Collision Course

by Anne-Marie Flemming

  When his fingers began stroking upwards, across my abdomen and then quite purposefully flicking at my nipple, I couldn’t have bitten my tongue to save my life.

  “Why’d you ask me to sleep if you didn’t want to sleep?” I asked, arching into his touch to show him I didn’t mind his change of heart.

  “I dunno,” he admitted. I hoped this was the first step in the direction of uncomplicating things, and him realizing that all he needed to do to fuck me was ask.

  I sighed and shifted slightly when he kept stroking my skin, to allow him better access. It actually felt quite nice, but once again he was maintaining distance between us, and soon his hand was tangled with the slim silver chain between my piercings again, and stayed there, playing. I liked the sensation, but I was beginning to sense a pattern that I thought might get frustrating soon, if it kept emerging.

  He had me in an impractical position. His arm would block any attempt I might make to reach for him. For once though, I wouldn’t have minded skipping most of the foreplay, since I’d been suffering from sexual frustration and a hard-on all day. His closeness alone had managed that.

  This time, however, he seemed to be in no hurry. I lay still with my back arched as his hand eventually moved back down, fingertips brushing my abdomen and hip before he cupped my ass through the cotton briefs I was wearing. He massaged one buttock slowly, and quite skillfully. For a moment that surprised me, before I remembered that the man earned a living partially by playing guitar. Strong, skilled guitarist’s fingers were certainly a feature I could learn to appreciate.

  I itched to touch him. Mostly, it was that need to do something but lay still that motivated me to turn and face him. His hand slid across my ass and hip as I did that, trailed along my leaking cock and ended up between my legs, where he stroked along my inner thigh, then cupped my balls and forced a low moan from my throat. The sound wasn’t very loud, but when I looked up at him, I found he had an expression of smug amusement on his face. He had propped his head up onto his hand and was watching me.

  Stretching out my left hand, I placed it on his clothed chest and ran it down over the curvature of his belly. I still liked how tall and muscular he was. Hell, I was even fond of the faded scars on his torso. Before, I had thought he might be self-conscious, but he didn’t look it now. In fact, he appeared to be enjoying himself far more than the last time, which made things easier.

  He moved his fingers on my thigh again, further up this time, studying my face as though waiting for a reaction. When he reached the particularly sensitive area just next to my dick, he got one. My eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and I gave him another encouraging moan. Then I finally remembered that I still had my hand on him, and promptly slid it back up, this time beneath his shirt. I felt the slightly wiry fuzz of his chest hair beneath my fingertips, playing with it for a moment and enjoying the way if felt when it was stroked just so. All the while, Rhys worked his hand higher until it was firmly cupping me, massaging and rubbing and making me gasp and pant with pleasure.

  Despite my hurry, I would have liked to take a bit more time at this point, to explore him a little further, but once again our urges flip-flopped and suddenly he was the one who didn’t want to wait any longer. He pressed something into my hand, and I was puzzled for a moment until realized it was a travel-sized bottle of lube. Once again, apparently, he had little interest in preparing me, but that was okay with me. At least this time, he was giving me time to do so myself.

  I slicked my fingers with a generous amount and slid them into my hole. Biting back a low moan, I fucked and stretched myself. Rhys was watching my face with mild interest before his attention was taking away by the condom he had to unwrap.

  “Turn around,” he told me, and as I did so and presented him once again with my back, the need rose once again to the foreground, hot and urgent. Suddenly I didn’t care that he didn’t even bother undressing either of us, pushing my briefs farther down my thighs to get them out of the way. I didn’t care either that he didn’t want to face me, because I was too busy arching my back in anticipation and then finally feeling fulfilled when he slid inside me hard and hot and so good I couldn’t help but moan loudly.

  He hushed me, which reminded me that there were people next door we actually knew, got a bruising grip on my waist, and then began to thrust into me.

  As far as sexual encounters went, this one ranked higher up the scale than the first one we had had. It still wasn’t perfect, I wasn’t entirely comfortable with him, it was rushed and hasty, but this time I didn’t find myself wishing it would be over already. Instead I welcomed his thrusts, moving against him, wanting to come but not daring to take myself in hand, and eventually getting oh-so close just when I felt him coming inside me.

  He was panting into my ear, shuddering as he was finishing. Once again he held me so tightly it hurt before pulling off the condom, letting go and flopping onto his back. I followed suit. Then I realized the used rubber had gotten tangled up in my briefs. Ew.

  Flicking both the condom and my briefs to the floor, I barely suppressed a sigh. I just really wished he would have bothered to help me come as well. I felt too self-conscious to lay there and finish myself off just now. If there’d been a way for me to be alone, I would have.

  Instead I lay there and listened to Rhys catching his breath and kept thinking about how surreal it all felt, still. Me, in here, with him. From what I had seen on the internet fan forums, I knew that there were girls and guys alike who would gladly have murdered someone for the opportunity to sleep with Rhys. There were also quite a few fans of the band who wanted to slap Rhys upside the head with a wet towel until he lost his attitude. I could sympathize with both groups. Briefly, I wondered what the online community would have to say about me, if they knew of my being here, but it wasn’t like I could go on a fan forum and ask. I probably wouldn’t like their answers anyway.

  Eventually, Rhys' slow, even breathing told me he had fallen asleep. I rolled to the side and followed suit.

  My dreams were wild and chaotic, and when I woke up in the morning I didn’t quite remember what I had dreamed but was left with the distinct impression that my brain had been a fucked up place to be during the night. The spot next to me was empty, and the shower was already running, so I lay there and waited until Rhys was finished. It was concert day, I remembered. I couldn’t help but look forward to actually experiencing a concert from backstage – presuming I would even be allowed to be there, of course. I was still fuzzy on how that would work. I hoped, of course, that I would get the chance. Sleeping with a grumpy singer or not, Collision In Reverse were still my favorite band, and I loved seeing them live.

  “Morning,” I greeted Rhys when he appeared in the door frame. He just nodded and padded towards his bag, wearing only a towel. Goddamn, he just was not a morning person. Or a mid-day, evening, or night person, come to think of it. I waited several moments and allowed myself to admire his physique in the meantime.

  “Are you done in the bathroom?” I tried again, and this time even received a verbal answer.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice sounding raw. I took this for my cue and went to take my shower.

  I definitely would have to do laundry today. My briefs were crusted with dried semen, which could have been avoided if only Rhys had shown any interest at all in taking my clothes off. I wasn't going to put that in my duffel bag for a moment longer than strictly necessary. I was a little irritated but determined not to show it as I washed myself. My fingers automatically wandered back to my soap-slicked hole and widened it. With Rhys' lack of prep, I could so not afford to tighten too much.

  I relaxed and set a comfortable rhythm – in, out, two fingers, then three and finally four just to push myself a little. I moaned, loving the gentle stretch that Rhys didn't seem to think was necessary.

  It was too bad he seemed so focused on making everything as fun-less as possible in bed, I thought. I wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t care about me
and just wanted to get off, or whether he just genuinely wasn’t good in bed. It was also possible I was setting my expectations a little high, what with me expecting toppy behavior and lots of stamina as a matter of course from most of my previous partners. There was little mainstream kinky sexual activity left that I’d never done, and only a few of them I'd been talked into. I’d even experimented with some that were certainly nowhere near mainstream – when I felt brave enough to ask for them. Point was, I thought all the wasted sexual potential between Rhys and me was a shame, but I didn’t know how to improve the situation. And he seemed satisfied enough, so I wasn’t sure I should even try.

  Curling my index finger upwards, I stimulated myself more purposefully. My body still held a bunch of tension from the orgasm I hadn't been brave enough to demand the night before, and I intended to get rid of it right the hell now. My free hand wrapped around my cock and stroked, hard, impatiently, the slapping sounds lost in the noise of the falling water. I pressed four fingers deep, forcing myself wider, loving the feeling, stroking harder. My entire body tensed. I closed my eyes and nearly lost my balance as I shot, moaning and shuddering and finally, sighing with relief.

  I caught my breath as I rinsed my come off the tiles. This had been so necessary.

  After I had gotten properly clean, and dressed, I followed Rhys out to the venue where the concert would take place. He had told me I didn’t have to come to the sound check, but I wanted to see it once, even if it was boring.

  And even though it didn’t turn out to be terribly exciting, really, I thought it was interesting to see everyone setting up, the techs working feverishly and the band goofing off when they didn’t have to be focused. Even though he joined in with the jokes and laughter, Rhys seemed a little separated from it all, as though he didn’t really want to be there.

  I stood out of sight the entire time, wearing the laminate Angus had handed me on the way to the venue, just watching and enjoying myself and trying to be invisible. Everyone around me seemed to be in a hurry to get things done, working professionally, and I wished I had a job to do. I felt a little like I was leeching off everyone else by being there. Then again, I wasn’t getting paid.

  Ordinarily, I wasn’t a people watching person, but I was enjoying doing just that. I regretted it when the sound check was over, and everyone dispersed. Remembering my resolution not to bother Rhys unless absolutely necessary, I found other things to do. Mostly, I hung out in the venue, waiting for evening.

  I did get food that day, instead of waiting until I was impossibly hungry to take action. The guys who set everything up got pizza for lunch, and I snagged a couple of pieces. I talked to them a little, asking questions when I felt I wasn’t being too much of a nuisance, and they seemed surprisingly happy to answer. I assumed that since the focus was on the band most of the time, they didn’t get to talk much about what they actually did. Once they realized I was pretty good about picking up on what they told me, they were even more willing to explain things. I learned about amps and live setups and different types of guitars, was taught how to identify a silent end on a plug and knew the most basic rules of how to properly assemble a drum kit.

  By the time evening rolled around, I was in a great mood. It felt like no time at all had passed when the venue was opened to the public, and I was assigned a spot backstage by Big D where I would be able to survey the stage and yet be out of the way. I would have loved to take a few pictures of the whole process, which was fascinating, but aside from the fact that I had no idea whether everyone would be okay with that, I didn’t have a camera apart from my shitty cellphone one. That by itself kind of sucked, because I was pretty much on the adventure of a lifetime here and couldn’t even properly document it.

  I loved the concert, even though nothing special happened during it. Rhys and the rest of the band appeared to have fun, anyway, and the crowd was fired up enough. I watched, clapped and cheered as loudly as I felt was appropriate from backstage, all the while trying to maintain some semblance of composure. The music rang in my ears, and despite the fact that I wasn’t dancing and screaming along in the crowd, I felt the adrenaline rushing through me from the excitement of it all.

  After the concert, things got a little disorganized. I found myself chatting with people, eventually following Angus at random, who led me to an unofficial after-party where the alcohol flowed in streams and nobody cared who the fuck I was. Even though I tried to hold back and stay reasonably sober, Angus supplied me with way more liquor than I’d planned to drink. I bullshitted with people I’d never met before, feeling confident and comfortable now that there was no Rhys around to make me feel stupid, and nobody questioning my presence. I wasn't so bad around people when I could manage not to second-guess my every move.

  Eventually, past midnight, I realized that I had better get back to the hotel room. For one, I couldn’t afford to be hungover and low on sleep. Rhys was already there. I felt nervous when I entered, not sure whether he disapproved of me being out and about and partying with people. Also, I had had too much to drink.

  “Sorry,” I said right as I walked into the room, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset at me for it. “I’m a little drunk.”

  “That’s fine,” he told me from the couch, which he was sitting on while staring into space and smoking a cigarette. He was wearing a baseball cap too, which threw the upper half of his face into shadow and made his expression more difficult to read. I wondered whether that was all he’d been doing all evening after the show. I’d lost track of him after he had stepped off stage. I’d expected him to be watching TV, but he appeared to have no interest in that.

  “Are you okay?” I asked and I took off my coat, tossing it over the back of a chair. He shrugged, which was not helpful.

  I sat next to him and stared at my hands. I had to be careful with what I said. The drink made me a little too brave.

  “If you don’t want me drinking, just tell me and I won’t do it again.” I felt suddenly guilty, as my overactive mind imagined how hard it might be for him to watch everyone else getting drunk while he couldn’t.

  “I said it’s fine.” He sounded suddenly annoyed.

  Well, goddamn it. I was starting to feel like my time on the bus was already close to being over.

  “What’s wrong?” I tried to figure out his mood.

  “Nothing is wrong.” He was laughing, bitterly, as though unbelieving I would ask such a thing. “Stop fucking asking.”

  I had just enough alcohol in me to no longer be able to ignore his bullshit. “I was just trying to figure out why you sound so confrontational. If you want me to leave, just tell me.”

  He leaned back, smoking.

  “I sound confrontational?” he asked. He sounded mildly curious.

  “Yeah, actually, you do.” I leaned back as well and looked at him.

  “Oh,” he said, and was silent.

  I turned my head away and rubbed my eyes, propping my feet up onto the edge of the bed. I barely had any fucking patience left for this.

  “I don’t mean to.” Rhys finally seemed to have come to that realization.

  Then why do you fucking do it? was on the tip of my tongue. I swallowed it, barely.

  “Well,” I said instead. “You’re pretty difficult to figure out when you’re like that. I keep thinking I must have done something to piss you off.”

  He shook his head.

  “Oh, if you do something to piss me off, I’ll tell you,” he assured me. I wasn’t certain whether or not that was comforting. Thinking, I ran the tip of my tongue across my lower lip, not even realizing I was doing it until I noticed Rhys' amused look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Your piercing,” he replied. I wasn’t sure whether he was just making an obvious statement, or whether this was an invitation for oral sex. Just for good measure, I stuck my tongue out at him.

  “You used to have a bunch of piercings, didn’t you?” I asked then. He nodded, one hand rising to touch his left
eyebrow, then his nose.

  “I took them out a long time ago though,” he elaborated.

  I couldn’t help but flash him a naughty grin. “What’d you have to do that for?”

  He laughed.

  “Why’d you ask me to come along?” I asked suddenly not even fully aware of what I was saying until the sentence had already slipped out. Then, realizing how obvious the answer was, I hurried to rephrase the question. “Why me, out of every guy you’ve met on tour?”

  He stared at the wall for a moment as though the answer was written on it, then discarded the butt of his cigarette and started a new one. The smell was beginning to give me a headache.

  “I dunno,” he said then.

  I crossed my arms before my chest. “Bullshit,” I said resolutely.

  He laughed at that. “You get pretty mouthy when you’re drunk,” he noted.

  “I get less nervous around you when I’m drunk,” I corrected.

  “Why are you nervous around me in the first place?”

  I shrugged. “Just am. As I said, you’re a little difficult, and I’m not used to it.”

  I wondered whether I was being far too blunt. He seemed to take it well, but still, I was being a bit rude calling him difficult and basically accusing him of turning me into a nervous wreck. It was the truth, but still.

  “I am a little difficult,” he admitted, surprising me. He tilted his hand, cigarette cutting through the air. “I don’t really mean to be, it’s just how I am.”

  I nodded. He offered me his cigarette as though it was a gesture of goodwill.

  “You’re going to turn me into a full-time smoker,” I told him.

  “Yeah,” he said, uncaring.

  “Sorry though,” I said and pulled deeply. “I kinda babble when I’ve been drinking.” I tried not to think about the fact that I‘d been doing the same while sober, too.