All Note Long (24 page)

“Kind of icky,” Lucky agreed and hoisted himself out of the pool. “Race you to the bed?”

“You're on.” Michelin laughed. Sprinting like little kids ignoring all the rules, they raced to the house, not stopping to grab towels. To his surprise, Michelin didn't stop at the guest bed, but kept going, down the hall, up the stairs to the master bedroom. Lucky's pulse jumped from more than just the exertion. He had a good idea of why Michelin was heading the extra distance. They'd brought supplies back from Lucky's apartment, and Lucky had stashed them in Michelin's nightstand.

“I win.” Michelin flopped onto his huge king-size bed, sending the comforter and throw pillows scattering to the floor.

“You cheat. Longer legs.” Lucky laughed as he crawled onto the bed to join him. “But what do you want, Mr. Winner?”

“Want you in me.” Michelin tugged him down for a blistering kiss. “No more teasing.”

“Tough.” Lucky kissed his way down Michelin's neck, hitting all the spots he'd learned made Michelin writhe. “Want to get fucked? If I want to tease, I'm going to tease.”

He kept going, lips skating across Michelin's pecs, down the fuzzy trail of hair that led to his belly button and all points south. But instead of going for Michelin's dick, he licked the crease between Michelin's thigh and pelvis, tongue meandering its way to the furry balls waiting for him to tease. Which he did with little licks and kisses that made Michelin moan and reach for Lucky's head.

But that wasn't his final destination. He'd never been particularly tempted to try rimming before, and it wasn't something that really came up in his mostly casual relationships. His past boyfriends were usually way more obsessed with getting their dicks in Lucky's ass than begging for his tongue in theirs. But he wanted to do this for Michelin, wanted to
share
this with him. So he let his tongue drift over the thin skin behind Michelin's balls, licking and sucking that sensitive place until Michelin started begging.

“Please. Fuck.
Lucky.
” Michelin wrenched away, fumbling in the nightstand before practically throwing the condoms and lube at Lucky.

“Not yet, Mr. Impatient.” Lucky laughed, then dipped lower, licking the tight skin of Michelin's rim, loving the surprising texture—puckered yet pliant—and the responsiveness. Michelin jumped and arched with each lick of Lucky's tongue. And he wasn't even going for hardcore tongue fucking or anything too fancy. More like more of the making out they'd started outside—a journey of discovery, finding out what made Michelin pant, what made him rock his hips, what made him chant.

“Fuck me. Please fuck me. Now.” Michelin's head thrashed against the mattress.

“You're so beautiful like this.” Lucky lifted his head, kissing the inside of Michelin's thighs. “So open and soft for me. I could do this all night.”

“No, you couldn't.” Michelin groaned. “I'm so fucking close. Feels like I could shoot from that alone, but I
need
you in me.
Please.”

Lucky made quick work of the condom, but took his time with the lube, working a generous amount into Michelin.

“Fuck. Can't take it.” Michelin rocked back and forth on Lucky's fingers.

“Yes, you can. For me. You can be patient for me.” Lucky used his free hand to stroke Michelin's face. This time they were going to do it like this. Face to face. The way they should have the first time if Lucky hadn't chickened out, running away from his own feelings of falling too far, too fast.

He moved between Michelin's thighs, pushing in slowly. It was easier this time, Michelin pulling his legs back, eagerly rocking up to meet Lucky, no grimace of discomfort in sight.

And yeah, a lot of that probably had to do with it being the second time, but Lucky really believed that it also had to do with how connected they were. Last time had been awkward, Lucky too focused on the physical and not enough on meeting Michelin's emotional needs. This time, he wanted to give Michelin everything, gift him with all Lucky's feelings and reactions, open himself up to him every bit as much as Michelin opened to him.

“I love you,” he said, leaning forward to nuzzle Michelin's neck.

“Love you, too.” Michelin's body arched, seeking more of Lucky's. They moved together like that for a long time, trading slow kisses as their bodies sought more and more of each other. Michelin's cock rubbed against Lucky's abs, and that added stimulation made Lucky gasp and buck. He loved being locked together like this, loved the moment Michelin's legs wrapped around him. He grabbed Michelin's hands, down by their sides, needing every last bit of connection.

He unleashed everything he'd held back last time, pouring emotion into each thrust, so much feeling that his chest threatened to rip apart from it surging through him. At a certain point it shifted, stopped being about what his man needed and started being about what Lucky needed, what they both deserved from this act.

“Tell me,” Michelin groaned, cock painting a trail of precum across Lucky's stomach.

“You're so fucking good. Feel so good. So tight. You take my dick so good.” The emotion behind the words took them from dirty talk to benediction. “Love you.”

“
Yessss.”
The word hissed out from between Michelin's gritted teeth. Lucky angled his hips, thrust once more and then Michelin was coming in heaving gasps, cum pooling between their bodies.

“Jesus. Can't believe you came from only my dick. You're amazing.” Lucky kissed him everywhere his mouth could reach before he pulled out. He stripped off the condom, stroking fast, an almost primal need gripping him, the need to mark Michelin. Someday soon he wanted to do it bare, come deep in Michelin's ass, but right now, shooting across Michelin's still-quaking abs was enough of a turn-on.

“Fuck. Fuck. Love you. God.” He sputtered nonsense words as he came, body collapsing next to Michelin's in a messy heap.

“Love you, too.” Michelin pulled him close for a lingering kiss. “We're going to make this work, right?”

“Absolutely.” Lucky tried to convey a certainty he didn't quite have yet. He
wanted,
that was for sure, but they still needed to work out some key stuff. But all that stuff could wait until tomorrow. Right now, he just wanted to hold Michelin, do normal sleepy couple stuff like shower again, fix the bed, cuddle to sleep. Tomorrow would come soon enough. And oh god, tomorrow meant bringing a guy home to meet the family. Maybe he could never leave this little cocoon where everything would work out fine.

M
ichelin didn't usually get stage fright before a big gig. However, on Sunday, his stomach was heaving like elephants were stomping around as he got ready to meet Lucky's family. Some leisurely morning sex was a nice distraction, but then the nerves returned over a late breakfast.

“Bring a guitar,” Lucky suggested as they finished up the breakfast dishes together. “My little cousins will have their instruments. Rico keeps trying to start a band. And it'll stop you from being so twitchy.”

“I'm not so sure about that.” Michelin didn't like how damn insightful Lucky was, because it made him feel raw and exposed. Lucky had already figured out what a crutch music was for Michelin's social anxiety. Even so, he listened to him and threw his favorite twelve-string in the truck.

The drive from his place in the hills didn't help his nerves as much as he'd hoped either. Lucky's family lived in a newer home in an upscale subdivision in Long Beach, right near a gorgeous, well-manicured park.

“That's the house, but we're going to park at the park and walk over. The neighbors get testy about too much on-street parking. It's been ten years, and the home owner's association still hasn't decided whether it likes having a bunch of Argentines in the neighborhood.”

“You didn't grow up here?” Michelin asked as he parked where Lucky told him.

“We moved to this house when I was in high school, but I was born in this general part of Long Beach. Dad saw a chance to move up when the housing market started to crash, and they seized the opportunity to get into this subdivision. What? Were you expecting South Central, Papí?”

“No,” Michelin lied, even if he had been expecting a bit more of a lower-income, immigrant-heavy neighborhood.
You're lucky he doesn't smack you.

“I hate to bust your assumptions about poor, struggling strippers, but my folks have always done decent. Made sure all four of us had college, too.”

Yup. Michelin should seriously be smacking himself. He deserved all of Lucky's exasperated tone. Also, an upper middle class upbringing with a big brown stucco house with pretty white shutters was so far removed from Michelin's hardscrabble ranching life that he felt strangely inadequate. Even after all these years, all this money, all the fame and celebrity status, he still sometimes felt like a dumb hick.

“So do they all know about the . . . dancing?” Michelin asked to distract himself as they crossed the road from the park.

Lucky let out a low huff. “Do they all know that I dance go-go at a West Hollywood gay bar? That what you mean?”

“Uh.” Michelin could practically see some of their careful peace evaporating. Lucky's dancing was still a prickly topic they were going to have to tackle at some point.

“Yeah, they know. No point in trying to keep it from them. Shit has a way of coming out and then people get all put out that you didn't tell them. Easier to own it.” Each of Lucky's words felt as pointed as Michelin's mama's embroidery needles.

Those little barbs made him consider the last two decades of his life, find it lacking. “Well said.”

“I mean, yeah, I'm sort of the black sheep of the family but—”

“At least you're yourself.” Michelin finished for him. Jesus. Where had Lucky been all the years Michelin had been convinced that hiding was the way to preserve his little corner of happiness? He could have learned so much from this man, saved himself a hell of a lot of misery, and discovered what
real
happiness looked like that much sooner.

“Exactly. But yeah, my family has way less of an issue with me being gay than they do with the dancing. But it is what it is.” Lucky finished with a defiant tilt of his chin. Lord, the bravery of his man. A little shiver ran up Michelin's spine. He'd known many young musicians who didn't have an ounce of Lucky's commitment to his dreams.

“They shouldn't have a problem with either,” Michelin said softly. “They should be proud of you.”

“Really?” A small, hopeful grin teased at the corners of Lucky's mouth.

“Really.” They were on the little path up to Lucky's parents' front door, and conceivably in view of relatives, but Michelin still grabbed Lucky's arm, looked deeply into his eyes. This wasn't the place for this conversation, but there were still certain things that needed saying. “I know I haven't reacted the best about your dancing. Haven't given you enough credit for your commitment to your career. But I'm gonna do better by you, I promise.”

“Thanks.” Lucky licked his lips, eyes so open and full of hope that Michelin's chest hurt. “That means a lot.”

“Be patient with me, okay?”

“Always.” Lucky leaned in, brushed a kiss across Michelin's lips, clearly not caring what anyone at the windows or prickly neighbors thought. And right then, Michelin didn't either, kissing him back with unrestrained pleasure.

“Okay. Better face the music before I get tempted to drag you back to the truck.” Laughing, Lucky clapped Michelin on the back, bounded up the steps to the front door. He didn't bother knocking, just threw open the door, scooping up a toddler who waited just inside the foyer.

“Unca Lucky!” the little boy squealed as Lucky tossed him into the air. “I brought a truck.”

“Can't wait to see it.” Lucky set him down just as a pack of dogs headed their way.

“My beautiful girl!” Kneeling down, Lucky greeted Lady. Michelin's stomach clenched hard with how much he'd missed them both.

Gingerly lowering himself next to Lucky, he let Lady cover him in doggie kisses.

“Come back here, beasts!” A younger guy who looked like a skinny Lucky who'd never seen a weight room chased after the dogs.

“Lucky! Finally! Dude, your mom's been looking for you for like an hour now.”

“Hey, Rico.” Lucky rose, doing some sort of complicated handshake and bro hug routine with the guy. “This is my guy, Michelin.”

“Hey.” Rico gave Michelin a friendly nod as Michelin kept petting Lady. He shifted his weight from side to side, same habit Lucky had when he was nervous. “So, like me and my boys, we're gonna play in a bit in the backyard. Lucky said you might want to sit in.”

“I can do that.” Michelin gave the kid a smile. And okay, Lucky
was
right. As usual. Simply having that to look forward to made him relax a bit.

“Cool. And hey, Lucky, my girl Jeanne has a lead for you on a home for that stray. She thinks her sister will take her.”

“No,” Michelin said firmly. “She's got a home.”

“Oh, well, whatever.” The guy shrugged. “I'm gonna go tell Tía Maria that she can stop worrying about when your sorry butt is going to show.”

“Really?” Lucky asked Michelin, rubbing the heads of the other two dogs who had accompanied Lady.

“Yeah.” Michelin couldn't meet his eyes. “Not sure it's best for her, but I missed her too damn much.”

“Of course it's best for her.” Lucky duffed Michelin on the shoulder. “Don't be an idiot. You know, at a certain point, you have to decide that your own happiness matters, too. You're
worth
it.”

It was such a simple message, one that Michelin put in his music, in the advice he gave younger musicians, and one that he struggled mightily to accept for himself. But Lucky was right—he had to let go of old hurts, let go of the voice that said he wasn't good enough for this man, wasn't enough for this great dog. What he had to give mattered, too.

As if sensing his thoughts, Lady gave him a long lick and shook her shaggy coat. “We're takin' you to the groomer tomorrow, girl. And getting you a nice pretty collar.”

“And a name?” Lucky prodded.

“I think we're happy with simple. Lady suits us both just fine.”

“Okay,
Clyde.
” Lucky chuckled as he hauled Michelin to his feet. “Let your dog go play, and come meet my folks.”

Michelin had totally been using the dog to stall entering, but he let Lucky lead him into the house. It was a big place with a way bigger living area than his small home in the hills—and it was packed with people. Older adults in the formal living room off the entry way, young families in the open space that served as a kitchen, family room, and dining room, kids running around the backyard visible through the panel of glass windows and sliding doors, and teens hopping in and out of a hot tub on the patio while some older gentlemen held court by a giant stainless steel grill. And everywhere they went, people wanted a piece of Lucky—a hug, a joke, a piece of family gossip.

“Is this what you feel like at an event with me?” Michelin asked in a whisper as they moved from working the living room to the kitchen where a group of women was arranging dishes on a long breakfast bar.

“Getting a taste of what it's like, huh?” Lucky laughed. “And yeah, riding your wake feels like I'm the luckiest guy in the world and also all desperate to be alone with you. I hear you, Papí.” Lucky kept his voice low as he answered.

“Abuela!” Lucky took an abrupt detour to the dining table where an elderly woman with snowy white hair sat next to a huge sheet cake. “Luciano.” She beckoned him closer, letting him give her a kiss on the cheek. “
Éste es tu nuevo amigo? El es . . . grande. Y gringo. No sonrie
?”

“
Abuela. Se gentil con él. Lo amo mucho y quiero que se quede conmigo
.” Lucky finished his lecture, then turned to Michelin. “Michelin, this is my grandma. She says you should smile more.”

“
Mucho gusto. Yo también lo amo mucho a él.”
Michelin didn't apologize for being large or not smiling, but he did let on that he knew perfectly well that Lucky had told his grandma that he loved Michelin.

“He speaks
español
?” Lucky's grandmother blinked.

“Apparently so.” Lucky gave him a bemused smile that promised payback later for not revealing it sooner. But, hey, it had been
fun
seeing what Lucky was willing to say when he thought Michelin couldn't understand.

“Growing up, we had some Hispanic ranch hands. They taught me a bunch of slang my mama tried to wash out of my mouth. Took Spanish proper in high school, but I keep up with it because my cousin Rob married a Latina lady and they're raising their kids bilingual. I gotta know what they're saying about me.”

“Point taken.” Lucky laughed.

“Now go say hello to your mother,” the grandmother ordered, shooing them way with a flick of her hand.

Lucky steered Michelin into the kitchen, whispering in his ear. “You couldn't have told me back in Nashville when I said all those filthy things?”

“No I couldn't have. I liked them too much,” Michelin whispered back before painting a bland—but smiling—face on to meet Lucky's mother. Like all mothers everywhere, she pronounced them starving and started filling plates for them over their protests. Laughter echoed through the house, and from outside came the thin notes of a guitar warming up. Yeah, Michelin could get used to this.

* * *

“Okay, okay, enough for now.” Lucky collapsed onto one of the lounge chairs scattered around his mom's patio.

The kids weren't having it, though, and piled on after him. “More, more!”

“You should really teach classes.” Lucky's sister-in-law, Bernita, scooped two of the kids off him. He'd been teaching the kids how to whip and nae-nae dance, but now he was all winded.

“Someday.” Lucky laughed. His family was forever on him about teaching classes. Which he would do, sometime in the future when he couldn't cut it as a professional dancer anymore. Although if he continued to be picky about what gigs he took, he might end up teaching part-time sooner. And that would be okay, although it would mean enduring hours of we-told-you-so from the family.

“You'd be so good at it. My son, the teacher.” His mom removed another two kids, taking the chance to rub his shoulder.
Hours.
There would be hours of gloating if he ever took up teaching.

“I'd sign up. And listen!” Kayla piped up from somewhere around Lucky's ribs.

“For you, I might.” Lucky set her on the sidewalk.

“Hey, you.” Michelin stood at the base of Lucky's chair, smiling down on him.

“Hey.” Lucky smiled back. Michelin must have escaped Rico's clutches. Watching Mr. International Superstar play backup guitar for Rico's fledgling group had been beyond amusing. Now the sun was starting to fade, an evening breeze kicking up as the party started to dwindle.

“You were super cute with the kids,” Michelin said, eyes all soft and dopey.

“You say I should teach, and I'm going to stay here tonight. With Lady.”

Michelin cocked his head to one side, considering Lucky for a long moment. “Teach? You'd be good at it—”

Lucky made an indignant squawk.

“
But.
I was about to say,
but
then you couldn't do big revues and shows, and that would be a damn shame.”

“I love you.” Lucky beamed at him and patted the now-empty space next to him.