Page 128 of Beneath the Stain

Because he’d promised. He’dpromisedTrav he’d come through. Trav had let Mackey into his bed on the promise that he was an improving work in progress. Mackey couldn’t destroy all that because he was lonely.

Or he could, but he really hoped he was strong enough not to.

He got out of the shower and barely dried off. His phone. Cambridge’s number. Then the car service. He had it all in his head. He was going to do this, and he was going to do it by himself, because he couldn’t stand being the only heartbeat in this big house, and everything hurt, and—

“Trav?”

Was sitting on their bed, loafers kicked off, leaning against the headboard, auburn hair mussed from careless fingers, eyes closed, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepened by lack of sleep and worry. His carry-on sat next to the dresser, his jacket hung over his desk chair, and he held his phone loosely in his lap.

At Mackey’s voice, he opened his eyes and swallowed. “Do we have to call Dr. Cambridge?” he asked quietly.

Mackey felt tears starting at his eyes. “No,” he answered through a rough throat. “But it was a near thing.”

Trav swung his legs around the edge of the bed and held out his arms. Mackey, for all that he was dripping wet, stepped into the V between his legs and let him wrap his arms around Mackey’s waist and bury his face in his middle.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Trav whispered.

“Because you took me on faith.” Mackey ran his fingers through that awesome brown-red hair. It would curl if he let it grow longer, but as it was, it felt thick and healthy between Mackey’s fingers. “I asked you to take me, promising that someday I’d be fully functional, and you did. And… and I wanted to live up to that so bad.” His voice was breaking, and God, he hadn’t cried since rehab. Hesodidn’t want to do this shit again.

“Yeah,” Trav said, looking up at him. “I took you on faith. You haven’t betrayed it yet. You could havetoldme—”

“What?” Mackey asked, feeling bitter and angry, mostly at himself. “That I’m not ready? That the guy who broke me is still there and I’m not strong enough to see him right now? Not by myself, anyway,” Mackey admitted, “and that’s the only way it should be.”

“Why?” Trav demanded, and to Mackey’s horror, his eyes were getting shiny too. “Why would you think that? Why wouldn’t you ask—”

Oh, this was worse than Mackey had ever imagined.

“Because you didn’t ask for this,” he said, kissing Trav’s forehead gently, trying to give him something, anything, to make up for the two weeks with family he’d just given up, for the trouble, for the worry. “You signed on to manage a band, not to deal with me or my bullshit, and meeting Grant Adams should be the last fucking thing on your ros—”

“Stop,” Trav begged softly. “Yeah. I signed on for a rock band. And I got you and your brothers. And I got this big fucking glass monstrosity of a house that is starting to feel more like a home than I felt at Terry’s after two years. It’s different than I planned, but… God, Mackey, I think you’re worth it. Don’t you think you’re worth it?”

Mackey found he was shaking his head. “No,” he rasped. “No, I’m not. I’m not worth it, Trav, but I can’t make you go back. I’m gonna hold on as long as you’ll have me. And Jesus, I’m so, so glad you’re here….” He took a breath, but it was more of a sob, and then he just stopped talking and held on while Trav held him, shaking, trying so hard to get it together when both of them were flying apart.

Trav kissed his stomach then, and Mackey sucked in a breath. The next kiss landed on his ribs, and then under his belly button, and then Trav worked his way up along Mackey’s sternum. It wasn’t just the pressure or the softness of his lips that undid Mackey, it was that his face was wet, and his hands were shaking, and when he reached up to palm the back of Mackey’s head, Mackey saw everything he’d ever wanted from a lover written right there in Trav’s eyes.

“I’ll meet you halfway,” Trav said softly. “I know this isn’t over. I know someday this thing with Grant is going to be faced. But I’ll take you on the hope that someday all of you will be mine, home-free, if you promise me you’ll be honest with me right up until the reckoning, do you understand?”

Mackey nodded, searching for words. “Yeah,” he said, closing his eyes. “Someday, I swear I’ll be strong enough, Trav. Someday, for you and me, it won’t even be a thing.”

“I told you before, Mackey. I’ll take you on faith.”

His sepia brown eyes were fathomless, wide, trusting. Mackey didn’t think he’d ever felt faith without pressure, hope without need.

“Deal,” Mackey whispered.

The kiss wasn’t hard or greedy. It went long and soft, gentle, shaking hands, delicate breaths. Trav pulled Mackey on top of him and then rolled, and spent a year mapping Mackey’s face with trembling lips. A decade working his way down Mackey’s vulnerable, exposed throat. A century placing delicate caresses down his shoulders and his chest.

Mackey had nothing, no return strategy for him, just the need to feel Trav’s hands on his skin, his lips, his kisses, and to bask in the massive heat he put off—protective heat, the gorgeous, glorifying heat of safe haven.

Trav’s clothes came off and he covered Mackey with his body, bulkier, a little hairier, but solid, substantial. Trav was something Mackey could cling to when he was needy, could batter with his hands when he was overwhelmed, could wrap his limbs around and merge with and know Trav could take it. Trav could take anything Mackey could give.

Trav greased and at Mackey’s entrance felt like part of that, and he needed Trav inside him, like breath. They became one, and Mackey could breathe. Trav was a part of him, and Mackey had strength. Trav moved, and Mackey’s body became light and Trav’s body became sound and together they were the thing Mackey worshipped most.

Music.

Every thrust was a crash of cymbals and the thud of bass. Trav’s hand on his cock was the lead guitar. Trav’s voice in his ear, urging him on, saying filthy, pornographic things, was the lyrics, throbbing in rhythm, throbbing in time with Mackey’s cock.

Climax was a roaring, gentle thing from the pit of his stomach. Trav’s body in his arms should have grounded him, but instead they flew, flew together, and Trav’s groan against Mackey’s shoulder, the hot spurt of his come in Mackey’s ass, that was the crescendo, the soaring of the heavens against his face, the ocean roaring of the wind in his ears.