance and reached up to work at Vance’s belt buckle.
Vance allowed him just enough space to get belt and zipper open and his cock and balls free before tugging until he was too close to get the end of Vance’s long shaft in his mouth. “Lick my balls,” he demanded, spreading his legs a little wider.
His heart thudded as he watched, anticipating the delicate pink tip of Len’s tongue a heartbeat before it appeared. He huffed softly as Len’s lips parted and that tongue licked a delicate path over one side of his sac.
“Suck ’em,” Vance demanded, needing to see his lips part for real and his cheeks flush as he obeyed.
Len obliged, letting Vance guide him to the target and taking one of Vance’s balls into his mouth. He laved it with the flat of his tongue and moaned around it.
“Feel good, boy?”
Len looked up at him, and his eyes shone, even in the flashing lights whizzing by the windows of the car. Vance reached up and flipped on the overhead light, making Len blink.
“That’s what you like, boy.”
Len couldn’t answer with his mouth full but the look in his eyes, half-content, half-hazy with want, was answer enough.
“Good.” He turned the light off again, satisfied that the momentary illumination had shown him a lover happy to be servicing him. Vance spread his legs farther and pushed his jeans out of the way. There was shuffling as he got one leg free and his foot up on the seat, but when he was done, Len had full access to both his balls and his raging dick.
“You want that?” he asked, drawl going syrupy as his gut turned over with need. He fondled himself and watched Len watching the lazy motions of his fingers with a yearning gaze. It was good to see that look of pure lust on his boy’s features and know if all he did was stroke himself off and come on Len’s face, it would be enough for both of them.
Len nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
It was so tempting to hang on with both hands and stuff his dick down that willing throat. To fuck until he spilled into Len. He had no doubt he’d take that treatment without complaint, but rough was all Len had ever known. And possessive didn’t have to be rough.
“Go ahead, then. Show me what you got.” Once more, he guided Len’s mouth to his crotch and sank his head to the seatback t
o feel the pleasure of his lover’s tongue slither around one testicle and draw it into his hot mouth.
“Oh, yeah. That’s what I like.” He tightened his fingers in Len’s hair until he heard the whimper. “Good boy. You keep that up, darlin’.”
Len did, taking all the leeway Vance allowed until he finally had Vance’s cock in his mouth and was working it, hard and sloppily. His lips formed a tight circle, dark red against the paler skin of Vance’s cock, and it fascinated Vance to watch how they worked, how his cheeks hollowed when he sucked. His lashes fluttered and grew damp from his eyes watering when he went deep. He licked and sucked and didn’t seem to care what it looked like or what greedy little sounds he made, as long as Vance was pleased with his efforts.
And Vance was mightily pleased. Once more, he had to fight the urge to grab and fuck. “Enough,” he growled. “Get off, boy.”
Len slunk back, looking wounded.
“Gimme yer hand.”
Slowly, Len lifted one hand to within Vance’s reach. Vance wrapped the slim, strong fingers around his dick, curving his own in a tight grip over the top. Together, they pumped, Vance setting the pace, Len slipping his nimble thumb over the tip of Vance’s cock at every pass until Vance’s orgasm was screaming for release.
He gripped Len by the back of the head and drew him close, but not quite within range of taking him into his mouth again. “Close yer eyes,” Vance demanded. He held fiercely to his control, denying his orgasm until Len had complied.
Len relaxed into Vance’s hold on him, a serene expression flowing over his face as he gave in to the situation and come spurted over his cheek.
“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Vance ground out, voice guttural, words stripped of everything but pure satisfaction. “Fucking. Hell, yeah.”
Slippery jizz covered his fingers and spattered across Len’s face. Freckles peeked through the glistening streams of it as the flashing lights outside the car sent muted shades of color streaking over his lover’s pale skin.
Len sat where he was, face lifted, expression calm, accepting every drop.
The intercom crackled, and the driver’s voice came through fuzzily. “We’ve arrived, Sir. Shall I get the door?”
Vance peered down at Len, who watched him, equal parts trusting and frightened. “No, Dennis. Just bring our things to the front counter, will you? We’ll be in shortly.”
Len seemed to relax again, and Vance smiled at him. “No one gets to see you like this but me, darlin’. Here.” He pulled a few napkins from the console next to the bar and used them to gently clean Len’s face. “Feelin’ better?”
Len blinked a few times and eventually left his eyes closed. He leaned once more on Vance’s leg. “It doesn’t change anything, but yes. I feel better. Just… grounded.”
Vance lifted Len’s face by his chin so Len was gazing up at him again. “Whatever else happens, you belong to me, Len. Get used to it.”
“Yes, Sir.” A faint smile passed through Len’s eyes and over his lips. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Git up, then. Go check us in. I’ll be along.”
Len nodded, reached for the door handle, and spilled out of the car once he’d pushed the door open. He closed it behind him to protect Vance’s modesty, but Vance leaned over and lowered the window a crack to watch his progress. They had pulled up in front of the Royal York, where the doorman was quick to open the door and wave Len inside.
“Good to see you, Mr. Stevens,” he said with a wide grin. “Will the rest of the band be joining us?” An excited glint flashed in the young man’s eyes.
Len cocked a crooked smile at him. Vance saw the hurt lurking behind the smile, though a casual observer wouldn’t notice. “Thanks. No, it’s just me tonight.” He handed the man a bill and headed through the door.
So people still knew who he was, even after months and months of reclusiveness.
“And Mr. Ashcroft?” the doorman called, glancing toward the dark windows of the car.
“And Mr. Ashcroft,” Len agreed.
Since Vance would be swaggering in through the same door in a minute, there was no use denying it. Fixing his clothes and making sure there was no evidence of their activities left on the wrinkled denim, Vance got out of the car, grabbed his guitar and Stetson, and nodded to the doorman. He tipped the brim of his hat and pushed a hundred-dollar bill into his sweating palm.
“You’ll be discreet”—he glanced at the man’s nametag—“Maurice?”
“Of c-course.”
“Thank you.”
The driver, per Vance’s orders, had called ahead and booked a suite on a floor that would afford them a nice view. Dennis had given their bags to the bellboy, and they were already disappearing into the elevator. He gave his driver a hefty bonus, dismissing him for the night but requesting he keep his cell phone on the next day.
“If we need you—”
“Just call, sir,” Dennis said with a professional smile.
“Thanks.”
Vance turned to Len, slipped fingers under his collar, and guided him toward the bank of elevators. They didn’t escape a few flashbulbs, though. Everyone and their dog had a cell with a camera these days. If they had any cover left for their relationship, the way Vance marched Len through the lobby, a hand on the back of his neck, no doubt those quickly snapped pictures would blow it in a matter of minutes.
They’d be all over the Internet.
“Maybe we should call Stan,” Len said as they closed the door of the suite behind them and he leaned on it. From the small alcove, he watched Vance shift all their bags into the sitting room half of the suite.
Vance saw second thoughts written all over his lover’s face, but he said nothing. He would proceed as he’d begun and let Len call a halt when and if he wanted to.
“Ol’ Stan’ll have his hands full tonight.” Vance straightened from setting his Martin case on the coffee table. He tossed his hat on the couch and stalked into the bedroom, gaze fixed on Len. “After the conversation you had with Trevor, Stan’s got a different brand of damage control to worry about.”
Len slumped. “Yeah. I guess Trev will need him.”
“I ain’t worried about a few Internet pictures, Len. Are you?” Vance rested his hand on the door next to Len’s head.
“It’s your career. I’ve been out since forever.”
Vance quirked a grin at him. “You think the media didn’t speculate about me long before you came along?” He gave Len space, moving across the room and peeling off his jacket and shirt, which he tossed over the back of a chair. “I been on the road a long time. I ain’t always been as discreet as I shoulda been. The pictures are out there. Stan’s good, but he ain’t a god. It don’t matter. People will come to listen or they won’t. I’m past carin’ about that.”
“So.” Len finally moved away from the door toward the bedroom and the sight of him, framed by the bedroom doorway and the bed against the far wall, enticed Vance. “What do you care about?”
Vance cupped his face. “You really gotta ask that?”
A flush spread up Len’s cheeks, and he shook his head. “No, Sir. But it’s nice to hear.”
Vance strode past him and sat on the edge of the bed. “Come ’ere, boy.”
Len did, stopping just far enough away so he didn’t seem to be looking down on Vance. He clasped his hands neatly in front of the bulge in his jeans and waited.
“I care about you, boy. Now kneel here”—he pointed to the floor at his feet—“and help me git these boots off.”
Len dropped to his knees immediately and took hold of the foot Vance raised. He removed boots, socks, then jeans at Vance’s order, and finally underwear, folded each garment, and laid them neatly on the chair under which he’d placed the boots. When he was done, he waited once more on his knees next to the chair.
“You take yer own things off too, boy, and bring me my bag.”
Vance sat back against the headboard to watch Len strip. When he’d folded his clothes, he brought the
requested overnight bag to Vance.
Vance didn’t need to look inside. All he had in there was a clean T-shirt, underwear, socks, and Len’s heavy cuffs. It was the latter he was after, and he pulled them out, along with a set of ankle cuffs. “Git up here on the bed, darlin’.”
Len trembled as he obeyed, and the shaking didn’t stop as he pulled back the blankets and lay down next to Vance. His cock was erect and drizzling, but he kept his mouth closed and his gaze on Vance the entire time.
When told to, he held out his hands, and Vance replaced the ornate display cuffs with the useful ones, then Len swung his feet around to receive the ankle cuffs.
“You nervous?” Vance asked.
Len looked him in the eye and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“You remember yer safeword?”
“I do.”
“Good boy.” Vance retrieved a simple carabiner and clipped the ankle cuffs together. “There you go. Now get under the covers and lie down.”
A frown creased Len’s brow, but he scooted his bound feet under the blankets and laid his head on the pillow.
“Now yer hands.”
Len offered them up and Vance clipped them together too. Once bound, Len rested his hands on the covers. All the while, he watched Vance steadily.
“If I do somethin’ you don’t want, you’re to tell me. Immediately. That understood?” Vance asked.
“It is, Sir.”
“Good.” He petted Len’s cheek, and immediately Len turned into the contact. He was starved for touch. For attention. For someone to make something, anything, about him.
So Vance did. He made every kiss and caress about Len. Despite his lover’s hard-on, it wasn’t about sex at the moment. It was about reaching him, about soothing the raw edges of his new emotional parameters.
“You want to talk about it?” he asked when he felt Len relax about as much as he ever had.
Len was lying on his back, eyes closed, twisting in search of touch, trying to get it just where he wanted it. His gyrations, though, had no pattern, no goal, as if he didn’t know what he wanted at all. He stopped moving and gazed up at Vance. “I thought—” He swallowed, blinked, as though he wanted to look away.