by J B Black
Chapter Eight
“Hotel tonight. Carol’s visiting,” Ben reminded them as they jumped on the bus, heading off into the dark of the night after their latest show.
Calvin laughed, spinning up and down the aisle. “Don’t forget, we have that VIP meet-and-greet first! No running off to give your fiance smoochies until after.”
“Ugh, I can’t believe I agreed to that,” Ben groaned. “Next time, VIPs before the concert, not after.”
Oliver shrugged. “It wasn’t like it was a late show.”
“Carol is already in my room with dinner and wine. Even a few minutes is too long,” the bassist complained. Glaring into the rearview mirror, he demanded, “Won’t this mean the fans will know where we’re staying?”
Calvin kicked up his feet, grinning. “They already knew where we were staying. Didn’t you see the tweets in our hashtag? A bunch of girls are awaiting outside. Plus — giant bus!”
“So? The bus doesn’t have our faces or anything on it,” Oliver pointed out, but he put his hands up when both glared at him.
“This is why we need to hire a driver,” Calvin insisted. “You need to get over your motion sickness. These seats are super comfortable, and they make pills for that shit.”
Ben huffed, but even he knew he had taken on too much. “Go ahead and see what your lovely publicist can do to hire a driver for the rest of the tour. I’ll hate it, but it’s got to be better than dealing with those crowds at every freaking location. I swear, fame is not worth it!”
“Liar!” Calvin cheered, but he dialed, quickly turning his attention to speaking with their publicist.
Growing pains came hard and fast. With all their tour dates sold out and their merchandise failing to keep up with demand, London Frost rocketed to the precarious peak, leaving them vulnerable in ways they never imagined. The more they mastered one part, the more they realized they needed to learn. Companies came after them, offering them contracts, and sooner or later, they would have to actually sit down and take one. They couldn’t keep up with the attention coming their way, and worrying about the details was a threat to their long-term success.
Of course, giving up control was a risk in and of itself. None of them wanted to admit it, but a contract could change everything. Fame already had. ‘Lay Me Low’ hit number one on the UK and US charts as well as a number of others around the globe, creating a perfect chance for a music video, which Ben had luckily already planned out, but the tour put that on the backburner.
Coming fresh from their concert, they only saw a few fans lining the sidewalk, cheering with handmade signs. All their smiling faces warmed the jagged edges of Oliver’s core, but an eerie uncertainty followed. Like he hadn’t earned it. Without Taron, it would have taken so much longer to reach this point, and even weeks after leaving, Oliver kept wondering if he had made the decision. It should have come easier. Every day without the fae ought to prove how the other had no intention of returning, but he kept imagining Taron — exhausted and alone — finding the door locked and all the lights out.
“Hey, Mr. Moody,” Calvin called as they parked in the private back lot at the hotel. “Put on your happy face. We’ve got a dozen VIPs waiting for London Frost!”
Though all Oliver wanted was to sink into an actual bed, he focused on the energy of his bandmates and the fans as they entered the room set-up for the meet and greet. Phone cameras flashed. Women and men rushed forward. Item after item to sign. Person after person to be posed with. In all the excitement, it was easy to miss the way the room shifted, growing all the more intense as people gasped over someone coming into the room. Maybe Carol had decided to come down.
But then the woman who had asked for a selfie gasped, “Oh my gosh, is that Taron!?”
Oliver fumbled, nearly dropping the woman’s phone, but he caught it, humming a small tune as he handed it back. Taron — a divine image in all black with crystals sparkling in his silver hair — crossed the room. His gold eyes pinned the drummer in place. Surrounded by fans, Oliver couldn’t escape. He could barely breathe. This wasn’t an exhausted fae. The creature who stood before him held himself with the determination of a predator stalking his prey, and the heat in his gaze teetered between fury and something Oliver didn’t dare to name.
“Pardon the intrusion,” the fae drawled. “I’ll be borrowing Oliver for the rest of the night.”
Swallowing, Oliver glanced at Ben and Calvin. The singer gave him a thumbs up, which the bassist smacked down as the fans whispered all around them.
“Are you guys dating?” one of the women blurted out.
“We’re just friends,” Oliver insisted, fighting to ignore the way Taron’s eyes narrowed.
Wrapping an arm around the drummer’s shoulders, the fae smiled, causing men and women alike to swoon. “Don’t mind us.”
Oliver couldn’t resist without making a scene, so he allowed the fae to guide him out, and the moment they were alone, Taron pushed him into the nearest elevator, hitting a button before he turned to pin the drummer in place with a fierce glower.
“You changed the locks.”
Oliver shook his head. “My lease was up. I moved out.”
“And how is that better?” Taron demanded. “You encouraged me to settle my affairs in Faerie, and I come back to you missing. How do you think I felt?”
Crossing his arms as he pressed himself further against the wall of the elevator, Oliver tried to keep his voice calm. “I’m on tour. I don’t need a flat. You were paying rent. I thought you realized my lease was up soon.”
“Bullshit,” the fae hissed, crowding closer to the drummer.
“It’s been two weeks —”
“Eleven days,” Taron corrected with a growl. “There was more to sort than I expected, and you could have portaled back to the apartment.”
Of course. Magic came so easily to the fae. He had no idea how difficult the world was for someone who couldn’t just wave their hands and put everything together. Oliver thought he had started to realize. Taron learned to cook and clean like a mortal, but he still thought that what were his choices were also Oliver’s.
“I can’t teleport. I’m not my brother, Taron. I don’t have that power,” Oliver growled, staring the fae down.
But Taron didn’t give an inch. “You could have told me before I left. I was drained and then I find you gone. You abandoned me.”
“Don’t act like I was supposed to expect you back. You’re an heir to a lordship in Faerie. Odds weren’t exactly in favor of you showing back up,” the drummer retorted, and when the elevator door opened, Taron whirled around, glaring as he checked the number before pulling Oliver off the elevator.
He gritted his teeth. “I told you I would come back.”
“Fuck that,” Oliver hissed, tugging his arm free of Taron’s grip. “Go back to your stupid ivory tower and rule, or get your own damn apartment and be a supermodel. I don’t care. Why should I have to put up with you?”
His voice broke as he spoke, and he regretted the words the moment they left his mouth, but Oliver couldn’t keep letting himself be dragged along. Whatever existed between them would fizzle out. It was curiosity. A rebound experience when first love failed the fae.
But the agony which twisted Taron’s face pulled the rug out from beneath the drummer. Those gold eyes shouldn’t have teared up. Chin wobbling, the fae swallowed, nodding curtly before he teleported away.
The wave of his magic slammed into Oliver, sending him backward as shivers raced down his body. This only proved his point. Not using magic wasn’t a choice for him. He needed music to do what any other warlock managed with sheer will — what fae managed without a thought. Fae were magic. Even if Taron played around with mortal manners, he would always return to magic. He couldn’t ask the fae to give that up, and he couldn’t endure the heat which built up in his body, leaving him panting. Flushed and hard, he closed his eyes, willing the wanting down, but where his first experience with it came with frustration as
he didn’t know the fae before, Oliver’s heart ached this time, yearning for Taron to return and take advantage of the desperation his magic caused.
Shivering, Oliver pushed himself upright. Taron didn’t want him. Not really. The fae wanted what he thought he needed. Like a duckling, he latched onto the first person to show him kindness after his heartbreak, and given time on his own, he would realize that. They wouldn’t ever be able to go back to how things were, but perhaps, they could be friends one day. Friends lasted. Whatever this was would just blow up in their faces.
The drummer marched toward the stairs, taking the long way to his own floor and his own room. Calvin and Ben would understand. Whatever rumors spread, none would be as bad as him showing up with an erection. Better he take a cold shower and put this whole mess behind him.
Chapter Nine
A cold shower should have helped, but no matter how many fingers he pressed inside — no matter how many times he came, Oliver couldn’t stop the wanting which coiled hotter and hotter inside him. It was like Taron’s magic wrapped around the whole hotel, leaking inside and crashing over him in wave after wave.
Suspicions rising, the drummer threw open the curtains, and his jaw dropped as he stared out at the strange storm outside. Green-hued clouds hung low. Lightning danced between them, dropping to the ground around the hotel in horrible crashes as hailstones as big as baseballs crashed down.
“Drama queen,” Oliver growled, shutting the curtains and glaring at his phone. Calvin’s name popped up on the screen. “What?”
“Whoa — sorry to interrupt, but we wanted to make sure you were okay,” Calvin said. “Obviously, you’re busy so —”
Rubbing a hand over his face, Oliver huffed, “I’m not. Nothing happened.”
“Awesome! Cause Ben ditched me to spend a romantic night with Carol, and I forgot my duffle bag on the bus,” Calvin announced.
Sitting down on the edge of his bed in sweatpants, the drummer sighed. “Then run out and get it.”
“I don’t have the keys.”
“We all have a copy. Did you lose yours?” Oliver demanded as he headed over to dig through his backpack.
Calvin let out a long drawn out breath. “It’s in my duffle bag.”
“Fucking hell, Calvin. What’s your room number? I’ll lend you mine,” Oliver grumbled, pulling on a long-sleeved shirt and sticking on his shoes.
But Calvin let out a humming noise instead. “You ditched us for that pretty boy.”
“Not willingly.”
Another uncertain hum. “You see, Ben and I thought you were dumped, but you weren’t, were you?”
“I told you guys we weren’t dating, so whatever you thought was your own fault,” Oliver argued, but he grabbed his jacket. He could see where this was going, and if it got Calvin to shut up, he would brave the damn storm. It wasn’t like being in the hotel helped.
His body thrummed with arousal. He might as well also get soaked. Besides, as useless as he was at teleportation, he could still stick up a shield and keep the hailstones from knocking him unconscious.
“And I’ll totally not take your side on that against Ben if you get me my duffle,” Calvin promised. “So? Please?”
“Fine.”
“You’re the best.”
Hanging up, Oliver stuffed the phone in his pocket as he headed down the stairs. He could do it. Arousal coursed through his veins, leaving him slick and desperate, but he had managed before, and this wouldn’t be nearly as bad as that time in the garden. His jacket fell about mid-thigh, and it was loose enough to hide his raging hard-on, so if he kept his head down, nobody would notice.
Getting out to the back was easy enough, and as he hummed a tune to block the hailstones from hitting him, he glared out into the night. He managed to get onto the bus and grab Calvin’s bag without incident, but as he headed back inside, a gust of wind nearly lifted him right off the ground, and his stumbling to correct brought his eyes toward the dark hedges which were around the hotel’s grounds. Mixed amongst the darkness, silver caught his eye.
“No — fuck no,” he growled, but where simple pity brough thim to take care of the fae the first time, his heart ached, refusing to allow him to see the man he loved in danger. “Taron?” he called. “You’re wasting your magic. Stop with the dramatics, you dumb —”
The fae leapt to his feet. Wrapping his arms around Oliver, he spun the drummer around and slammed him up against the hotel. His taller body crowded in, and the drummer panicked, shifting sideways to hide his aroused state as best he could as those gorgeous honey-colored eyes glared down at him.
“Stop trying to save me,” Taron demanded. His voice rumbled with the thunder. “If I mean so little to you, then look away when you see me. You broke my heart, Oliver. You don’t get to tell me how to mourn.”
Faced once more with the man he loved, Taron yearned to be able to hide the way his heart wept over the warlock’s rejection. He had believed they had finally got through to the brown-haired man, but returning to an empty apartment, Taron had panicked. After how James came suddenly back into Oliver’s life, Taron had every reason to believe there was a chance that the council of warlocks and witches had done something. To find Oliver on tour was a relief, but the warlock fought, pushing Taron away again.
Agony made a beast out of the best, and Taron desperately wanted to keep that monstrosity aimed at himself. No one had to love him. If Oliver wanted nothing to do with him, the fae intended to respect that, but every time he tried to leave, his magic shoved him back toward the hotel. Taron fought a war with himself. The feral beast demanded he scent the air, and this time, he did.
“Are you — are you aroused?”
Immediately, the warlock blushed. “No. Fuck off.”
“You’re lying to me,” Taron whispered, and his eyes scanned the man’s face. “Stop. Just tell me the truth.”
“About what?” Oliver hissed, holding Calvin’s dufflebag against his chest to try to keep the fae back. Hail crashed down around them, and the winds whipped as lightning flashed in the dark sky. All the while, the fae stood, looming with those golden eyes that pinned him in place. “Stop being so melodramatic. So you’re back, and what? I’m supposed to drop my life and play house with you? That’s not how this works. I’m not going to pretend everything’s fine and wait for you to get sick of pretending to be someone you’re not. Pretending you don’t have a life waiting for you back in Faerie. A whole lordship waiting for you.”
Taron pressed closer, cupping Oliver’s cheek in his hand as he rested his forehead against the brown-haired man’s. “I renounced my title. My brother and his wife will rule instead.”
“I thought your brother didn’t want to rule.”
The corners of the fae’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Sometimes when you stop assuming the worst and actually speak with people, you discover you were wrong.” Dragging his thumb over Oliver’s bottom lip, Taron whispered, “Like you would learn I’m not playing house. This is the life I want. A life with you.” He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the drummer’s lips. “I love you, Oliver.”
Magic poured off the fae in waves, but none of that mattered. Taron’s words echoed in his ears. Dropping Calvin’s bag in disbelief, Oliver grabbed the fae by the collar of his shirt. Their lips met once more. This couldn’t be so perfect. Fireworks went off in his mind, and his magic rose, entwining desperately reaching out to the fae. Back and forth, their magic curled about each other, pulling closer and closer. It was like being caught in a riptide. Drawn deeper and deeper under the swang of what fate designed between them. Fate gave them to each other.
This was impossible. Impractical. Against everything Oliver had ever known to be true in his life. Every good thing he had came from hard work. He’d never stumbled into it. Nothing could be this simple. But here they were, fated mates.
“I love you,” Taron repeated. His voice fought away the doubt in the drummer’s mind. Beating back the darkness. “Oli
ver, please — please don’t leave me. Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. The apartment or on the road or anywhere else. Nothing else matters as long as I’m with you.”
The touch of Taron’s magic left him breathless. His whole body quivered, and as lips touched his neck, the sensations overtook him. Flushed and needy and desperate, Oliver came, crying out as he clung to the fae in desperation.
“Damn it,” he hissed as his hole clenched around nothing, and every muscle in his body tensed.
Taron’s eyes widened. “Did you…?”
“You’re — you’re magic.”
All at once, the gears in Taron’s mind aligned. His heart raced. All this time, he feared his magic caused the man he loved pain, but — as embarrassed as Oliver seemed — only pleasure colored his features.
Wrapping a spell about the two of them, Taron tested the limits, bringing them to the hotel room he had rented. The long drawn-out moan that left Oliver’s lips was confirmation enough. Weak-kneed, the warlock would have collapsed to the floor, but the fae swept him off his feet.
“Wait!” Oliver cried, struggling to fight against the instincts which urged him to forget everything else but this room and his mate. “The duffle bag! I promised Calvin.”
Gritting his teeth, Taron set the warlock back on his feet, but he pulled the man tightly to him as he teleported back to grab the back. Oliver pressed tightly to the fae’s chest, burying his face in the silver-haired male’s shoulder as his whole body tingled with the overwhelming sensation of Taron’s magic. When they appeared outside the guitarist’s door, only the fae’s arms kept Oliver standing.
Panting against the fae’s pale skin, the drummer grumbled, “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“I’m impatient. You have no idea what you smell like right now. Everything in me wants to have you pinned on my cock, so I’d say we’re just about even,” Taron drawled, and though he put on a cocky smirk, the flush to his features gave him away.
Oliver lifted his hand to knock at the door, but Taron shifted, pulling the warlock back as he spelled the door open. Calvin looked up from the bed where he sat with his guitar on his lap.