Scratch Track

by Eli Lang

  The way Nicky was watching me, though, made me feel more comfortable about all of that, despite how nervous I still was. He was staring at my chest and licking his lips, which should be laughable, and it was. It made me smile so wide. But it lit a fire inside me too, right under my breast bone. This hot spark of need and desire, traveling through my bloodstream, setting me alight. It made me want to do wicked things to him.

  He raised his eyes to mine, and that was enough of a signal for me. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him, and he leaned on me, giving me his weight, like he’d taken mine when I was sitting at the drum set before. I walked us backward until we hit the bed again. The climb onto it was awkward this time, especially for me, going backward, and then we had to scoot our way up so we weren’t hanging off the edge, but it didn’t matter. If we were ungainly, we didn’t care anymore. I was too lost in him, and he didn’t take his eyes off of me.

  It was better that way, to not care. Not care how we got to the bed or how clumsy we were doing it. Better not to think about what this meant, what it meant when I added it to last night.

  I leaned back on his pillows. They smelled like him, like salt and the shampoo he used, something cucumber. It made it seem as if I were surrounded by him on all sides. He knelt over me, palms on either side of my head, and bent forward to kiss me. I reached up and cupped the back of his neck, pushed my fingers into his hair, teased my pinky down his nape. With my other hand, I gave in to my temptation from before and slid it between his legs to grasp his thigh. I ran it up, starting at his knee, brushing the tips of my fingers over the tender skin there, then moving higher. Rubbing my palm over smooth skin and the odd crisp-softness of his hair, letting my fingers drift around his leg as I drifted my hand up. Touching, so carefully, so lightly, that delicate stretch of muscle on the inside of his thigh. Edging my thumb into the crease where his leg met his groin.

  He shivered, almost violently, the movement shaking his whole body, and pulled his mouth away from mine. “God, Quinn. What are you doing to me?”

  His voice was breathy and harsh, but there was a smile behind it, a hint of humor.

  I looked up at him and smiled back. I wanted to say something, maybe something sweet and cheesy. But instead his slight movement made my arm rise that last inch, so my wrist touched his balls, and he moaned and jerked forward, rubbing himself against me.

  I’d never had anyone hump my arm before. It was . . . weird. Not my first choice for sexual activities, for sure. But there was something incredibly hot about him doing it, about making him so desperate for friction that he’d grab at whatever was there.

  But I couldn’t resist laughing, and he joined me, collapsing into giggles on my chest, his ass still sticking up in the air, my arm between us.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” he whined, but he laughed more himself. “I fucking need something.”

  I kissed my way up his shoulder, along his neck. “I know. Come here.” I moved my hand from between us and tugged at his hips, urging him to walk forward on his knees. He did until his knees were almost at my shoulders, and I could prop my head up on a pillow and reach forward to take him in my mouth.

  This was entirely new. He’d sucked me the first time we’d been together, but we’d been too desperate to move on to other things to wait for me to return the favor. But favor wasn’t the right word, because I loved doing this. Not always. Sometimes it was uncomfortable, or didn’t feel right, or I wanted someone to pay attention to my body instead. But it was good with Nicky. Better than good, and I wanted it. The sounds he made, the moans and the sharp gasps of his breath, the way he rocked so carefully forward, pushing the tiniest bit into my mouth, gentle with me, while his legs trembled at the effort, made me want to keep doing this for as long as possible. I wanted to hear every noise, I wanted to feel every twitch of his body. I wanted to take everything he could give me.

  I wanted to explore other places too, though. I pulled off, the sound as he slipped out of my mouth obscene enough to make me pause, eyes closed, and thrust my own hips up into thin air. When I opened my eyes, all I could see was Nicky, spread above me, his hands around the headboard, arms locked tight to brace himself. His eyes were closed, squeezed shut, and his mouth was open. He dropped his head down and let loose a harsh cry.

  “Please, fuck. Please, Quinn.”

  I took his cock in my hand and rubbed my palm along it, holding it carefully out of the way. Then I urged him to lower down, so I could lick at the soft, sensitive skin behind his balls. And then farther back, to that crinkled opening. He moved as I did, short jerks of his hips, like he couldn’t hold himself still. I let go of his cock and raised my hands to his hips, urging him on or asking him to stay still, I couldn’t quite tell. Then I went to town, lapping at him with my tongue, pressing my nose against his taint, getting as close as I possibly could, touching him and licking at him until he shouted.

  “Shush,” I said, moving away enough to talk. “Gotta be quiet.” Then I went back to what I was doing.

  I wasn’t practiced at this. I’d only done it for a few people. Like sucking cock, sometimes I’d liked it, and sometimes I hadn’t. It had, I was pretty sure, way more to do with the person I was with than it did with the actual act. But I liked this with Nicky. He tasted . . . like Nick. Bitter and salty sweet, and his skin was so soft and tender against my mouth. And the way he moved over me, the way he seemed to lose himself, rubbing himself against me, pressing almost too close, too hard, before he remembered and gentled his movements, reining himself in so he wasn’t too rough with me, was insanely hot. I did that to him. I made him lose his mind. I made him lose control.

  I kissed my way back up, then rolled us so he was lying underneath me. “Lube?” I asked. And then I realized we hadn’t talked about how we’d do this. I’d fucked him last time, but I was flexible. I didn’t care what went where, or if we didn’t do the whole insert tab A into slot B thing at all. I just wanted him, I wanted him to feel good, and I wanted to feel that way too.

  But Nick was already twisting us back, trying to reach over me for the drawer of his bedside table. “In there.” He waved his hand through the air. “There’s stuff.”

  I turned over instead, and opened the drawer myself. There was a lot of stuff. “Holy shit.” There was a box of condoms, and lube—the really high-end stuff I knew would be super silky on my fingers. I guess you could afford that when you were a rock star. I grabbed both items, but I couldn’t turn away from what else was in the drawer. Toys. Maybe five or six. All really . . . nice? Could some sex toys be nicer than others? Classy? I had to admit I wasn’t exactly an expert. I assumed they were still made of silicon, like your average, run-of-the-mill dildo, but they looked better than that somehow. There were a few different sizes, as well as a prostate massager and . . . “Are those sounds?” Holy fuck. Holy fuck. I was in over my head. They were in a box, but the cover was clear, and I could see them, all shiny, the metal bright, nestled in the velvet lining. I couldn’t be positive, because I’d never actually seen any in real life, but I didn’t think they could be anything else.

  I glanced back to see Nick stretch and shrug, the movements casual, but a flush rose up his chest. “I wanted to see how they felt.”

  I shut the drawer, rolled onto my back, and dropped the lube and condoms on the bed beside me. “And? How were they?”

  His lips curled up at the corners, sultry and sinful and gorgeous. “Fantastic.” Then he leaned forward and brushed a sweet, nearly chaste kiss over my lips. “We can play with anything you want. But right now, I just want you, okay?”

  I nodded. I wanted that too.

  We hurried more after that. He straddled me again, but faced the other way so he could put the condom on me, while I slicked my fingers and pressed them inside him. He was quick, and he didn’t let me touch him for very long before he was swinging back around to face me, rubbing some of the lube over my cock, and settling me at the entrance to his body.

  “Ready?�
�

  I laughed, but the sound was strained. “Aren’t I supposed to be asking you that?”

  He blinked and smiled. “It goes both ways.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. When you are.”

  He slid down onto me, and I had to close my eyes because it was so good. Heat and slick and the tightness of him around me, and knowing it was Nicky—Nicky, who I hadn’t really ever expected to see again. Nicky, who I’d wanted all this time, but hadn’t let myself want because I’d thought this part of my life, that part of my past, was dead.

  It took us a minute to find the right rhythm. I thrust up too fast, too eager, and he grunted and tried to grind down, and everything was way too tight for a second, and awkward. I thought, for one panicked moment, that maybe that night a year ago really had been magic, and we actually weren’t so good at this. But then he shifted, moving his knees closer around me, and I held his hip with one hand and ran the other over his chest, down his stomach, soothing, and everything clicked into place.

  And after that . . . well, I never really thought of sex as perfect, because it was such a human thing, and the imperfections were what made it good. But this came about as close to perfect as I could remember. For those minutes while we moved together, everything made sense. Everything was okay, and this was where I belonged.

  I came first. I couldn’t help it. I’d let my hand drift down to Nicky’s cock, and we were stroking him together, and he had his head tossed back and his eyes closed, his teeth buried in his lower lip. Then he shuddered when I hit the right angle inside him, and his head fell forward, his eyes snapping open, so he was staring directly at me. And that was all I could stand, all I could take. He was so beautiful and we were so connected and it was immense, heady and powerful. I came in a rush, thrusting up into him.

  He kept moving until I was done, and then he inched forward, so I slipped out of him. He soothed me this time, running his hand along my collarbone, touching my jaw. When I came back to myself enough, he took my hand and guided it behind him, and I pressed two fingers into him. He was soft there, and I was careful, but I wanted him to feel everything, I wanted it to be good for him. I moved my fingers inside him while he stroked himself, and it didn’t take too long before he came all over my chest.

  He collapsed forward onto me, flinging an arm across my chest, and I held him to me. Nicky was the type of person who’d go right to sleep and wake up stuck to me, and in that moment I almost didn’t care how gross that would be in a few hours. I dipped my finger into the come on my chest and licked it, and Nicky blinked and let out a guttural moan.

  “Fuck, Quinn.”

  I laughed, tired, and gave him a gentle shove to move him off me. “Where’s the bathroom?”

  He pointed vaguely toward one of the doors in the room, and I found the bathroom and a damp cloth, and came back to wash us off. Then I climbed into bed beside him, and he did the limpet thing again, wrapping himself around me and squishing up next to me as close as he could get, so all the bits of our skin that could touch, were touching. I liked it.

  The day was a blur in my mind, a whirlwind of activity, of Nick, and Josh, of the two bands, of everywhere we’d gone. And of this. The quiet at the end of it. The ease. The togetherness. The way being tired felt so rightfully good. Like all my joints were melting into the mattress and into Nicky, and I could stay right here forever, and not think about the studio, or the past, or Eric, or what I could have done better. For a little while, there was only this.

  When I woke up the next morning, Nicky was already out of bed. I lay still, letting myself wake up some more, taking in my surroundings. The lamp had been on last night, but I hadn’t bothered to look around the room very much. I’d had other things on my mind. But now I had some time, and I could.

  The room’s color scheme wasn’t white like the rest of the house. The walls were painted a pale blue, except for the wall behind the bed, which was a deep azure. The sheets I was lying on matched, and they were ridiculously soft and silky. Nick never seemed like someone who had a lot of money. He wore down-to-earth clothes, and he didn’t drive a fancy car. But it came out in odd spots in his house—in his sleek sheets, in his pricy lube. I liked that he indulged himself where he wanted, that he liked to be comfortable.

  The room was mostly empty, except for a chair in the corner, which had about a billion T-shirts and pairs of jeans slung over the arms and back. There were four or five pairs of different-colored high-top sneakers underneath it. And there was a keyboard on a stand in the corner. I didn’t know if it was his. I’d never seen Nick play anything but drums.

  I sat up and bent over the edge of the bed, searching for my clothes. Should I shower? Or would that be presuming too much? I could wait until I got back to the studio, but what if I wasn’t going back right away? I shook my head at myself. I was being stupid. Nick probably wanted some time with his kid. We’d had our time together yesterday and last night, and I should give them some space. I should probably give myself some space too.

  I grabbed my clothes. Then I made a quick trip to the bathroom, rinsed my mouth with the mouthwash on the counter, and combed my fingers through my hair. It wouldn’t lie flat. It was long enough that it was starting to go wavy, and I had to tug at it to get it to go where I wanted.

  When I stepped out of the bedroom and into the hall, I could hear voices. I paused, listening. Nick’s voice was a low, amused rumble. Joshua’s was higher, more excited, rising and falling like he couldn’t contain all his energy. They laughed together, and something warm and sweet expanded in my chest. They sounded perfect together. Domestic bliss.

  I couldn’t remember Eric laughing. He’d had a very dry sense of humor, always making those sharp remarks that had you keeled over with laughter, surprised by how quick and wry he was. He would smile with you. A quirk of his mouth at one side that told you he was glad you were pleased. But he hadn’t laughed much himself. Not because he was unhappy, but because he was quiet. He was always tucked away inside himself.

  But I should be able to remember his laugh. I should be able to picture him with his head tossed back, his eyes lit with happiness. That shouldn’t have been something I forgot. I should have spent more time with him in those last years. I should have been around more. Maybe then, memories wouldn’t be slipping away from me in bits and pieces. It was just . . . I’d always figured I’d have more time. That there would be this . . . mystical moment in the future when things were settled and neither one of us was scrambling to get things done for our respective careers. I’d always told myself, in the back of my mind, that there would be more time. But there hadn’t been. That moment had never come.

  I shook myself, berating myself for getting lost in my own head. Sex did that sometimes. Seemed to open me up and make me vulnerable, where I usually kept such a tight rein on everything. This wasn’t the time for it, though.

  I walked through the living room and to the kitchen. But I stopped short outside the door. I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt Nick and Josh. They seemed to be involved in a conversation, Nick answering things very seriously. I liked that he didn’t use baby talk. He treated Josh like he was a small person, not an idiot. I couldn’t stand outside the door and listen to them either, though, so I moved around the corner that had been concealing me and stepped into the kitchen.

  Nick saw me right away, and he smiled like I’d brought the sun into the room. It made that warmth in my chest expand about a thousand fold, and I grinned back, probably looking loopy and overly happy, but I didn’t care. He was standing behind the island, Josh in a high chair on the other side, and Nick waved me to the space beside Josh.

  “If you don’t mind,” he added. “You can pull the stool away. He gets messy.”

  I shook my head and slid into the seat. “I don’t mind.”

  “Good.” He pushed himself up on the edge of the counter with his hands, leaning forward to brush a kiss over my lips. I hadn’t expected it, really. Not in front of Josh. Maybe not at all. I d
idn’t know if he’d want to, if that was . . . what we were doing. But I couldn’t deny that it was nice. That it made me feel safe and cared for.

  I turned and found Josh staring up at me. He had a little bit of maple syrup on his cheek, but otherwise, he was pretty clean for a two-year-old who was diving into breakfast.

  “Hi, buddy.”

  “Hi.” He turned back to his pancakes, apparently completely unconcerned with his dad’s friend still being here in the morning. I couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

  “We’re having pancakes,” Nick said, drawing my attention back to him. “Can you stay? I have to drop Josh off at his mom’s after, but . . . we could have breakfast together?”

  He sounded so hopeful. Like he thought there was any chance I was going to say no. I nodded. “I’d like that.”

  “Look,” Josh demanded, earlier shyness forgotten in his eagerness to show me . . . something. He pointed at his plate, at the silver dollar pancakes Nick had made for him. “You put them in the stuff.”

  “The syrup?” Were you supposed to question what kids meant? Or were you supposed to go with it and pretend you understood?

  “No, the stuff!” He pointed again, and I nodded, very serious.

  “Is that so?”

  “He means the butter,” Nick explained, turning away from the stove. “He’s an addict.”

  “Oh.” I turned back to Josh and gave him a careful poke in the side, making him squirm and giggle. “Should we butter your paws, like a cat, so you always come home?”

  It wouldn’t make any sense to him—it didn’t make any sense at all; I was nervous about talking to him and I was basically making stuff up on the fly—but he seemed to get the teasing tone, and he giggled that high, sweet, effortless little-kid giggle. I found myself laughing with him, and teasing him more, tickling him, avoiding his sticky hands.

  I looked up and found Nick watching us, a happy, bemused expression on his face. Like he was glad we were okay together, but like we were also a puzzle he was trying to decipher.