Maxx Neon

by Lina Langley

  Maxx Neon

  M/M Gay Romance

  Lina Langley

  © 2017

  Lina Langley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is intended for adults only. It contains explicit sexual scenes and is not suitable for children.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Blurb

  To say that things are going well for Max would be an understatement. He is living his dream, touring around the country with his band, playing music to hordes of adoring fans. But his dream turns out to be more difficult and exhausting than he expected. In his daydreams, Max never expected to have to wear eight inch heels for six hours as he performed or how much the exhaustion would add to his relatively well managed back pain. Regardless of the difficulty, Max is grateful.

  With everything else going on in his life, he rarely has time to think about how lonely it is to be on the road with a band of amazing musicians whose names he barely knows. He doesn’t think that’s going to change—in truth, he doesn’t care if it doesn’t, he has enough to worry about. After a grueling performance, however, he meets Eli backstage during a meet and greet.

  Drawn to him in a way that he can’t explain, Max ends up inviting him back to his hotel. The two of them have a night together that neither one of them is bound to forget any time soon. For the first time in a long time, though, Max is starting to realize that he might want more than his current life provides.

  Maybe not all of his dreams have come true yet.

  This story is approximately 30,000 words and contains adult language and erotic scenes. Content warning for back pain descriptions and fainting.

  Chapter One

  Max could hear the crowd outside the venue. He closed his eyes, trying to remember what the venue was called. The Dr… something center. They all merged into each other. Some were better than others. The fact that he had performed at The Fairytale still made him smile, considering the kind of act that his music was. He wasn’t exactly the height of queer culture or anything of the sort, but people in the know had heard of him, and they had decided to promote him to the people that they knew. His fame had kind of snowballed after his last album released. He hadn’t expected it to, but he had been asked to play in places that he would never have even managed to buy a ticket to even five years ago. Now he filled up venues like the Dr. Whatever center, and it was a big one.

  His manager, Lara, had told Max that people in Sierra really wanted to see him. Max had vaguely heard of Sierra. It was a hipster town, full of artists and writers, and they were excited to see him. Max wasn’t as excited to be in Sierra. He was tired and his limbs were protesting the absence of his bed. His bad back had been the source of many issues during the tour. The long time spent on the road, the long times spent setting up, even slinging the guitar around his shoulder and playing at night. He was on a daily dose of anti-inflammatories and ice packs, but they only did so much good. The only thing that Max had ever found that made his back feel better was his mattress. He had spent tons of money on it—money that he didn’t have—but it had been worth every penny. He had started to sleep through the night again after years of waking up only to pace around, hoping that he might tire himself out enough to sleep for only a couple of hours more. Those had probably been the most productive nights of his life, though, at least creatively. He had recorded his last album in a little under five weeks, working every night incessantly until he basically fell asleep in front of his computer with his headphones in and his guitar in his hands.

  He was more tired now, so he was sleeping more. Not that much more—the pain, unfortunately, still woke him up. Exhaustion won out a lot, and drinking helped. Max had never liked to drink, not very much. Drinking was okay, he supposed, but being nauseous produced him intense anxiety. His brother had once told him that he was the world’s worst rock star because he wouldn’t even have that second beer. Max was happy to have a drink in his hand when he was at a party, but he only pretended to drink from it, preferring instead to mingle with people like that.

  Lara startled him by touching his shoulder. “Hey,” she said. She was slightly older than him, but she looked much older, with wrinkles around her eyes and platinum blonde hair that looked like it was all from old age. Max thought that the reason she kept her hair like that was so that she could pretend to be older than she was, so that she would command more attention when she walked into a room. Max didn’t think that Lara needed any tricks to command attention, but then, he would have never been able to do her job. “Are you all done with sound check?”

  Max nodded. Sound check had been done for hours, but she always ran over everything with him, just in case he had missed anything. She didn’t have to, but it was a nice ritual, and it calmed him down. For some reason—perhaps the size of the Dr. Whatever venue—his stomach was churning with nerves that night. It was just a gig, he told himself, and he had done it hundreds of times. It would be over in just a few hours. He would never have to think about it or about Sierra again.

  “Sound check is done,” Max replied.

  “Great,” Lara said. She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and gave him a goofy smile. “How’s the band feeling?””

  “I think they’re okay,” Max said, smiling back at her. “Why? Did they say anything to you?”

  “Nothing new.”

  “Good,” Max replied. “We’ve rehearsed, we’re warmed up. Hopefully this one is good.”

  “It’ll be fine,” Lara said. “You’re always good, even when you’re not good.”

  “Thanks, babe.”

  Lara shook her head. “You know what I mean.”

  “I do,” Max replied. Then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Even if he hadn’t been nervous about the concert, he was always nervous about the part that came at the end. Lara had told him that the meet-and-greet was expected of stars of his caliber and Max had almost laughed in her face and asked her what in the world she meant by stars of his caliber, but he had kept his thoughts to himself. He knew that she was right. He knew that he couldn’t complain, he made a good living just writing and performing music, more than anyone else should, really, in his opinion. But after a gig, the last thing that Max felt like doing was partying.

  He was tired and he wanted to go to bed. Well, to his bed, not the bed that was on the tour bus. The tour bus bed wasn’t bad and the privacy curtains were okay. Lara had given Max the choice to have a bus all by himself, but if the rest of the band was going to have to travel in a stinky small bus where they had to listen to each other snore and fart, then he was going to go with them. It was the easiest way to make sure that the band didn’t hate him. At least that was going relatively well. The band seemed to like socializing more than he did, but even though they were friendly, they all understood that they worked for him. Max had pitched the idea of having his friends be his b
and and Lara had raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. Then she had told him that they would all need to be signed, as a band, and that could take years. After discussing the situation with his friends, they had told him to go for it, and so he had. He still giggled with them when he went home and they all had their own careers as musicians now, which made Max smile. They were good people, good musicians, and they deserved to make a living off their trade.

  “Are you ready for hair and make-up?” Lara asked after a little while. They were on stage, still looking at the empty seats. Max’s gigs were normally not in venues where the audience could sit down, but he had to admit that he didn’t hate it.

  Maybe it would be fun, add something different to the energy of the concert.

  “Max,” Lara said, squeezing his shoulder.

  “Yes, I’m ready,” Max said, stifling a yawn. Lara grabbed his wrist and started to lead him backstage to his dressing room. This venue had a dressing room per person, which was interesting. Normally the band shared a dressing room or he had one and the band had another one. He supposed it made sense if the venue saw more plays than bands performing there. Lara didn’t have to drag him like he was a toddler. He would have happily gone by himself, but they were friends, and these games kept them both entertained during stressful times.

  He thought. Well, mostly it kept him entertained. He didn’t like to admit it, not even to himself, but the road was lonely. Lara had warned him in many different ways not to hook up with members of the band. He followed her advice. Even if it was very annoying that his bandmates were all beautiful men that might be interested in him and Max couldn’t touch them.

  Lara deposited him on the chair in front of the mirror and Max looked at his reflection. Max quickly glanced at himself in the mirror, looking away from it almost as fast. He didn’t need to see the huge bags under his eyes or the stubble that had grown through the last few days on the road. Shaving on the bus was nigh near impossible, but he missed shaving himself. He could easily take care of the simplest part of his grooming and prepping process, but his stylist would have killed him. A tiny person in their fifties with beautiful vibrant hair that they changed every few days traveled with them everywhere as part of Maxx Neon’s entourage.

  “You look beautiful, darling,” Ricki said. Max resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He tried for a smile, instead, but it didn’t feel very sincere. He didn’t think that Ricki noticed, or if they did, they didn’t care. “When is the last time you shaved?”

  Max shrugged. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any time to himself. “Last time you did it for me, I think.”

  Ricki winked at him. “Stop it,” they said. “You’re going to make me believe there’s something between us.”

  Max laughed quietly. “You’re such a flirt.”

  “Just wishful thinking, huh?” Ricki said. They grabbed an apron and put it around Max’s neck, their fingers tip soft and cold against Max’s skin. Max always felt like Ricki’s skin was extremely cold, even when they were working, but as they started to work, it would become warmer. Ricki smiled and chattered. Max liked having them there. They never spoke about the gig itself, about the music, they preferred to update Max on their life. Max knew everything about Ricki’s partner, about their cats, about their grandchildren. Ricki was fiercely independent—at least that was what Max had gathered—because they had spent most of their life on the road, helping people like Max. Well, people that Max aspired to be was more like it, because he was certainly not comparable to any of the legends that had helped to inspire him so much.

  Once Ricki was done, Max was totally transformed. In place of the drab face with the bags under his dark brown eyes, they sparkled. Max would never understand how Ricki managed to make him look so handsome, because Max had never considered himself a handsome man. Sure, he was fit, and he had to be fit because that was part of his contract, but his face definitely wasn’t the kind of face that Max would have ever imagined he would see in the front cover of magazines. He had, and it was weird. He didn’t mind seeing himself there, because he knew that representation mattered, and when he was a little boy, the stars that he read about were African-American. He had never had an afro-latinx person to look up, at least not a mainstream one. Of course he listened to his father’s records and went to concerts with him in Miami, but there was something special about knowing that a kid in rural Wisconsin could pick up a magazine with his face in it and know that he could do it too.

  His reflection looked back at him, glittering gold eye-shadow adorning the space under his eyebrows. There was actual glitter in it and it would look amazing under the lights. His eyelashes were curled and full of mascara, his lips painted with the softest gold. Max used to do all of this himself. The make-up was never necessary; it was just fun. Max had always been shy and he had read that some artists preferred to go on stage with make-up on because it helped them perform. Max had learned that to be true, at least when he was first starting out. When he was signed, it became a matter-of-fact thing. The make-up became part of his whole shtick. He had done a few intimate showings without wearing any make-up and it was a little weird, he had to admit, but he always had a good time. He brushed a strand of hair back with his hand. His hair was sticking up from all the hairspray that Ricki had used, but it looked great. It might as well have been industrial grade stuff, because it kept even as he would sweat through the night.

  With that, Max was ready. There wasn’t that much time between when Max got ready and when he went on stage, because there couldn’t be. Make-up expired and his band would get tired. It was dark outside; Max could see that from the little window that was in the dressing room. Max could see stars from where he was.

  Jaycee from wardrobe called him. She looked him up and down and tutted when she saw what he was wearing, which she inevitably did no matter what. He was wearing jeans a t-shirt, what he normally wore when he was just hanging around. His non-performance outfit was boot cut jeans and a tee that showed off his arms. He liked his arms now. Partly because he did a lot of work to make sure that they were strong and firm, partly because he loved the sleeve of tattoos he had gotten over the past few years, but mostly because he was too lazy to wear anything that wasn’t extremely comfortable when he didn’t have to perform.

  Jaycee looked him up and down and cocked her head. She had bright blue hair and beautiful black eyes. She barely spoke, only grunted most of the time, unless she was in extreme distress. She was amazing at her job, so good that she had been doing this ever since she was something like nineteen. She was considered a prodigy of sorts. Max hadn’t been the one to assemble his team, it had been Lara. Max would have trusted Lara with his life. He would have paid her half his salary if she had asked for it, because she was worth every penny. Jaycee handed him silver trousers and a black-and-white button up shirt that left his chest mostly exposed.

  He raised his eyebrows but Jayce just shrugged. He wasn’t going to talk her out of the outfit choice, he wasn’t even going to try. It would have been a fool’s errand to even attempt it. After he was almost completely ready, he met up with the band. They were excited to start the show. They watched, from behind the scenes, as the opening act started off the show.

  A local musician called Terry Quinn, he said his name every time that he was done with a song, tapping his acoustic to emphasize it. He wasn’t bad, Max didn’t think. The crowd was warmed up enough by the time they went out. Lara said that they were running behind schedule—something technical, something to do with the lights—and so Quinn had to stay on the stage while they fixed it. He pulled it off pretty well, even playing a Maxx Neon cover, which earned him a standing ovation. He left the stage to mild applause. The audience was always so rude to opening acts, Max thought. He would have to go and thank Quinn personally later.

  The earpiece inside of Max’s ear was activated and Max smiled. It only took them about five more minutes of dramatically killing the lights and slowly bringing them back on before
he went on stage. The band always went first, and people loved them. Jake, the drummer, was first. Alec, the bassist, second. Lucas, the guitarist, third.

  The lights shone on the stage, dancing around his bandmates, until they were killed again. Behind them, his name was reflected in electric lights.

  “Break a leg!” Lara said, clapping him over the shoulder again. He wasn’t sure when she had arrived, but that meant that it was time to go on stage. His palms sweat and his heart in his throat, Max took a few steps into the stage and looked outside at the crowd. They were all standing in front of their seats, which Max took as a good sign. At least they would be relatively engaged with the gig.

  He took a step forward, crossed himself and looked up at the sky—more like, the popcorn ceiling, but the sky was there too—and thought about his grandmother. He always thought about his abuelita.

  “Un día,” she used to say. “Vas a ser una estrella.”

  Max hoped that she could see him, from wherever she was. He took a step forward into the stage, letting the light follow him as he took center, and smiled. He grabbed the mic, watching the crowd going crazy, the light still not on full.

  The spotlight finally shone on him and he let the audience scream and shout for a few minutes. They had great energy and if the concert kept going the way that it was going, it was almost guaranteed to be a good one.

  The limelight shone on him. He took a deep breath to steel himself as he looked down at the crowd then he smiled widely.

  “Good night, Sierra! How are you all doing today? I’m Maxx Neon,” he said, trying to make sure that his voice sounded confident, more confident than he felt. He lifted his hand up to stop the crowd from cheering. “Okay, Sierra. I just need to know one thing. Are you ready to party?”

  The crowd screamed.

  “That’s a poor showing for your town,” Max said, tutting into the mic. “Are you ready to party?”

  People whooped and screamed. Max watched them, as much as he could. He was slightly blinded by the light. Someone handed him a guitar after the rest of the band had been introduced. Max had tuned it before, he had been there before with his guitar, making sure that it sounded good. He felt so much more comfortable once it was in his hands. He started playing the first song on the set, finally letting go of all the stress and anticipation of the day.