Syncopation

by Jodi Payne

  “Soon.” The single word of warning rang in his head.

  Soon, he thought, or maybe now. On Colt’s next thrust, he arched back so Colt’s cock hit him just right, and then tightened up, making sure Colt felt every spasm and ripple as his climax rolled through him. “Fuck, yes!”

  A spate of patois poured out of Colt, low and foreign and filthy as Colt pressed deep and stiffened.

  He was caught for a second between afterglow and laughter at Colt’s dirty little outburst. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t understood a word; he didn’t need to. He reached back and dug his fingers into Colt’s thigh as he fought for a deep breath.

  “Damn, cher.” Colt leaned hard against his back.

  He nodded, loving the weight of that incredible body on his. “Yeah. Damn.” That little word kind of said it all.

  Colt stroked his belly, petting him with lazy, long strokes. It felt so good, but his knees weren’t going to hold him up much longer, let alone Colt too. He shifted, grunting as Colt’s cock left him.

  “Ditch that and then let’s relax for a while together, hm?” He wanted to curl up against Colt, lay his head on Colt’s chest. He felt like he needed that, which was something new for him.

  “Yeah. Then we can go eat or order pizza. Whatever. I just want to be with you.”

  Kyle smiled. “I was thinking the same thing, baby.” He tugged the covers down and climbed into the sheets while he waited for Colt to get back. Colt grabbed a bottle of water and toweled himself off before crawling into his arms, offering him a drink.

  “Oh, thanks.” He took a big sip and handed it back. “Mmm. You feel so good.” He could just enjoy this for what it was. They were adults; they didn’t have to apologize for wanting each other. After their first night together, it hadn’t even occurred to Kyle that Colt wouldn’t want exactly what he did. They’d connected on some level he didn’t have words for yet.

  Colt kissed him, humming deep in his chest, one hand sliding over his hip and he returned it, in no hurry, enjoying how Colt’s kisses were always so deliberate. Like they were everything. Like Colt could be perfectly happy if that’s all he ever got from Kyle. It fascinated him, how this man seemed to be so present, nowhere but right here, right now.

  He settled with a sigh, limbs tangled up with Colt’s, hands working the muscles gently anywhere they could. “That was off the charts, baby.” He chuckled softly. “Way off.”

  “Mm-hmm. Magic.” Colt winked at him, rubbed their noses together. “Good end to a work day.”

  “That’s for sure. How was your session? That band seems like a bunch of characters.”

  “Good. Good. They know what they need, and they ain’t stubborn about other folks coming with ideas.”

  “I bet you have a lot of ideas. Are you just playing guitar?” Someone with Colt’s passion for music had to be creative.

  “With them? Mostly. They ain’t writers or looking for mandolin or banjo or nothing, but that’s cool. They like to jam.”

  “You also play mandolin and banjo?” He wasn’t surprised at all.

  “I play piano, mouth harp, guitar—acoustic, electric, and steel. Bass, mandolin, banjo. I pass on a fiddle okay, but it ain’t my thing.” Colt grinned, rubbing against him nice and slow. “I like to play.”

  He grinned, letting Colt play all he liked. “Yes, I see that. So you’re a session musician. Are they making an album? Is it all blues? How many tracks are they putting down?”

  “They are. It’s sort of blues, sort of folk, a little ska. Indie stuff, with soul. We’ve laid down thirteen. I think they want five more, and then I got to find a new place to play. Timmy, the studio guy? He says I can stay with him if I find a longer gig.”

  “That’s cool. You got any nibbles? If you don’t, I have a project I’m working on I need a guitar for. It’s… it might not be your thing, and it’s short-term, but it’s work.” He shrugged. But if it was Colt’s thing? Jesus, it could be incredible.

  “Sure.” No hesitation, not even a second. “Playing is what I am. I would play for you.”

  “Yeah? Well, you see what Timmy can hook you up with, and then we can talk money and work out a schedule.” And that’ll keep you in town a few more days. He slid his toes along Colt’s calf.

  “Okay. I don’t love hotels. I don’t get to cook here, and that’s no fun.”

  “It’s not at all! I cook too. We should make dinner sometime.”

  “Mm-hmm. I like that. Yes. You say when, I’m there.”

  “Mmm. Friday night. Think about what you want to make for me, and we’ll shop first. After my dance studio, the kitchen is my favorite room in the house. It’s laid out just perfectly to get things done. There’s a ton of counter space to roll things out, or for prep work or whatever. I cook all kinds of things.”

  He might be a dancer, but he was every inch an athlete, and he ate like one. Healthy, but he wasn’t shy about seconds, and he didn’t worry too much about cheating. He danced at minimum two hours a day, and on a regular day he was up around five or six. He could handle dessert with the best of them.

  That said, though? With Colt around, the bedroom was quickly making its way to the top of his list of favorite places to be.

  “I like it. I cook all the things—gumbo, étouffée, chilis. I can cook a whole pig and a gator, both.”

  “I don’t think I need a whole gator.” He laughed. Imagine that? “But thanks for thinking of me.”

  “Ain’t nobody needs one, lest they’re starving, cher. It’s fishy chickeny tasting.”

  “So stick with fish or chicken. Fish sounds great. Let’s do surf and turf Friday. You do something with fish, and I’ll grill us a couple of fat steaks. What do you think?” With roasted potatoes or something. Oh, that sounded so good. Or maybe he was just hungry.

  “Surely can. Y’all got a fish market or what?” Colt’s belly began to rumble, and he laughed, the sound joyous. “We’re making me hungry, cher.”

  “We’re making me hungry too, music man. You want to head out and find some food? Or we could get room service or order a pizza… I’m easy.” So easy. “Especially when you’re around, it seems.” He slid a hand over Colt’s chest, tracing the contours.

  “What you like? I could be naked with you for hours and just munch and talk and learn all the things.”

  “Room service, then.” He smiled at Colt. “I like the sound of being lazy with you. So something easy to eat in bed, hm? Where’s your menu?”

  “Hrm. Where’d I put that book deal….” Colt rolled up and started digging through drawers, giving him a view of that tight ass. He could just… mm. Damn. He really could.

  “No rush.”

  Colt looked back and up at him, offering him a huge grin over one shoulder.

  “I’m not at all ashamed of myself for looking, baby.” Not one little bit.

  That earned him a wiggle and a shimmy, then a happy cry sounded. “La! I found it.”

  He patted the bed. “Let me see. We need some finger foods and stuff, right?”

  “Mm-hmm. I like french fries.” Colt clicked his teeth together. “I like to crunch.”

  “French fries, then. Watch those teeth.” He grinned and took the book from Colt. “And the cheese platter, yeah? Maybe a bottle of wine?”

  “Mmm. Works for me. Something red and rich.”

  “Yes, perfect.” He reached over and picked up the phone to call in the order, adding malt vinegar for the fries and something sweet for dessert.

  Colt’s hands found his back, the fingers digging in, playing his muscles like a maestro.

  “Oh. Oh wow. That feels great. You have the best hands.” He let his head hang forward, melting into Colt’s touch.

  “Merci.” Colt hummed softly, singing to him again, searching out little knots of tension.

  “De rien.” High school French for the win. “But I’m the one who should be—oh, right there—thanking you right now.” He groaned as Colt found one of his hot spots. “I have a… ooh.
Yep. Right there.”

  “Mm-hmm. I feel.” Colt dug in, rubbing the knot out until he wanted to scream or purr or melt or something.

  “Ask me anything right now and I’d say yes. I would. You’re magic.” He was actually kneading the sheets with one hand.

  “Mmm. Good to know. I’ll keep that in my pocket.” Colt moved down to work on his ass, his legs.

  He stretched out, very ready to enjoy all the attention. “The piece I want music for is pretty simple. And it’s not all that long really. But I love telling stories with my body, and the music will fill in the gaps, add emotion, tension. We would work it out together, make the pieces fit, you know? And then you’d record it for me for the show.”

  “I can do that. You show me what you want, I will play it.” The confidence in Colt’s voice made him smile.

  “I have no doubt. I’ll show you what I do. I bet you’ll figure out what it needs. And I was thinking guitar, but now that I know you play such a huge range, you may have other ideas there too. We can collaborate a little.”

  There was a knock at the door. “Oh. I can’t get up right now.” He could, but he was so relaxed. “Will you?”

  “Surely do.” Colt stood up, grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around his waist before answering the door. “Ooo, that all smells good. How’re you?”

  The soft back-and-forth, so Southern, so very warm and welcoming, made Kyle smile and made the young server blush. He’d noticed that when Colt asked someone how they were, he actually listened to the answer. He could learn to love a guy like that, he really could. Maybe even a musician. Maybe. Though that might be a bad idea.

  When the door closed again, he tossed off the sheet he’d pulled over his ass for modesty and made himself sit up. “So do you try to make people blush, or does that just happen to everyone you talk to?” He grinned.

  “Hmm?” Colt settled the little rolling cart close by and started pulling off lids.

  He gave Colt a fond smile. Of course Colt would have no idea what he was talking about. He reached for the wine and the bottle opener. “Never mind, baby. What are you feeding me first?”

  “It all looks good. You like a certain kind of cheese?”

  “If it’s cheese, I like it.” He leaned toward Colt. “Surprise me. Again.” He winked.

  Colt explored his options, then carefully made up a bite with cracker and cheese and a dollop of some sort of jelly.

  “That’s pretty.” He opened his mouth to accept the bite and made a little show of holding on to Colt’s fingers with his teeth for a second. He poured them each a glass of wine and handed one to Colt. “Yummy.”

  “Thank you.” Colt lifted his glass. “Bon temps, cher.”

  “Cheers to you, baby.” The wine was perfect, rich and dark. He reached for a french fry and held it out. “You have family back home?”

  “I got a mamma. My daddy passed when I was ten. He played blues on the Quarter. Mamma, we don’t talk much. She got her a fancy husband after I left home at fifteen.”

  “My mom’s fancy husband is also my father.” He snorted and took a fry for himself. “Fifteen? Why did you leave so young?”

  Colt shrugged, lips twisting. “Lots of things. I mean, don’t no one want a queer boy. Don’t no one want a dumb queer boy. Don’t no one want a dumb queer boy that proves Mamma was fucking a blues man in N’awlins.”

  “Hm. I’m sorry, baby.” He stroked a hand over Colt’s back. “But you look like you’re doing well for yourself despite her. Nobody wants a queer boy in my family either. My mother wants me to marry one of her friend’s debutante daughters.” He laughed. “My father says I’m ‘really pushing it’ dancing.”

  “Pushing it. That sounds right.” Colt took a fry and nibbled on it. “I looked you up on my phone. I could watch you dance for my whole life and then go for seconds.”

  “You… really?” He felt himself light up, a warmth that came up from his belly and put a blush on his cheeks. He smiled, pleased and touched. “You looked me up?”

  “Well, sure. You’re something. I like the one with the bed best. It made me sad, but there was a happy ending, I think.”

  “Bittersweet.” He nodded. “A lot of ballet is like that. To die for romance, star-crossed lovers, obstacles keeping lovers apart, broken hearts, lots of drama.” He loved the drama of the whole thing; you had to.

  “Blues too. It’s story, and not normally a happy one.”

  “Oh, we’re going to work so well together. Tell me how you learned to play. Did your dad teach you first?”

  “He did. Mamma is a piano teacher, so I learned to read music from her, to score. I learned soul from my daddy. I learned the blues on the streets, I think.” Colt made him another perfect bite. “I had lots of help, and I wasn’t alone long. There’s a tribe of folks that have themselves and no one else.”

  “A tribe. I like that.” He’d never had anything like that. Or, well…. Maybe he had? “I had some school friends I danced with and the companies that cast me—same idea, I guess. Artists, like minds sticking together.”

  “That’s it. We get it. Needing to do what we do.” Colt leaned against him and fed him a french fry. “It’s a little bit different—the studio and the street. The street is all in the dark, but the studio? Oi, that’s anytime.”

  He munched down the french fry and followed it with a big sip of his wine. “You have an agent now, though, right? How long did you play on the street?”

  “I started playing the bars when I was seventeen, got a studio gig about three months later. Christmas music in July. Crazy.”

  He laughed. “Christmas music. You’ve come a long way, then.” He kissed Colt, just a quick one.

  “Oh cher, I felt about eighty foot tall, getting that paycheck.” Colt leaned into him, sipping his wine. “Ain’t nothing like that first check.”

  He put an arm around Colt’s shoulders. “No shit. Nothing beats that first real paycheck for doing what you love to do. Mine was tiny, but I got to wave it in front of my father and tell him he was wrong.”

  “When did you start dancing?”

  “It’s kind of ironic, actually. I started when I was about four, and I went to the same studio as my three older sisters. I was so jealous of them, and my mom stuck me in class just to shut me up. They all quit, and I’m the one that stuck with it.”

  “That’s cool. Three sisters, huh? Y’all close?”

  “We keep in touch. Katie comes to my performances every so often; she’s still local. I’ve got an older brother too. He’s a super-lawyer. One of those white-collar people. I’m not sure I get what he does.”

  “Ah. None of those in my woodpile.”

  “You could take a match to most of mine—that would be okay.” He winked and sipped his wine. “I just stay in the city, and they stay over on the Gold Coast, and it’s all good.”

  “It’s about making a place—places, I guess—that you’re cool.”

  He smiled, leaning in for another kiss. “I’m cool right here. I know that.”

  “Yeah.” Colt nibbled his bottom lip, playing with him.

  “There’s more cheese if you’re hungry,” he teased, reaching out with his tongue and licking Colt’s upper lip.

  “More french fries too. I like the wine in your mouth.”

  “I was just going to say I like the salt on your lips.” God, how silly. Fun, and true, but silly. He pushed his fingers into Colt’s hair and kissed him, his curious tongue slipping past Colt’s lips.

  The touch of Colt’s hand on his hip made him hum, made his hips roll.

  “I listened to Robert Johnson this morning after you left. ‘Hellhound.’” He pushed Colt back into the pillows. “I like it. I was dancing, trying to work out the reasons it speaks to you.”

  “You know the myth, eh? That he sold his soul for the music?”

  “No. Really? Tell me the story?”

  “Robert Johnson went to the crossroads with his guitar, and he met the Devil there, a big old bastard,
black as pitch and three times as sticky. The Devil tuned up for him, played a couple three songs, and when the last note disappeared from the earth, Robert sold his soul for the blues.”

  Oh, he could choreograph that story. “So Johnson’s playing the blues for the Devil now?”

  “Don’t no one know, but if he comes to me in the dark, I’ll hide my head and sing.”

  “Does that make him go away or just make you feel better?” To Kyle, these were children’s stories, things you told each other at sleepovers to scare your friends. The Devil wasn’t anything more than a spook to him. But Colt sounded so serious. It was strange and fascinating.

  Colt gave him a serious look. “I ’spose that depends on what you’re askin’. The Devil comes in all sorts of clothes and lies, and he’s made of music. The question is, is your soul safe or your body? Your body ain’t hardly ever safe, because Lucifer can take hold of that, but your soul? That you got to give.”

  He watched Colt for a bit, thinking about the things he’d sell his soul for, wondering who he’d give it to. “Would you sell yours for what Johnson had?”

  “I got the blues. I pray that if they told me they’d take my hands unless I give my soul, I’d say no and trust that I would learn to play with my feet.” Colt sounded so… sure. Like this was something he thought about, worried on.

  He stroked Colt’s cheek, soothing him.

  “I can’t say I pray, but I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t dance. I promise you I know that feeling.” The idea terrified him, in fact. “Gives me nightmares if I think too hard about it.”

  “Yeah. It eats the whole world, the need to do this thing we do.” Colt leaned into him, resting hard. “And that ain’t bad.”

  He pulled Colt close, let him lean. He took some comfort in Colt’s heavy presence. “No, baby. It’s not bad at all.”

  Chapter Five

  BY FRIDAY night, Colt had put in seventy-five studio hours, spent two long nights making love with Kyle, and was feeling like an empty glove.

  One that had been filled with chicory and shook hard.