Chasing Death Metal Dreams (4 page)

Nate gave up trying to control things. His grip in Carlos’s hair was more to keep himself from flying apart than to direct the action. He wished he could see better, but the dark close quarters meant that this was all about touch and sound, not sight. He tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and arched his back in offering.
Take anything you like.

As if Carlos had heard that silent thought, he plunged deep again around Nate, then changed to slow, long bobs of his head. Nate let sensations take him over— the rise and fall of Carlos’s head under his hands, the exquisite, hot press and slide of lips and tongue, the wet slurp, the hoarse panting and gasps that were half his own. In the private darkness of his car, just fifty yards from where people came and went, everything narrowed down to his rising need. The force of it clawed at him, building in his cock and balls, tightening, unrelenting, near-painful,
making
him arch and pump his hips up, driving into that sloppy, sucking, welcoming mouth.

Carlos picked up his rhythm, sliding his hand down between Nate’s thighs to tug his ball sac and then press in behind it. Electric spasms shot through Nate, making him jerk and swear. His cock was rock hard, Carlos’s touch pushing him so close to the edge it was desperate pleasure and pain. He managed to tug on Carlos’s hair lightly. “Gonna come! Have to!”

Carlos pulled off and closed his hand around Nate’s shaft but just held tight, not stroking or moving, his touch not quite there, not enough to do the job. Nate groaned, opened his eyes, and looked down, trying to work his hips up and down enough to get some friction. Carlos laughed again.

“Please! C’mon, do it!” Nate reached down, meaning to wrap his fingers around Carlos’s hand and
make
something happen, but his fingers tangled in coarse hair as Carlos dropped his head low at the same moment and sucked Nate to the back of his throat, swallowing hard.

“
God!
” Nate arched like a thousand volts were sizzling through him and came. He shot deep in Carlos’s mouth, a rush of whiteout relief that made him groan and clutch at Carlos for balance. “Oh, man. Wow. Aahh. Ngh.” An aftershock thrummed across his nerves and he pulsed again, briefly, helplessly. “Shit.”

It took a moment to realize he was gripping Carlos’s hair too tightly. He opened his fingers, turned his clutching to a tentative caress. Carlos shook his touch away, and sat back into the passenger seat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You taste pretty good for an artist.”

Confusion and an unexpected twitch of desire, with the sudden awareness of where they were, made Nate’s tone a bit dry. “Oh? I should taste like what? Turpentine? I use watercolors and acrylics.”

Carlos chuckled. “You can’t take a compliment, huh?”

“Not weird ones.” But Nate’s moment of tension was easing back into blissed-out warmth. “Anyway, that was seriously awesome. Thanks.”

“It’s a gift.” Carlos smirked at him.

Nate glanced around the quiet parking lot, before asking, “Can I return the favor?”

Carlos reached down to refasten his own baggier jeans. “Took care of it myself. You’re pretty hot when you start moaning and begging.”

Nate dug behind his seat and found a box of tissues. “Here.”

“Thanks, man.” Carlos took one, wiped his chin and then his hand, and stuffed the tissue in his back pocket.

Nate suddenly wasn’t sure what to do, where to put his hands, where to look. He reached down to tug his jeans up and more or less in place, although there was no safe way to zip himself in yet. “So. Um.”

Carlos gave his shoulder a rough smack. “So. Nice meeting you, Nate the Artist. See you ’round maybe.” He pushed the car door open and was out and standing up before Nate’s still-fizzing brain could react, but then he leaned down to look in at him, a wicked grin firmly in place. “If your brother wants to play for a real band, or you want to roadie for one, you know where to find KnifeSwitch.” Then he slammed the door and strode away, his walk less seduction now and more power.

Nate watched him go, watched him pull open the café door and disappear inside. He realized he hadn’t done half the things he’d imagined. Hadn’t dug his fingers into those arms or that ass, or traced the flat planes of Carlos’s chest, hadn’t seen the other half of that tattoo, hadn’t even kissed the guy despite how much time he’d spent thinking about that mouth. Which had been otherwise busy, of course.
Mmm.

He leaned back for a moment, letting the warm deep satisfaction wash through him. God, it had been far too long a dry spell, to leave him so wrecked now. He wasn’t sure he could move enough to drive. Not yet. He took a few long breaths, then carefully tucked himself away and did up his zipper.

Such a strange night. It was like he’d been another person, hypnotized out of his normal caution by a wicked rough voice and some unfamiliar lyrics. Seduced, surprised, satisfied and then left in this new floating uncertainty.

The KnifeSwitch van was still parked by the door. Presumably Carlos had joined his bandmates having more caffeine for the road. Nate realized he didn’t have any idea where that road ended— whether Carlos was a local or a long way from home. He had the impulse to get out and go in, to strike up a conversation, see if Carlos looked as good under fluorescent lights as he did in the dim neon glow.

But that had been a pretty clear good-bye. If Carlos wasn’t out to his band, then Nate walking in there would be a really bad idea. He should just go home. Now. Any time now.

He was still sitting there, thinking, when the café door opened. Carlos came out, followed by the drummer and bassist. They were talking, bass guy still wired enough to almost smack the woman in the face with one of his gestures. That was a guy who hadn’t needed more caffeine. As they opened the van, Carlos came around to the passenger side. For a moment, before getting in, he glanced over at Nate. His expression was completely flat, no anger, no interest. He swung up into the seat, the muscles of his arm flexing, and then shut the door. The old van pulled out of the lot, turned east on the road, and was gone.

Nate turned his key, slowly enough that there would deliberately be no chance of following them. The engine whined, caught, and he waited another minute before putting it in gear. By the time he hit the exit of the parking lot, the taillights of the van were out of sight. He turned west and headed for home.

Fifteen minutes later, he parked in front of his place, suddenly aware that he’d been on autopilot and couldn’t recall one thing about the drive. Presumably he hadn’t hit anything. He could vividly recall the ten minutes before leaving, though… He shook his head hard and got out of the car. His brother’s bus was there too, standing open, and Eli came out of the garage as Nate headed toward the door.

Eli grinned at him. “You’re back fast. I thought you said you had a ‘stop’ to make.” He made air quotes around “
stop
”.

Nate frowned. “What are you? Twelve?”

“Just keeping your blushes from frying your face. But okay. Did you get laid or not?”

Nate felt his face heat, which was so unfair. “None of your business.”

“Sure it is.” Eli slung an arm over his shoulder. “You’re my little brother.”

Nate shoved him off. “By twenty-four minutes. And you smell like you haven’t showered for a week.”

Eli sniffed his pit. “Good honest sweat from working hard.” His grin became more real. “That was an awesome show. The audience ate it up, and we made forty bucks apiece.”

Nate managed not to say,
I know.
That would lead to undesirable questions. Instead he sneered. “Wow, might almost pay for gas.”

“More than, plus we sold a shitload of merch. And the other bands were pretty good too. I had a bunch of fans come up after and rave about the whole lineup. The venue asked us to come back anytime.”

Nate tried to let go of his sarcasm in the face of Eli’s genuine pleasure. “That’s cool. Will you?”

“Sometime, maybe, if we have a break and can’t find anything bigger. Don’t get me wrong— they run a tight show, but those house venues can’t pack in more than a hundred people and another fifty or so on the lawn. Absolute max. I mean, it’s a great crowd, but…” His enthusiasm faded. “Well, we need to hit it bigger.”

“No rush though, right?”

“I’m twenty-six, Nate, and I’m the youngest guy in Serpentine. If we don’t start making some actual money off this, we’ll turn into a weekend band. A fucking hobby.”

Nate hated to see his brother’s smile disappear. He reached out to fake-ruffle his hair. “I know exactly how old you are. Old man. You have time. And I could hear them screaming for you from a block away.”

Eli gave him a twisted smile. “A block away? Running out on us again? Sure, you
loooove
our music.”

“Well, I did, the first sixty-two times. Where are the guys, anyway?”

“Gone home. I told them I’d finish up.”

Nate grabbed the hem of Eli’s In Flames T-shirt and tugged. “Come on, then. I’ll give you a hand with the gear.”

There was only one cab left to move, and they wrestled it out of the bus, onto the handcart, and into the garage. Nate figured Eli would leave it and go, but he fiddled around, hooking everything up, setting the practice space to rights. Nate leaned by the door waiting.

Eli’s voice was low. “You really think it’s worth hanging on?”

“What? Of course.” Nate’s stomach hurt to hear that doubt in his brother’s voice. “You’re the best guitarist around. You can kind of sing, too.”

“We’re a hell of a cover band.”

Nate winced, because it was true that their original songs were the weak spot. “I really like ‘Dirty Corners’.”

“Tom wrote that two years ago.”

“Well, it’s still a good song. And, um, ‘Confession is Good for the Wallet.’”

“Meh. Sounds like a sixties protest song. We need something more. Something different.” Eli ran a hand though his hair. “Never mind, it was a good night. I’m just tired.”

“Maybe
you
need to get laid.”

That brightened Eli’s eyes. “So you
did
get laid. Dude! About time. Who was he?”

“A gentleman never tells.”

“Since when?”

“Since I don’t think he’s out.”

“Oh. Damn.” Eli sighed. “Well, I hope he was a good fuck, at least.”

“Awesome,” Nate said. “Best hookup ever.”

“Glad one of us got some.”

“See, there’s your problem. You wouldn’t be so gloomy if you had a new girlfriend. You just have to quit moping and let some guitar bunny pick you up.”

“Screw you. Your dry spell was a lot longer than mine.”

“But I didn’t let it make me whiny.”

Eli grabbed him and hooked a leg around his to make him trip, but at least the sad look was gone. They left the garage and parted with a fist bump. “See you tomorrow,” Nate said. “Get some sleep.”

“Sure. Tomorrow.”

Nate waited until Eli had driven off to turn away. Then he climbed the stairs along the west wall and opened the door to his apartment. The welcoming space was so familiar, the light switch a reflex reach to his left, the tray for his sneakers a quick kick and drop beside the mat. But as he looked around, it seemed different somehow.

Maybe it was Eli, talking about getting older. Maybe it was Carlos and the roller coaster highs and lows of pick-up sex. But here he was, twenty-six, living above his parents’ garage, working a minimum-wage job, no serious boyfriend for the last four years, just a few random hookups. Perhaps it was time he asked if this was all he would ever be, too.

He shut the door behind him. A low snarling sound from overhead reminded him that he wasn’t completely alone. He glanced up at the cat playground of hanging perches and walkways that ran the whole way around the room, a foot below the ceiling. He was rewarded by a flash of white fur. “Hey, Ghost, how was your evening?” He kept his voice to a gentle murmur, not that she would care.

The cat’s next noise at least had less growling in it.

“You need anything? Food? Water? Some sucker like me to cater to your every whim?” He checked the food dish and water bowl, and then the litter box. Everything looked fine, but he added a little fresh kibble to the bowl anyway. When he turned, the little cat was down on the floor barely two feet behind him, eyeing him. He managed not to jump. In the same soft soothing voice, he said, “Hey there. Getting bored yet?”

She didn’t run off when he looked at her, the way she would have a week ago. Instead she flicked her tail a few times, silently, her blue eyes dark and wide. Encouraged, he squatted down slowly, and held out his hand with a bite of kibble on his flat fingertips. “Here, sweetie, you can get it on a silver platter.”

Her whiskers twitched, but she didn’t move. He waved the bit of kibble in the air, trying to waft the scent to her, wishing he had a better treat within reach. “Nice fresh fishy kibble. Come and get it.” Not that the little deaf cat could actually hear him, but it didn’t hurt to talk. He figured she’d see his tone in his body language.

He didn’t think he’d done anything scary, but the cat suddenly leaped straight in the air, landed inches closer to Nate, and darted forward. She swiped at his hand with a hiss, small claws connecting, and then swarmed up the carpet-covered pole leading to the safety of the overhead perches. Nate dropped the kibble, swore, and sucked on his scratched finger. “There’s gratitude for you,” he murmured.

You couldn’t blame a cat, though. She wasn’t the first feral foster kitten he’d dealt with and wouldn’t be the last, even if she was the first he’d brought home. He’d helped at the local animal shelter long enough to understand them. Raised up to be wild and wary, unused to human touch, a feral cat might come to eat from your hand, but she’d still turn on you suddenly if she felt threatened.

Ghost was better than she had been, and that was progress. Unlike with a human, there was no calculation and no malice in her scratching the hand that fed her. She couldn’t know better. Trust would be a long slow road.

“You hide up there, Your Highness,” he told her softly. “Feel safe. Tomorrow’s another day.” He turned out the overhead light. As he headed for the bedroom, he saw the glint of her eyes, following him now through the open overhead maze rather than hiding in one of the enclosed boxes. Progress indeed. He still closed the bedroom door behind him, giving them each a safe space for the night.