Treble Maker

by Annabeth Albert

  “Not. Yet.”

  “I need . . . ahhh.” Lucas’s voice went higher than Cody had ever heard it. “Fuck. So. Close.”

  “Wait for it.” Cody tensed his thighs, pushing his heels into his ass. Arching his back, he drove harder against his hand, pushing harder against his dick, imagining it was Lucas clenching him. “Now.”

  “Yes. Yes.” Curling upward, milky spurts hit Lucas’s chest and neck. Damn. Delayed gratification for the win. Lucas came on a series of relief-tinged moans and whimpers.

  The sound alone tipped Cody over until he pumped all over his stomach. He stroked through it, riding the waves of pleasure until he collapsed back on the bed. “Fuck. How was that for live porn?”

  “Eh.” Lucas sounded timid again. “Messy.”

  Cody glanced over at him, but Lucas was already scrambling off the bed. He headed into the bathroom. The snick of the lock echoed through the now quiet room, leaving Cody alone with the smell of sex and a vague sense of guilt. Hell.

  He cleaned himself up with a towel, then flipped off his light. Doing Lucas a favor, he rolled toward the wall, feigning sleep.

  Breakfast was usually one of Lucas’s favorite meals; as a kid, he’d always tried to wheedle his parents into pancakes. But the LA version of breakfast consisted of a bunch of bagels no one touched and big carafes of coffee with long lines of bleary-eyed show members.

  Lucas didn’t care how stale the bagels were or how the coffee tasted like burned toast—he was first in line on Monday. He’d left the room while Cody was still asleep, pulling on his clothes with surgical precision. Thank God, Cody seemed to be a deep sleeper. When he’d left, Cody had been curled around his pillow like he was trying to keep it safe. Lucas couldn’t think about that very much or else something warm and gooey happened to his insides. And he really couldn’t think about the fact that as best he could tell, Cody was still naked under the sheet twisted about his middle.

  And he certainly couldn’t think about what they’d gotten up to while naked or else everything down south started doing a happy dance. Yeah, pretty much he couldn’t think at all. So instead he chewed a bagel that tasted like sesame seeds glued on a manila envelope and watched the other groups. It was intensely weird being on his own. Even Saturday night, he’d still eaten with the guys. And even if some of them weren’t speaking to him right then, he was still one of them. He was an M&M. He knew his place, knew the rules, knew he’d never have to eat alone.

  But he wasn’t an M&M anymore. Oh, no one had come right out and said it, but it was there in their sidelong looks and side comments about exactly how he’d earned the right to stay. Even Winston had been more subdued than usual, giving him a half-hearted handshake good-bye and not quite meeting his eyes. It had started the moment they landed in LA—the inevitable descent to his exit from the group. He didn’t know who he’d be in the fall without the group. Heck, he didn’t know who he was right now.

  He supposed he was in Embellish. But heck if he knew the rules or his place. For the first time, he really felt each mile between the studio in LA and the tree-lined campus drive back in Austerity—like he’d shoved weights in his shoes but couldn’t stop to pry them loose. He scratched the back of his neck, his fingers worrying the neckline of his undershirt.

  “Do we have a place?” Cody appeared in front of him, grinning as if he’d mind melded with Lucas and uncovered all his insecurities. And of course Cody was dressed to get all eyes on him. Pink jeans. Really. Pink. On anyone else the color would look all over-the-top femme, but on Cody they looked like he’d made the color submit to his higher styling power. His tight black T-shirt and studded leather belt helped in that area, too. His hair was extra spiky and his eye liner made him look ready for an Adam Lambert photo shoot. Lucas knew all of it was a message to him, too.

  But he wasn’t sure exactly what the message was. “Huh?”

  “Do we get a real room this time, or are we still refugees in search of shelter?” Cody threw his arms wide, his messenger bag slapping against his thigh.

  “Real room! We don’t have to share!” Ashley whizzed past, not even looking at Lucas.

  Shame, a deep and cloying reminder of last night, made him want to do anything but follow. One simple glance at Cody had made all those things he wasn’t thinking about come rushing back. It wasn’t wrong precisely, what they’d done, but it had rubbed up hard against all the limits he had. And he absolutely, positively could not think about Cody and rubbing without his breath hitching and his pants getting too tight. Watching Cody’s ass wiggle as he walked after Ashley made more blood rush south.

  As Lucas followed that amazing ass down the hall, he let himself say it. I want to do it again. He slowed his steps, coming to terms with the confession. By the time he got to the room where Ashley and Cody had disappeared, Cody was already propped against a wall of the tiny conference room turned practice space, checking his phone, looking bored.

  Dang. That was fast. Cody didn’t seem to be having any trouble not thinking about things. Heck, he hadn’t even looked at Lucas since his initial I-have-your-number grin. Which should have made Lucas happy, but perversely, all he wanted was for Cody to look at him again like he had last night—like Lucas mattered. Like he had a place, and it was right there in that room with Cody.

  Chapter Nine

  “So, this is gonna be slippery. Maybe a little cold.” Cody’s voice was low and soothing, but it did nothing to calm the jumping in Lucas’s chest. Why had he wished for Cody’s attention? “But it’s not going to hurt.”

  “Just get it over with. Fast.” Lucas’s breath felt cold in his chest, like the AC was on too high in the tiny unisex bathroom at the theater. Cody squashed him against the sink, making it impossible for him to turn. The loud, slurping sound of a bottle squirting made his thighs tighten and his stomach jump.

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be a baby.” Cody laughed as he dumped hair goo on Lucas’s head. The cool slick against his scalp raised goose bumps all down Lucas’s neck. “You sure I can’t talk you into letting Ashley use scissors?”

  “You sure I can’t wait to see what the wardrobe people say?”

  “No. They’re going to take one look at your clearance-rack J.Crew outfit and jizz all over themselves to get us all in überprep.” Cody tossed off the words casually, but Lucas’s brain latched on to the word jizz and barely registered anything else. “Besides, maybe I just wanted to get you alone in a locked room.”

  Wardrobe was running behind, so they’d ended up at the theater for afternoon rehearsals with some time to kill. Ashley had snipped at Lucas about the need for a makeover. He’d nodded because he’d known plenty of girls like Ashley—including his oh-so-perfect sisters—and knew the only way to deal was to keep his head down and out of reach of her claws. But before he’d known what was happening, Cody had dragged him into the restroom.

  Cody’s hand in Lucas’s hair felt so darn good, he almost moaned. As it was, he leaned back against Cody’s chest, savoring the warm weight against his back.

  “Why do you do this?” He barely got the words out.

  “What?” Cody leaned in and bit Lucas’s ear. “This?”

  “No.” He gasped at the sting, pulling away to talk. “Act like I was invisible at morning rehearsal and then be all . . .”

  “Excuse me for keeping what we did on the down-low.” Cody stepped away from Lucas, stooping to dig in his backpack.

  “Oh.” Lucas sighed. “I didn’t think . . . discretion isn’t exactly your strong—”

  Cody silenced him with a hard kiss, rough hands on his shoulders, a comb digging into Lucas’s back. Lucas whimpered against Cody’s lips.

  “I can be plenty discreet.” Cody laughed and started combing Lucas’s hair. “What? Did you think I’d be all ‘thanks for jerking it with me last night’ in front of the group? Come on, man. We got off. Don’t overthink it.”

  Easy for him to say. Cody probably tossed away orgasms like Kleenex. Lucas hated that last nig
ht had shifted everything for him and had probably been no more significant than watching The Daily Show before bed for Cody.

  But maybe that was the key; it wasn’t real, wasn’t significant in the grand scheme of things. In a week or two, he’d be back home, back to who he’d always been, back to the old routines and principles. If he wanted to jerk it with Cody while he was here, who would know? Wasn’t like Cody would feel used or something. Wasn’t like Lucas was about to fall in love. Just two guys having a stroke here or there. They hadn’t even touched each other. Maybe Lucas needed to take a lesson from these Hollywood types and let go a bit while he was here. He knew who he really was and he’d get back to that soon enough.

  “Do your worst.”

  “Oh?” Cody’s cackle was deep and full of sin.

  “To my hair.”

  “Gonna start with your shirt.” He unbuttoned the top two buttons of Lucas’s shirt and motioned for him to finish the job, leaving him in his T-shirt. “We’re going to get you something that doesn’t require an iron. I’d tell you to raid my half of the closet, but nothing would fit.”

  “Sorry.” Lucas twisted the shirt in his hands. He felt half-dressed in only his undershirt. Plain white and sold in packs of three, it certainly didn’t feel like real clothes. Made him feel like some kind of poseur. “I know I’m fat—”

  “You’re not fat.” Cody tapped his cheek with the comb. “Just built. Stop getting all worked up about it. You sound like a damn chick when you’re all freaking about your weight.”

  “It’s because I’m so clumsy—”

  “Baby, you’d be clumsy even if you were a buck twenty-five and five foot three.” Cody leaned in and kissed his neck. “However, I am dragging your ass on the treadmill later with Ashley and me. You can have a cookie afterward, but we gotta get your stamina up.”

  “I think we both know stamina’s not an issue with me.” He raised an eyebrow at Cody in the mirror.

  “Point taken. But you’re not going to be able to avoid dancing forever. It’ll be easier if you’re not winded.”

  “Whatever.” He did his best impression of Ashley’s flippant tone and Cody laughed. Ashley had worked out choreography that allowed Lucas and Jeff to sit on stools. Whatever. As long as they gave him a mic, Lucas couldn’t care less if she put him behind a curtain.

  “You know, Mr. Stamina . . .” Cody’s hand tightened on Lucas’s hair. “If you want to beg me for a repeat tonight, I wouldn’t tell. Soul of discretion and all. I’ll even treat you extracrappy at rehearsal after.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Lucas’s face heated and his pants got tighter. If you beg me . . . He looked away, trying to uncoil his muscles. Hell. He was ready to beg. Right. Now. He could feel Cody hard against his ass. If he spun around—

  “There. How’s that?” Cody finished whatever he was doing to Lucas’s hair. He sounded so cheerful, so indifferent to the effect he had on Lucas. Bastard.

  Lucas groaned.

  “Oh, it’s not that bad.” Cody reached around, cupping Lucas’s face and forcing him to look in the mirror. His hair was all tousled in an artsy fall, with the sides straighter so the curly parts framed his face.

  “I look . . .” Gay. Which shouldn’t be that big a deal, right? Shouldn’t make his heart speed up and his palms sweat. He was gay. Looking like he’d spent more than twenty seconds on his hair didn’t make him any more gay. He stretched his lip with his teeth, trying to push past all his own objections.

  “Don’t suppose we can talk you into some guyliner?”

  “No way.”

  The door rattled. “Hey, you guys done jerking off yet? Wardrobe’s ready for us.” Ashley’s voice echoed off the tile.

  “So much for the down-low.” Lucas ducked under Cody’s arm, resisting the urge to scrub a hand through his hair.

  “She’d say the same thing if I were in here with Jeff. Calm yourself.” Cody huffed. Shaking his head, he shoved the gel and comb in his bag.

  “I’m not freaked out.”

  “Yeah, right.” Cody’s look said he didn’t believe Lucas any more than Lucas believed himself.

  They caught up with the rest of the group as they entered the wardrobe trailer in the back of the theater.

  “Nice hair.” Raven giggled and shared a look with Ashley he couldn’t figure out.

  “I’ve been looking forward to you guys.” A girl who might as well be Cody’s long-lost sister greeted them—spiked black hair, tattoos, multiple piercings, and full-of-herself attitude. “Love the pants.”

  “Thanks.” Cody gave her the same nod-and-wink he’d used on Lucas earlier. Equal opportunity charmer.

  “It makes me think . . . pink costumes?”

  Lucas kicked Cody, catching his eye. You did this on purpose.

  Cody raised an eyebrow and shrugged. So what?

  “Oh, yeah. Lots of pink.” Eyes going wide, the first girl nodded.

  “Isn’t it supposed to be Sixties week? Maybe some black—” Lucas’s stomach churned at the thought of performing in all pink. He glared at Cody, continuing their unspoken argument. I hope you melt into a pink puddle.

  Cody replied with a look that made Lucas think of other kinds of melting and puddles and . . . okay. Done with that. He studied the chipped cement floor.

  “I’m totally down with Lucas and me being in black.” Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. “The girls—and Cody—can wear pink or whatever.”

  “Nah. Pink and black is so done.” She tapped a pen against her see-through clipboard. “Pink and baby blue?”

  Dear God, please deliver me. The women reminded him of his mom and how she’d ask his dad for his opinion and then do the opposite. Except the wardrobe ladies weren’t shopping for sofas, and he’d have to wear whatever they came up with on national TV.

  “Guyliner not sounding so bad now, huh?” Cody elbowed him before raising his voice. “That sounds awesome. Very fifties prom rebooted.”

  “Or maybe white. White tuxes.”

  “That’s not so bad.” Lucas’s muscles unknotted. He could deal with a suit.

  “Or pink tuxes. Maybe ruffled shirts. Up the irony.”

  Lucas and Jeff groaned at the same time.

  The black-haired chick riffled through some of the overstuffed racks.

  “I’ve got it. Cody can be the rebel bad boy.” She emerged with an armful of fabric, thrusting a bunch of leather in Cody’s direction. Of course she knew Cody’s name. He probably made friends with the wardrobe people first—right after he got in good with the assistant director. Lucas’s hands fisted. He wasn’t going to think about who Cody might or might not be working an angle with. Remember, none of this is real. None of it.

  “I can work with that.” Cody gave her his best Elvis grin. The same one that made Lucas’s stomach flip—and ten thousand people click “like” on YouTube. It’s not real. And whatever they got up to later that night? It wouldn’t be real either. A strange calm spread out from Lucas’s chest at that epiphany.

  “And you’ll be the prom queen.” She handed Ashley a big poofy dress. Ashley let out a girly squee at the retro baby blue dress.

  “And the rest of you—”

  “We’re totally wearing bad pink suits, aren’t we?” Jeff pretended to cry. Lucas didn’t have to pretend, dread dancing around his gut like bad Elvis impersonators.

  “I don’t think this is working.”

  Cody spun around to face the others. Lucas so rarely spoke up in rehearsals that he had to double-check who was the one who’d spoken. Whatever bug had crawled up Ashley’s craw had infected the whole group. The last two days had been torture. Lucas seemed to have conceded whatever pissing match he’d had going with her and had mainly kept quiet in rehearsals. Or maybe he’s just trying too hard to make sure no one knows you’ve been beating off together at night. Unwelcome memories from Cody’s past surfaced. Memories of having to hide shit, memories of caring too much about people who would never return the favor—and, okay, why the fuck was he even
thinking about this shit? He’d moved way, way beyond that part of his past. Now it was time to make sure the present didn’t suck quite so much.

  “What?” Cody’s voice came out too harsh, but truth was, things were going sucky. Two days until showtime and their number was as messed up as his . . . situation with Lucas. Sweat and bad vibes hung thick in the cramped room, the single air-conditioning vent as overworked as the rest of them.

  “What you’re doing with the arrangement, it’s too much like the original.”

  “Isn’t that the fucking point?” Cody didn’t bother censoring his language around Lucas. If he got off on it at night, he could damn well take his high-and-mighty offended looks and shove them. “You helped come up with it. And isn’t that what all you a cappella people do? Deliver covers of standards in boring ways?”

  Lucas blinked at him, giving him that confused baby lion look. Cody waited for the pounce. He liked Lucas a whole lot better when he was radiating adoration for Cody’s voice and tripping over himself with lust.

  “Dude?” Jeff spoke up. “You really don’t get a cappella yet, do you?”

  “Let’s not argue over who understands what.” Raven grabbed Jeff’s arm. “Lucas is right. This isn’t working and we have to fix it.”

  “Imitating isn’t working here.” Lucas paused, and sounds of one of the other groups filtered into their practice space. They sure as hell seemed to be sticking to the original bubble-gum sound of their selection.

  “Illuminate me, o God of a capella sauce.” Cody stiffened his spine. His agent had accused him before of losing gigs because he couldn’t handle criticism. So what? He knew how to sing. Wasn’t his fault if other people didn’t appreciate it.

  “You’re never going to outcroon the other groups.” Lucas gestured toward the hall. They were back in the shitty practice room, and the narrow walls seemed even closer than usual. Cody tugged on the neck of his shirt.

  “You saying I can’t carry the lead?” He stared Lucas down. Ashley tittered beside him, but he ignored her. His anger drowned out whatever her reaction was.