Strung Tight

by Brown, Berengaria

  Their record company had received feelers about translating their songs for overseas markets, but the band had decided it didn’t want just a bare-bones, word-for-word translation. What they really wanted was to put their songs into the language in such a way that the emotion and feelings were transferred. “A heart translation rather than just a literal translation” as TJ explained it.

  Jeff was excited about this and was sure Pete would be an ideal help. He could do the German translation for them and maybe a few others as well. What languages had he said he spoke? Reasonable Italian and mediocre French? Even if his French wasn’t good enough, German and Italian would be a great start. They had over forty songs out and could start with the most popular dozen or so in several different languages. Jeff was thrilled at the possibilities, and Green Fire was bouncing up and down with excitement as they thrashed out details and brainstormed.

  After Jeff had sung his final set, Hamish came over and asked, “Would you guys play tomorrow night? I can get the word around town and guarantee you’ll get a good crowd. Saturday night’s always a good one.”

  The band agreed to do a forty minute set, starting at nine p.m. and arranged a rehearsal time for the following afternoon, then they all headed off. Green Fire to their motel and Jeff to his bed, where he hoped Pete would be waiting.

  Chapter Four

  Pete didn’t know whether the band would be coming home with Jeff or not and thought going to bed might be seen as churlish, so he curled up on the sofa with the TV remote in his hand. But the long day concentrating on his new job and all the things he needed to learn, followed by the surprise and emotional turmoil of the band’s arrival, had worn him out, and he soon fell asleep.

  He woke to feel Jeff’s warm, soft lips on his, and the heavy weight of Jeff’s toned torso pressing into his chest. “Hmm, Niiice.”

  “Naked would be better,” murmured Jeff.

  “I take it we’re alone, then?”

  “Just you and me, and a bed a little ways down the hall.”

  “Why move. There’s a comfortable sofa right here,” replied Pete, tugging Jeff down against his body and wrapping his arms around the other man.

  “This is true.” Jeff kissed Pete, sucking the man’s tongue into his mouth, running it all round the hot, sweet cavern, savoring the flavor, before tangling tongues with him again.

  Lust rose in Pete like a blowtorch firing up, and he pressed up into Jeff while holding the guitarist hard against himself. Even through layers of clothes, their cocks were unmistakable long, thick ridges.

  “God, you’re hot. I just have to touch you for my dick to be harder than marble,” said Jeff.

  “I can’t wait. I want you, need you, right now. Fuck me now,” said Pete, burning to have his hands on Jeff’s naked skin, desperate to be taken by this man he loved. Yeah, loved, however stupid that might be.

  Jeff rolled off the sofa, stretched out his hand to Pete, and hauled him to his feet. “So undress already,” he urged, throwing his clothes carelessly to the floor.

  Pete ripped his clothes off, while Jeff raced into the bathroom for lube and a condom. Then Pete settled himself sideways on the seat, feet planted flat on the cushions, legs wide apart, one hand resting on his cock and the other along the back of the couch.

  “Oh, yum,” said Jeff, licking his lips as he gazed at Pete. His chest was rising and falling fast as if he’d just run much farther than merely down the hallway. Pete’s cock grew and twitched under his hand as he locked gazes with Jeff.

  Jeff’s cock was standing straight up out of its nest of wiry, brown curls. The head was flared and deliciously red with need, a tiny drop of pre-cum already forming in the slit. The muscles of his six-pack were clearly defined, his nipples dark brown and standing up, his broad shoulders gleaming from the oil he’d used at the club.

  His thighs were sturdy and muscled, his calves defined, and his feet long and elegant, planted firmly on the floor. He looked so good Pete could hardly breathe his chest was so full of mingled lust and love for this man.

  Their gazes locked for another heartbeat. Jeff came across to the sofa and pulled Pete into his arms again for a fierce, rough hug, then he flipped Pete’s legs over his own shoulders, pulled that delicious taut ass toward him, and squeezed the lube onto it.

  “Want you,” Jeff whispered as he massaged the lube around the entry and inside along the walls.

  “Want you, too,” replied Pete, thrusting up onto the tormenting finger, while holding his legs high and apart so Jeff could work faster.

  Jeff rubbed two slippery fingers all around inside Pete, then grunted and dropped the lube onto the floor with their clothes, and rolled the waiting condom down his cock.

  Jeff sat facing Pete on the sofa, his legs sideways and apart. Pete climbed onto his lap, balancing above Jeff’s cock as he guided it up into the waiting opening. Jeff pressed in, and the muscles opened, welcoming him. Pete sighed and pushed down onto the cock, welcoming it to slide deeper into his ass, stretching the tissues, filling him with warmth, making him groan in pleasure.

  “I’m at home when I’m inside you,” murmured Jeff.

  “I’m fulfilled with you in me,” replied Pete.

  When Jeff was fully inside, Pete wiggled his ass, and swirled his hips, loving the feeling of Jeff’s barbell touching his walls, making all the nerves spark with the utter carnality of being possessed like this.

  “Not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” groaned Jeff, trying to hold Pete’s hips still with one hand, trailing the index finger of his other hand along the black line of Pete’s tribal tattoo.

  “So we do fast this time, and slow next time.” Deliberately, Pete wiggled more, forcing Jeff’s cock along his walls again, and clenching his butt cheeks as hard as he could to add to the sensations they both were enjoying.

  “Fuck!”

  “Uh-huh, that’s the plan.”

  Jeff’s hands gripped Pete’s shoulders tight, and Pete raised and lowered on Jeff’s lap, letting the cock slide out, then settling down on his lap as Jeff pushed up, forcing the dick inside again to the hilt.

  Faster and faster they moved in perfect unison, their hands on each other’s shoulders, their entire bodies slick with sweat as they thrust and lowered, again and again.

  “Gonna blow,” gasped Jeff, circling his hips to ping Pete’s prostate.

  Pete groaned at the erotic feel of Jeff’s jewelry sliding along his walls, and his cock hitting him so erotically right on the sensitive little gland.

  Pete leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Jeff’s as he came, thrusting his tongue deep inside the warm cavern as Jeff’s cock did exactly the same inside him.

  Jeff gave a deep, ragged, pistoning push, and the hot blast of his cum filled the rubber inside Pete. They jerked together for several more strokes, continuing to climax, until the aftershocks faded. Then, they hung limply in each other’s arms as their heart rates slowed and breathing normalized.

  “God, you’re good,” said Pete.

  “Same goes. Always, every time. But, right now, we need a shower.”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  *****

  They made love twice more during the night and each time was better than the one before. If I was writing a song, I’d want to use words like “earth-shattering” and “soul-searing” Jeff thought, but even they don’t do it justice. What I feel for Pete is completion. We’re two parts of a whole. I’m only truly fulfilled when he’s in my arms.

  “I love you,” he whispered into Pete’s ear as he cuddled him close. “You’re mine. I never want to let you go.”

  But Pete was asleep, dawn was breaking, and the band would be coming around for a cookout at noon, before rehearsal, so Jeff let himself relax into sleep. His head on the same pillow as Pete’s, their hair mingled together, their bodies spooning comfortably.

  Jeff awoke to the smell of coffee bubbling in the pot and staggered into the shower. As he shampooed his hair, he realized Pete didn’t know
about the cookout, or the song translations, or even the overseas sales. “In fact, I’ve hardly told Pete anything about the band. “Must do that over breakfast. I don’t want him wondering what the hell the boys are talking about.”

  *****

  “I told the boys in the band you might translate some of our biggest hits into German, and maybe even Italian and French,” Jeff began.

  “German and Italian, sure. I couldn’t say for certain about the French, though. I’d have to take a look at the lyrics. My French is more along the lines of, ‘How much is that apple? How far is it to Paris?’ But doesn’t your agent, or whoever, organize those sorts of projects? Or do you just want me to check that the translations are accurate?”

  “The record company has had a lot of queries about selling our songs in Europe. A big portion of the Asian market is people who speak English. But the Europeans like to have things translated. Or, at least that’s what the company is saying.

  “The thing is, we want our songs to be translated for meaning, rather than word by word, which makes it a bigger project than just plugging them into a computer program.” Jeff looked hard into Pete’s eyes to gauge how he felt about the idea. His face was alight with excitement.

  “That sounds really cool. I’d love to be involved.”

  They talked details for a while then had to get the meat and salads ready for lunch.

  “Good thing all we had for breakfast was coffee and a bagel, if you want this mountain of food for lunch,” said Pete.

  “Wait ’til you see Lonnie eat. He’ll eat this entire platter all by himself,” joked Jeff.

  “Which one is Lonnie? In fact, which is which? I only got the vaguest idea yesterday. And is ‘keys’ the keyboard or something else?”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s a bit unusual that all five of us have brown hair, but James’ is very dark, almost black, and TJ looks almost red in the sunshine. Lonnie is the only one with blue eyes, and he’s taller and broader than everyone else. I reckon he’s six-three at least. Sam has a really deep voice. He plays bass and he sings bass. TJ plays keyboard. You’ll soon sort everyone out in your head.” Jeff patted Pete on the arm as they carried all the food out to the barbecue area.

  Just then, Green Fire arrived and began unloading more food and drinks from their truck. While Sam and Lonnie put the sodas on ice, James cooked the meat, playing the drums on the side of the barbecue with a couple of forks when he wasn’t using them on the steaks.

  Despite their casual attitude, the food was cooked to perfection, the steaks seasoned and spicy, the salads a crisp, fresh contrast to the meat.

  Jeff and Sam got out their guitars and TJ sang. Soon, a crowd gathered to clap in time to the music and complement them on their songs.

  “Green Fire is doing a gig at the strip club tonight, nine o’clock, if you want to hear more,” said Jeff.

  “We’ll be there, for sure,” said Sid, and others agreed.

  “Looks like you’ll get a full house,” said Pete.

  “Oh yeah. It’ll be good to play with the band tonight, but I don’t want to join that lifestyle again. I like my life just the way it is,” said Jeff.

  “You do?” asked Pete.

  “Oh yes. What I have here, in this place, with you, is more than I ever hoped for.” Jeff pulled Pete in for a hug and kiss.

  “I’ve never been happier than I am now, either. But won’t you miss your friends? And how will the whole translation thing work, if you’re here and they’re all over the country?”

  “You know I upload new songs to the FTP site. We’ll use that. As you translate the songs, I’ll send the new versions through that. And the guys can send anything back to be checked the same way.”

  “Sounds simple enough. But won’t your agent, or whoever, want control of the process?”

  “Ha, them!” Sam’s deep voice boomed into the conversation. Jeff had been so bound up in talking to Pete he forgot they were surrounded by dozens of people.

  “We were very careful about the contracts we signed. We retained overall decision-making. My brother-in-law’s a hotshot attorney,” explained TJ.

  “This is one of the songs we’ll be doing tonight. How do you reckon it’d go in German?” Sam began singing while he and Jeff played guitar, accompanied by James using forks on the table top as a drum. It was a bit rough and ready; but, by the time they had to leave for rehearsal, Pete was happy with the first verse of the song in German. Although not at all happy with Lonnie’s atrocious German accent.

  “If you’re going to sing in German, you’ll need to work on that!”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

  *****

  When Pete got handed his shift roster on Monday, his heart fell into his boots. He really wanted this job. It was something he could do well and enjoy, but he’d been allocated the seven thirty a.m. to three thirty p.m. shift on the main beach Thursday through Monday. Since this was the most popular beach, it made sense they’d need more lifeguards here, and, likely, the weekends were the busiest time. But Jeff’s day off was Monday, and Pete would have to work. Plus, his early morning starts and Jeff’s late night finishes had already proven disastrous for their relationship. He’d only be able to spend time with Jeff two days a week; whereas, he’d hoped for at least some evenings together. Pete heaved a sad sigh. Either their relationship would be on the rocks or else he’d have to quit his new job. Likely on his days off, he’d need to work on translating songs, so there would be very little together time.

  Should I give this job a go? Try to make it work? Ask for a shift change? Quit the job already? The options spun and whirled in Pete’s brain. Damn. Why can’t life ever be straightforward!

  As he walked through the trailer park to where he could see Jeff sitting on the step, strumming his guitar, Pete heard someone calling his name.

  Jeff, the man he loved so much and who it was proving harder than hell to organize a life where they could be together.

  Pete looked away from Jeff and turned around. Damien and Sid were standing over by the barbecue pit, and Damien was waving at him.

  “Hi, Sid, Damien. What’s up?”

  “I got my new shifts today and they’re hopeless. I spoke to Don and he said if I could find someone who wanted to swap with me it was fine by him. That’s why I’m asking around. So far, I can’t find anyone willing to swap. Looks like my roster is worse than anyone else’s.” Damien frowned as he spoke.

  “Well, mine doesn’t suit me at all. Maybe we can do a deal. What have you got?”

  “Main beach. Seven days a week, but only five hours a day. Which means, even though I don’t get any days off, I’m still working a shorter shift than most people.”

  Pete’s heart beat a little faster with hope. Every day didn’t bother him at all. He was more interested in having his evenings free to be with Jeff. “What hours?” he asked, trying to rein in the hope in his heart, telling himself it’d be late afternoon, or early morning, and no better than his current shift.

  “Ten ’til three. The midday rush. Only thirty-five hours a week instead of forty,” mourned Damien.

  “Ten ’til three? That’s perfect.” Pete jumped up and down with excitement.

  A huge grin burst across Damien’s face. “It suits you? It’s every day, seven days a week, and thirty-five hours, not forty,” he repeated.

  “Yeah, it’s perfect. Jeff works nights at the club, and not starting until ten, I’ll be able to go with him.” Then reality slammed him over the head. “But maybe you won’t like my shift. It’s seven thirty a.m. to three thirty p.m. on the main beach, Thursday through Monday. It’s a very early start and it goes over the weekend. Maybe your family won’t like you working Saturday and Sunday.”

  Pete’s chest was tight with tension. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it’d crack his ribs. Was Damien the answer to his dilemma? Would it be this simple? Or had he gotten his hopes up only to have them dashed to pieces?

  “Yee haw! Thank you, God!
” yelled Damien, punching the air. “Judy’s a nurse. Her shifts change from week to week and she doesn’t always get weekends. But the morning shift starts at seven. At least half the time we’ll be coming and going on a similar schedule. It’s awesome. Abso-fucking-lutely awesome!”

  Damien grabbed Pete in a bear hug and danced around in a circle with him, yelling and laughing. Pete was so happy he was laughing, too.

  “I take it something good happened?” Jeff asked Sid with masterly understatement.

  “They’re mad, both of them,” Sid replied, shaking his head.

  “Pete swapped shifts with me,” Damien yelled to Jeff, not explaining a thing.

  “And this is cause for celebration because?”

  “I get a forty-hour shift instead of thirty-five and two days off each week.” Damien was still laughing and yelling.

  “And I’ll be working ten until three seven days, which gives me every evening free with you and spare time to work on the translation project,” said Pete, pulling free from the exuberant Damien and hugging Jeff.

  “Cause for celebration indeed,” said Jeff. “And I can think of the perfect place for us to celebrate. Just you and me, forever.”

  The End

  Evernight Publishing

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