by Jet Mykles
Fingers plucked at the plug again, and he moaned, clutching the sides of the bench. Luc used the plug to fuck him gently, the feeling exciting but nowhere near what he needed. “Luc!”
“Time for this to come out, tiger.”
“Yes.”
Carefully, Luc pulled the toy from Reese’s body. Reese whimpered from the small delight of it. Or did he whimper for the larger delight to come?
He felt the shadow of Luc’s body hovering over him. The head of Luc’s cock dragged through his crack again, this time not impeded by the base of the plug. Reese’s greedy hole grabbed for it.
“You want it, tiger?” Luc asked, breath gusting over the back of Reese’s shoulder. The tiger tattoo.
“God, yes.”
“Better than the toy?”
“So much better.”
“Say it for me, Reese.”
Reese pushed up on his elbows, arching his back and rocking his ass against the cock poised for entry. “Fuck me, Luc. God, I need you inside me.”
“Reese,” Luc hissed softly, gliding into Reese’s hungry body in one long push.
Reese cried out, gripping the sides of the bench. His lover filled him completely, making him whole.
Luc’s arm slid around him, holding him in place with his back to Luc’s chest. That strong arm held him as Luc’s hips pulled back, dragging that gorgeous cock mostly out of Reese’s body before he reversed direction and slid it back home.
Reese’s head lolled on his neck, his eyes shut tight as all of his world centered on the feel of the man wrapped around him. Wrapped inside him.
Luc rocked them like that for a long time, slowly fucking Reese, taking his timing from the sun slowly setting and sinking the garden in twilight. Reese wanted him to hurry but didn’t. The slow grind was making him crazy, but he didn’t want it to end. Making love with Luc was the most wonderful thing ever, and he knew there was no way in this lifetime that he could get enough of it.
Luc’s lips caressed the back of his neck. “Fucking love this,” Luc crooned, his arm supporting Reese. “Love fucking you.” Luc’s hand finally slipped around to circle Reese’s aching, dripping cock. “Love you.” He jacked it lightly, teasing Reese with enough sensation to feel but not enough to satisfy.
Panting, Reese used his grip on the bench as leverage to push back into Luc. “Luc, please.”
Luc let him move, let him rock up and down. He tightened his grip around Reese’s cock so that Reese moved forward into his grip and backward onto his cock.
Reese loved it. “Ah, shit!” He couldn’t do the slow anymore. He had to come. He had to fuck. His body trembled and an ache boiled below his belly. “Luc, now, please.”
Luc knew his voice now. Luc knew his body. Luc wouldn’t let him suffer.
Luc pushed Reese’s hips up so that he was almost standing, legs widespread across the bench. One of Luc’s legs came up to bend between Reese’s thighs, giving him better leverage to start pounding.
Reese cried out, dropping his forehead onto the hands now folded on the bench in front of him. Luc’s sweater bunched up underneath him. Luc still held him steady, one arm around his chest and the other hand now pumping his cock in earnest.
Luc’s fingers squeezed the head of his cock. “Come for me, tiger,” he demanded, smooth voice rough with lust. “Come, ’cause I’m gonna…”
Reese slammed back and came with a ripping cry, heat exploding in his groin and spilling out on the clothes spread beneath him. His ass gripped the hard organ pistoning inside him, pushing the joy of his release even higher before he finally started to come down.
He was still twitching in aftershocks when Luc growled and slammed those last, ragged times, filling Reese with liquid warmth.
Reese sank down on the bunched clothing and concrete beneath him, his sweaty skin momentarily oblivious to the wet spot. Luc settled over him, a welcome, warm blanket that provided soothing, tingling kisses over his neck and shoulder.
“Mmm,” Reese sighed, tilting his head to allow better access for those lips. “Now that’s the way to celebrate the start of spring.”
HELL
HEAVEN SENT EXTENDED REMIX: BOOK THREE
Here’s a peek at the Brent and Hell, available soon through Amazon.
Brent stepped up beside Luc, dangling a tumbler of Jack Daniels over the railing. “I don’t believe it.”
Luc started, twisting his head toward Brent. He frowned. “What?”
“The mighty Lucas Sloane has fallen.” Brent waved a hand to indicate the full dance floor beneath them as well as the packed balconies along the walls of the nightclub “See before you a sea of sensuality with warm Italian bodies ripe for the plucking, and the magnificent Lucas Sloane is standing here in the corner nursing his drink.”
Luc glared mildly. “Fuck you.”
Brent chuckled, raising his drink to his lips. “Nope. Can’t do that anymore. Reese would mind.”
“Reese would mind if I partook of this so-called sea of sensuality.”
“Indeed he would.” Brent smacked his lips, enjoying the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. “Not to mention the fact that I would rat your sorry ass out in a heartbeat.”
“Gee. Thanks, buddy.”
“Don’t mention it.”
They stood for a while, watching the crowd below. Bright, multicolor lights flashed in tune to the throbbing techno beat that spurred the mass of humanity on the dance floor below. Brent tried in vain to find Darien among the sea of bodies. Heaven Sent’s drummer was down there somewhere, but Brent couldn’t pick out his dark blond head.
Joke as he might, he was actually impressed with Luc’s resistance. A year ago, Luc wouldn’t have been caught dead alone on a balcony. He would have at least had a lover or a prospective lover with him, female or male. But here he stood, on his own, Brent’s threat to rat him out aside. If he’d had doubts before, Brent certainly had none now that Luc was in love. His behavior since reuniting with Reese and fucking him silly had confirmed that. For the two months in Italy that followed first, fateful week, if Luc hadn’t been talking music, he’d been talking Reese. The mere possibility that he might have ruined his chance with Reese had made him nearly unbearable outside of work. Brent, Johnnie, Darien, and their producer, Paul, had begun to lay odds on how long it’d take him to bring up Reese in any given conversation. They had practically sent Luc back to the States after Reese, just to get a little peace. Brent just hoped that now, after Reese had spent a month in Italy with them, Luc wouldn’t go back to mooning just because his lover had returned Stateside. Hopefully nightly calls and frequent text would keep Luc happy until Reese came back.
“So,” Luc began, swirling his glass to clink the ice, “forget me. What about you?”
Brent adjusted the dark sunglasses he wore despite the fact it was evening and they were in a nightclub. “What about me?”
“Why aren’t you partaking of the sea of sensuality?”
Brent shrugged. “Not in the mood.”
Luc snorted. “When was the last time you were in the mood?”
That would be the last time with you, Brent thought, but didn’t say. Luc didn’t need to know that. “I’m not the horn dog here.”
Luc snorted. “You should pick yourself up a nice little piece of ass and get laid. I’ll even take you to a late breakfast in the morning so you can brag about it. I need to get some kind of thrill with Reese gone, even if it is vicarious. Let’s see...” He tucked errant auburn locks behind his ear and looked around. The two of them stood in the balcony VIP section, away from the press of most of the crowd. The others in the section with them weren’t at all interested in the conversation between the two rockstars. “What’s your poison? Male or female?”
“Neither.”
“C’mon, Brent.” Luc waved toward the bar below, plainly visible as it was lit in striking blue neon. “There’s a curvy little number down there almost wearing a black dress. She’s been looking up here a few times.”
Brent turned to put his empty tumbler on a table behind them. “You noticed?” He slid an ashtray closer to where they stood.
Luc rolled his eyes. “I’m taken, not blind.”
Brent dug in his shirt pocket for the fancy Italian cigarettes he was becoming fond of, refusing to look toward the bar. “Regardless, she’s probably looking at you, not the skinny guitar player.”
“You don’t know that.”
Brent snorted, tapping a cylinder from the pack.
Undeterred, Luc gestured with his long chin. “How about the guy in the mesh shirt? He’s got jeans on with see-through pockets in the back.”
Brent flipped open his Zippo and lit up. “Just the description of the clothing means no.”
“You like ’em flashy.”
“There’s flashy and there’s tacky.”
Brent checked his watch, pleased to find that it was almost ten. The show they’d come to watch would start any moment now, halting the need for conversation.
Luc proceeded to point out more choice members of both sexes. Brent actually looked at a few. He had to admire his friend’s taste. All said objects of scrutiny were beautiful. But Brent really wasn’t interested and tried to convey that. He just wasn’t into picking up someone who just wanted to sleep with “the rockstar,” and he knew better than to think that he could find someone interested for any other reason.
“Brent?”
“Hmm?”
“When was the last time you had sex?”
“Hey, there’s Darien.” Brent brought his fingers up to his mouth and whistled through the thundering music. With any luck, Luc would think he hadn’t heard him.
The notes he whistled were distinctive and loud, and Darien actually heard. He lifted his head and waved, then went back to concentrating on getting up the spiral staircase to the second level.
“Brent?”
Brent turned back to Luc, his oldest and best friend. He’d known this man longer than anyone outside his family and trusted him more than anyone. He tilted his head down so he could look over the rims of his glasses into Luc’s sable eyes and let his gaze go stone cold. “Drop it.”
Luc’s eyes narrowed. He wanted to ask, Brent knew. He wanted to push. But as well as Brent knew Luc, Luc also knew Brent. When he was paying attention, Luc almost knew him better than he knew himself. Luc should know by the tone alone that Brent was done discussing it.
The redhead shrugged and turned back to the railing, digging into a pocket for his own pack of cigarettes. “You think they’ll ever start this show?”
Brent handed his Zippo over without being asked. “You know those damn musicians. Can’t count on ’em to be on time for anything.”
Darien bounded up to them. Paul Thrombone, the producer for Heaven Sent’s latest album, was right behind him. Paul was about Darien’s height, therefore shorter than either Brent or Luc. His short, snowy blond hair was gelled back from his face, and he wore a flashy dark orange blazer over a white button-down and artfully torn jeans. The roots of Darien’s straight blond hair were wet with sweat from dancing, and dark patches marked the collar and underarms of his gold silk shirt. Wide brown eyes matched his grin as he landed at the railing. “This place rocks. You guys shoulda come down.”
Luc smiled. “You get lucky?”
Darien’s grin turned into a smirk. He grabbed the railing and leaned back, swinging slightly side to side, like a kid. “The night is young, my friend. I’m sticking around after the show.”
Luc turned back to Brent. “See? Maybe you should stick around.”
Brent flicked his still-lit cigarette at him.
“Hey!” Luc shouted, jumping back. He brushed off the gleaming white of his shirt, glaring at Brent. “What the fuck?”
“Shut your damn trap.”
Darien frowned from one to the other. “What gives?”
“Signori e signore,” an announcer’s voice cut into the fading lines of the dance track. The lights began to dim.
Luc and Brent still stared at each other.
The announcer proceeded to say more in Italian. Luc, Darien, and Brent didn’t care enough to get a translation from either Paul or one of the bodyguards who hovered toward the back of the balcony. The further dimming lights told them the performance was starting.
“Hey, guys?” Darien asked.
Luc stubbed his own cigarette out in the ashtray.
Brent stomped out the cigarette on the floor, then turned to the railing. Luc could just butt the hell out of his love life—or lack thereof—for once.
Luc turned to the rail as well, leaving Darien between them, with Paul, silent and watchful, on Brent’s other side.
The drummer frowned, then heaved an exasperated sigh. “Fine. Fuck both of you.”
Brent disregarded him, seething. Luc may be his oldest and best friend, but it also meant that Luc knew exactly how to piss him off.
Was it Luc’s business who Brent had slept with last? Even if it was him? He’d just jump to all sorts of wrong conclusions if he found that out. He might think that Brent was mooning over him, which simply wasn’t true. Brent hadn’t slept with anyone else because he hadn’t put forth the effort to find anyone. It was actually a thing for him. He’d only slept with Luc because Luc had pressed the point, and, well, Brent had been curious and receptive. It’s not like they’d been exclusive, although Luc had done far more experimenting than Brent. They certainly weren’t in love. And now Luc was all Reese’s, and he wished them well. Truly. But Luc might not see it that way, at least not at first. No one would. Which was why Brent just didn’t want to talk about it, damn it!
The lights went out. The announcer spoke up, but Brent only recognized the name of the performer they’d come to see through the Italian: Heller Witting. Yet more people packed onto the already crowded dance floor, facing the stage in anticipation as a soft electronic pulse filled the air. This was Heller’s niche, and he was quite popular in it across Europe. He played sets in dance clubs in lieu of a disc jockey and, from all accounts, kept people dancing sometimes for hours.
Brent was too far away for his eyes to adjust enough and allow him to see the performer walk onstage. He had to wait until the lights trickled up, synchronized with a wobbling piano passage. The first thing Brent noticed was the hair. He reached up to tip his glasses down, just to make sure that he saw the color he thought he saw. He did. The figure that stood behind racks of keyboards had a wavy mop of short, vivid lavender hair. Lavender. Like an Easter egg. He was enough in profile that Brent could see a thin, long tail of darker purple extending from the nape of his neck down the back of his shiny, sleeveless white overcoat. He looked small and young, but he took command of the racks of keyboards like a pro.
Brent smiled. Paul had supplied some clips of the man’s music, but Brent hadn’t gotten a visual yet. Luc had looked him up on the internet and had, so far, claimed that he was “cute.” Now Brent knew what he meant.
So this was the man Paul thought could be a welcome addition to Heaven Sent? Brent watched, his anger at Luc draining away as the keyboardist’s haunting, heartbeat melodies and tickling electronic overtones washed over him.
The clips had been good. His live show was better. Heller Witting definitely had promise
Brent flipped open his Zippo and lit up. He used the accustomed movement to help put his mind back to rights, gradually recovering from the terrific performance he’d just seen. The last strains of Heller’s final song were still in his mind, fifteen minutes after the man had left the stage. He couldn’t help but imagine new tracks with other instruments laid down with what he’d heard, making for a pretty spectacular sound.
“Damn,” Darien muttered, plopping down on the padded seat of the booth beside Brent. “The kid’s good.”
Brent nodded, exhaling as he set the lighter down on the glossy tabletop and reached over to slide the ashtray closer to him.
Paul, seated backwards in the chair he’d pulled up to the table, grinned
. “I told you. Would I steer you wrong?”
Luc slid into the booth opposite Darien. “That’s why we hired you, Paul. You’re the best.”
Paul laughed, grabbing the back of the chair and leaning back. The loud orange of his jacket gleamed in the nightclub’s wavering lighting. He waited until the server came to deliver the fresh round of drinks they had ordered before speaking again. He eyed Brent. “What do you think?”
Brent sucked smoke into his lungs, thinking. As often happened when a group decision needed to be made about the music itself, they looked to Brent first and last. Yes, they all contributed to the sound and they were all necessary, but for whatever reason everyone looked to him as the lead musician. It was a role he accepted gladly and never acknowledged. Johnnie was the face of the band; Luc was his dark, mysterious counterpoint; Darien was the heartbeat; and Brent was the musician. They all took their roles rather naturally.
How would someone new fit in? But even as he thought it, those imagined tracks filled his mind. He could easily hear versions of Heller’s strains complementing some of the rough cuts the band had been working on for the past few months. Musically, Heller would probably be a great fit.
Personally…?
He exhaled, nodding without speaking. If he spoke, he’d likely start gushing about the electric sizzle of the keyboardist’s performance. Since he didn’t want to do that, even among friends, he settled for the smile and nod. His dark glasses would hide any excitement that might show in his eyes.
Paul grinned and cocked his head, his eyes darting around the table. “So, you guys think he’s good enough to play on the album?”
“Oh, yeah!” Darien’s typical enthusiasm shone through.
“Is he willing?” Luc asked. “Looks like he’s got a pretty good gig right here.”
Paul nodded. “Oh, he’s interested. He’s got a moderate following in Europe, but it’s limited to clubs like this. He’d love to tackle the States. Plus, he’s a big fan. He knows you came to see him tonight.”