The Underdogs Box Set - Books 1-3 (gay rockstar romance)

by K. A. Merikan

  Asher gave a small shrug and kissed Sid softly, lying at the edge of the bed.

  “I’ll take the phone. But just because you broke the other one.”

  Asher chuckled. “Not ready for the Rolex just yet? You want it to be your wedding gift?”

  “It’s not funny, dumbass.” Sid pushed Asher, but then grabbed his T-shirt and pulled him back in for a kiss. “Just keep up the good work. I love it when you’re such a scary fucker.”

  Asher’s face relaxed into a wide smile. He rubbed his fingers against Sid’s cheeks, just watching him for a few moments that were both sweet and so awkward at the same time. “I can be anything you’ve ever dreamed of, Sid.”

  And that was fucking scary. Because what would Sid do if Asher actually turned out to be what he’d wanted all along? How would they even have a relationship? And wasn’t all this supposed to just last until the end of the tour?

  And now that he had a phone again…did he even want to keep in touch with Executioner? With his online Dom, things had been so much simpler even if less satisfying. Executioner didn’t truly know Sid. Didn’t ask about his job, about his day, or offer aftercare. He never tried to open up the Pandora’s box of things Sid wanted hidden.

  And when Sid glanced at his new phone, it dawned on him that his decision to fuck Asher had been a gigantic mistake and he had no idea how to stop this train wreck in the making.

  Chapter 6

  Watching Sid on stage was almost as good as fucking him. His flushed skin shone, sweat vaporized from the heat of his flesh, and his muscles went from tense to relaxed within split seconds when he banged away on the drums, coming undone as the gig progressed. In the aggressive white light, softened only with fake fog, he was in a trance, shaking his head as he played and screamed out parts of the lyrics while sweat and the water he’d just poured down on himself sprayed all around.

  Now that Asher had gotten to know the secret side of Sid, he was feeling jealous that all the people in the audience could see that expression of utter freedom too. This was the Sid Asher had first fallen in love with—hidden deep within a man so guarded it was difficult to talk to him sometimes and so sarcastic that he turned every affectionate word into a joke. The infatuation had only gotten stronger throughout the past three weeks since Sid had chosen to let Asher master him.

  Once the gig ended, Sid marched to the front of the stage, fist-bumping the audience with sheer joy radiating from him like a halo. The black tank top stuck to his body, damp from sweat and drinking water, revealing only some of the tattoos and a fraction of the tight, lean body that arched so pliantly to Asher’s touch.

  Waiting below, right in front of the stage, Asher raised his hands high and clapped, seeking Sid’s gaze once more. But Sid didn’t seem to notice him, and a nasty part of Asher’s mind crawled out from the darkness and whispered that such behavior would be punished later. He’d make sure Sid’s attention didn’t stray. Maybe he could have Sid wear blinders? Like horses? He’d seen something like that on one of the websites where he bought his gear. Then again, having Sid blindfolded altogether was just as delicious, because then Sid depended on him completely.

  His desires grew each day he was left without the possibility of putting them into practice. Five days had passed since the last time he and Sid had been alone, and as he followed the band across the southern part of the country. San Diego was the last stop of the tour, so maybe Sid was simply feeling too tired to fuck and wished to focus only on music, but the itch inside Asher had grown out of proportion.

  Normally, he had many casual hook-ups on the way, since music festivals and concerts offered a varied menu of hot, interesting men to sample, but with this new relationship with Sid effectively putting him into a temporary state of celibacy, Asher masturbated with the frequency he used to before Sid popped his cherry years ago. And unlike back then, there was an image of Sid helplessly bound at his feet, with cum drizzling out of him, pinned to the back of Asher’s eyelids.

  With Sid rushing behind the scenes, Asher reached out his fist and hit it against the stage, wanting to draw his lover with the sound, but it was no use.

  Only Dusk looked back at him, pushing back his long mane of sweaty hair. “We’ve got some band stuff to discuss, Ash. Talk to you later.”

  At least he’d stopped calling him Stan, so that was progress.

  Asher groaned and rolled his sweaty forehead against the front of the stage in the mid-sized club where the gig was taking place. The crowd behind Asher only solidified, since the main star of the evening was scheduled to play next, but Asher managed to push his way back through the wall of people that could have only been tighter around him if someone decided to pour cement into the tiny gaps between bodies.

  Beyond the packed area close to the stage, the atmosphere loosened, and he followed the example of many and got himself a drink. The beer was pleasantly cold in his throat, but it was still too hot inside the club, so he migrated into the parking lot where patrons had their quick smoke breaks or much-needed oxygen therapy. With the sun now down, it was pleasantly cool, so he passed his time chatting to random people. His mind still lingered on Sid, but good things came to those who waited. And if he’d waited for Sid seven years, he could wait another hour.

  Across the street, there was amusement to be had anyway, because a group of some kind of religious preachers, young and old, were handing out leaflets. An older man dressed head to toe in gray held up a sign saying: ‘Make music for God, not the Devil’ and completely ignored the jeers flying his way.

  They didn’t have a captive audience in drunk fans of rock music. One of the girls got so irritated by something the preacher shouted her way that only the intervention of a few friends kept her from crossing the street.

  “Just ignore them. They’ve announced the upcoming Apocalypse, like, three times already,” said a young woman with whom Asher had shared a little chat about The Underdogs just moments before.

  He smirked, looking between her and the cultists, some of whom were now walking through the chaotic crowd at the front of the club with leaflets while their apparent leader yapped about the need to repent. All the members of his group wore almost-identical gray coats with big red crosses and snakes printed on the backs. It was all quite bizarre.

  “Have they? Charming. I always wonder if the leaders make their followers go to those kinds of events to actually recruit new people. Or is this just to strengthen the bonds within the group when everyone else rejects them?”

  The woman looked up at him with rather glossy eyes. “Wow, that’s so deep. Haven’t thought of it that way. You wanna go to my place and talk more about Apocalyptic cults?” She wiggled her eyebrows, suggesting that talking would be the last thing she wanted.

  Asher laughed and gave her a once-over. Any straight guy in his place would have considered himself lucky if a girl this attractive so blatantly propositioned him, but he was no straight guy.

  “Oh, I would, but I’m into guys.”

  She chuckled and play-punched his arm. “Damn it. That’s the problem with Underdog concerts. They always draw a more diverse crowd. I can’t help myself though. Dusk is just so hot. Who’s your favorite?”

  Asher’s chest heated up like a hot water bottle. “I’m really into Sid.”

  Really, really into Sid.

  “Oh yeah? I like all the ink, but he’s a bit too skinny for my taste.”

  Asher was liking this conversation much less now. Who the fuck asked her for an opinion? Sid was perfect. He was smart, and complicated, and had a depth most people didn’t get to see.

  “Brother. Sister. How often do you think of salvation?” asked someone in a sweet, feminine voice.

  The woman rolled her eyes and stepped back as Asher turned to see a young woman with bright green eyes and long brown hair tied into a tight bun at the back of her head. She looked extremely young, but too tall to be any less than fifteen or sixteen. The gray uniform of the cultists, which covered her body shape like a
sack, and the lack of makeup made it difficult to tell her actual age.

  “Er…not really,” he said.

  ‘Sister’ didn’t even answer and disappeared inside the club instead, so the girl focused all her attention on Asher and pressed a leaflet into his hand.

  “Are you…do you know about the musicians playing tonight?” she asked, and the question threw off Asher enough for him to stay instead of immediately dismissing her. Was she a secret rock fan hiding in the midst of her weirdo family? Headbanging in secret? That would have been pretty funny.

  “I do, yeah. I help one of them with promo and that kind of stuff,” he said, not sure how well she understood social media and advertising.

  “Do you know The Underdogs?” She stepped closer, overwhelming him with the intensity in her eyes. Something was off here and he didn’t exactly know what.

  “I do. Why, do you want your notebook signed, or something?”

  She looked back to her group, but they were occupied with some crazy-ass Apocalyptic chanting. “Would you be able to get Siddim’s number? You know, the drummer? I really need to talk to him.”

  Asher blinked, but a laugh tore through his tightened lips. “Siddim? Seriously? Where did that come from?”

  “That’s…his name.” She stared at Asher with a frown. “Please, I don’t have much time. Do you know how to contact him?”

  Asher might have gone a bit pale, and he stepped back, quickly eyeing the girl’s roomy coat for any signs of weapons she could unleash on him. Sid didn’t need another stalker. The cult possibly targeted him for his image, and Asher would not let anyone taunt him.

  “No, you can’t have his number. What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “Abra!” An older woman rushed their way. “How long does it take to hand out a leaflet? I thought I told you to only engage with females.” She grabbed Abra’s elbow and dragged her away without as much as sparing Asher a glance.

  Asher scowled and stuffed the scrunched leaflet into his pocket. He was done with crazy for the night.

  With the main act of the night already playing their aggressively unmelodic music, he made his way down a narrow alley that smelled of an entire week’s worth of trash, all the way to the back door. After a brief conversation with the guard, he walked deeper into the innards of the club and the area where the bands could prepare and chill.

  Mage, Dusk, Sid, and Dawn were talking to a few other people, but it was hard to focus on new faces when Sid’s tank top was off, all that gorgeous inked flesh on show. But as Asher sped up to join them, what caught his eye was a dressing on Sid’s side. Did he get a new tattoo? Because Asher knew Sid’s tats by heart, and that was definitely a spot that had previously been blank.

  Seated with his back to the door, Sid only turned around to see Asher when he followed Dawn’s gaze. His smile was curt, and it made all nerve endings inside Asher tingle with the need to grab his jaw and make him look.

  “Hello, hello. Have you all showered after the gig, like good boys?” Asher asked and put his hands on Sid’s shoulders.

  Dawn poked Mage, who was indeed wearing a clean shirt, unlike Dusk. Sid’s skin felt clammy under Asher’s touch, but judging by the floppy state of his mohawk, he’d probably at least put his head under the sink after the performance.

  “Last gig of this tour,” Mage said with a wide smile. “I think we all need some downtime.”

  “Definitely. You guys must really need to relax before you go back to the drawing board, huh? By the way, did I tell you I have a studio at my place?” Asher said with a wide grin. There, he’d sank another hook into the band, drawing all the guys—and Sid—closer to where Asher wanted them.

  Just as expected, their attention was on him as if they were pets whose master snapped his fingers. The Underdogs were earning way more money than they used to a year back, but studio time would have still made a massive dent in their budget.

  “You have a studio? Do you rent it? How come?” Mage asked, leaning forward.

  Asher sat next to Sid and pulled his damp body closer, kind of happy that the water was now transferring from Sid to his own clothes. “It used to be my dad’s. I don’t use it much, so maybe you guys could bring it back to life? As a favor, of course,” he said, making sure to catch eye contact with all the three members sitting across from him.

  “Nothing in life comes without strings attached, huh?” Sid asked, slumping against Asher as if he was admitting defeat.

  Asher had no idea what was up with him tonight, but he’d been off since they’d arrived in San Diego, and it drove Asher crazy that he couldn’t make him talk. Worse still, the dressing on Sid’s side wasn’t the type you’d put on a fresh tattoo. Had Sid hurt himself? Was he ill? Within seconds, Asher was spiraling down a well of worry.

  Dusk gave a long sound of mock disgust. “Man, we’re not selling you for a chance to record music. Unless you want to do that. Can’t stop you from self-sacrifice,” he said with a grin.

  Asher smiled back, burying offense so deep nothing would seep to the surface. “You guys talk about it while I take Sid outside for a bit?”

  Sid groaned and rubbed his face. “I’m tired.”

  Mage raised his eyebrows at Asher as if the thick-rimmed glasses he wore off stage somehow gave him authority to ask questions. “Is everything okay?”

  Asher exhaled, rubbing his fingertips over Sid’s arm. The drop in Sid’s mood was so obvious it was starting to make Asher deeply uncomfortable. “Hey, are you feeling fine?”

  “Okay, okay, let’s go.” Sid got up abruptly, and even Dusk kept his mouth shut, watching with an unreadable expression. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow?”

  They said their goodbyes and left to an odd silence that was starting to peel the outer layers of Asher’s skin and penetrate his flesh like parasites of doubt. Just a few days back, he and Sid had been totally fine. He’d given Sid space when he’d seemed busy, but this? Asher didn’t care for Sid following his request if he so clearly didn’t want to.

  It hurt even more than being outright rejected.

  Sid walked alongside Asher as if he was about to meet the executioner, not have some kinky fun. And if he didn’t feel like playing or spending time together otherwise, then why was he going with Asher? Was this an end-of-tour issue?

  Did Sid want to break things up and didn’t know how to approach the topic?

  Sure, when this relationship started, Sid had suggested that it would only last for the duration of the tour—a convenient way for them both to blow off some steam—but things have surely changed since then. Sid had shown Asher his vulnerable side and had been so pliant, so upfront about longing for the kind of sex Asher could offer him that Asher stopped considering their arrangement as something temporary.

  Maybe Sid wanted to be pushed? That seemed to be his thing overall. Maybe all the times he’d given Asher the cold shoulder recently were in fact provocations?

  With his brain turning into a cloud of white smoke, Asher could barely think straight. The open room ahead came about like an answer to his problems, and he hauled Sid inside, shutting the door behind him.

  The smell of damp and beer filled the air as he eyed Sid, who watched him in silence, standing next to a collection of beer barrels that had been stored here.

  For a moment, Asher forgot how to speak, just watching the endlessly long legs, the firm, if narrow, torso, and the expressive, sharp features of Sid’s face.

  Sid frowned. “What is this?” He put on the tank top he’d been carrying, as if he wished to emphasize his body was off-limits.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Asher found himself asking in the end. He took a deep breath, which made his lungs soak the alcohol from the air, and stepped toward Sid.

  Sid crossed his arms on his chest. “What? That we’re no longer fucking? In case you haven’t noticed, we were busy finishing the tour on a high note.”

  “No, what’s up with this attitude? It’s like something’s flipped a switch in y
our brain.”

  “I just don’t like this town. I’m not in the mood for this shit.”

  Asher rubbed his eyes, disappointed and yet kind of happy that he was finally getting some answers. “Fine. We can just have dinner if you’re tired. You could have just said so instead of making me look like some kind of sexual predator in front of our friends. I know this kind of sex can be straining on your body, but should I remind you that you were the one to suggest this in the first place?”

  Sid’s eyes snapped up to him. “Oh? So now it’s me pulling poor, innocent Asher into doing bad things? I told you this wasn’t your thing. You said it was and wouldn’t give it a rest. Which one is it then?”

  ”I never said it wasn’t. My point is that you’re acting as if I’m forcing you into something, and I don’t know what the fuck’s going on, because you won’t even talk to me. Like this bandage. What happened? Did you find time for new body art when you couldn’t even respond to my messages?”

  Sid stayed quiet for a while, and it only pushed Asher farther to the edge.

  “No. It’s something else,” he said in the end.

  Would Asher have to carve out every single piece of information with a hacksaw? He approached Sid with his guts twisting so tightly it nauseated him. “What is it then? Did you hurt yourself? Are you in pain? Why wouldn’t you tell me? We don’t have to fuck every time we meet if you don’t feel like it.”

  In the dim light of the storage room, the shadows on Sid’s face were sharper than usual. He pulled up his top just enough to show the bandages, but then he started peeling them away to present the damage.

  Three long cuts were still fresh and left bloody marks on the inner side of the dressing. When Sid twisted slightly, the flesh around one of the wounds opened and filled with blood about to spill down its gaping mouth.

  “This is what I needed, not a fucking chat over dinner. So that’s what I did.”

  It was as if something pushed spikes of ice into Asher’s limbs, radiating bitter cold and preventing him from moving. “Y-you did this yourself? You said you didn’t want cutting,” Asher babbled, even though he knew he’d never even consider doing something like this to anyone.