Page 3 of Beyond the Stix

The idea of dropping down to my knees evaporates when he slams his mouth over mine again and steps to the edge of the shower. He takes our dicks in his large hand and strokes in a fevered tempo that has me feeling a familiar sizzle at the base of my spine.

Needing more friction, I pump my hips in cadence with John’s stroking. “Fuck—yes. John,” I croon out. My body tenses up, and I come all over his hand.

As I lower my forehead to rest on John’s chest, he groans and I watch as his seed spills, mixing with the lather and my cum.

For a brief moment, our eyes lock and I think he’s going to kiss me again.

But he doesn’t. Instead, John releases my dick, grabs the washcloth hanging off the tiny hook to my right, and proceeds to clean himself, all the while avoiding my eyes.

Once done, John drops the cloth, then awkwardly pulls his pants up, before he turns around and strides away, leaving me dizzy while doubt about what we just did filters into my brain.

I want to call out for him to come back, but he slams the bathroom door closed and I’m left feeling suddenly bereft and alone.

It’s better this way, I tell myself as I turn toward the spray of hot water and wash our mutual spunk off my body, if only it were as easy to cleanse my memory of what just happened between us.

ONE

CURRENT DAY

Connor

I’m in the zone.With my favorite sticks in hand, I hammer out a stream of beats I have put to memory. The flow of the music thrums through me, making me feel higher than the sun.

Danny belts out the last chorus to the song we wrote together during our short U.S. tour. Then I end the set with Raef, our lead guitarist, finishing it off with the final chord.

As my stick connects with the crash cymbal, I immediately choke it. The buzzing energy from the metal reverberates through my fingertips and settles in the air like a living thing.

“Fucking A,” Bobby, our hyped-up keyboardist shouts with glee. “Nowthatis going to hit high on the charts.”

“Chill out, Hicks,” Callum smoothly says. Our bass guitarist smiles huge, before nodding in silent agreement with Bobby’s statement.

It’s about fucking time Callum is back to his old calm self. He’d been acting strange, especially during our smaller gigs, when we have extra security around us. But whatever was up his ass is gone now.

“Maybe we should go over it one more time.” Danny takes out a tube of lip balm from his jeans pocket and slathers some over his lips. I sniff. Cherry. It’s one of his favorite flavors, and from the wide grin on his boyfriend slash bodyguard’s face, it’s Tobias’s, too.

“I think it rocks,” Raef says as he gives Danny a thumbs up. “I think we nailed it.”

“At least once more before I jump into the booth.” My best friend looks over to the window where Ron and the sound guy are sitting in the control room. “What do you think?”

Danny’s nervous, and understandably so. This particular song is darker and a hell of a lot grittier than some of the other songs we have written. For me especially, the words have a deeper meaning. When we wrote it, Danny and I knew we had to add it to the new album. But I wonder if he’s having second thoughts.

“You did great, Danny. I think three takes was enough, though. Let’s take a lunch break,” Ron says through the speaker.

“If you think so,” Danny relents with a slight frown, and then heads toward the door, where his boyfriend stands waiting for him.

Tobias Grant reaches for my best friend and pulls him in for a gentle kiss. “It sounds amazing, babe. You have nothing to worry about. Besides, you really didn’t eat this morning.” That tender reassurance brings a smile out of Danny.

I love seeing him so happy. It’s about damn time too, after the craziness that last year had brought him. And especially how Siles had treated him like a punching bag. Thank fuck that asshole is serving time for his involvement in Danny’s abduction.

Though, I don’t know how he does it. My thoughts to John—I’d be wary of giving that much trust to a lover.

Of course, I trust my parents—even if my father decided to have his brother back in his life. And I do trust my bandmates, especially Danny. But that’s as far as it goes.

“I just want the song to be good,” Danny adds as he hangs onto his man. Tobias’s dog, Saint, is sitting by his feet, tail wagging, and patiently waiting for attention from my friend. He gives the dog a few pets and a kiss on the top of its head. “Who’s a good boy?”

“Where in the security handbook does it say that you can snuggle your bodyguard while he’s on duty?” I jest, and try to pull Danny away from Tobias.

“Want to keep your hands?” Tobias growls, before yanking Danny back to his broad chest and wrapping his beefy arm around my friend.