-Prologue-
Sweden. Three years ago …
“I should get you one of those,” Xane remarked to his best friend Steve Matlock, pointing out the slogan on the T-shirt of the guy standing at the end of the VIP bar.
“‘I love to bang,’” Steve read, and chuckled over the stick-figure drawing of a man beating the hell out of a set of drums. “Like it. Do you reckon there’s a whole set, so we can have one each?” The pair were two sixths of the rock band Black Halo, and they’d just blown the frigging minds of the thousands-strong crowd around the main stage at the Sölvesborg Rock Festival with their explosive gothic freak-show. While the rest of the band members were still scrawling their signatures over various pieces of female anatomy, Xane and Steve had slipped into the VIP tent for some celebratory drinks. After all, it wasn’t every day you went platinum before breakfast and got to psych the crowd up for Ozzy in the evening. Xane figured he’d be riding this particular high for weeks, if not months. It’d been a long while coming, but their dedication was finally paying off.
“What would Ash’s say?”
“‘I love licking,’” Xane suggested. Their lead guitarist was widely rumoured to have a magic tongue. Chances were he was giving it a workout right now, charming the panties off their female fans in order to guarantee their future loyalty. It certainly spread the word about them more successfully than any flyer campaign.
“Yeah, and ‘I love to touch base’ for Paul. And maybe ‘I practise the rhythm method’ for Spook.”
“Except he doesn’t.” Their rhythm guitarist Spook Mortensen didn’t need to employ contraceptive methods because he never had sex, a fact Xane still struggled to get his head around. He wasn’t sure how anyone managed to function without getting horizontal on a regular basis – like a minimum of three times a day and preferably more. Not that he insisted on being horizontal – he was equally happy getting his rocks off standing, sitting or swinging from the rafters. Hell, in pretty much any position imaginable. He was flexible like that. Xane was flexible about a lot of things, which was how he’d come to move on from the interesting shirt to the far more interesting body beneath it, and the very cute guy to whom it belonged. And he did mean very cute.
“What would yours say?” Steve asked, still focused on clothing slogans.
“‘Throat job.’”
“‘Throat job’,” seriously? That makes it sound like you’re up for sucking dick … Oh!” Steve caught up with the direction in which Xane’s thoughts had wandered. “I guess you are. You know that doesn’t guarantee he is?”
“He is.” The guy had been casting him not so surreptitious glances since they’d walked in.
“I think it’s more likely he’s out to bang chicks.”
The guy had two of them hanging on his every word, but neither had his attention. That was hotly focused on Xane. The man was literally eating him up with that five-yard stare.
Xane didn’t recognise him but, with 30-something groups on the roster ranging from virtual unknowns to the megastars of the genre that was no big surprise. What he did recognise was a man dedicated to his craft. You only got arms like that, a physique like that, through drumming. He knew. He’d admired Steve’s body often enough.
“Can’t you stick to wrapping your lips around a bottle?” Steve ordered them another two beers.
Xane whistled an uh-uh sound across the neck of his beer. Alcohol just didn’t give him the same warm and fuzzies as a robust workout. It had a habit of making him miserable instead, and tonight he intended to stay firmly in the happy camp. He was not going to wallow in the shitty events of his past. Fuck his siblings, fuck his parents and … you know, fucking sounded like a really good plan right now.
“All right, so let’s go find ourselves some nice young ladies.”
“Actually, I’m good with what’s on offer here.”
Steve turned his back to the bar and chugged another mouthful of beer. Concern lines furrowed the area between his wing-like brows. “Xane, he’s totally not hitting on you. He’s probably staring because we just played the best set of this festival.”
“Totally is hitting on me. He’s itching to unwrap my dick and go down on me.”
The slap Steve gave the back of his head didn’t dispel the notion. Some things you just knew on a gut level, and this happened to be one of them.
“Mate, if you go over there and suggest that, you’re going to get yourself beaten senseless.”
“One hopes.” So far, no one had given him an orgasm that good. Xane refused to be put off by Steve’s efforts to keep him on the straight and narrow. He didn’t see why everyone got so antsy about his mutable tastes. He patted down his jacket pockets, making sure he was all set for the fun ahead. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy and horny at the same time. Normally he fucked to achieve a state of contentment, and then used the little piece of cloud nine he landed on to float through the following hours without succumbing to the shit that messed with his equilibrium on a daily basis.
His response prompted Steve to pinch the bridge of his nose, which did nothing to remove the furrows. “You don’t know who he is. You don’t know where he’s been.”
Nor did he need to. Those things didn’t matter. He wasn’t looking for a life partner, just a quick bit of fun. “And the same would be true of any woman I picked up. Catch you later.” He saluted Steve with his beer, took a final swig, and left the bottle on the bar. Xane didn’t speak to the guy, he didn’t even approach him. He simply held his gaze before heading for the exit, and, what do you know, two minutes later mister blond and beautiful – who was called Luthor – was literally begging to go down on him.
Another person might have simply rolled with that, sat back, lapped up the attention and come down his throat without giving a damn thing in return. Xane disliked such selfishness. How could anyone abuse something this pretty? Besides, he wasn’t looking for a quick release. If that was all he needed, he could achieve that with his own hand. No, he wanted a long, slow, hard ride with this man, the sort that would give him the chance to savour every inch of perfection, every blessed angle.
“Tell me what you need. Let me –”
“Sh-h!” Xane silenced him with some seriously devil-may-care kisses. This didn’t need to involve conversation. He didn’t want to hear about his performance. He’d already gathered the man had watched him on stage and decided then that he was willing to do pretty much anything the fuck Xane wanted him to. He didn’t want to exchange pointless pleasantries or have a heart-to-heart. What he wanted, in the words of Marc Bolan, was easy action.
Thank fuck the guy seemed to catch on quickly. Xane’s kisses were rewarded with matching fervour. Luthor had a mouth made for pleasure, wide, with a full lower lip, and it tilted upwards at the corners, making him seem cheerful even when his face was relaxed. He knew how to kiss too, unlike some men, who seemed to think it was all about being savage and clashing teeth. In fact, he seemed to know a hell of a lot about how to coax joy into being with every cell of his body. The guy had a sensuality that made Xane’s nerves vibrate – in a good way. There was a grace about him too that seemed almost at odds with his rather sharp physique. He was all long limbs, slender hips and compact muscle. Very nice to hold and undress, and no doubt a knockout to look at.
However, none of those things entranced Xane the way the man’s eyes did. He hadn’t noticed them in the VIP tent – they’d been standing too far apart – but up close, even in the dark they caught Xane’s attention and refused to release him. He’d never seen eyes like those before: one tawny, one sea-green. Natural, too, not achieved with lenses like his own Evil Dead look. Luthor possessed eyes that seemed to reflect the duality of being, making it near impossible to look away.
Normally, Xane avoided looking into the eyes of the people he fucked. It saved him from emotional entanglements he wasn’t seeking. With Luthor there didn’t seem to be any avoiding it.
“Yeah,” he hissed as the sweet caress of cool air tickled his skin, and Luthor formed a fist around his shaft. He swept his hold upwards in a satisfying pull towards the tip, making energy spike through all seven chakras at once. “Let me,” Xane insisted, craving more skin-on-skin contact. He grabbed Luthor’s arse and grinned delightedly at the way the springy muscle tightened beneath his palm. He intended to explore every bloody inch of this man, from the pretty ridges of his hip bones to the soles of his feet. He was going to taste him and possess him, and they were both going to know what it felt like to make the universe turn.
“Oh, man,” Luthor gasped, as Xane dropped to his knees and yanked Luthor’s jeans down over his narrow hips without bothering to loosen them. They were barely holding up anyway, and he didn’t want to wait any longer for his prize. “Are you gonna …”
Yeah, he totally was. He wanted the taste of this man on his tongue, the smooth, sabre-like curve of his cock filling his mouth. Sometimes it just felt ridiculously good to engage in a bit of repetitive motion.
All right, a lot of repetitive motion, because once he’d got Luthor good and wet and excited, Xane intended to get intimately acquainted with some other fun parts of his anatomy.
Xane kept his hands busy as he sucked, and not just at the base of the guy’s cock. He squeezed, he coaxed and caressed. He wriggled his fingers someplace warm and tight and that turned Luthor into such a quivering wreck that he could barely keep himself upright and had to weave his fingers into Xane’s hair to maintain his balance.
Not long after that, they ended up on the ground, scrabbling about, too desperate for contact to disentangle themselves efficiently from one another and their clothing.
Xane didn’t notice stripping almost naked, only the inferno that burst into being when Luthor wrapped his palm around both their cocks and worked them together.
“Have you got something?” he asked, both clinging onto Xane and almost pushing him away at the same time. Like he wasn’t sure if this wasn’t good enough, and maybe they should come like this and avoid ramping things up any further, except he wanted the other way to happen so badly too, because the first way was too quick and would be over too fast. Neither of them was ready to part ways just yet.
Luthor’s eyes lit as Xane produced condoms and slathered them in lube. They were both breathing heavily and momentarily kiss-drunk as he got them lined up. It was easy, so very easy, as all the best fucks were. It wasn’t too tight or too awkward, there were no tense moments where they had to hold one another in check so they could breathe and relax. It was simply right. Everything worked, and it felt so goddamned wonderful that even if they did it a thousand times over it would never grow old.
Luthor mouthed the side of Xane’s neck as they fucked to the hum of “Paranoid” that drifted over to them from the festival stage.
“Bite me,” Xane encouraged. “Leave a mark behind.” He enjoyed nothing better than the feel of a lover’s mouth against his neck. It drove him fucking demented. He liked the marks they left behind too. Wore them like badges to the bemusement of the rest of the band. To Xane they were reminders that for at least a few brief moments he’d belonged, truly belonged to someone, enough for them to want to stamp their mark on him. He stamped a hell of a lot of marks all over Luthor, not that he thought for one second about actually keeping him.
He got Luthor off right before he came inside him, staring into those mesmerising mismatched eyes.
Xane floated for a few minutes, enjoying the roar of bliss in his ears and the whiplash bite of his orgasm pushing its way out of his body. It wasn’t enough, though. He went straight back down on Luthor again, got him stupidly hard. He knew a trick or two that made it easy and fun. This time round, he let Luthor do the sliding. Fair’s fair. He loved fucking, loved the feel of his cock enclosed in all that enveloping heat, but sometimes it felt damn good to be shafted too.
Xane never dished out what he couldn’t take.
It wasn’t such a straight glide with him on the bottom. It felt fucking fantastic, though. “God, yes!” Luthor’s breath scalded the back of his neck as he pressed in deep. He ached as his hips rolled, but in a way that made his cock springy and hard and set his synapses alight. He didn’t care that he’d be sore tomorrow, or that he’d still be able to feel the heat of Luthor’s cock inside him, because then he could squeeze his muscles and remember. A shiver ran through him, almost making him lose it. The gig had ended, leaving the chirps of nocturnal insects as their only accompaniment. Sweat broke out across his body and pooled in the places where his and Luthor’s skin touched. The man was like a flaming brand inside him, burning him up, making him feverish, but still pushing him ever closer to an explosive reward.
Curious, how one subtle shift could make such a huge difference. Xane angled his hips up as Luthor drove forward. The tip of his cock hit Xane’s prostate. Everything moved up a gear. “I’ve got you,” Luthor murmured. “I’ve got you.” He held on tight, not pausing, and still fluid in his assault. “Stay with me. I’m almost there too. Oh, Lord, the grip of you …”
Another thrust … or two … and they hit tipping point.
For a few brief moments Xane existed entirely in a higher realm. Then he fragmented into a million pieces. Hot joy streaked along his shaft and poured from his cock. He felt the pulse of Luthor coming hard inside him. They clung together tight, and it seemed as if it might last for ever. It lasted a good long while.
Xane thought it might be the best fuck he’d ever had. He didn’t think anyone else was going to bang him half so well anytime soon. As they lay side by side, spent, while the sweat of their exhaustion cooled their overheated skin, Xane decided Luthor’s T-shirt slogan needed an addendum. “I love to bang” ought to read “I love to bang … and I’m fucking awesome at it.”
It was a shame their paths never did cross again …
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