The Gift

by A. F. Henley

  "Fuck you," he whispered, pushing them away. "Get out of here!"

  They retreated, once again weaving slowly out of his mind, not at all happy with his rude welcome.

  "That's right, go on. Fuck off back into whatever hole you crawled out of."

  He nodded, pleased at the toughness of his voice. He sounded convincing and powerful. Right? At least a little bit? His hands were shaking when he put the joint back up to his lips though. He closed his eyes as he sucked back what little comfort the smoke would offer. This new thing, this strong unrelenting thing that was haunting them, it scared him.

  It scared the shit out of him.

  Dawson

  Let everyone else panic; he was going to nap. He never did understand why performers got themselves so caught up with the act of "preparing" for a show. One either knew the stuff or one didn't, plain and simple. So Curtis could go ahead and drum on all the pillows he wanted and Cooper could smoke his brains out and Geoff could … where the hell was Geoff anyway? Regardless, they could all do what they wanted. It wasn't going to change anything. He was more than confident they knew what they were doing, that they were prepared. After all, you could look around as many corners as you needed to. You could think through every path, and walk through every possible outcome. But eventually the time came when you just had to do it. You just had to face what was waiting for you.

  Geoff

  The need to smash something was almost overwhelming. But something inside him kept telling him to hold on to it, to not let it go. Hold it, Geoff, hold it; gather it, store it, keep it all in.

  He felt like a kid on Halloween night: arms screaming from dragging around so much candy for so long, but still trudging on, knowing this was his one and only chance and it had to last him for the whole year. So he toughed it out—yanking and dragging, gathering and holding.

  He stood on the rooftop of the hotel with his guitar and played it, sans electricity, to himself and the pigeons. He liked the new song. It was calming. Soothing.

  So he played it again and again. All the while holding.

  Gathering, storing, holding.

  Doren

  He couldn't help any of them with the tension. It was a primal instinct of nature: flight or fight. At least it looked like they were sticking around for the long haul, whatever the hell that was going to be. He, on the other hand, felt elated. Maybe a little nervous—after all this was going to the first really big live show—but he was pumped nonetheless. He couldn't wait to get on stage, couldn't wait to feel the thrill of the music that would come from that kind of a crowd. Up until then it had just been the small venues, the TV shows, and the radio spots. This was going to be real; this was what is was all about. And no matter what Anton might or might not have up his sleeve, he was going to enjoy it.

  He only wished August didn't seem so stressed out. He should have been the one person who felt like they had nothing left to prove. Both Anton and Morana should have learned to respect August's abilities by now. If they were smart, if the wounds on Anton's face had healed into something other than jagged scars, they wouldn't be so careless or bold as to try hurting August again. Probably.

  He searched August out, trying to hear what his mind was singing, but it was odd. While normally August's song was the loudest of them all, it now rested in quiet subjugation. And he had that damn contract out again, still rereading it, still hoping something was going to jump out that he might have missed. Doren shook his head. Anton was no idiot. There was no way something as simple as a legal loophole had been left in that contract. Certainly not to their favor anyway. "Auggie, stop," he reached for and gently secured the papers in August's hands. "Can't you relax for a little while? You're making me nervous just watching you."

  "Sorry, Doren," August sighed and reached for the coffee cup beside him. "I don't mean to. It's just … what are we going to do after the show? How are we just going to get up and walk away? He'll never let us get away with it."

  Doren took the coffee out of August's hand and took a sip of it before claiming it as his own. "Thank you," he grinned before letting his face fall into a more serious look when he was eyed with irritation. "Just stop thinking about it. If everything goes well tonight, if we're as good as I think we're going to be, we'll have studios begging us to jump ship. And every one of those desperate headhunters comes armed with their own armies of lawyers trained for just such an occasion."

  August sighed and motioned for Doren to hand him back his cup. "I know. I just wanted to hear you say it, I guess."

  Doren smiled and stood, taking the coffee with him. He walked to the bathroom, turning once he got to the door. He lifted his finger and cocked it, beckoning August to follow, lifting his eyebrows a couple of times. All he got in return was a clucked tongue and a turn of head back to the contract.

  "Come on, Auggie," he said with a pout. "For luck."

  August rolled his eyes. "Everyone and their brother are in the room. So no."

  Doren sighed dramatically and leaned against the doorframe, posing. "If you're so worried that something bad is going to happen you could at least make sure that we go out on a good note." He retrained his pout to slide into a smirk. "Just in case, you know?"

  A real smile quickly returned to his face when he saw August's eyes narrow but his body rise and walk nonchalantly towards the bathroom. He waited until August got close enough to grab and pulled him in by the arm, closing the door firmly behind them. Then he stopped, grinning, and opened it again to poke his head out. "It's okay, Curt. I'm just in here."

  August

  By the time Doren turned back from consoling his worried friend, August had tugged off his top and was undoing his jeans, and he watched Doren's cocky smile fade to something far deeper.

  Doren stepped closer, reaching for August's hands. "Let me help." August didn't stop him, finding the front of Doren's jeans instead, entwining both their hands and arms with a smile. When they were shed Doren took no pause before ripping off his shirt and whipping it into the sink.

  "What do you want to do?" Doren asked, his voice already growing husky, his cock already growing hard.

  It was a beautiful sight. Muscle, tension, firm skin and eager expression … and God, what if? What if it was really going to be all there ever was? What if that moment was all they had left?

  The words came from somewhere in him that August wasn't even familiar with himself. "I want you."

  Doren's hands crested down August's sides, lighting hundreds of miniscule fires over August's skin. He grinned at the goose bumps he'd brought to life. "Well, I want you too, Aug."

  August snagged and gripped both of Doren's hands. "I mean that's what I want to do. I want you. I want you to do me."

  "Romantic choice of wording," Doren teased, but even though the jest was light on his tongue, Doren's eyes darkened and flamed into something hard and heavy. Hot. Intense. "Are you sure?"

  "Are you sure? That's all I get is 'are you sure?'" August teased right back. "You mean you're not even going to try and talk me out of it?"

  August scrambled to draw breath when Doren pulled him close. "Hell no." He startled when Doren reached around him, yanking open the vanity drawer and hissing when it was found to be empty. "Forgive me, guys," Doren mumbled, grabbing one of the three shaving kits scattered on the vanity and digging through it. One became two and two became the final one as August stood and stared in complete confusion.

  "Eureka!" Doren exclaimed suddenly, holding up a square foil, and August's face began to color in a way that he could feel. Of course that's what Doren had been looking for. He barely had time to regulate blood flow into non-embarrassing shades of pale while Doren secured a bottle from the shower with a grin. August didn't need to read it to know it was lube. Why that made him feel like he wanted to crawl under a blanket and hide from the world, August couldn't say. All he knew, and knew very well, was that he was embarrassed and nervous and had a shovel-load of insecurities falling on his shoulders all of the su
dden.

  "Water soluble," Doren nodded. "The boys like to fuck in the shower …" He let his words trail when he caught August's eyes with his own. He lowered his voice and the smirk fell off his face. "Sorry."

  Further discussion was cut off as Doren closed the space between them and kissed him hard. Anxiety took a back seat to interest as Doren's lips and hands amped up sensation. August wanted to feel the devotion, wanted to believe that the kiss that was ravaging his mouth felt like an unspoken vow, that the tongue that searched him was rattling not only praises, but promises. But that was too much to hope for. It was definitely too much to ask. Remember, August told himself, no one has asked you to offer anything more than you are willing to give. There was no stipulation to what he was about to accept. He couldn't expect anything more than nothing.

  But he could hope.

  He could hope and he could pray that everything was going to be the same afterwards, cross his fingers that the chase wasn't more than the catch. If, in fact, there was anything left to hope for after the show anyhow.

  Thought was shoved aside when Doren lifted him and sat him on the ledge of the vanity. "Lean back?" The question preceded the trailing of Doren's mouth down Doren's neck and torso, but only by the smallest hint of time. No time to change his mind. No time to doubt his words. His belly jumped under Doren's tongue, and everything from that point down seemed to surge towards Doren's touch. August's head fell back as Doren's kiss met his cock, rapping the glass sharply, not caring in the least, and the "Doren" that he attempted as Doren wrapped lips and began to slide came out as a stuttered, multi-syllabic, almost unrecognizable version of the word.

  August tried not to think about the path's end of Doren's fingers wandering behind him, opening him up, searching, seeking, and reaching inside him. Just enjoy the feeling of it, he told himself; revel in the fact that Doren's mouth is on your cock while his hands are doing everything possible to make this work. To bring us together. To make me like it, love it, want it.

  Fragmented thought became par for the course: from cock to balls, the wet, wonderful feeling of Doren's tongue; inside, deeper and with more intensity, more slide; a hand taking over for mouth as Doren straightened and stood; and God, Doren was standing. That meant … God. Was he really going to do this? Were they really going to do this?

  August lowered his legs in a daze, watching and waiting for direction, relieved when Doren offered it. "Face the mirror, Aug," Doren said, offering easy pressure on August's hip to guide movement. "Watch us."

  His breath came fast enough to fog up the mirror even though his face was more than a few inches away from it. His body rested on cold plastic, his feet were slick on cold tile, and his cock throbbed painfully in front of him. The eroticism of watching Doren slide latex over cock was fantastic, but it was nothing compared to the way his body responded to the sight of Doren coating lubrication over that latex with long strokes. When Doren turned attentions back to him though, when those same hands began to run a similar process along the cleft of August's ass, August couldn't hold back the hitch of panic.

  "Slow," Doren promised. "Nice and slow."

  August nodded, waited for the breach, tried not to think about it when it started to happen. "Breathe," Doren told him. "Deep breaths, Aug. Try to relax."

  It was the thrill of watching Doren's face as he was taken that turned the act from something simply borne, to one of desire. August didn't take his eyes off Doren's face, watching Doren watch their bodies move, watching the flush of excitement creep over his chest and up his neck. August had been right to assume that flesh would feel better than plastic, even with the thin layer of latex preventing skin from touching skin. Not knowing what the next move was going to be until one felt it, no certainty of depth or rhythm: these were the things that made another human being's body so damn exciting August realized. That and the sounds. The sounds were amazing. The groans of his name, the catch of breath, the whispered expletives; Doren might be able to hear orchestras, but as far as August was concerned, no sound on Earth could compare to what was being tossed off Doren's tongue at that moment.

  He held off until his legs were shaking and his cock was so hard it bounced like a bobbing bird toy, leaving behind kisses of precum on his belly. Then he reached for himself and began to stroke in time to Doren's hips: to root on withdrawal, up shaft on penetration, circling his thumb over his head when Doren paused to hold cock deep, his fist moving quick and true when his body began to allow for slide and Doren moved faster.

  "Oh my God, Aug," Doren gripped both of August's hips, huffing hot air on August's back. "You feel amazing."

  The rush of satisfaction August got when Doren rested his forehead on August's shoulder, tongue-tied and enthralled, was consuming. His leg muscles tightened, flat feet became tiptoes, and the air around August was hot enough to be bathwater. "Cu—"

  August never got the word out. As though Doren had known August was about to speak it, Doren's body tensed, he put his chin up, his head back, and came hard. And that, right there, August thought. Watching Doren react was enough justification for finally giving in to the need and shoving aside the fear. His cock swelled and jumped, his body forced furious sensation to roll and spill, and he shouted his relief against the countertop.

  "Ah," August gurgled the sound more than spoke it as Doren eased himself away. "Slower!"

  Snapping latex and a light thunk into the wastebasket responded first. They were followed by simultaneous trails of palms up the sides of August's back to his shoulders. Light kisses were pressed between August's shoulder blades. "Thank you, Aug. That was awesome."

  August didn't move. The material that had seemed so cold underneath him now felt as warm and cozy as a quilted blanket. The odor of unwashed, overused bathroom was lost as the scent of sex and sweat and masculinity powered it away. Even the over-stretched, almost-uncomfortable feeling in August's backside was forgotten as Doren touched him and kissed him.

  "I'm not going to be able to keep my mind on anything else all night."

  "I hope not," August murmured, too quietly for anyone's ears but his own. "I sure hope not."

  Diana

  She stared at the board in front of her. Chess pieces—some black, some white, all standing at attention and waiting their next placement. She picked up the black king and turned it in her palm, watching the silent figurine, daring it with her eyes.

  "Diana?" A sweet, feminine voice broke into her consciousness.

  Without moving the rest of her, Diana reached for the intercom. "Yes, Christy? What is it?"

  "I just wanted to check and see if we were supposed to arrange cars for the event, or if the crew up there is taking care of it?"

  Diana held back the sigh, unsure of the emotion that would come across with it. Because the last thing she wanted to do was upset her assistant. Such a good girl. Always thinking ahead, always making sure everything was done. A good assistant was worth their weight in gold.

  "It's okay, Christy," Diana replied, swallowing hard. "Anton has made the arrangements already."

  "Okay then. If you don't need me anymore I think I'm going to head out. A few of us girls are meeting at Susan's place to watch the concert on television. I just know it's going to be a good one. He's such a sweetheart, isn't he?"

  "Yes," Diana said, almost losing her battle with the tears, "he sure is."

  When she punched the button to the end the call, Diana dropped the chess piece from her hand, rubbing her palm to rid herself of the deep furrows left in her skin by the jagged edges.

  Curtis

  "Come on, Curt. That's the front desk. The car is here." Doren smiled at him, half-hanging through the doorway. "They've moved it out back though because there's a crowd out front. I guess word got out that we were staying here and you know how it is," Doren mock-flipped non-existent lengths of hair from his shoulder, shaking his head in diva mode, "they just can't get enough of me!"

  "Yeah," Curtis snorted. "And if they loved you as much as
you love yourself we'd all be millionaires by now." He lowered his voice. "Just give me a minute here, Doren. I'll be right out."

  He waited until the doorway was empty and the hollow click of the hallway door had sounded as well. "Okay, Dad," he whispered, digging under the bed to pull out his suitcase, "you said only in emergencies. And I know I promised." His hand shook as he spun the combinations on each side to release the latch. Inside, underneath the dirty shirts, beside the boxes of condoms, sat a shiny black box. "But I think," Curtis said, removing the box reverently and staring at it for a second, "no, I know, this is one of those times."

  He searched the lining of the suitcase until he found the small silver key, inserted it into the box, and popped the lid. With a practiced grip he removed the small handgun and opened the chamber, eyeing it, checking it, and finally loading it. He took a deep breath and strapped on the shoulder harness.

  When he slid the gun into position and threw his jacket over top, his hands were no longer shaking.

  Doren

  He made a point of ensuring everyone got a glass of champagne once they were all seated in the limo. It was a nice way to travel: soft leather seats, a sound system that would probably put the one in the Lotus to shame, and a fully loaded bar. With the libations and the amenities it should have made for a more than comfortable ride. It was hard to get comfortable in an edgy, twitchy, nerve-wracking environment, however. Doren opened his mouth to speak and at that second, the divider window began to descend. The entire group bristled, staring at the falling glass like it was about to transform into something Satanic.

  "I trust you're enjoying the ride, sir?" The driver's voice was deep and smooth. It was a voice that said, stay calm, rest easy, and all is good with the world. Doren didn't trust it for a second.