by Jet Mykles
“No worries. Better’n my place. Oh sweet!” He noticed a Roland keyboard taking up the coffee table and immediately dropped down on the couch in front of it. “I almost got one of these.”
Danny stood at the edge of the table, proudly smiling. “It’s old, but I’m happy with it.”
“Not that old.” Rabin’s hand hovered over the power switch. “May I?”
Laughing, Danny started to pick up assorted pieces of clothing. “Go for it. Just not too loud. It’s late, and the lady next door has surprisingly good ears.”
While Rabin doodled, Danny swiped up most of the clothes and took them down a short hall into what Rabin assumed was the bedroom. He declined Danny’s offer of a drink and kept doodling until Danny sat on the other end of the couch. His shoes were gone.
“You don’t have to stop.”
Rabin shrugged and flipped the keyboard off.
Danny brought one knee up on the couch, leaning sideways against the back. Rabin noted the flash of a silver toe ring on one of his long, bare feet. “Was that one of yours?”
Rabin sank into the lumpy cushions and leaned his head against the back of the couch. “Yeah. Part of one.”
“It was nice. Is it for your album?”
“Nah. Not the one I’m in LA for. It was one of the pieces we were working on in Chicago.” It was much quieter in this part of town—or were the walls in Danny’s building just thicker? Rabin could actually see sky beyond the window and not just the buildings across the street.
“You sound like you miss it. You live there long?”
“Chicago? No. Just moved there myself.” Rabin stared idly at the ceiling, noting the little glow-in-the-dark stars pasted up there. Seriously? “But I liked it.”
“You have a girlfriend there?”
Izzy’s smiling face came to mind, thumping Rabin’s heart. “No.”
He heard the soft shuffle of Danny moving closer. “A boyfriend?”
He paused. What the hell. “Sort of.”
“Aha. I knew it.”
Rabin smiled. He’d known this was coming. Once the gay thing had been pointed out, he wasn’t so blind not to see that Danny was attracted to him. To be honest, he was attracted right back. Danny was the first positive thing he’d encountered in LA.
Danny’s face came into his peripheral vision, peering at him as Danny rolled onto his knee, closer. “And this boyfriend, does he miss you?”
Blue. Danny’s eyes were definitely and beautifully blue, light teal that was just bordering on green. “I doubt it.”
A tilt of Danny’s head sent red-gold curls tumbling down his shoulder. “And why would you doubt it?”
“Things didn’t end so well.”
“Did it end?”
Rabin frowned. “Yeah. I think so.”
One arm slid past Rabin to brace on the couch by his shoulder, allowing Danny to hover right in front of him. “Good.”
Danny gave Rabin plenty of time to object as he leaned in for a kiss. Rabin didn’t. Why should he? Danny was gorgeous, friendly, shared the same passions in life, and was clearly interested. The kiss was nice, lips soft and gently persuading him to open up. He did, accepting Danny’s tongue, playing with it. He reached up to comb his fingers through Danny’s hair, cupping the side of Danny’s head. Soft, silky, almost familiar. But when he cracked open his eyes, the color was wrong. It should be black. And things were too quiet. Danny didn’t make those adorable little sub-noises that Izzy couldn’t seem to help.
Rabin dropped his hand to Danny’s shoulder, pushing gently. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
Rabin looked into Danny’s eyes, saw the interest, knew he could have a good time with the man. But… “I can’t.”
Danny smiled, surprised. “What?”
Reluctantly, Rabin dropped his hand into his lap. There was a tingle in his balls. He could get hard if he wanted to, but it didn’t seem worth it if he had to make it so. With Izzy, that hadn’t been a problem. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” Danny only showed curiosity as he settled onto his heels at Rabin’s side.
“I…” How could he say it? He didn’t quite understand himself.
“Is it the boyfriend from Chicago?”
“Yeah.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“You said it was over.”
Rabin scowled at his knees. “I know.”
“Huh.” Danny spread his hands on his thighs. “Are you in love with him?”
Rabin had done a great job at avoiding the L word. But when someone else said it, it just seemed so obvious. He stared at his hands, fingers loosely woven in his lap. “I think…so, yeah.” A weird weight lifted from his lungs, allowing him to take a strangely refreshing breath.
“‘Think so.’ You never told him?”
How long had he been holding that in? Since the beginning? Since the first time? Izzy had become as much a part of his normal thought process as the music in his head. “It’s weird. He was the first guy I slept with.”
“Ah. Are you sure it’s love?”
Rabin sat forward, elbows on knees, and turned the thought over and over in his head. The vestiges of alcohol in his system made the process both harder and easier. Harder because his thoughts were a floating jumble, but easier because he could see they all reached the same conclusion. He couldn’t stop thinking about Izzy, and the mere existence of him and what they’d shared kept Rabin out of willing sex with someone else. It fell into place like a picture puzzle. “Pretty sure, yeah.”
“Hmmm.”
“I’m sorry.”
Danny laughed, rubbing Rabin’s back. “Don’t be. I think you’re absolutely adorable.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Which made Danny laugh harder. “You are. There aren’t many men—gay or straight—who’d pass up sex because of someone they’re no longer with. And I am offering sex, in case you didn’t get the picture.”
Rabin chuckled. “I know.” He felt like a fool. Would Izzy really care if he slept with Danny? Did Izzy even think about him?
Danny leaned closer, his fingers toying with the back of Rabin’s neck. “Are you sure?”
It felt good. Danny’s touch was sure and firm. He gave thought to leaning into it, trying it out. Shouldn’t he have sex with at least one other guy? To compare? But it wasn’t the same. With Izzy, he’d touched because he needed to. With Danny, he could, but he didn’t have to. “Yeah. I’m sure. Sorry. Want me to leave?”
“No, don’t worry about it.” The hand slid from his neck. “You’re still welcome to crash here.”
“You sure?”
“Well, my pride is crushed”—Danny laughed to show Rabin he was kidding—“but I understand. This appeals to my huge romantic streak. Just please tell me you’re going to call this man soon so he knows what he’s got.”
Calling Izzy. He’d thought about it, sure, but he’d let the trials in LA distract him. “Maybe.”
Danny punched his shoulder lightly. “No maybe—do. No healthy man gives up sex without a damn good reason.”
Rabin had to laugh at that.
“So tell me about him.”
It was weird at first, but Rabin found himself pouring out his feelings about Izzy. It didn’t occur to him until now, but he hadn’t had anyone to talk to. Brent and Hell were biased—and Izzy hadn’t wanted them to know anyway—and Rabin had kept the whole thing from Zane. He found himself talking about that too, about how all of a sudden he had this huge secret he was keeping from the one person he’d never kept secrets from. It hurt more than he was willing to admit.
It occurred to him that he shouldn’t spill all this to someone he’d just met that night, but Danny was so easy to talk to and completely understood. He even interjected with some of his own experiences, trying to give Rabin some perspective. Danny had come out when he was a teen, but he knew how devastating secrets could be.
By three a.m., they were all talked out. Nothin
g was resolved, but Rabin felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his chest.
“All right, sorry to say, but I’ve got to get some sleep.” Danny stood, stretching. “Couch is yours. Unless you want to share the bed with me.” He gave Rabin a lascivious grin. “I can’t say your virtue is safe in the bed, though.”
Rabin laughed. “I’ll take my chances with the couch.”
He sighed and turned on the lamp on the end table. “Suit yourself. That blanket’s there”—he pointed to the one draped over the back of the couch—“if you need it. My shift at the restaurant starts at noon, so we could get breakfast if you like.” He paused at the hall to the bedroom, yawning. “I can drop you by the studio after.”
“Sounds good.”
He switched off the overhead light. “’Night, Rabin.”
“’Night, Danny.”
Twenty minutes later, Rabin lay wide-awake in the dark, staring at the dingy charcoal sky through the window, listening to the air conditioning whir. He’d allowed himself to think of Izzy much more in the past few hours than he had in the past few weeks. God, he missed him. He really must love him.
So…now what?
Chapter Sixteen
Danny smiled at him from the driver’s seat of his Honda. “You’ve got my number. Call me.”
Rabin grinned. “Yes, dear.” On impulse, he leaned over and brushed a kiss on Danny’s lips. “Thanks.”
He was pleased to see the surprise on Danny’s face, quickly followed by a mock-threatening growl. “Don’t you tempt me.”
Rabin laughed and opened his door. “See ya later.”
“Good luck in there.”
Rabin paused in the doorway of Danny’s sedan, staring at the glass door that would lead him into the studio. Markus’s van was parked a few spaces away, so he knew at least some of the band was already there. Zane was. Rabin had only responded to the first, but Zane had sent a stream of texts all morning.
“You okay?”
Danny’s words startled Rabin, made him realize he’d been staring too long. He ducked his head down into the car and smiled. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks again.”
“Anytime.”
With one more smile, Rabin closed the car door and stepped away. Turning to face the door to the studio was like facing his doom. Since when are you so dramatic? Steeling himself, he headed into the building, through the small reception area, down a dusty little hall, then into the console room. Larry, the engineer, glanced up and gave him a smile and a brief welcome as Rabin stepped up beside him. The swivel chair creaked beneath Larry’s considerable weight as he leaned back. He was bordering on fat, but a lot of it was muscle.
“What are we up to?”
Larry just pointed. Beyond the glass, Markus had headphones on, beating out a track on his bass. Sam was at his kit, also with headphones, playing along. Neither looked up, intent on playing.
“Where’s Zane?”
“Coffee.”
Rabin nodded. Unlike Brent, Larry wasn’t much of a producer. Nice enough guy, but he was more of a techie monitoring the equipment than a creative contributor. Another mistake of Arthur’s, in Rabin’s point of view, because that left way too much room for him and Markus to fight.
He listened to what they were doing. Wasn’t too bad. Needed some… Wait. “What’re they playing?”
Larry wouldn’t look at him. “Markus switched up the bass line for ‘How We Roll.’”
“Who the fuck told him…?” Rabin trailed off, listening intently. That asshole had changed the whole fucking thing! He’d gone back to something they’d discarded last week. “He tell you to crank him up too?”
“Yeah.”
“Bloody hell.”
The door opened behind him, and Zane walked in. He startled on seeing Rabin, then frowned. “There you are.”
Matching the frown, Rabin pointed at the big window. “What the fuck is this?”
“Where the hell were you?”
“What does that matter? Who said he could change up my song?”
“Your song?” Zane crossed the small room, getting into his face. “Hello, buddy, there are three other people in this band. And answer my question—where were you last night?”
“What the hell? I stayed at Danny’s.”
“Danny’s? Christ, you actually went home with him?”
“Yeah, I did. What’re you, my mother?”
The music behind him stopped, and Rabin abandoned Zane to storm through the door connecting the console room to the studio. Markus saw him and reached up to take off his headphones.
“What the fuck? Who said you could change my arrangement?”
The big man settled on his stool, sublimely calm, with one hand resting on the blue body of his bass. “I didn’t like it.”
“So the fuck what? We agreed on that one.”
“I changed my mind.” Markus narrowed his gaze. “Where were you last night?”
Coming from Markus, the question shocked some of the anger out of Rabin. “What the…?” It came right back in full force, though. “What the hell business is it of yours?”
Bushy brows lowered over Markus’s eyes as he slowly pulled the strap of his bass up and over his head. “It’s my business if you went home with that Wimpy Pole faggot last night.”
Rabin’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropping. “What?”
Markus stood, placing the bass in the stand beside his stool. “I can forget you spending time with those Heaven Sent queens.” He faced Rabin, disdain coloring his round face. “But there’s no way I’m playing in a band with a fag.”
It was too much. Without giving it a thought, Rabin rushed him. He caught Markus off guard, shoving both palms into the man’s chest. Markus stumbled back, knocking over his stool, but kept on his feet. Rabin started toward him, but Zane was there, holding him back.
“Rabin, man—”
“Say it again!” Rabin shouted, struggling against his friend. “I want to make sure I heard it right.”
“You heard it right. Faggot.” Markus had his balance back, and now Larry was at Markus’s side, watching him carefully. “Was it good when he reamed your ass? Did you swallow his dick?”
“Fuck yeah, it was good.” Rabin didn’t even know what he was saying, anger clouding his judgment. “And I’ll do it again. Wanna watch?”
Zane pushed him back toward the wall. “Rabin, chill.”
Markus roared, so red it looked like his face would explode. “Damn it, I knew it. I knew you’d gone soft.”
“Soft?” Rabin shouted back over Zane’s attempts to shush him. “Wasn’t anything soft about it. He was hard and better’n your stinkin’ arse could hope to be.”
“Rabin!” Zane snapped, gripping his arm.
Growling, Markus broke away from Larry and charged, arm swinging. Rabin tried to block but got tangled up with Zane, who didn’t see Markus coming. Rabin’s elbow clipped Zane’s jaw, tumbling him backward right before Markus’s fist smashed into the side of Rabin’s face. Rabin’s world exploded into a loud, crashing light as he flew sideways, plowing into a table and tumbling his guitar case to the floor. He barely heard the shouts around him as Markus’s meaty hand spun him around so he could land another solid punch to Rabin’s jaw. Rabin’s neck twisted with a snap. Blinded by pain, it was all he could do to hold on to the table as he tried to scrabble away. All bravado drained away, leaving behind a need to avoid further pain. He could only assume that someone caught and held Markus, because the bigger man fortunately didn’t come after him. Rabin fell to his knees, then forward onto his hands, struggling to keep from passing out as pain thudded through his skull. The studio filled with shouts that rang behind his eyes. He blinked and realized that one-half of his vision was blurred and red, strobing in time with the pulsing pain at the side of his jaw. Shit. A crash to his right had him twisting around. Too fast. He lost his balance and landed hard on his butt near the wall. It was a moment before he could focus on what he saw. Larry used brute forced to h
old a raving, shouting Markus across the studio. Zane stood between Rabin and the bass player, fists up, shouting right back. A few feet away from Larry and Markus, Arthur stood in the doorway, shell-shocked and confused by the noise. Sam hadn’t moved from his drum kit, an avid—if slightly spaced-out—audience.
Finally Arthur stepped into the room, hands up, palms out. In a blue pin-striped dress shirt and red power tie, he strove to provide the voice of reason. “What’s going on here?”
“I won’t do it!” Markus roared, rounding on him, not at all impressed by his dress. “I won’t work with a fucking homo.”
Zane turned away from them to come kneel by Rabin’s side. He got a hold of Rabin’s shoulder and peered closely at his face. “Ah shit. You okay, man?”
Carefully Rabin braced the back of his skull against the wall and lifted his hand to prod at the two points of screaming pain. “I don’t know.” He winced over a swollen, split lip. “How do I look?”
He could tell by the expression on Zane’s face that it wasn’t good. “You look like shit.”
“Great.” It was easier to just close his left eye. Trying to see out of it wasn’t proving useful. He poked at the teeth on his left side with his tongue, but none of them seemed loose. He accepted Zane’s help in getting to his feet and tuned back in to the heated discussion across the room.
Markus was in Arthur’s face, cowing the other man back a few steps by poking a meaty finger at him. “I don’t care what fucking agreement we had. I won’t play with a fag.”
Rabin pulled away from Zane, testing his balance. Was good, even if the pain made his head spin. “Well, this fag won’t play with you either.”
At the sound of Rabin’s voice, Markus rounded, fist up. Both Zane and Larry rushed to block his path.