Rocking Hard: Volume 1

by Sol Crafter, Diana Sheridan, Talya Andor, Lacie J. Archer, Angel Propps

  "Doesn't matter, all my stuff gets on the bus," Bailey decided, and got up to lay claim to his preferred room.

  He was pleased that Tor would be on the same bus as him, though, for more than just the obvious. Certainly it would give easy access for seduction attempts, but as far back as their first tour, when they had simply driven from town to town and stayed in shitty motels, Tor had always been the best traveling companion for Bailey. They got along best, put up with each other most easily, could be silent together for hours without an instant of awkwardness, or talk about everything and nothing.

  All of that was why, Bailey had decided, it was Tor with whom he'd always been meant to be. If someone—Sasha, most likely, seeing as he was the one who was likeliest to call bullshit—were to ask Bailey why, he wasn't even sure he'd be able to answer. He'd been struggling, and realized that Tor was always the one to steady him.

  He'd been heartbroken by Gunner accusing him to be something he wasn't, and in the process, realized all that Tor really was.

  Settling into living space side by side with Tor seemed only natural. It made Bailey wonder if this was what married life would be like, if he ever got that far, and if it was ever allowed for him and his partner of choice. The last time they'd toured, it had been four of them crammed onto a single bus and there had been a lot of arguments, attempts to cloister themselves in tiny bunks, gagging their way past fetid kitchen or bathroom odors.

  "You're very clean," Bailey praised Tor when they'd settled into a comfortable living groove after the first few nights.

  "Uh …" Tor looked up from where he'd settled at the kitchen nook with his laptop. "Thanks? I bathe regularly, that probably helps."

  "No, I mean …" Bailey made a frustrated gesture and deposited himself on the bench across from Tor's. Their feet tangled together.

  Tor hastily pulled his back, tucking them under his bench. "You mean, I'm not like some dirty pig of a man?"

  "Something like that," Bailey said, eyeing Tor from beneath his lashes. He laced his fingers together. He was having an undeniable effect on Tor.

  "Thanks," Tor said, as dry as anything Sasha could manage. "What a compliment."

  "Well, it was hard to tell whose mess was whose last time," Bailey said. "I'm trying to give you a compliment, here. I think we fit really well together, don't you?"

  Tor gave him a wary look. "I guess?"

  Bailey sighed and popped to his feet, surveying Tor for a moment longer with his hands on his hips. "All right, well … goodnight!"

  "It's not even midnight," Tor said, looking at him as though he was crazy.

  "Maybe not, but I need my beauty sleep," Bailey decided. He hesitated for a beat, decided to pluck up his courage and go for it, and stooped to land a sloppy kiss on Tor's cheek, as close to the mouth as he dared.

  Tor didn't flinch, but he looked rather wide-eyed as Bailey scuttled back toward the bedroom area of the bus.

  "Sweet dreams," Bailey concluded, and pulled his door shut behind him.

  Of course, he didn't go to sleep. He waited. It was a long time before the light from the hallway stopped shining from the crack beneath his door.

  He went through a number of mental convolutions, pulling at his hair, standing in front of the floor-length mirror that served as the door for the meager closet that graced his quarters on the bus, and pacing while he listened to the 'Upbeat' playlist on his iPod. He needed the music to soothe him and psych himself up. In one moment, Bailey was sure that Tor was reacting to him, and he ought to go for it. In the next, he was convinced that if he went through with his plan, he was going to get decked by his truest friend. He swung the pendulum of emotional extremes from terror and the miserable thought that he should barricade himself into his own room, and utter confidence, accompanied by the sultry certainty that he was on the right course. Tor wanted him, Bailey wanted Tor, and he was going to see to it that they both got what they wanted.

  At last, Bailey gathered his courage and decided to go for it. He gyrated around his cabin, shaking his ass to three bouncy dance numbers in a row. It killed enough time that Tor would be in bed, hopefully thinking about him. Bailey shut off his light and took himself to bed, boyshorts and all.

  He counted time by the lights that flashed past along the bottom hem of the blackout curtains, and waited for the strip of illumination at his door to go dim, signifying that Tor had turned in for the night as well. It took a long time. On trips like this, Bailey was never sure how long the journey would last. He wasn't quite sure what city they were leaving behind, and he didn't know where he'd find himself when he awoke. He only knew the journey, and he was happy if he had the right companion beside him.

  Tor was the right companion.

  Bailey couldn't make himself wait much beyond the moment he heard a shuffle, and the thump that indicated collapse into the embrace of a bed. They had their own partitioned areas, but the walls were thin enough that there still wasn't much by way of privacy.

  He climbed out of bed, adjusting the boyshorts out of the crack of his ass, and crept out of his own bedroom into the shared hallway. Tor's bedroom door wasn't locked, and Bailey broke into a wide grin.

  It was a 'go' all the way, as far as Bailey was concerned.

  He crept into the silent, darkened bedroom on quiet feet, biting his lip as he considered the proper angle of approach. He couldn't flip the light on; that would totally kill the mood.

  Bailey spent a long moment dithering on whether he ought to be the big spoon or the little spoon, and when he began to creep around to one side of the bed, Tor's actions decided him. Tor exhaled a low sigh and shifted onto his side toward Bailey, one arm bending and grasping the pillow beneath his head.

  Folding his lips between his teeth to bite down on a grin, Bailey lifted up the corner of the blanket and insinuated himself between the sheets. He eased on his side, too, snuggling back against Tor and pressing himself against his warm body, satisfaction welling up within him when Tor molded his body to Bailey's. An arm draped around his midsection, and a nose pressed against his nape.

  "Mm," Tor murmured, sounding mostly asleep. His arm tightened around Bailey.

  Bailey nestled against him and closed his eyes. It wasn't exactly what he'd planned, but he figured a good cuddle would be a solid foundation. He could initiate the next step in the morning.

  Tor tensed, taking in a sharp breath. "Bailey?" he questioned, considerably more alert this time.

  "Uh, yeah?" Bailey replied in a small voice.

  He found himself shoved to the edge of the bed with unusual violence. As he made a cry of protest, the bedside lamp clicked on.

  "What the fuck are you doing in my bed?" Tor demanded, sitting up and running a hand through his tousled bangs, sweeping them out of his eyes.

  "Couldn't sleep?" Bailey ventured, biting his lip and giving Tor the wide eyes that had always worked for him before.

  He'd forgotten that Tor was immune.

  "You can't sleep here," Tor told him with a frown. "Even you and I have boundaries, Bailey."

  Bailey scowled in turn, extracting himself from the bedcovers and crawling toward Tor. When Tor looked terrified, lifting an arm as though to fend him off, Bailey deposited himself on Tor's legs with a grunt. "We never used to, before."

  The look that Tor gave him right then was devoid of all expression. "You never tried to get into my pants, before."

  "It'll be good," Bailey said, abandoning any veneer of subtlety. They appeared to be talking about the same thing at last, and he was going for it. "I always am." He shifted on Tor's legs and licked his lips.

  "That's not something that I need to find out about you," Tor said flatly. "Get off me, Bailey, and go back to your room." His glare was implacable.

  Bailey's brow furrowed. He couldn't have misjudged things so badly, again. Gunner had wanted him, he knew that much was true, but he'd been too hung up on his own heterosexuality to do anything about it. That was fine, and Bailey could move past it even though Gu
nner had basically tried to shame him for being as attractive as he was.

  Tor was different, though. He always had been. And Bailey was certain it had been lack of opportunity all this time, rather than anything else, that had kept them apart until now.

  "I thought we'd have breakfast together," Bailey said softly, placing a hand on Tor's leg. "You know, after."

  "After sex? Yeah, well, that's not happening, either," Tor replied, giving Bailey his most serious expression, bordering on angry. "Get out before I frog-march you out."

  "You can't …" Bailey began, half rising on his haunches. He wanted to say, you can't be serious, or even, you can't get rid of me when you want this, too, but Tor cut him off and the look on his face was angry now.

  "Don't fucking test me, Bailey," Tor swore, his voice rising. "I mean it. You can't just do this to me."

  Bailey remained frozen in place for an instant longer, mouth open, immobilized by the unexpected fury etched on Tor's face in the wan light of the side table lamp. When he lingered, though, Tor made an explosive movement as though to get up and haul Bailey off the bed, as promised. Bailey skittered back, almost falling on his ass when he climbed over the foot of the bed, and steadied himself against the wall.

  Even then, out of the bed and on his feet, Bailey couldn't help but notice Tor's eyes roaming over him, from his face on down the naked planes and angles of his body. The boyshorts left nothing to the imagination. Bailey stretched a hand out in supplication.

  "Out," Tor repeated, curt. His jaw was set in a hard line.

  Bailey's mouth pursed like he'd swallowed a lemon. He certainly felt that bitter as he turned to head out the narrow door. He slanted a last look over his shoulder to glare at Tor, whose fists were bunched on the bed covers, his eyes still warily tracking Bailey.

  Tor had never denied him anything—and he'd been so sure Tor wanted this, too. "So there is one thing you won't do for me, even if I want it."

  "I take care of what you need," Tor said, sounding tired. "What you need, Bailey, and no more than that. You can't always figure out the difference between that and what you want, and that's the problem here."

  That made Bailey turn around on the threshold, putting one hand to the door. "How could you possibly know what I need better than I do?" he demanded.

  Tor shook his head and reached for the lamp beside his bed. "Get out, Bailey. If you leave right now, I'll do us both a favor and pretend this never happened."

  Bailey shook his head in confusion. "That's not what I want," he asserted.

  "Good night, Bailey," Tor said with finality. He clicked off the light.

  Bailey pulled the door shut behind him and wrapped his arms around himself, returning to his own bed. Not to sleep, though; he stared up at his ceiling and pondered what Tor had said for a good long while before at last, sleep overtook him. He wanted Tor. How could that be different from what he needed?

  It was the last show of their mini tour, and Bailey was going down in flames.

  He'd already broken a mic, dislodged and lost one of his in-ear monitors, and thrown off the rhythm of one of their songs because he'd refused to go along with the typical on-stage blocking that they had scripted. It involved sidling up to Tor and hanging an arm off his shoulder while he sang a suggestive line to him. After putting himself out there to Tor and getting thrown out of his bed, his room, there was no way Bailey was getting that cozy with Tor again.

  Now he was finishing up the second to last song on the set list, and he got to a lyric that was too much for him. He and Tor had written this music together, over a brief but intense period of time. It was like he was unpacking the real meaning of the words, spring-loaded with hidden sentiment, and discovering his own feelings at the worst possible moment.

  His head turned toward Tor as he sang, "I never knew before, what to do with the love I've been looking for. The dreams that faded, love gone so jaded … love and dreams – do what you love; follow your dreams. And my dreams have led me to you."

  Bailey's voice cracked as he looked straight at Tor and sang that line. It was too much for him.

  He turned off his mic and strode offstage, tugging his remaining in-ear monitor from his ear as they played through the outro.

  "What are you doing?" Jonn demanded, eyes roving over Bailey as the instruments fell silent onstage. "What am I supposed to tell them? You've got one more song to go!"

  "Tell them whatever," Bailey said. "Tell them I'm sick. In fact, I'm headed for the toilet to go puke right now."

  "Bailey—" Jonn called after him, but Bailey was already gone, storming off down the hall.

  He locked himself into the solo bathroom and put his head on his knees. It was too much; it was all crashing down around him. The love he'd never been able to find, and the dream that he'd shared with Tor—their dream—it was all nothing now, if Tor didn't want him in return.

  The show was cut short, because much as Jonn and the others pounded on the door, attempting to cajole or threaten Bailey to emerge, he was finished for the night. At last, when they'd all given up, Bailey emerged from the bathroom and sought out a quiet corner to watch the technicians finish breaking down their equipment.

  "You can't do that again," Jonn warned him.

  Bailey looked up, exhausted and wrung dry of any ounce of caring.

  "Jesus," Jonn remarked, walking around him and examining Bailey's face. "You look like hell. What happened out there, anyhow?"

  "Don't want to talk about it," Bailey replied. His voice was hoarse from all the cigarettes he'd smoked in the bathroom, going through them one by one until his pack was empty.

  Jonn inhaled, held up a finger, and began to shake his head. "Just this once, all right, Bailey? You've got a contract to fulfill, and it's my job to kick your ass and make sure you do it. Understand?"

  "Understood," Bailey replied.

  He found Nora and begged a ride with her. He couldn't stand to be in the same bus as Tor for a single night, not even if it meant folding his long legs up in the footwell of Nora's tiny car and getting a night of crap sleep with a crick in his neck. They were done with shows for now.

  Bailey would figure something out before the next one. Nihilism was looking like a good option.

  The problem, Bailey realized, after pondering Tor's parting words of that night until he was sick over them, was that Tor seemed to think that what Bailey wanted was no good for Tor. Bailey had survived Gunner leaving his boot prints all over his ego, but this was different. He and Tor had always been close, far closer than he'd been with the rest. Like twins, as opposed to siblings. Or rather, like boyfriends—without the sex.

  He hadn't been back from the mini tour two nights before he ended up in another club, not the one where he'd embarrassed himself, but the kind where he wouldn't get paparazzi cameras shoved in his face or be questioned for dancing with another man. He did dance, with many men, and ignored their wandering lustful hands all over his body as he went through one drink after another.

  It wasn't enough. Each drink, meant to fill him up and get him moving, only left him with the sense he was becoming ever more hollow inside.

  Bailey pulled out his phone sometime near midnight and dialed Tor, drunken courage letting him pin his hopes on a dream once more. It went to voicemail, again and again. He swore, sent a keyboard mash of text, and shoved his phone back in his pocket to find another drink, and another man. None of them had what it took to fill up the emptiness, but he supposed they could stand in, for a while.

  Bailey was pulling his shirt off and letting someone feel up each and every tattoo on his bare torso, getting close to committing some kind of misdemeanor, when a hand seized his arm, fingers locking near the join of his elbow. The hard grip wrenched Bailey away from his current companion and he swore, but turned with a wild, hopeful smile on his face.

  There was only one person he'd called tonight, one person he'd invited to be there with him.

  The person who'd grabbed him was Sasha. Bailey wind-mille
d to avoid draping himself all over him as he'd intended, if it had been someone else.

  "So, he's sending you to do his dirty work now, huh?" Bailey accused, jabbing a finger toward Sasha's solid chest.

  Sasha fanned his face, nose wrinkling as though Bailey had exhaled alcohol fumes as well as breath in his direction. "You're charming, Bailey; it's easy to see why he puts up with you."

  "Sure isn't … he sure isn't putting up with me now!" Bailey yelled. He tried to shake off Sasha's grip, but it was immovable.

  "People have limits to what they can take, Bailey," Sasha said, steering him away from the dance floor. "Even Tor. You know he's got a long fuse, but when it goes off, bang! He's done."

  "That's not … But he doesn't get it … What I want, it's not that … I could be good for him!" Bailey sputtered, his thoughts fragmented as the spotlights roaming around the club.

  Sasha grunted but otherwise made no reply. He got Bailey out of the club, bundled him into the car that he'd left waiting at the curb, and got him out of there.

  It was the first time that Bailey had been brought home drunk by someone other than Tor. This time, there was no giggling, no fumbling with his keys and dropping them, steadying himself against Tor as he knelt and rose on wobbly legs. None of that was any fun at all with stone-faced Sasha.

  Inside Bailey's house, Sasha grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and brought it over to where Bailey was slumped on the couch, head in his hands.

  "He hates me," Bailey moaned.

  Sasha waved the bottle of water in his face until Bailey took it from him. "He doesn't hate you."

  Bailey stared, baffled, at the white cap on the bottle. He poked at it. "Tor opens these for me," he said.

  "Oh my God, you are so spoiled," Sasha said, grabbing the bottle from him and twisting the cap off. "He spoils you. No wonder he needs a break."

  "Is that what this is?" Bailey said, injured. He swigged his water, spilled it down his face, and wiped it messily with the back of a hand. "He rejected me, too, because he just can't stand me anymore?"