All Note Long (14 page)

Michelin snorted. “You might be alone with that opinion. But what about you? You talk about my complex, but man, you are a hard fellow to help out.”

Lucky waited until he had another bite of the steak and peppery white gravy before answering. “I'm the baby of the family. Three older brothers. And a ton of older cousins. And it was always ‘Lucky's too little' or ‘I'll do it for Lucky.' Trying to do stuff myself was a battle. And . . .” Lucky hesitated. Michelin had shared some really personal stuff. Maybe he should, too. “When I was eighteen, I got involved with a way-too-old-for-me guy. I met him while on a modeling audition. Total cliché. And everyone warned me about him, but I didn't want to listen. He bought me expensive stuff—head shots for my modeling, clothes, pricey dinners.”

“I take it that it didn't end well?” A muscle leapt in Michelin's neck. Lucky loved how he looked ready to stab whomever had done Lucky wrong with his steak knife.

“It became increasingly clear that he thought of me as little more than a rent boy—didn't want to meet my family, wasn't flexible about . . . other things. Was controlling about my time and friends. I got the hell out of there, and I resolved to never be a kept guy again.”

“You were just a kid.”

“Old enough to know I never want to feel like that again.” Lucky hated when people used the “just a kid” line to explain away his time with Walter.

“Fair enough.” Michelin knocked feet with him again and raised an eyebrow. “You're definitely not a kid
now.
”

Lucky's skin got prickly and hot. Nice to know that Michelin didn't see him as some kid, despite him acting like Lucky needed protecting from himself like sometimes. And it was the same heated gaze that Michelin had had when they'd first met, but that hungry stare had way more effect on Lucky here in this crowded diner. It made him feel every bit as tongue-tied as Michelin could get, and he focused on his food for a few moments rather than risk speaking. Next time, he was totally ordering for himself. Michelin had been right—he wasn't used to the heaviness of southern food at all.

When the bill came, Michelin let him slip fifteen dollars in without complaint, and they went back to the truck. Suddenly things seemed way more awkward than when Gloria had verified that Michelin had a guest room and didn't mind Lucky occupying it for the sake of the ruse.

“That was . . . nice,” Michelin said as he started the truck. “I . . . uh . . . never brought someone there before.” Even in the dim truck lights, the flush on his neck was visible.

Oh good. Lucky wasn't alone in the trek to awkward town. He reached over and squeezed Michelin's hand. “It was.”

Michelin looked down at their joined hands and back up at Lucky's mouth. Oh yes. That want was exactly what Lucky needed to see.

“Drive,” Lucky ordered. He wanted to kiss Michelin like crazy, but he wasn't crazy about doing it in an ill-lit parking lot. Last thing he needed was some homophobe to hurl an insult—or worse—and spook Michelin and destroy all this new closeness. Or paparazzi ruining this actual, unstaged moment. Things between them felt tentative and fragile yet more real than they ever had, and Lucky didn't want anything to damage that fledgling trust.

So he could wait. He could be patient for the four-minute eternity it took to get back to Michelin's place. He looked out the window at the lights of downtown Nashville, then the more residential area where Michelin lived.

“Is that naked people dancing?” He mocked the strange traffic circle in front of Michelin's building.

“It's a local landmark.” Michelin didn't look amused as he pulled into his building. “Didn't your mama ever tell you not to question what some people call art?”

“Nope.” Lucky took Michelin's hand back the second the truck was parked. They were alone in the underground parking garage, so holding hands like a couple of high schoolers as they walked to the elevators felt natural, exchanging meaningful glances on the elevator ride up to Michelin's fifteenth-floor apartment. He felt giddy, almost like the first time he went home with a guy, the anticipation about to kill him.

And then it almost did kill him, because Michelin's security guys buzzed him on the phone as soon as they stepped off the elevator, wanting confirmation that he was in for the evening.

Rather than pout like he wanted, Lucky surveyed the condo while Michelin was on the phone. The only thing the condo had in common with Michelin's house was the spectacular skyline views and indoor/outdoor living plan with a wide balcony off the living room. Otherwise, this place was modern and much smaller with an open kitchen/living/dining area. Same affinity for brown leather, though. A row of guitars hung neatly on a soft tan wall near the couches.

“All right. I convinced Tim we didn't get snatched gettin' food.” Michelin strode over to where Lucky was examining the guitars. “That one there's the first I ever played. Eleventh birthday present from my folks.”

“Nice.” Lucky turned, put his arm on Michelin's waist, tried to tug him closer, but Michelin was as solid as the exposed brick wall in the dining area and about as perceptive.

“So . . . uh . . . I should show you to the guest room, I guess.” Michelin rubbed his faintly stubbled head.

“Michelin?”

“Yeah?”

“I don't want to see the guest room.” Lucky gave him a pointed look that even Mr. Oblivious should be able to read. And from Michelin's wide eyes and quickened breathing, that message was received, loud and clear.

“O
h thank you.” The words tumbled out before Michelin could stop them. He'd been hoping that's what all the feet bumping and hand holding and long looks meant. However, he hadn't tried to read a guy's intentions in so long he might be better off picking up signals from an alien spaceship than figuring out whether an attractive man wanted more than a clap on the back and a “sleep well.”

“How about you save the thank-you for after I do something that really warrants it?” Lucky smiled at him, moving so that their bodies almost, but not quite, touched. “Like this?”

Stretching up slightly, Lucky brushed a kiss across Michelin's mouth. Like the other two occasions, Michelin fell into the kiss like tumbling down a steep incline, nothing to stop his fall, nothing to do other than give into the urge to let Lucky use his mouth however he wanted. But unlike the other kisses, this one felt different—more potent, more charged. This was a
purposeful
kiss. Every slide of lips, every nip and lick said that Lucky had a destination in mind.

Thank god.
Michelin might not know much, but he had a pretty good idea what to do with that kind of determination, and the forceful kisses awoke something long dormant inside Michelin. Something that wanted—no,
needed—
to give.

Grabbing two fistfuls of Michelin's shirt, Lucky walked backward. “How about you show me your room instead?”

Lucky might as well have suggested a jaunt back to L.A. Those possessive hands on Michelin sent heat rushing straight to his dick, and he didn't want to take another step. Instead he bumped Lucky into the hall wall, rattling the framed print hanging there.

“Too far,” he growled against Lucky's lips.

“Here works, too.” Lucky laughed against his mouth, licking his way back in with an aggressive tongue. The take-charge 'tude was familiar, but the laughter—that was a bit new. The idea that this could be free and easy and
fun
made his pulse clatter like he'd slugged back two sodas. He sucked on Lucky's questing tongue, gratified by Lucky's answering moan.

Breaking away to lick at Michelin's jaw, Lucky whispered, “You are too fucking good at that.”

Oh. That was something else new. Praise. That too went straight to his throbbing dick.
More. More. More.
And he had a pretty good idea how to get it. Pushing Lucky more firmly into the wall, he sank to his knees.

“I like how you think.” Lucky's laugh was damn near infectious, and Michelin chuckled as he undid Lucky's belt and fly.

He'd seen enough of Lucky in those designer briefs he favored to know he was hung, but seeing from a distance was way different than being confronted with bulging lemon yellow and white striped briefs inches from his mouth.
Yum.
Michelin had a sudden hunger for citrus and an urge to gobble Lucky down. He mouthed the cotton, tracing the contours of Lucky's dick.

“Mmm. More.” Not waiting for Michelin, Lucky reached down and shoved his briefs and pants to mid thigh.
Yes.
Lucky going for exactly what he wanted was sexy as fuck, and his cock was gorgeous—thick, a dusky rose, with a plum-sized uncut head. That was a new one for Michelin, and he jacked it experimentally a few times to watch the slide of the foreskin.

His surprise must have shown on his face because Lucky laughed, a low chuckle making Lucky's abs and thighs vibrate.

“Trust me. There's no wrong way to do this. Just watch the teeth. I'll . . . uh . . .” He groaned low as Michelin took a swipe at the damp tip with his tongue. “Yeah. Like that. I'll talk you through it.”

Michelin should probably have been insulted that Lucky thought he was a total virgin, but instead he was strangely turned on. Lucky giving instructions was . . . intoxicating. Lucky wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, painted Michelin's lips with his head. Michelin lapped eagerly at the precum dripping from the tip.

“Oh fuck. That's perfect. God. Your tongue . . . could probably get me off licking . . . so good.” Lucky's praise washed over Michelin, as cleansing as a hot shower after haying on the ranch. It made him bolder. A lick here. A tease there. Some play with that intriguing foreskin . . .

“
Dios.
Right here.” Lucky extended a finger, tapped right below his frenulum before withdrawing his finger and letting Michelin tease him there. Knowing exactly where Lucky wanted him to touch him,
when
he wanted it, made Michelin's cock strain against his zipper. He reached down, unzipped before he had a permanent mark.

“Nuh uh.” Lucky released a breathy chuckle. “Don't try to do too much, cowboy. I'll get you after. Promise. Patience. You're doing so good.”

Oh fuck.
His cock bounced in the air, leaking clear fluid, and having definite ideas about
not
waiting. Jerking himself while he sucked
was
a usual part of the game for him, but nothing else about this was usual. Michelin could wait another year if it meant more praise like that, more dirty promises.

Lucky jacked the base of his cock, fingers dipping lower to stroke his balls every so often. Michelin could take a hint so he licked there, tracing the lightly fuzzy orbs. Lucky's chest was waxed smooth as the wood floor in the condo, but thank goodness he left a little hint of pubes to abrade Michelin's tongue. The rough prickles made his skin heat, made his pulse gallop.

“Mmmm. Feels so good,
mi vida.
Like that a lot.” Lucky jerked himself while Michelin licked and sucked his balls. The Spanish that crept into Lucky's speech when he was turned on made Michelin's pulse rev up, and Lucky's low, bossy tones made his cock throb.

“Want me to come like this?” Lucky groaned low as Michelin completely engulfed one ball with his mouth, laving it gently with his tongue. “Because . . . oh
dios,
are you good at this. Fuck.”

Michelin released the ball with a lewd
plop.
He met Lucky's fist on the upstroke, followed it down with his mouth.
All
the way down. “Careful, Papí, don't choke . . . oh
dios mio,
you've done this before . . .
fuck. Fuck.
” His free hand came to rest warmly on the back of Michelin's head.

Nothing
had ever felt as good as Lucky's praise did. Not the Grammy awards, not the CMAs, not the sold-out stadiums. Making Lucky lose control was the best high ever. The soaring feeling in his head made Michelin work twice as hard to shatter what remained of Lucky's composure. Caressing Lucky's balls with his fingers, he sucked hard, letting Lucky's hand on the back of his head guide the pace.

“
Yes.
Like that. Just. Like. That.” Lucky's voice was low and demanding, and it was entirely possible that Michelin was going to come with nothing more than air on his dick. Knowing he was giving Lucky exactly what he wanted made Michelin's pulse pound as he used his tongue to milk Lucky's dick on the upstroke.

“Gonna . . . right there . . . deep, oh please, go deep.” Lucky growled the words. Oh yes. Michelin could take the request. So much better than trying to figure out from a few muttered grunts if he was on the right track. It was a bit like drinking flat, off-brand cola for years and thinking that was all there was to soda and then cracking open a perfectly chilled real-deal, real-sugar throwback can. And the resulting sugar rush burned through Michelin's veins, made him crazed and desperate.

“Fuck. About to . . .”

“Yeah.” Michelin hummed the word around Lucky's cock, not letting go even long enough to speak. He wanted Lucky's orgasm with an intensity that left his muscles quaking.

“
Dios. Fuck.
” Lucky unleashed a garbled string of mixed-up English and Spanish as he came down Michelin's throat, holding Michelin there until his sinuses burned in the best way possible. Hell, he'd give up oxygen if it meant more of those gorgeous noises and praise.

Finally Lucky released his hold and tugged Michelin upright. Not giving Michelin a chance to catch his breath, he grasped Michelin's aching dick.

“That was so good. Perfect.” Lucky's free hand patted Michelin's chest.

“
Ung,
” Michelin made an inarticulate noise as his dick jumped.

“You get off on it when I tell you how good you are, huh?” Lucky laughed low as he jacked Michelin, slow and easy.

“May . . . be.” Fuck. Lucky's hand felt so damn good, but Michelin wasn't real sure he wanted to discuss how much he liked Lucky talking at him.

“Well, you blew every last brain cell out of my head. So good,
mi vida.
So good. Now your turn. Let me make you come.”

“Fuck.” Michelin rocked his hips, fucking Lucky's grip. “Want to come.”

“Yes. Do it. Come for me.” It was as if Lucky had a direct line to Michelin's private fantasy dialog on the infrequent occasions he took care of his business. He'd never heard the words uttered aloud, but a fantasy lover demanding his orgasm . . .

Oh yeah. He'd heard that on enough lonely nights, enough that Lucky's words made his balls lift and tighten, made him moan. Right out loud, too, not just in his own head. His orgasm barreled into him, like a charging mustang, the feeling hitting him square in the chest. He made a strangled, dying noise as he shot over and over.

“Damn. You're incredible.” Lucky licked Michelin's neck.

Fuck. Michelin needed to regain his equilibrium. Right now. He took a breath that came out more like a weird laugh.

“You got that right.” Lucky's laugh was more normal. “So seriously. That wasn't your first trip to the rodeo, eh, cowboy?”

“Bit old to be a complete virgin.”

“Complete?” Lucky's eyebrows shot up. Oh fuck. Michelin revealed too much. “You get more intriguing by the minute.”

“Don't you worry about that,” Michelin said sternly. “Now, I know you're opposed to seein' my guest room, but how do you feel about my shower?”

“You should know me by now. I'm in favor of anything involving water.” Lucky pushed away from the wall to follow Michelin down to his room. “But I'm not dropping the subject. I'd bet good money you're not the casual sex type—”

“I'm not.” The idea alone made his skin crawl. A stranger touching him, a transaction between two willing bodies, no
thought
involved. It just wasn't how he was wired, no matter how often he'd wished that wasn't the case. No, his dick was a strange beast, rather content to put up with his own hand unless someone seriously caught his fancy, and even then, good sense usually kept Michelin from following the urges. He led Lucky through his bedroom to his bathroom.

“So . . . Steve?” Lucky looked around Michelin's bathroom, voice deceptively casual. He pulled off his shirt.

“What about him?” Michelin stripped off his clothes, trying not to let on how weird disrobing with another person was. And how rattled Lucky's question made him.

“It was him, right? The guy who you . . . learned with?”

“We were kids.” Michelin flipped on the water. “Nothing more. And he's got another new wife these days. She doesn't need any dirty rumors—”

“Hey.” Lucky grabbed Michelin's arm, spun him to face him. “This is me, right? Not interested in spreading gossip to some rag. I'm interested in
you.
”

“Hell.” Michelin stepped under the pulsing spray, leaned heavily on the tile wall. Lucky saw so much more than anyone else ever had. He stepped out of the spray to make room for Lucky, who lingered just outside the tile enclosure. It was a big shower with a seat at one end, two heads, and a steam feature. Pretty nifty, but it felt strangely empty until Lucky stepped in. Lucky kept his distance, eying Michelin watchfully.

“You going to be an angry bear rest of tonight?” Lucky grabbed the soap.

“I'm not angry.” He sighed. Fine. Lucky won. If it took talking to get Lucky's hands back on him, to get Lucky close again, then Michelin would find a way to get the words out. “Yeah. We had a bit of a . . .
thing.
But then it ended, and it's been over for a decade or so.”

“How'd it end?” Lucky started soaping up Michelin's shoulders, crowding in close behind him. Fuck. His touch felt like hot butter dripping down a stack of pancakes. Totally worth how each word felt like a jagged rock against his tongue.

“We . . .” For some unknown reason, Michelin really
wanted
to tell the full story, tell someone. “We were talking about coming out. Telling our folks. Letting the guys in the band know. Maybe working up to the public. Thought . . . he cared.” This was easier not looking at Lucky. He traced a grout line in the tile.

Lucky dropped a kiss at the base of Michelin's neck. “But he's a snake.”

Michelin laughed. “I know that
now.
But then . . .”

“He broke your heart.” Lucky said it as fact, not a question, and Michelin didn't bother contradicting him.

“He eloped with his first wife to Vegas. Let me know with a phone call from some casino. They lasted four months.”

“Bastard.” Lucky continued his soaping of Michelin's back, massaging away the tension muscle by muscle. Michelin would tell him every secret in his head if it meant he'd never stop touching him. “And he was your only?”