Looking At Forever (The Rock Gods Book 4) (4 page)

The sensations flooding Wheland’s system put him in overdrive. Rooster’s scent was delicious, the smoothness of his dark, wavy hair had Wheland’s fingers itchy to touch more and the warmth of his skin almost did him in. His knee-jerk reaction was to push Rooster away and set him safely back on his own two feet. But his brain wanted to drown in the stimulation of every one of his aroused senses.

Wheland slid a hand up Rooster’s spine and gripped the nape of his neck. For a brief moment, this embrace was less about holding Rooster’s balance and more about wanting to be closer to the man. Wheland rubbed his whiskered jawline against Rooster’s. The scraping sound brought on by their stubble connecting echoed inside Wheland’s head, and his cock jerked to life. He pulled back and looked into Rooster’s eyes; heavy lids shadowed his magnificent, topaz eyes.

Wheland’s gaze dropped to Rooster’s inviting mouth. He wanted to kiss him in the worst way. His body was vibrating with need and it was eating him alive. As much as he wanted that kiss, he also knew he shouldn’t act on it. Not now.

They stood face to face. Wheland gently held Rooster’s head with both hands. Rooster’s hands gripped Wheland’s belt to steady himself. He waited for Rooster’s eyes to lift and focus on him. “You okay?” Wheland asked in a hushed tone.

Rooster licked his lips and nodded. “I’m good,” he slurred. “Point me in the general direction of a bed and I’ll sleep this off.”

Wheland spun Rooster and helped him walk into the first empty guest room. He settled Rooster on the edge of the bed and watched the man fall backward onto the mattress like a tree in the forest.

“Light weight,” Wheland laughed. He dropped to his knees, unlaced Rooster’s boots, and pulled them off both feet. Above him, Rooster was attempting to tug off his t-shirt. Wheland stood up from the floor and looked at Rooster. He had managed to remove his shirt and was now fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans, without much success. His eyes canvassed Rooster’s muscled chest and the dark swirls of hair dusting each of his pectorals and that delicious long, thin line of hair that divided his stomach muscles and drifted beneath the waistband of his jeans.

You are fucking beautifully packaged, my friend.

Wheland sighed to himself and watched Rooster struggle a few more seconds with the zipper. “Would you like some help with that?” Wheland finally asked.

“I think it’s broken,” Rooster slurred.

Wheland swatted Rooster’s hands away and quickly unzipped Rooster’s jeans, then instructed him to lift his hips. He pulled the garment from Rooster’s legs and was graced with the beautiful visual of Rooster’s tight boxer briefs and the perfect outline of his semi-erect cock beneath the white cotton fabric.

“I need to piss,” Rooster mumbled.

Well, that probably explains the partial boner,
Wheland thought. He gripped Rooster by the wrist and tugged him off the bed to his feet. Wheland slipped an arm around Rooster’s waist and slung his limp arm over his shoulder and together they began walking to the bathroom on the other side of the sparsely decorated bedroom. Wheland maneuvered Rooster to the toilet and lifted the lid. He wasn’t sure how this was going to play out or how much help Rooster would require to relieve himself, but something had to give here.

“Are you okay to stand on your own or would you rather sit?” Wheland asked.

Rooster swayed and Wheland tightened the grip he had around Rooster’s waist. “Steady me,” Rooster said. “I can do this.”

Wheland watched Rooster reach into the front of his briefs and pull out his cock. He was still slightly hard, and doing a half-assed attempt at aiming toward the toilet bowl.

“Shit. You’re gonna make me hold your junk while you piss, aren’t you?” Wheland asked.

“Fuck no!” Rooster growled. “I’ll get hard if you touch my cock. Just keep me standing fucking straight. I’ll manage just fine.”

Wheland stepped to Rooster’s side and held him against his shoulder with his arm under Rooster’s armpit, his hand resting in the center of Rooster’s chest, and the other hand gripped his hip. He did his best to keep them at the edge of the toilet and Rooster properly aimed, but try as he did, Wheland couldn’t keep his eyes off of Rooster’s cock. It was still in a thickened state with the pronounced vein running the length of a thick shaft and a gorgeous mushroom head. All he could think about was tasting it.

Wheland licked his dry lips. Rooster’s comment about getting hard if Wheland touched him kept running through his brain. Either it had been a long fucking time since Rooster had slept with a woman or maybe Rooster was just a little bit into Wheland after all? Wouldn’t that be an interesting turn of events?

Wheland leaned in and rubbed his nose into the thick waves of hair behind Rooster’s ear and inhaled the scent of shampoo and cologne. “I wouldn’t mind touching you,” Wheland whispered, only loud enough for himself to hear. “And, you’d most definitely be hard.”

Rooster let out a sigh and his body relaxed in Wheland’s embrace. A moment later, Rooster’s urine stream hit the water in the toilet bowl. Wheland adjusted Rooster’s hips to center him a bit and waited for him to finish. Then he helped him back to the bed and rolled him onto the mattress, being sure he was safe from falling to the floor before he tossed a blanket over him and left the room.

The walk back to his own bedroom felt like miles. He really would have preferred lying down beside Rooster and holding him while he slept, but that wasn’t happening tonight and the reality was, it might never happen. Wheland needed to embrace that logic and get the fuck over whatever he was feeling for Rooster. Otherwise, having Rooster sharing his house with him would be torture.

Wheland undressed, slid in to bed, and his mind began to sort through the events of the afternoon and evening. In the end, it wasn’t a bad way to get through another anniversary. It was in that moment he realized he had completely forgotten the significance this date held to him. Refusing to waste one more moment remembering the past, Wheland rolled on to his side and allowed the visuals of Rooster to take him off to sleep.

Chapter Three

Wheland woke the next morning to the smells of fresh coffee and bacon. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the delicious scents and briefly thought he was dreaming. Then he heard the sound of something crashing to the floor downstairs and sat upright in bed.

Rooster is staying in my house!

Wheland rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of loose fitting pajama pants that were lying on the end of his king-sized bed and tied the string at the waist. He finger combed his hair on his way to the bathroom to wash up and hurried downstairs, following the inviting aromas into the kitchen. Wheland stopped short when he saw Rooster working something in a frying pan on the stove. Rooster was shirtless, wearing only his jeans from the day before with his bare feet sticking out from the pant legs.

Wheland watched in silence as Rooster kept his muscled back to him. Every ridge of muscle along his broad shoulders and thick arms moved as Rooster reached for seasonings and utensils. All Wheland could do was stand there with his arms crossed over his bare chest and stare.

Rooster must have finally sensed Wheland because he turned around and dropped the big wooden spoon in his hand.

“Jesus! You scared the fuck out of me,” Rooster said, bending over to pick up the spoon from the hardwood floor.

“Sorry about that,” Wheland said. “I’m not used to seeing someone in my kitchen first thing in the morning.”

“I’m also guessing you’re not used to seeing
yourself
in this kitchen,” Rooster said and grinned.

Wheland smiled at Rooster’s comment and stepped further into the room. Wheland’s arms dropped to his sides and damn, if he didn’t see Rooster’s eyes raking over his chest, then dropping lower. The electricity that sizzled between them was equally acknowledged and Wheland quickly took a seat on a stool at the breakfast bar before Rooster saw the erection growing behind the thin cotton pants he was wearing. Wheland set his elbows on the counter and held his head in his hands.

“Fuckkkk,” Wheland said on a sigh. How would he survive seeing Rooster like this on a daily basis? He wasn’t sure if his overactive libido could handle it.

“What are you groaning about?” Rooster asked. “I’m the one who was wasted last night, not you. The hatchet I have sticking out of my forehead is proof of how drunk I was.”

Wheland squeezed his eyes shut. If Rooster had any idea what he was thinking about when that groan escaped his mouth he probably wouldn’t be standing in this room with him. Wheland lifted his head and stole a glance at Rooster plating their scrambled eggs and bacon strips.

“Lucky for you, I was reasonably sober,” Wheland said, ignoring the fluid moves of Rooster’s muscled torso. “Otherwise, you’d have slept in your own piss all night and my cleaning lady would be complaining about washing sheets this morning.”

“What are you talking about?” Rooster asked. He crossed the room and set two plates and silverware down on the table beside Wheland and went back to the counter beside the stove and grabbed the coffee carafe and two mugs.

Wheland tossed around what he wanted to say for a moment then said, “I had to help you... into the bathroom.”

Rooster froze for a beat before he sat down at the table.

“Wow, I guess I was really out of it,” Rooster said. He passed a fork to Wheland and their eyes met briefly.

“No worries,” Wheland said. “It’s not like I haven’t seen a dick before.”

Wheland saw the color pitch in Rooster’s cheeks. The change was subtle but he liked the shyness that washed over Rooster’s face. He leaned closer to Rooster and gave a gentle bump to his shoulder with his hand. “Relax, man. It’s okay.”

Rooster nodded and took a sip of his coffee. “I hope you don’t mind I helped myself to your eggs and bacon,” Rooster said.

“I don’t mind at all, especially if I’ll be reaping the rewards,” Wheland said.

Wheland filled his fork with the eggs and shoveled it into his mouth; immediately moaning his pleasure.

“You like?” Rooster asked.

“I fucking love,” Wheland said and their gaze held. He finished chewing his food and watched Rooster slide a piece of bacon into his mouth. Wheland watched the process with great interest and his groin began to tighten once again.

Shit!

He looked away and poured hot coffee into a mug, then set the carafe in front of Rooster. “Are you up to doing a little writing today?” Wheland asked.

“Absolutely,” Rooster said. “Why not?”

“I thought your head was hurting,” Wheland said.

“I’m good to go,” Rooster smiled. “How about we finish eating first, then I’ll shower and meet you in the studio?”

“Sounds good,” Wheland said. “I should shower, as well.”

Wheland was already strumming an acoustic guitar inside the sound room by the time Rooster walked in wearing black jogging pants and a white tank top; his hair still damp from the shower and he was barefoot. He was carrying a notebook in one hand and a pencil was tucked behind an ear that also looked like it was working to hold back some of the loose waves of his hair in place. Rooster dragged a chair closer to Wheland and sat down beside him.

“Feel free to use one of my girls,” Wheland said pointing to a row of guitars in stands across the room.

Rooster stood from his seat and walked along the row of guitars, everything from Fender to Epiphone with every other brand in between. Rooster carefully eyed all the instruments. There must have been fifty grand worth of guitars sitting in these stands alone, never mind all the other pieces in the room and those stored in the equipment closet. He lifted a Gibson Les Paul, heavy with wood and well used. He slipped the strap around his neck and started strumming quick chords while he walked back to sit beside Wheland.

“I see you picked my favorite,” Wheland said, eying the worn face of the prized instrument.

“She’s been well played,” Rooster said.

“She’s one of the first I ever bought,” Wheland said. “I call her Lucille. I gave her that name because of the reddish tone to the wood, sort of like Lucille Ball.”

Rooster laughed at the comparison and began playing a random tune. “Do you record your sessions?” Rooster asked.

Wheland leaned over to an audio recorder sitting on top of an amp and hit a few buttons. “I have it hooked up to send the signal into the decks inside the booth for us. If anything good comes from this, we can mix it later in there.”

“Sounds good,” Rooster said. “Let’s do it.”

This first session was more of a “getting-to-know-you” meeting with each of them feeling what the other was all about, instrumentally speaking. They stayed at it for hours until Wheland heard Rooster’s stomach growl.

“You’re hungry,” Wheland said, standing from his seat. He set his guitar back in the stand beside the others and looked at Rooster who was still scribbling notes in the notebook. “Let’s take a break and toss something on the grill. How’s that sound?” Wheland asked.

Rooster was deep in thought, chewing on the pencil in his mouth, his barefoot tapping out a rhythm only he heard in his head. It wasn’t until Wheland squeezed the tight muscle at the bend of his neck that Rooster stopped what he was doing and looked up at him with questioning eyes.

Wheland felt the flutter again in the pit of his stomach and looking down into Rooster’s amazingly expressive eyes he knew his mind could easily wander.
Christ, I could get lost in those,
and that thought left him with an uneasy feeling.

“Come on,” Wheland said. “Let’s eat.”

It was dark when they emerged from the basement sound studio. Wheland glanced at the clock in the kitchen and saw that it was after nine o’clock. It was no wonder they were both hungry. They’d been working for the last eight hours straight with nothing more than a couple of bathroom breaks. The outcome had been the bone structure of a new composition. In its current form, it was a few bluesy running instrumental phrases, which they would have to smooth together with a melody.

Wheland was itching to write some lyrics for it, but he was even more excited by how good it felt to work with Rooster. It was comfortable, like they’d been doing it for years. The way they quickly slipped into sync together was crazy good and Wheland couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. He’d written lots of songs with Alex and Cooper over the years, but this felt different. He was learning how Rooster worked and loved watching the intensity in the man while he was creating.

It felt...
magical
, like something really important was happening. Rooster’s bare arm brushed up against Wheland’s when he squeezed in beside him at the kitchen counter to reach for a beer in the refrigerator. Wheland tensed at the touch and looked at Rooster.

Rooster rolled his hip on the counter and popped off the caps to two beer bottles, passing one to Wheland. “I have an idea for the bridge,” Rooster said drinking from his bottle. “After we eat, I’ll get it written.”

Wheland studied Rooster’s tanned face and noticed the fine lines around his eyes and that sexy shadow of beard growth. He wondered how scratchy it might feel against his own skin if his lips scraped down over his stomach toward his cock.

Fuck!

“You okay?” Rooster asked.

Wheland nodded and drank from his beer, trying to shake off the attraction he was feeling for his friend. He knew it was stupid to try, but he at least had to make an attempt at keeping this professional.

“Are you always this... motivated?” Wheland asked.

Rooster’s face softened as if he were somewhat embarrassed by Wheland’s question. “I’m feeling inspired,” he said with a shrug. “It’s best not to question it, just run with it.”

Wheland chuckled and opened up the freezer door, removing a container of pre-made gourmet burgers from the personal chef he used on a weekly basis. “Here. These will cook quickly,” he said and handed the container to Rooster. He turned back to a floor to ceiling pantry-style cabinet and grabbed a bag of buns from the middle shelf and some condiments. “Do you like macaroni salad?” Wheland asked and removed another plastic container from the refrigerator.

“Sure,” Rooster said. “Do you want me to start the grill?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Wheland said. “I’ll get this stuff ready and bring it out to the table.”

A few minutes later, Rooster was flipping burgers while Wheland was setting the teak table beside the pool with plates. Wheland watched Rooster seasoning the hamburgers with spices Wheland wasn’t sure were even from his kitchen and smiled to himself.
Why did this feel so damn good?
He wondered if Rooster was feeling even half of what he was. Judging by the way Rooster was humming while he worked the grill, Wheland figured it was a good bet he was.

Wheland finished setting the silverware beside the plates and took a seat at the table. He leaned back in the wooden chair and glanced over at Rooster again. His gaze dropped down to those narrow hips and perfect, fucking ass concealed behind the jogging pants slung low around Rooster’s hips. His bare feet, peeking out from the loose hem of the pants, tapped to the beat he was humming.
What I wouldn’t do to have that ass under my hands right now.

“Do you want cheese on your burger?” Rooster asked and peeked over his shoulder at Wheland.

The question pulled Wheland out of his fantasy of groping Rooster. It was a preoccupation that was becoming more and more of a problem to his normal thought process.

“Yeah, cheese for me,” Wheland said.

A few moments passed and Rooster carried over a platter with the grilled hamburgers, the melted cheese dripping off the edges. Wheland’s mouth watered at the sight. They loaded up their buns with ketchup, mustard, relish, and spooned the macaroni salad onto their plates before they began to eat in silence.

Wheland chewed the bite he had in his mouth and swallowed. “Without sounding like a chick, I’m really liking this,” he said.

“The burgers?” Rooster asked.

“No, this,” Wheland said, pointing between the two of them sitting across from each other at the table. “I like having you here. The company is good.”

Wheland watched that flush of heat pink up Rooster’s cheeks again. He was really starting to like that look on Rooster. It suited him, somehow softening the chiseled features of the man.