Screwing the System (26 page)

“Nah, why would that worry me?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you could explain.”

“Nothing to explain. You’re imagining things.” And Cosmo cut off any further conversation by pulling out his packet of tobacco, forcing Alasdair to retreat to his study. Maybe he had been imagining things, but he doubted it, somehow.

So now here he was, three frustrating days later, watching the dubiously titled “ScarDue” play their first proper gig down the White Horse. He could get his fill of watching Cosmo any time he wanted, and in much more intimate, comfortable surroundings. But here he was, leaning back against the wall and trying to avoid being kicked by one of the overenthusiastic head-banging youngsters. Any minute now, some idiot was going to try to crowd surf or some such nonsensical behaviour.

Did the band merit this kind of enthusiasm? Alasdair watched Cosmo swaying, his guitar hanging unplayed as he cupped his hands around the mic and crooned some dismal meditation on death and despair. He didn’t recognise the tune, but Cosmo had told him the whole set list would be cover versions, except for Rizzo’s “piece-of-shit tune”. Maybe he should just count his blessings these depressing lyrics weren’t the outpourings of Cosmo’s soul.

The voice, though—it wound through his senses, seducing him. Every roughened rasp sounded so close to one of Cosmo’s sex noises, it had Alasdair’s blood pounding. He wasn’t far gone enough to get hard at just the sound; he liked to think he had more self-control than that, but God, the sight of Cosmo in his skintight T-shirt and ripped jeans, swaying his hips with his eyes closed… Yeah, that was a picture to feed his fantasies, for sure. He was even wearing that chain around his wrist again, stirring up memories of their first night together.

“What do you think?” Freddie’s voice close to his ear broke the spell Cosmo had cast over him.

Alasdair turned to face him. “Not bad, but the guitarist’s a total wanker.” The pointy-faced, short-arse wanker in question had just let rip on a high-octane solo, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“Rizzo? Yeah, he is an arrogant little tosspot. Good thing he can play almost as well as he thinks he can.”

Alasdair snorted. “Cosmo would be better off going it alone. Writing his own songs. They’re much gentler than this. More subtle.” This was like having your brain put through a cement mixer while someone went at your eardrums with a pneumatic drill. Thank God they were far enough back from the stage to be able to talk, albeit in raised voices and at close range.

“You’re getting boring in your old age.” Freddie tipped his head and scrutinised Alasdair. “Time was, you’d have loved this sort of thing.”

“Time was, I was an immature idiot.”

“You were all right. No better or worse than the rest of us.”

No worse than Jon, that was for sure.

Maybe some of the bitterness showed on Alasdair’s face, because Freddie gave him this look that bordered on intrusively sympathetic. “Did you ever say good-bye properly?”

“To who?”

“You know who I’m talking about. It’s not healthy to hang on to grief like this. You should have come to the funeral.”

“I said my good-byes on the roadside.” While Jon’s life had ebbed out between his fingers, all of Alasdair’s strength powerless to stop the blood escaping, the warm flesh from cooling. Yeah, he’d said his good-byes. He’d cursed Jon to the ends of the fucking universe for leaving him behind, but he’d never had the courage to follow.

“Yeah, okay. But if you ever want me to show you where we scattered his ashes, you just let me know. And don’t be a stranger, yeah? You’re welcome here anytime. I’ve got pictures of you and Jon upstairs. Bet Cosmo would love to see what you looked like back then.” Freddie clasped Alasdair’s shoulder and gave one of those irritating do-gooder smiles before heading off to collect glasses.

Fuck. He had been having an all right night, despite the music not being his thing. But Freddie’s words had been like a kick in the guts, proving he’d made the right decision to stay away all these years. To cut himself off from his past, just as surely as Jon had been cut off from his life.

Alasdair stared into his pint as dark music pounded through his body.

Maybe he wasn’t as healed as he’d thought he was.

“Fucking amazing gig,” Malc enthused as they carried their equipment back around to Nasher’s van. “You sounded bloody brilliant, Cos.”

“Thanks, mate,” Cosmo said absentmindedly, because while Nasher’s brother’s wide-eyed adoration was gratifying, there was only one person’s opinion of the gig he really cared about. He’d tried to find Alasdair in the crowd, but it wasn’t until near the end when he’d finally spotted him, lurking at the back with a face like thunder.

What had upset him like that? Please God, it hadn’t been the music.

When they’d packed away the instruments and the amps, Rizzo sat himself down on the tailgate and pulled out the spliff that had been stuck behind his ear all evening. “Fucking champion,” he announced. “Reckon the new song went down well, didn’t it?”

As far as Cosmo had been able to see, the crowd had been so drunk and worked into a frenzy by that point they’d have danced to a toddler banging on pots and pans, but he nodded and gave Rizzo a tight smile. “Nice one, mate.”

Rizzo’s eyebrows rose as if in disbelief, but he put out his hand for a high five, which Cosmo felt bound to return. Yeah, he could be diplomatic when he needed to be. Sure he could, especially when still coasting on the high after a gig. Diplomacy. That was the only reason he accepted the joint from Rizzo and took a drag. Of course, that would have to be the moment he turned around to see Alasdair watching.

“Oh shit.” Cosmo dropped the joint, causing a minor kerfuffle as Brett and Rizzo both went for it and knocked heads. But all Cosmo had eyes for was Alasdair, stalking towards them like a Victorian schoolmaster about to tan some schoolboy arse. He was in so much fucking trouble.

“We’re going home. Now.” Alasdair used his commanding tone, but this time the shivers it sent down Cosmo’s spine were the wrong sort.

He started forward, an apology on his lips, when an arm shot out in front of him.

“Hang on a minute. Cos, you haven’t gotta go with him, mate.” Nasher sounded shocked at his own courage but placed himself between Cosmo and Alasdair all the same. “The man doesn’t own you.”

“And what would you know about our relationship?” Alasdair snarled.

“I know you’re a bossy fucker who gets off on bullying younger, smaller guys.”

Oh shit. “Stay out of it,” Cosmo hissed. “I’m coming,” he said louder to Alasdair. “Come on, Nash, let me go.” Nasher had him around the biceps, and he didn’t want to get into a scuffle with his best mate, especially when it seemed he was only trying to protect him.

“I don’t want him to hurt you.” Nasher’s eyes were dangerously bright.

“He’s not going to.”

“I saw… I saw the marks on your back. You can’t tell me those were an accident.”

Fuckfuckfuck. Rizzo and Brett were blatantly listening in, scandalised smirks on their faces, while Malc looked horrified. Cosmo peered over Nasher’s shoulder to see Alasdair standing with his arms crossed, still brooding but clearly waiting for Cosmo to deal with the situation. Because this was his shit to deal with, and he could do it all by himself.

Okay. Cosmo looked up into Nasher’s eyes, registering for the first time the depth of feeling there. “You’re right, it wasn’t an accident. But I asked for that, and I enjoyed every minute of it. So please, let me go home with my boyfriend, yeah? I can look after myself.”

For a moment, he didn’t think Nasher was going to move, but then his face crumpled. Bugger. He’d had no idea. He laid a hand on Nasher’s shoulder, feeling like a complete bastard for hurting his friend, even unintentionally. “Nash, listen, I’m sorr—”

“Just fuck off, all right?” Nasher turned to face the van, holding his arms up around his head, but his voice betrayed the tears.

“I’m sorry.” Cosmo stepped towards Alasdair. “I didn’t know.”

“Are you ready?” Alasdair asked, all traces of anger having disappeared to be replaced with a weary sorrow.

“Yeah, I suppose.” Cosmo turned back to see if Nasher had recovered at all but was met with the sight of his back, Brett and Malc huddled round him, and a baleful glare from Rizzo, still smoking that fucking joint.

“Okay. I’m ready.”

The ride home was quiet, Cosmo busy brooding about Nasher. Alasdair had said something about Nasher fancying him, but he’d told him it was rubbish. Was he the only one who hadn’t seen it?

“I didn’t even know he was gay,” he said, because fuck it, he needed to talk this through with someone. “You could see it. How come I never did? You’d think he might have been able to come out to his best mate.”

“Maybe he isn’t gay.”

“But you said—”

“Maybe he’s bi or just confused. And I don’t know about you, but sometimes the person who makes you feel confused is the hardest person of all to share your feelings with.”

Cosmo considered that for a long moment. “Like you and me.”

Alasdair gave a wry smile. “Exactly.”

“How do we get over that? It’s not like I can talk about all this stuff between us with anyone else. They’ll just assume you’re abusing me, like Nasher did.”

“Perhaps if I share some more. Things about my past.” Alasdair exhaled noisily but kept his eyes on the road. “Maybe then you’ll understand me better.”

“That’d be good.”

“But first your punishment. For disobeying the rule about drugs.”

“Oh, come on, it was one toke. And it’s only pot.”

“Good thing too. If it had been anything stronger you’d be feeling your punishment for weeks.”

Was he for real? Cosmo checked to see if Alasdair was joking, but his face remained grim and his hands clutched the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. Shit, this really was a big deal to him.

“Okay. So what would you suggest is an appropriate punishment for one toke on a joint?”
Please God, not the cock cage.

Alasdair appeared to consider it deeply. “Nose to the wall, thinking about what you’ve done, for twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes didn’t sound so bad. “Okay, I can do that.”

“With a dildo in.” Alasdair’s grin turned feral. “A big one.”

“Ummm.” Cosmo stirred uneasily. “Bigger than the last one we tried?”

“Next size up.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

Was it? Cosmo’s mind informed him it probably shouldn’t be, but he couldn’t deny the anticipatory fluttering in his gut. “Yeah. Okay. I can take it.” They’d better not be famous last words.

Half an hour later, his nose pressed against the bedroom wall, Cosmo was cursing the rashness of listening to his body rather than his mind. Twenty minutes might not have sounded all that long, but it was a lifetime when you were trying your best to hold in an enormous steel dildo against the force of gravity. Felt like he’d had a bloody traffic cone rammed up his arse. If Alasdair wanted to fuck him after this, he’d feel tiny in comparison. Like the kind of bloke all those badly worded spam penis-enlargement e-mails were aimed at.

He was meant to be thinking about something, wasn’t he? It was near impossible, though, when all the blood in his body seemed to have rushed to the party in his dick. A party his brain clearly hadn’t been invited to.

A drop of sweat rolled down Cosmo’s nose. He wanted to wipe it off, but Alasdair was watching, his gaze heating him up like a pub-garden space heater.

His legs began to tremble. The dildo slipped out a little. Cosmo clenched his pelvic floor and groaned.
Must hold it in.

“Having a bit of trouble there, are we?” Alasdair asked, his voice coming from so close behind him Cosmo jumped.

“It’s f—” he began before remembering how Alasdair had forbidden him to speak. “Mmmph!” he added, hoping his predicament would come across loud and clear.

“Permission to speak,” Alasdair murmured into his ear before layering a line of openmouthed, stubbly kisses down Cosmo’s neck.

“God.” Desire shuddered through Cosmo’s body, and the dildo slipped out another inch. “Can’t hold it in, you bastard.”

Alasdair chuckled, but much to his relief, Cosmo felt the dildo’s floorward progress stall as Alasdair took a grip of it. The relief didn’t last for long, though, as a dildo in Alasdair’s hands was a weapon of pure, sinful pleasure.

Cosmo moaned as his body accepted the impossible invasion. He clawed the wall, scrabbling for purchase as his muscles melted into liquid bliss. And now his problem wasn’t keeping the dildo in but holding his orgasm back.

He fought for breath to speak as the slow thrusts of the steel battering ram crushed the air from his lungs. “Gonna blow,” he forced out between thrusts. “Please.”

“Do it,” Alasdair said. “Now.” His hand took a firm grip of Cosmo’s cock.

Cosmo couldn’t have held back any longer if he’d wanted to. Molten seed rushed from his balls to his dick, erupting in a bone-shattering blast. Stars danced behind his eyelids to the rhythm of Alasdair’s breath against his ear. The frantic rutting against Cosmo’s sweat-drenched rear.