Indigo Knights: The Boxed Set

by Jet Mykles

  He glanced at Noble as he poured his coffee. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  They were quiet as Danny passed out of Noble’s room and into Lance’s, carrying an armful of clothes.

  “Did you tell him?” Lance added milk to his coffee. “About me and Gordon?”

  “No. That’s your story to tell.”

  “Good.”

  “Not that it’s much of a story.”

  “Even better.”

  “I mean, a story has a good ending. Yours…?” Noble sniffed. “He did ask why you were celibate. I told him your dick shriveled up and dropped off.”

  “Good.”

  Noble chuckled at Lance’s bland response. “Asshole.”

  * * * *

  Lance saw Rabin waving at him from the door into the console room, so he took off his headphones. “What? Sound off?”

  “No, we got it.” Rabin had an odd smile on his face, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “We need you in the kitchen.”

  A glance around the studio and Lance saw that no one else was there. Well, damn. “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  Unable to suppress a small smile, he set his bass on the stand beside his stool and put aside his headphones. He knew what day it was, and Noble knew what day it was, but he’d asked Noble not to make a big deal. He hadn’t told Rabin or Danny, so Noble must have spilled the beans. Obediently, he followed Rabin out of the studio and down the hall. Truth be told, this was kind of nice.

  “Happy birthday!”

  A round cake with white icing and blue trim sat on the table in the middle of the kitchen, with his friends standing around it. Gordon was there too. In fact, if Lance was going to judge by the matches in one hand and cake knife in the other, Gordon had arranged this. The cake even said Happy Birthday Lance.

  Lance blinked at him. “Was this you?”

  Gordon smiled. “You didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you?”

  Lance could only stare at him. Gordon had spoken to him a little more in the past week, but he still wasn’t what Lance would call friendly. But today, with the huge smile on Gordon’s face, Lance could almost think they were over the past. “Wow. Thanks.”

  Gordon used the excuse of that damn birthday song to look away from Lance. He led the others in a truly mediocre attempt, then insisted Lance blow out the candle. Then he shooed Lance out of the way so he could cut the cake.

  “I didn’t say a word,” Noble murmured in Lance’s ear as the others concentrated on the cake.

  Lance nodded, still unsure what was happening.

  “So, you guys do realize that Lance is the oldest fart here.” Noble’d danced out of arm’s reach, so Lance was unable to hit him.

  “You can’t be all that old.” Danny laughed, licking icing off his lip.

  “Old enough.” Lance picked up a paper plate with cake. Gordon still hadn’t looked back at him.

  “Thirty-three, I believe,” Gordon answered.

  Noble exchanged a quick glance with Lance. “Yeah. Like I said: old.”

  Gordon pointed the cake-covered knife at Noble. “Shut it, you.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. You’re almost the same, right? Thirty-two?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “Close enough.”

  Shaking his head, Gordon raised his plate to his mouth. “Because you’re so young.”

  “Twenty-six,” Noble stated proudly.

  “Sheesh.” Danny rolled his eyes. “You’re old.”

  Noble glared. “What?”

  Danny grinned. “Twenty-four, baby.”

  “Oh, fuck you.”

  Danny proceeded to dance around, singing about how young he was. Rabin started to give him crap, but Lance stopped paying attention. He stepped up beside Gordon. “Thanks for this.”

  Startled, Gordon met his gaze. He must not have realized that Lance was close. He recovered quickly and smiled. “You’re welcome. It’s the least I could do.”

  So much. Lance wanted so much to wrap his arm around Gordon and pull him in for a kiss. The moment was right there. Perfect. Until Gordon blinked and turned away, spoiling it.

  “You could go out with us tonight,” Noble offered, putting his back to Danny and Rabin.

  “Thanks. But no. I’ve got a date.”

  Just like that, Lance’s heart deflated. But he covered it well. He was pretty sure only Noble saw the arrow hit.

  Noble’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe another time, then.”

  “Maybe.” As though he hadn’t seen Noble’s reaction, Gordon tossed his plate into the trash. “I’ll leave the rest of the cake for you ladies.” He faced Lance once again. “Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.”

  Then he was gone, leaving Lance to finish his cake and reassemble his demeanor so he could get through the rest of the day.

  Chapter Ten

  Past, a few weeks later

  “So would you do something already?” Noble whined one night as they sat in the back of a town car. Shelby had called an early rehearsal the next day, so both of them were headed to the estate without any overnight company. “Jesus, neither of you are getting any. You could at least get each other’s rocks off.”

  Lance took his eyes off the dark road and tried to focus on Noble. Tried because there was a lot of alcohol in his system and the car interior was dark. As they left the city farther behind, streetlights were fewer. The dark suited Lance’s mood. Gordon had not been at the performance tonight but rather at a party across town. A party held by some of his gay friends. A party where he might meet someone he was interested in. “How do you know he’s not getting any?”

  “I asked.”

  “You asked? Just like that? Did you offer to help him out?”

  Noble glared. “No.” Angrily, he tossed overlong bangs out of his eyes. “If I even tried for Gordon, you’d flip out.” He faced forward, arms crossed over his chest. “But he’s so focused on you, he wouldn’t go for anyone else anyway.”

  “He’s not focused on me.”

  “Fuck me sideways!” Noble stared at the ceiling of the car, shaking his head. “You two are such fucking idiots, I don’t know why I talk to you anymore.”

  “He’s not—”

  “Fuck you.” Noble slammed a fist on his thigh. “Fuck you, and fuck him. You spend more fucking time together than with anyone else, including me. You’re practically dating, except you never get to the good part.”

  “We’re not—”

  “I don’t want to hear it. I really don’t. You’ve both made up your minds that it’s not going to happen, and you’re both too damn controlling to just let it go.”

  Lance glanced up at their driver, but Rollo’s eyes were on the road. He certainly heard, but he made no sign, and Noble didn’t care. Lance should just let this go or talk about it when they got home, but… “Controlling?”

  “Yeah.” Using his hand, Noble indicated one person on his left and another on his right. “He wants it his way, you want it your way, and since the two don’t really mesh, you won’t let it happen.”

  “What the fuck is my way?”

  The look Noble gave him said he was completely clueless. “Your way. Where you’re on top, with no strings attached.”

  “I’m not like that.”

  The look continued.

  “I’m not.”

  “Do you ever look at the guys I send your way?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Ever notice that every one of them lets you call all the shots? That not one of them tries for anything more than a night? Ever notice they’re all submissive?”

  No. He’d noticed that they were all cute and…yeah, okay, they all took his lead. Sure, he liked it that way. Sure, he wasn’t into calling afterward. Wasn’t that the way with gay guys? Lance frowned. “I don’t sleep with women who’re particularly submissive.”

  Noble shook his head. “Women don’t count. The mere fact you have a penis means you come out on top.”


  “Now that’s just sexist.”

  “It’s not. It’s a truth of society.” His friend sighed and settled into his seat as he faced forward. “It’s not a bad thing; it’s just what you are. If you don’t feel like you’re in control, you give up. That’s why I never send the”—Noble stared thoughtfully in front of him—“determined ones to you.” He smiled a little at a private joke.

  There was so much Lance could ask. A definition of determined would be a start. But Noble’s mood prompted a different track. “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

  “I have.” Head back, Noble closed his eyes. “Had to convince myself you weren’t right for me.”

  The words stabbed through his heart like ice picks. He stared at his friend’s profile. “Noble…”

  A hand fully adorned with silver rings rose, waving in the air between them. “Save it. We both know the friendship is much better.” The hand landed on Lance’s knee, patted it, then returned to Noble’s lap. “But there was a time that I wanted to convince myself otherwise.”

  Lance was slow to digest this, watching Noble, who almost certainly realized he was being watched. “Should I say sorry?”

  Noble’s smile was genuine, even if it was given with his eyes still closed. “You could, but it’s not necessary. Although if you want to do something with that guilt, you could fucking fuck Gordon already and stop your mooning.” At that, he peeked sideways at Lance.

  “Fuck you.” He popped Noble one lightly on the shoulder, then faced forward himself.

  Noble just laughed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Present, Thanksgiving Day

  “So.” Noble came up behind him and set a glass of wine on the balcony rail beside Lance’s elbow, then folded his arms right beside it so Lance and he were both staring at the lake view. “How you doing?”

  Lance picked up the glass and took a sip of the very good, very dark wine their hosts had provided. “I’m good.”

  “Are you?”

  Discussion, laughter, and music filled the room behind them. The sliding glass door was open despite the nippy air blowing in over the water.

  “Why shouldn’t I be? Here I am, among friends. It’s Thanksgiving. Brent’s cousin and his friends are in the kitchen preparing what promises to be a spectacular meal.” He sipped again, aware that Noble was waiting him out. “I’ve been more creative in the past two months than I have been in my whole career, and I finally feel at home.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Noble nodding. “I have much to be thankful for,” he added.

  “Sure.” Noble sipped from his own glass. “And you’ve even got the one man you’ve ever loved in the room behind you with his boyfriend.”

  His having expected Noble’s choice of topic, Lance’s heart was shielded from the stab of those words. “Oh sure. You just had to ruin it.”

  “It’s my thing.”

  “Asshole.”

  Chuckling, Noble turned so that his back was propped against the railing. “Leon.” He said the name as though he were tasting it. “What kind of name is Leon?”

  Lance kept his gaze on the darkening sky and the way the lake water turned every shade of purple and blue. “Stop.”

  “He doesn’t look like a Leon.”

  “Noble.”

  “‘Gordon and Leon’ just doesn’t have a good ring to it.”

  “Hey.”

  “What? I’m just saying. You’ve got to think of these things.”

  “No. I don’t. You don’t. We can stop talking about them.”

  Noble was quiet for all of two minutes before he had to say, “I give it a month.”

  “Jesus.” Heaving a beleaguered sigh, Lance lowered his forehead to the balcony railing and wished for his friend’s disappearance.

  “They won’t make it past New Year’s.”

  With another sigh, Lance turned around himself. Inside the sliding glass doors, people were dressed in festive warmth, drinking wine, and enjoying hors d’oeuvres provided by the three student chefs in the kitchen. A huge table had been set and decorated, just waiting for the meal. Brent and his partner, Heller Witting, were seated on the couch, one talking to Danny and the other chatting with Gordon and Leon. Leon. Tall, with sandy-blond hair styled perfectly. A stately face with a curved jaw, a big nose, and overgenerous lips. Lance had to agree with Noble. He didn’t look like a Leon. He didn’t look like a surgeon either, but he was. He did look older than Gordon, which he also was. Most of all, he didn’t look like he should have his hand rubbing Gordon’s back.

  “If Leon makes him happy,” Lance said under his breath so only Noble could hear, “then he should be with Leon.”

  Noble made a retching sound. “Gawd, who are you?”

  Lance gave him half the smile he was prodding for. He might have said more, but a raised voice from inside called them to the table. Lance followed Noble inside and into the dining room. He headed for the far end of the table. There wasn’t a place setting at the end, so he sat at the last setting. Noble took the seat beside him. He was pleased when Darien Hughes—Heaven Sent’s drummer—and his lawyer boyfriend took the seats across from them. Lance hadn’t had a chance to speak much with Darien, so this’d be good. Danny sat beside Noble, with Rabin across from him. When Izzy finally sat down, he would be beside Rabin, in the seat closest to the kitchen door, with his two friends beside him. Next to Danny was Gordon, then Leon. Gordon’s boss, Gretchen, and her two—yes, two—boyfriends sat across from them. Most interesting placement of all, Lance thought, was Brent seated at the last seat on the side of the table and Hell seated at the end. It gave him new ideas about their relationship. The food was on the table as they all found their seats, Izzy and his friends bustling about with last-minute touches.

  Hell remained standing, then raised his glass of wine after everyone else was seated. “Welcome.” For a little guy, he had a rich, lovely voice. Lance would have thought that a high voice came with the pixie look, but he’d begun to realize Hell’s looks were deceiving. Strikingly white hair curled around a face straight from a manga, with purple eyes that looked too big for his face. Hell smiled as everyone raised their glasses. “Thank you for coming to celebrate this holiday with us. I am grateful for you all.”

  “Hear, hear.” Brent tried to bring his glass to his lips, but his boyfriend caught his wrist. They shared a look; then Brent groaned softly and set his glass down.

  Chuckles broke out, mostly from those who knew the couple well. Lance put down his glass, certain he was about to be entertained.

  “I did not grow up in this country,” Hell continued in his German accent, laughing along with his friends at the statement, “but I’ve come to enjoy this holiday. Not only for the food, but for the company of friends and family.” He smiled at Izzy. “I am thankful for a new cousin, who has come to live with us and has filled our house with wonderful laughter and glorious meals.”

  Izzy, who Lance knew well enough to know he wasn’t shy, ducked his head and actually blushed.

  “I am thankful for Rabin, who came into our lives for the business of music and has joined us by finding love with Izzy.”

  Izzy leaned into his boyfriend’s arm and blushed some more when Rabin kissed his cheek.

  Hell kept speaking. “I am thankful for my friend Gretchen, who has found love where she didn’t expect it. Owen, Archer, welcome to the family. I hope you don’t regret it.”

  More laughter as Gretchen leaned into the young man beside her. She also reached across his shoulders to squeeze the arm of the darkly handsome man on Owen’s other side.

  “I am thankful for Gordon—”

  Lance perked up, curious to hear. He didn’t think Hell knew Gordon all that well.

  “—who has helped to guide Rabin and the Indigo Knights. I know that Gretchen is excited for your success. As are we all. And welcome to Leon.” He chuckled. “I hope we don’t scare you off.”

  Noble’s foot nudged Lance’s.


  “Last”—Hell indicated the far end of the table, where Lance and Noble sat—“I am truly thankful for the Indigo Knights.”

  By unspoken command, everyone raised their glasses higher.

  “Rabin, Danny, Lance, and Noble, strange roads have led you together, but we, all of us, are committed to your success.”

  Lance’s heart swelled at the wave of support that he felt fill the room. He’d never felt anything quite like it.

  “We toast to your future, and I, for one, look forward to the day when I can say I knew you when.”

  With a small tip of his glass toward them, Hell finally drank, signaling others to add their agreement, then drink.

  “Hey,” Darien called down the table after all the glass clinking had stopped and Hell had taken his seat. “What about me? And Chris?”

  Hell looked up, considered Darien for a second, and waved his hand in dismissal. “You I am not thankful for.”

  The tone and a truly wicked smile assured everyone he was kidding, and laughter erupted as they started to pass the food.

  * * * *

  “So, the two of you”—Darien pointed at Lance, then Noble, then back again with the hand that held his fork—“are you into guys or girls?”

  Lance blinked, then chuckled. Noble outright laughed.

  Beside Darien, Chris shook his head a little and groaned. “You don’t have to answer him.”

  “What?” Darien looked at his boyfriend with deceptive innocence. “I’m not allowed to know?”

  Chris arched a brow over the rims of his classy glasses. “It’s up to them to decide that.”

  “Duh. But they don’t know I want to know until I ask.”

  Lance and Noble exchanged a grin. Darien Hughes couldn’t be as clueless as he seemed. After talking to him for most of dinner, Lance thought maybe a lot of his talkativeness was an act. But he could be wrong.

  Chris opened his mouth, paused, shut it. He turned back to Lance and Noble with a look of bemused resignation. “I can only say no offense meant.”

  “Offense?” Darien sat back in his seat, affronted.

  “None taken,” Noble said with a grin. “I’m happy to answer. I’m very much into boys.”

  Darien smiled at him. “Thank you.” He gave his boyfriend a little glare and turned his attention to Lance.