Syncopation

by Jodi Payne

  Colt slipped into the cab, dark eyes staring into him from across the seat, one callused hand held out to him.

  He climbed in, closed the door behind him, and gave the cabby his Christopher Street address. Then he took those strong fingers in his and slid close on the seat. “When I first texted Timmy, he thought you were straight.”

  “Yeah? That ain’t my thing. I love women, me, but not in the Biblical way. Played good music with a bunch of them.”

  “Yeah. He was all, ‘Dude, I don’t know if he’s down with that.’” He laughed. Colt was down with that all right. Colt was so down with it, he didn’t dare kiss in the cab for fear the cabby might need a fire hose to get them out of the back seat.

  “I’m pretty damn good at going down, cher.” That wicked little grin sent a zing through him.

  “Oh, beautiful bayou boy, we’re going to get along very, very well.” Assuming he remembered how to breathe for the rest of the cab ride.

  “Number?”

  “Huh?” Kyle blinked at the cabbie. Hello, hormones.

  “The number, Romeo.”

  “Oh. Thirty-five.”

  The cabbie whistled. “Damn. Nice.”

  Yep. It was nice. He paid the driver and let Colt lead him out onto the sidewalk. “That’s it.” He pointed. “Thirty-five. Come on.”

  “Yessir. I’m with you.” Right with him, hard cock pressed against his thigh.

  Inside. Don’t get tangled up on the sidewalk. He led Colt up the stairs and through the first door, the breezeway, and then the second, which opened into a bright foyer.

  “Now, then.” Thank God. “Where did that kiss leave off again?”

  “You were promising me more.” Colt muscled in, face lifted.

  “I was.” He gathered all that bunchy muscle close with one arm the way he might support a dance partner and pressed his lips to Colt’s, the light, bitter taste of beer answering back first.

  Colt tasted every bit as good as he smelled, and Kyle was hungry.

  He wanted his dance.

  Colt reached up, hands curling around his shoulders, fingers digging in and rubbing in lazy, slowly increasing circles.

  “Mm.” He swept Colt toward the staircase and led him upstairs, stopping briefly when they reached the landing to kiss and taste Colt’s neck. Salty, musky. “You taste so good.”

  “Do I? Good. That’s important.” Colt’s words were shaky, breathless, the lean body vibrating against his.

  He smiled, pleased, and moved toward his bedroom, maneuvering Colt ahead of him gently. Once there, he took Colt’s lips again, harder and hungrier, his fingers sliding into those dark curls. They were soft, slick, wrapping around his fingers and tugging them like the curls were encouraging him to hold on.

  He reached down with his other hand, getting ahold of a firm, round asscheek and sliding his leg between Colt’s thighs. Colt arched, pretty as you please, grinding against him, pushing hard enough Kyle knew he had to be aching so good.

  Jesus, the man was lovely. He pulled his shirt off and dropped it, then broke their kiss to concentrate on Colt’s. “Off.” He lifted the shirt, exposing sumptuous smooth skin. He’d get a taste of all of it, very soon. Once the shirt fell to the floor, he started in on his own belt.

  “Look at you, cher. I could worship at your altar for a good bit.” Colt eased off his boots, then opened his jeans, shimmying right out of them.

  “We’ve got all night, baby. I’m planning on using it. Starting right here.” He reached out and slid his fingers over Colt’s belly, the tight muscle under them making his breath come faster. Colt was compact, not an ounce of spare flesh on the lean body, the muscles standing out like they were begging to be played.

  He slid past the stiff cock with little more than a brief touch and cupped Colt’s balls, tugging them lightly, as he stepped very close. The move won him a low groan, and he smiled again, enjoying the way the man appreciated being touched. He explored the smooth, rich skin around Colt’s shoulders with his fingers, and traced the valleys between the muscles with his tongue.

  “Fuck.” The single word held a whole wealth of pleasure and desire.

  “Mmm. Soon. You’re delicious.” He herded Colt toward his bed.

  “I like that. You’re about fine, cher. All this pretty.” Colt went, following his lead like he was meant for it.

  “Thank you.” He was holding back. He could rip into Colt right now if he wanted to, but he liked making himself wait. The wanting was nearly as good as the having. And he was really enjoying the way Colt played along. Such patience. He stretched out on his bed. “Come on up here.”

  Colt crawled up his body, nuzzling and rubbing the whole way. His thigh was explored, then one hip, his abs. He shivered and his belly went hard. He dropped a hand to Colt’s head. “Colt.” Fuck, that was way needier than he’d meant it to sound.

  “Mm-hmm.” Colt licked a line up to his nipple, pondering it for a second before drawing a line around it with the tip of his tongue.

  He inhaled, air hissing through his teeth. Fucking tease. God, he liked that. He really fucking liked that. “Yes.”

  Colt drew the circle once more, then leaned back and blew a long, focused breath over him, making his skin draw up.

  “Ah!” He shivered and the cool air made him laugh. “Jesus. Come here.” He hooked a hand around the back of Colt’s neck and pulled him into a kiss.

  One biting connection turned into another, and Colt rocked down against him, long cock nudging his belly, leaving tiny burning kisses.

  Their sounds filled his ears as they went at each other, panting breaths and muffled moans and the jarring sound of clashing teeth. Finally, he grunted and rolled them, using his raw dancer’s strength to his advantage. He bent and tried another kiss, covering Colt’s mouth with his own.

  Colt cried out, bucking under him, the strong hands cupping his head as Colt demanded more.

  He groaned and arched, finding sweet heat against Colt’s hip, but that wasn’t enough, wasn’t what he wanted. He needed more. All he had to do was disrupt a searing kiss that had a fucking will of its own.

  Colt wasn’t going to make that easy, with the way he poured himself into Kyle, giving it all up.

  He made a sound he’d find humiliating anywhere but the bedroom and pulled away, breaking contact and blinking like he’d broken a spell. “Fuck, Colt. Just… just hold that thought.” He reached for supplies, winded and breathing hard.

  “Want you. Fuck, cher. I ache, huh? For you.”

  “Yeah. Yes.” It didn’t take a second to deal with the rubber, and he was looking forward to what a little lube was going to do for Colt. “For you too.” He tapped the inside of one smooth thigh, letting Colt open for him, and offered two slippery fingers.

  Colt pulled one leg up and out, exposing himself, the sweet, tight balls drawn toward his body, cock bobbing over his belly.

  “Mm. Baby, look at you. Best view around.” He lined up his fingers, pushing past the rim, and eased them deeper, doing his best to take his time despite the fact that his mind had already raced three steps ahead of him, and his cock right along with it. He ducked and caught Colt’s raised knee with his shoulder, focusing in on Colt’s need like it was his own.

  The tight ring of muscles clamped down on his fingers like a vise, working them, squeezing tight.

  He’d take that as a promise. “Jesus, Colt. Easy, baby. Let me slick you up or I’m gonna tear you in two.”

  “That would be awkward.” Colt panted for him, arching into his touch. “Been a few.”

  “Mm. Can’t wait to help you remember.” He could go easy. He turned his head and kissed the inside of Colt’s thigh. “Deep breaths,” he suggested softly. “It’ll be so good.”

  “I ain’t scairt. I like a deep touch.” Colt reached out for him, stroked his face, his jaw.

  “I’ve got that for you.” He twisted his fingers slowly, testing, and pumped them gently before letting them slip free. “There you go, so swee
t.” He went for a little more slippery stuff, his cock so happy, it practically leaped out of his fingers as he lined up.

  Colt watched him with those near-black eyes, not hiding a thing from him.

  Letting Colt keep hold of his eyes through that first stretch and burn was so fucking intimate, it was bordering on uncomfortable, but he wanted to give back the energy Colt was giving him. He stopped, though, still shallow, and started to rock into Colt slowly, a little deeper and a little more stretch with every thrust. Fuck, it was so slow, it made him ache down deep. He felt like he might shatter if he didn’t stay mindful.

  A moan cracked the air, raw and deep, the sound vibrating through him, drawing his abs up with the power of it. “Fuck. Fuck.” He leaned into his shoulder, bending Colt farther, and pressed his cheek into Colt’s thigh, lungs clawing in air. “Christ, baby.”

  Colt nodded, the motion desperate, eyes wide as they stared into him. “C’est bon, cher. Good. All good.”

  “All good? Good. Thank fuck.” On his next thrust he sank deep, balls slapping Colt’s ass, and then he picked up a powerful rhythm, setting all that tension free and chasing his need.

  Colt fought to match him, meet his thrusts, one after another, teeth bared as they moved together. Oh, Colt didn’t need to work so hard, but the guy’s face was pure sex, and Kyle was totally enjoying it. He took it up a notch, reaching into blow-Colt’s-mind territory, and wrapped a firm hand around Colt’s erection, feeling it press willingly into his palm, hard and heavy.

  For the first time, Colt’s eyes rolled up, that laser-focus hiccupping.

  “Beautiful.” He stroked up the full length, giving Colt the pressure that body was begging for. So fucking hot. He hadn’t realized how Colt’s intense eye contact had been keeping him grounded, but without it, he slipped right out of his head, finally concentrating on his own undeniable need. That had an intensity all its own. Colt’s heat clung to him, making him groan with nearly every stroke.

  Colt’s sounds joined his, sliding underneath them and lifting them up, the percussion of their skin slapping keeping time. He shifted, ducking out from under Colt’s leg and letting it fall, moving over Colt to take those trembling, full lips in a kiss. Colt wrapped around him with the softest cry, tongue tangling with his. So hungry. How could anyone resist this?

  He wouldn’t know how even if he wanted to, and he didn’t try. He sank right into it, letting the rhythm and their strange harmony consume him. “Colt!”

  “Yeah, cher. Fill me up.” Colt’s body tightened, gripping him like a fist.

  He grunted and dug in deep, pounding into Colt the way he’d imagined since their first kiss in the bar. He tried to keep himself in check just enough to make sure Colt was with him, though. Fuck, he loved a photo finish, and Colt seemed like he was in total agreement, jerking and grunting out a warning before he shot.

  He only got to enjoy the stunned look on Colt’s face for a second before his eyes crossed, sound was muffled, and every thought in his mind was yanked down into his balls. His orgasm was both painful and perfect for a long, lovely moment, and then it was all relief as he slowly remembered to breathe again.

  “Mmm. So fine, cher. Tore my ass up.” Colt’s voice was pure postorgasm slur.

  “Fuck yeah, I did.” He kissed Colt again, still pretty breathless. “You are irresistible.” He rolled out of bed for a quick second to clean up, then got back before anything had a chance to get cold. He tangled up with Colt again and looked down at him.

  Colt traced his ink, the black shoulder sleeve one tribal animal after another. He watched, the callused finger rough against his skin. “It’s a work in progress.” He loved it. He loved dreaming up what was going on his skin next. He loved that it set him apart from the purely classical dancers. He loved that it pissed his father off.

  “It’s fucking hot. I’m scared of needles, me, or I’d get one.”

  “Thanks. I’m pretty proud of it. I like all your pristine skin, baby, no reason to mark it up if it’s not your thing. What would you get if you were into it?”

  “Music.” That took no time. Someone had thought about this.

  Kyle nodded, wondering if there was a reason Colt was afraid of needles or whether it was just a generalized thing. If he’d thought that hard about it, maybe he just needed someone to give him some courage. “Music notes? A particular piece of music? A guitar?”

  “Score for ‘Hellhound on my Trail,’ no question. Robert Johnson makes my soul sing.”

  “Oh, wow. A whole score would be so cool.” He really thought it would, just a blanket of music. “But that’s a long project and a lot of ink for someone who doesn’t—what’s your thing with needles? Just get nervous?” He kind of regretted asking as soon as he’d done it; he barely knew Colt. But then again, Colt had brought it up, right?

  “I don’t know. I just know that when I went and saw? Lawd, cher, I couldn’t do it.”

  “That’s fair. But nothing worth doing is easy, baby. You can do anything if you want it bad enough.” He gave Colt a wink and a grin. “But that’s not a project you want to start and then find out you don’t want it bad enough.”

  “True that. I do like yours, though. They’re fine.” Colt’s fingers danced over the ink, playing with him.

  “Well, if you’re ever in town when I’m getting more, I’ll invite you along to watch.” He hovered over Colt’s lips for breath before kissing him.

  Colt groaned softly, lips parting again like he was meant to be kissed, like there was nothing on earth Colt wanted more right now.

  There was such truth in Colt. He couldn’t steal a kiss that was freely given; he wasn’t concerned with later when Colt made right now so important. Being with Colt was like familiar steps set to entirely new music.

  “Are you staying? I mean, I’d love it if you stayed. If you want to.” Colt wasn’t his first fly-by-night musician. They always had a gig to be at or a bar calling them. Itchy fingers, itchy feet. He didn’t read people well all the time, but it felt like Colt wasn’t in a hurry.

  “I want.” Colt pulled his bottom lip in, sucked gently. “I got to be at the studio in the morning. I got all night.”

  “Mmm. I’ll take it.” He’d take the rest of that kiss, too, and whatever else he might get.

  Chapter Three

  COLT WOKE up in a rush, sucking in air as he fought to figure out where the fuck he was this time.

  Never changed. Never once. Every damn morning it was a whole new world trying to reckon his place in it.

  He knew this place was all kinds of fancy. You could smell money in the air.

  Money in the air and amaretto on the pillowcase. Music he’d never heard before coming from another room.

  The pretty dancer. Kyle. Right. He hunted a bathroom, brushed his teeth with his finger, and washed up. Then he got himself dressed and went hunting the sound of the music and the pretty man who had turned him inside out last night.

  Following the music, the smooth male vocals, and the hot slow-dance rhythm, Kyle wasn’t hard to find. But he stopped dead in the doorway as Kyle spun by him, one turn after another all the way to the far end of the large, open room.

  Kyle stopped to stretch next to a mirrored wall, one long leg coming right up alongside his ear, damp, dark hair plastered to his forehead. “Good morning, music man.”

  “Mornin’, cher. You been workin’ hard.”

  “Every day, baby.” Kyle came over, walking with a dancer’s bare feet in skintight, black shorts, ink, and nothing else. “Hi.” Kyle kissed him like it was what they did every morning. Simple. Affectionate.

  “Hey. You taste sweet.” He approved. Kyle knew how to kiss a man, how to make it feel good.

  “You taste like my toothpaste and beer.” Kyle winked at him and kept stretching as they talked—graceful, drawn-out movements with great, long extensions of arms or legs. “Are you hungry? You need to run? It’ll take you maybe half an hour to get to the studio.”

  “They said ni
ne.” He hadn’t even plugged his phone in last night, and he assumed it wasn’t too late. It was unnatural, this waking up and making music before noon.

  “Yeah. I know Timmy is there at some ungodly hour every morning. And I can tell you the guy must never sleep, because he closes the bar with us often. I guess studio time is at a premium in the city. Timmy says morning is cheaper.” Kyle pulled a towel off the wall nearby. “You’ve got a little time. Let’s make you some breakfast.”

  “Just coffee, cher. I ain’t ready for food, but thank you.” He was a pure coffee-until-supper kind, always had been.

  Kyle gave him a playfully disapproving look. “Let me guess. No sugar or milk either?”

  “Black, though I do love a café au lait, me.” Sweet and creamy like early morning sex.

  “Hm.” Kyle led him back down the hall to the stairway they’d climbed together the night before. It was curved, the steps were wide, and it had a long, brightly polished railing leading down to a flat banister. Kyle perched on it and slid all the way down, landing gracefully after shooting off the end. “Coming?”

  “Look at you!” He applauded and headed toward Kyle, walking down the stairs like a man that needed his hands and arms working so he could keep himself in french fries. “That was cool. You’re something else, ain’t you?”

  Like this sparkly magic man. Like Baron Samedi, somehow.

  “Thank you.” Kyle bowed neatly. “I hope so.”

  He bowed back. “So do you dance for a company deal?”

  He thought that was how it worked, right? In the ballet? They had companies that were like symphonies. He’d played with local symphonies before, when they needed a pinch hitter.

  “I do, and I don’t.” Kyle pulled him into the kitchen and started making coffee. “I choreograph for a modern ballet company. I dance with them as well, and I sometimes dance on my own.”

  “Yeah?” Fancy. That rocked his socks. He loved to see folks doing what they loved and not starving. “You like it? You must, huh?”