by Clancy Nacht
Yet, when Ike announced his next song, Rime of the Ancient Tiler, with the double entendre chorus of, “Caulk, caulk everywhere, and not a hole to plug,” Rex couldn’t help but smile, swept away in Ike’s self-deprecating humor.
Nate remained at the table he’d shared with Ike. Throughout the performance, he’d worn a smile, his otherwise stern face softened as he gazed toward the stage. Then Ike began a new song, and Nate’s expression soured.
I never thought that I would ever be
So happy to be necessary
but she’s the most important to me
my gap-toothed girl
my Kay-uh-ay-lee
Nate’s annoyance gave Rex a flush of pleasure he couldn’t quite account for. As the song went on, its sweet playfulness made Rex’s arms ache with the longing to hold his own daughter again. His inner elbows felt bruised, and his slack shoulders refused Rex’s commands that they square up. The loneliness that had plagued him since he landed at JFK swelled as Rex looked back at the stage.
Between the constant dangers of Rex’s job and the resultant paranoia, it was rare Rex ever wanted to touch anyone. It was rarer still that he wanted them to touch him. Heather and Piper had been part of him, safe to hold, safe to love. Since Heather had amputated Rex from the family unit, he’d barely felt anything personal for anyone. The tender underbelly Rex had exposed to them had been armored and hidden, its raw scars protected so they could heal, or at least fester in private.
But looking at Ike, listening to the obvious adoration he felt for his little girl, broke something in Rex. He wished, wildly, regrettably, that Heather had died so he could have kept Piper.
Was it so wrong to want just one person to care when Rex, inevitably, failed at last to come home?
It was. It was selfish, disgusting, to wish that on a child, and Rex suppressed it. He needed a pill. A cigarette. More gin. He needed a hug, a kind word, a one-night stand.
As Ike moved into the next song, Rex imagined Ike’s mouth and hands on him. He imagined that taut, tawny skin pressed warm against his middle-aged body with passionate disregard for all of Rex’s flaws. It seemed to Rex that if that incandescent muse would just look at him and see someone who deserved to exist, then Rex could keep breathing a little longer.
Each song that followed increased Rex’s desperation to see some sign of acceptance in Ike’s pale blue eyes, some indication that Ike understood Rex the way the songs made it feel like Ike did. The words, delivered with Ike’s sonorous and seemingly effortless poignancy, pierced the fog enshrouding Rex’s other senses. Suddenly he could see every detail of his surroundings, could hear the rustling of other patrons, the hiss of steaming milk as the baristas continued to work. He could smell the pervasive aroma of espresso beans, the faint hint of chai spices, the oppressive scent of the unwashed hipsters and hippies and musicians of different stripes.
Most of all, Rex became aware of the maddeningly sensual feeling of the expensive fabric in which his skin was swathed, the prickle of hairs all over his body standing at attention. Every part of his being felt wide awake, as though Rex was in some life-or-death battle. But there was nothing here to provoke it but Ike the enchanter and his bewitching songs.
A hollowness in Rex’s gut gnawed at him, begging him to follow his instincts, to act on this moment of clarity before the color in the world faded again to gray.
Belatedly, Rex realized Ike had completed the show and that Rex had not applauded as he’d meant to in the gap between final song and “Okay, okay! One more!” encore; he had only stared, transfixed, and drank in every note, every wave of light that carried Ike’s image to his retinas. He stood along with the rest of the audience, unclenching his fists so he could instead slap his palms together in approval.
“Thanks, you guys. Thanks, really.” Ike looked humbled by the reaction of the crowd. Nate eyed Rex briefly, then nodded to one of the guys when he suggested they go outside and get a smoke.
On the stage, Ike shielded his eyes from the minimal lighting and saw his group going outside. Perhaps it was just Rex’s fancy, but Ike looked relieved. A few patrons approached the stage and stuffed tips in a jar at its edge. Ike nodded and smiled at a few people before he ducked out of his strap and placed the guitar gently in its case. He moved the tip jar up by the barista who nodded and smiled that she’d watch over it. After shaking a couple more hands, Ike headed to the bathroom.
Of course the bathroom. A small place like this wasn’t set up for live stage shows. There would be no backstage.
Rex shot appraising looks at the exits, then glanced at his watch. He waited two minutes for something to happen that might dissuade him from his planned course of action. When nothing did, he made his way to the bathroom, alert at every step for the ground to fall out from under him.
No one seemed to notice him. No one looked up or said a word. He passed through the thinning crowd like a ghost.
Like a spy.
The bathroom was multi-user, so Rex opened the door without knocking and stepped inside. Ike was at the sink, and Rex waited in silence to catch his eye.
Ike splashed his face. The water kept his hair back as he grabbed a paper towel to wipe away the droplets clinging to his skin. He startled when he saw Rex next to him and then gave him a brief smile. “Tell me you’re not a record executive or I’m going to owe Nate fifty bucks.”
“Oh is that what he thought?” Rex returned Ike’s smile, grateful for how casual his voice sounded. His body didn’t betray him either; when he told it to move him toward the sink, it complied with due grace. “No, not a record exec.”
Rex turned on the faucet adjacent to Ike’s and washed his hands, glancing sidelong at Ike every few moments as if sharing some secret amusement with him. The only joke was on Rex, but even that joke he wished he could share with the godlike creature beside him. Rex imagined that if Ike would just laugh for him, he’d give the man anything he had. Not state secrets, not the security codes for the CIA, but anything that truly belonged to Rex, that was his own to give.
Hoping to pique enough interest to keep Ike from departing, Rex gave him a smile and said, “I know without a contract to back this up, it’s meaningless, but you’re even better now than I remembered.”
Ike stopped rubbing his eyes and gave Rex a sidelong glance. “You don’t look like the typical Graves Diggers fan. You secretly a goth under there?” Ike’s gaze started at Rex’s feet, traveled up his legs to his waist, his shoulders, and finally met his eyes. It gave Rex the feeling of being cruised, though he must be flattering himself.
“Only one way to find out.” Trying to stave off the uncomfortable Sorry, man, but I just can’t... moment of rejection for as long as possible, Rex pressed on. “I saw your band play at a club here in New York back in... Oh, it was years ago. But I tracked down your demo CD after the show and listened to it until it wore out. Never thought I’d get another chance to hear you play, but I’m glad I did. You really have...”
Rex was still rinsing his hands, performing the activity mindlessly, repeatedly. Laughing at himself, he turned off the faucet and reached for the paper towel dispenser, drying his hands as if removing the drops of water could remove his embarrassment. Ike hadn’t fled, though, so Rex tossed the used towels in the bin and turned to face him.
“Your songs really affected me.” Rex gestured to the sink as evidence of his level of disorientation. “I’m sure every fan says it, but it was like you were playing me instead of the music.”
Ike’s eyes darted between Rex’s hands and face, eyes slightly widened until he apparently made sense of what was going on. Then he chuckled. “Actually I’ve never had anyone put it quite that way.” He cocked his head, one corner of his lips turned up. “Maybe it’s all the finger work.”
“Undoubtedly.” Rex arched a brow, wondering if Ike was actually flirting with him or just wearing a persona for a fan. He stepped closer, moving slowly into Ike’s personal space. Rex’s head tipped to the side as he forced
himself to bear up under the hypnotic power of those eyes. “How do people usually put it?”
“They say that they feel like I’m singing just to them, if they say anything at all.” Ike’s breathing grew unsteady. His brows drew together as he searched Rex’s face. It seemed less like Ike was refusing Rex’s advances and more like Ike wasn’t often propositioned in bathrooms by middle-aged men in suits. He seemed more curious than repulsed or offended.
“I almost said that myself, but then I realized it wasn’t accurate. You were doing a lot more than singing.” Rex shrugged slightly, trying to ignore the surge of panic chemicals as his brain caught up to what the rest of Rex was after. “I wanted to communicate precisely the manner in which your performance affected me.”
With unhurried movements, Rex reached up to stroke a gentle fingertip along the side of Ike’s face, then smiled when he didn’t flinch away. “You touched me. I wanted to reciprocate.”
Ike’s eyes widened at the bold move, and Rex steeled himself against the rejection that was sure to follow. The blond licked his lips as his gaze strayed to the door with a hint of worry. The double entendres in Ike’s lyrics spoke of a devious mind, but his reaction indicated Ike’s relative inexperience. Despite the earlier quip that Ike had never been in the closet, Rex was pretty sure the musician’s sexuality hadn’t been public knowledge at the time. Given the gothic, almost metal nature of the band, Ike probably didn’t get the sort of groupies he would’ve been interested in.
Whatever was going on in Ike’s mind, he stepped in so close Rex he could smell his aftershave and the remnants of coffee on his breath. “And where were you planning on touching me?”
Rex leaned in and brushed his lips against Ike’s, lingering just long enough to memorize the sensation. “Old school says start with a kiss. I think we can figure it out from there.”
The intensity of Ike’s gaze burned Rex, as though he was looking not into another man’s eyes but at the patch of vivid sky scant degrees from the sun’s zenith. The heat rippling across Rex’s skin from every point of contact with that searching gaze bid more words from Rex’s lips.
“Please, Ike.” Rex’s gaze flicked sideways toward one of the stalls before returning to Ike’s face. His hand dropped to Ike’s waist to urge him closer. Rex’s world narrowed to an animal desire to feel Ike’s hips fitted against his own, to know whether there was an answering pressure between Ike’s legs to Rex’s own stiffening cock.
Whatever bravado had compelled Ike forward in the first place appeared to be flagging. Indecision flickered over his face. That he hadn’t pulled away, that his hands rested now at Rex’s hips, suggested desire. It was as if he were deciding what kind of man to be, what he could or would do with his moment of fame.
Ike looked at the stalls, then at Rex’s face, seeming to take in the lines, Rex’s age. Ike’s gaze dropped to Rex’s tie, then his shoulders, like he was assessing his actual ability to take advantage. Then he looked back at the door.
Ike pulled away. Of course it had been too much to hope for that this man would see something in Rex that he wanted. Rex sighed and looked down at the floor. He was trying to form words to a goodbye when the knob rattled and clicked.
When he turned around, Ike was already on him, hands at Rex’s tie as he backed him into a stall. Ike’s kiss claimed Rex’s mouth and all his attention as Rex rushed to keep up with the aggressive clash of teeth and tongue. Before Rex had the chance to be embarrassed about the lacking state of his body, Ike had the tie undone, the shirt buttons parted, and his rough hands on Rex’s skin.
Ike’s stiff cock rubbed against Rex’s thigh so hard it might bruise. He hoped it did. At least it would give Rex something to reflect on for a few days after, proof it had been real, that for a short while he’d been granted such intense focus from this extraordinary person.
As Ike slid his hands around Rex’s back to pull loose his shirttails, he hesitated briefly as if checking it was okay to touch. Rex grunted and shed his suit coat; things he couldn’t risk having ruined resided in its inner pockets. He hung the expensive garment on the door, then put his back to the more solid of the walls.
He leaned against it, pulled the younger man into his arms, and kissed him fiercely. Rex’s body was taut with excitement and eager for more contact, arching into Ike’s touches with a will of its own. As their hips came into alignment, Rex reached between them to stroke Ike through his jeans, needing to confirm with his fingers what he’d felt with his thigh. The arousal was real, radiating heat against Rex’s palm as he groped, and he moaned into Ike’s mouth in approval.
Ike squeezed Rex’s ass, already tracing the cleft with his fingertips, spreading him wide under his pants. Rex had a moment’s panic at the unaccustomed contact; it had been a long time since he’d had sex with anyone, and never quite like this. The memory of Ike’s fingers flying along the frets of his guitar flitted through Rex’s mind, and he pressed back against Ike’s hands.
Those dexterous fingers slid along Rex’s waistband so lightly they almost tickled. It didn’t take long before first Rex’s belt and then his pants give way. Ike bit Rex’s bottom lip as he slid his hand between the trouser fabric and Rex’s boxers to rub his cock with his palm. Already Ike’s other hand was behind him, pushing down his trousers. They slipped to just above Rex’s knees, leaving his thighs exposed.
Ike dipped his hand down the back of Rex’s boxers and Rex’s breathing sped as his lungs demanded more oxygen than seemed to exist on the planet, but he shifted his hips in clear invitation. His head tipped back, thudding against the wall, mouth hanging open with anticipatory gasps. As Rex stared blindly at the ceiling, he lifted both hands to Ike’s strong shoulders to remain steady as the world shifted dizzily around them.
Ike kissed and sucked at the tender skin of Rex’s throat, his own moans and grunts echoing from the walls. Ike grazed his teeth over Rex’s shoulders as he pushed down Rex’s boxers, and the metal wall of the stall pressed cold against Rex’s ass cheeks. He longed for Ike’s hands, but the other man was fussing with his jeans. The sound of the zipper made Rex’s fingers twitch, and as soon as the fabric parted, he grabbed Ike’s cock, enraptured by the thickness and heat of it.
The tip was already slick—not something Rex expected from a grown man so handsome, but maybe it had been a while for him, too. Ike stopped kissing Rex for the moment. His breathing was as heavy as his eyelids as he stared into Rex’s eyes. Then Ike whimpered and went for Rex’s neck again, nuzzling and biting in turn. Ike’s hands worked behind Rex, fiddling with something. Surely not a condom yet.
What sounded like a small packet hit the floor, and Rex tensed, uncertain what Ike’s plan was. Instead of shifting away to roll on a condom, Ike’s slick fingers slid between Rex’s cheeks and slowly circled his hole.
Stroking Ike’s cock faster, Rex tipped his head to the side, capturing Ike’s mouth for more kisses. He clutched Ike’s back with his free hand, keeping the man close against him as Rex spread his legs, his opening flexing involuntarily.
“Do it,” he muttered against Ike’s lips. “I need it.”
Ike kept moving, one hand circled around Rex’s cock, the other rubbing his hole in time until he gently pressed his finger into the opening. Just that much of an invasion made Rex break out in a light sweat. Maybe he should’ve been fighting it, but the pressure just made him feel more alive. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled, forcing himself to relax so Ike could slide his finger deeper.
Ike’s fingertip skated over Rex’s prostate as if testing his responses and then rubbed that spot until Rex’s knees buckled as a spike of sensation raced up his spine. He’d never imagined it would feel that intense.
None of Rex’s same-sex encounters—some on Company business, some personal—prepared him for the feelings Ike was coaxing from within him. Dedicated agent or not, Rex refused to offer up his ass for his country, and Eastern Europe—where Rex had spent so much of his single life—was in the grips of the AIDS epide
mic. If a handjob sufficed, Rex hadn’t pushed his luck no matter how attractive he found the stranger.
Rex sighed in mingled bliss and relief. His body felt electric, on the verge of metamorphosis, but his mind for once was quiet, without regret. A sense of rightness pervaded Rex’s being, a suspicion that anything Ike did would be exactly what Rex needed most. As Ike slid another slick finger inside Rex and stretched him wider, Rex surrendered gratefully.
Once Ike felt Rex relaxing, he didn’t waste time. Pulling away from Rex, he turned him around. Rex crossed his arms on the partition to cushion his cheek as he looked over his shoulder at Ike.
Behind him, Ike fished a condom from his jeans pocket. His pants were open, his cock straining out over his briefs. It was long, slightly curved, with a soft bristle of golden curls at the base. Just looking at it made Rex’s mouth water.
Ike rolled the condom over the dark head and then met Rex’s eyes. He, at least, had the decency to blush.
As much as Rex didn’t want this to end, as he looked at Ike’s handsome, pink-cheeked face and then down again at his impressive erection, Rex cast aside sentimental concerns in favor of animal instinct. He didn’t need a best friend, a boyfriend, or a fuckbuddy; there was no room in his life for any of those things. What Rex did need was something to get him through tonight, a visceral, immediate sense memory to keep him going until he acclimated to the likelihood he wouldn’t be alive in six months.
Spreading his trouser-hobbled feet as wide as he could, Rex arched his back experimentally and gave Ike a wry half-smile. “Try not to break me too badly, Rock God; I’ve got work tomorrow.”
Ike chuckled and gave Rex’s ass a playful swat. He looked like he might say something, but then shook it off and lined himself up with Rex’s opening. “I’ll make sure you remember me fondly.”
Bracing with one arm on the partition and the other on Rex’s hip, Ike smoothly sank inside him. Rex grimaced at the burn as the sensitive nerve endings vacillated between pain and enjoyment. Grunting from the effort of taking it all, Rex kept his eyes open to stare at Ike, to remember why he was doing this.