by Riley Sierra
He wasn’t left wanting for long. Stepping out of his pants, which pooled on the floor, Cal hurried into the shower. Blake hesitated for a half-second, just to let his eyes drink in the sight before him: Cal’s stocky, broadly-built body in the fog of the shower, moisture beading on his skin. He admired the hard, round curve of Cal’s ass and the hints of dark hair on his chest. Shamelessly, he let his eyes travel lower, down the trail of dark hair that led to Cal’s cock, which was already significantly hardened.
He stepped into the shower, letting the hot spray envelop him.
Cal was on him in an instant, crowding Blake up against the tiled wall, bracketing Blake’s body with his thighs. Blake tipped his head back and allowed Cal access to his throat, which Cal in turn ravaged with tiny nibbles and kisses, his stubble rasping against the tender skin of Blake’s neck. Hands grasping hard, Cal held onto Blake’s hips, thumbs tracing over the lines of them. He crushed their bodies together, slick and wet, and when Blake felt Cal’s erection brush his he let out an audible groan.
“Fuck,” he breathed against Cal’s mouth, hot water beaded on their lips. “I missed this. I need this. I need you.”
Cal, who had never been much of a talker, put a hand to Blake’s forehead. He held Blake’s head in place, kissing him roughly, tongue swirling and licking and suckling. Afterward, he pulled back just a fraction.
“Shh,” he whispered, and for some reason that sound alone just about pushed Blake over the edge.
Cal skimmed his hands over the slick muscle of Blake’s chest, nails raking lightly across his nipples. Blake squirmed, his cock throbbing.
But no, he couldn’t let Cal get him off again. Not so quickly. Because as far as Blake was concerned, it was still Cal’s turn.
Blake reached down, boldly curling his fingers around the thick length of Cal’s shaft. He squeezed once, just testing it in his hand, remembering it. It was such a funny thing to think about, but so much about Cal had changed that Blake was glad his dick was the same.
Cradling that hot, rigid flesh in his hand, Blake licked along the underside of Cal’s jaw. Cal responded with a low, rumbling moan, his lips just barely parting. Blake worked his hand back and forth a couple times, Cal responding instinctively, hips thrusting forward.
One of Cal’s hands found a home in Blake’s hair, twisting through the wet strands, stroking, petting.
Blake had been naked in front of dozens of other people before, had sex with quite a few in various ways. But he never felt as naked as he did when his skin was flush against Cal’s. He’d never felt that intimacy with anyone else. Every time he thought he might have found someone that came close, they always failed to measure up in some way or another.
Stroking his hand faster, passing his thumb over the slit at the tip of Cal’s cock, Blake let himself be caged against the tile wall. He let Cal hold him down, kiss him roughly, ever-so-gently tug his hair.
“You got taller,” Cal whispered in his ear before licking it, tracing along the outer shell in a way that turned Blake’s knees shaky.
“It’s been five years,” Blake whispered, squeezing Cal’s cock once more for emphasis.
Stroking down to Cal’s base, Blake hitched his own hips forward, the head of his cock brushing just barely against Cal’s. Cal groaned audibly at that, bracing himself against the slippery tile wall. Blake squinted up at him through the mist—at the heavily-squinted eyes, the parted lips, the familiar face that snuck into his mind whenever anyone else touched him.
Grinding their cocks together, Blake rocked his body against Cal’s, enjoying the firm, solid feel of him. Cal’s breath started to come in soft, rasping gusts, hot against Blake’s shoulder, even in the heat of the shower. He could tell Cal was close.
Toying with the slit at the leaking head of Cal’s dick, Blake ran his hand firmly over the velvety skin, hard yet somehow soft at the same time. Cal let out a short, higher-pitched groan and Blake knew he was only seconds away.
Stroking his own cock against Cal’s thigh, the top of his shaft skimming along the bottom of Cal’s, Blake pulled Cal close for a fierce, dizzying kiss, the thick shower air threatening to steal the breath from both of them.
Cal came with a muffled groan, his hot seed rinsed off Blake’s thighs almost immediately by the shower’s water. His body wracked with a single spasm, then he curled against Blake, bracing himself partially against Blake’s body and partially against the wall, gulping down air. Cal’s chest pressed against Blake’s own, and Blake could feel the frantic hammering of his heart, his pulse so frenzied that Blake almost imagined he could hear it over the sound of spraying water.
Then, seconds later, Blake realized he really could hear something.
Someone pounded on his door, then stopped doing so. A second later, a male voice called out something indistinct.
The voice came from far too close to still be outside.
“Oh fuck,” Blake growled. Cal blinked blurrily through the water, his expression still somewhat dazed. Blake hurriedly disentangled himself from the weight of Cal against him, then opened the shower door.
“Someone’s in my room,” he hissed, panicking. Blake was out to the band, sure, but he didn’t want them to know about Cal yet. It was so soon.
And if someone was barging into his room and yelling, it might not be a person he wanted to know his private business anyhow. Someone like Rhett Ballard.
God fucking help anyone who interrupted him during one of the hottest moments of his entire life.
26
Cal
The leftover pleasure from his orgasm slowly uncoiling through his body in lapping waves, Cal had to lean against the tile wall of the shower for support. His breath came in hard, ragged gasps, hot with the shower’s foggy humidity. He was still trying to collect his breath when the commotion exploded in the lounge.
Then Blake was hurrying from the shower, staggering out through the bathroom door and twisting a towel around himself in the same motion, water still dripping down him in delicious rivulets that Cal wished he could just lick off.
“Stay here,” Blake hissed. He slammed the bathroom door shut, but the force of his slam was so great that it bounced back open. Shit. Cal couldn’t grab it and pull it shut without making it painfully obvious that there was someone else inside.
Cal heard Blake shouting angrily in the lounge, voice loud enough that he could even discern it over the rush of the shower’s spray.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
It had to be Rhett. There was no other option. Cal’s stomach tensed. He couldn’t stand the idea of Blake out there alone, Rhett potentially on the verge of another violent meltdown. But at the same time, Blake didn’t seem eager to own up to them showering together...
Which was its own issue. One to be dissected at a later date.
Cal carefully extricated himself from the hot mist of the shower, missing it as soon as the water no longer pelted his skin. He tried to shake off the post-orgasm sluggishness, tried to sharpen his brain. Blake might need him.
Grabbing a towel and wiping down his face, Cal positioned himself near the door, listening through the gap between the door itself and the jamb, near the hinges. He was mindful of the bathroom’s mirror, not wanting to give himself away.
“We need to talk,” Rhett said. His voice sounded low and dangerous.
“How the fuck did you even get in here?”
“If you don’t want people walking in on you, lock your door.”
Shit, had Cal really left the door unlocked? That was even worse. That meant whatever happened, it was on his conscience. How could he be so thoughtless? So stupid? Even if it wasn’t Rhett, anyone could have barged in on them. He ground his teeth together in frustration.
“Don’t make me call security on you.” Blake sounded more guarded this time. Why was he so on edge? Did Rhett have a weapon? Was Rhett even the type of guy who’d carry a weapon? Cal wasn’t sure whether his paranoia was grounded in reality or
the result of working doors at the bar too many nights.
“We’re having this conversation and we’re having it now. Cal’s not here to get in the way and you aren’t calling security on me until you listen to what I have to say.”
Rhett didn’t sound angry, per se. Just threatening in a strangely flat way.
Blake hesitated before he spoke again: “Okay. Say it.”
One of Cal’s hands wound into a fist, clutching his towel so tight the knuckles turned white. He held back the desire to burst through the door and throw more than just a cup of hot tea in Rhett’s face. He’d never been a man who let anger get the best of him. He’d always been so levelheaded. The only thing that snapped that levelheaded streak was someone threatening or hurting Blake.
In Cal’s eyes, Rhett was walking on thin ice.
“You have to have known this was coming,” Rhett said. “After what your asshole buddy did in Salt Lake. He threatened me. He hurt me. He got in the middle of an altercation that was none of his fucking business. He’s not part of the band, he doesn’t get to lose his shit over our issues.”
“You attacked me,” Blake said, not giving Rhett an inch.
“It’s me or him,” Rhett said, the words heavy with finality. “You can’t call in the cavalry from back home in Denver every time things don’t go your way. He’s out or I take the songs and walk.”
Blake was silent for a split-second. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly measured.
“Cal’s just as much a part of this band as you. In fact, he was in it long before you were.”
“Yeah, back when you were playing “Ring of Fire” for trailer trash in bars. You know exactly what I mean.”
Cal felt sick. He needed to be out there with Blake, supporting him, helping him. Instead, he was hidden away in the bathroom like some dirty secret even though he was the subject of their conversation. Shouldn’t he have a say in his own future in the band?
“Cal’s here ’till the end of the tour. You didn’t object to it back when you had the chance.”
“Yeah, because he was supposed to be your rhythm guitarist, not your poorly socialized attack dog.”
“That’s not—”
But Rhett interrupted. He sounded less angry now, more just glad the conversation was over.
“I’ve said what I came here to say. It’s up to you. This band is nothing without my songs and you know it.”
Silence fell over the main room. Cal strained to hear through the spray of the shower, but he couldn’t make anything out. He thought maybe Blake had spoken, said something in a voice too low for him to hear. But what could he have possibly said? Rhett was asking for a yes-or-no answer.
“I’ve been on the phone to my lawyers, they assure me it’s very possible,” Rhett said, countering whatever Blake had brought up.
“I’m not even going to dignify this with a response, Rhett. Just finish the tour and we’ll hash it out then. That’s all I’m asking.”
“You’re not asking anything. You’re stalling.”
This time, Blake sounded angry, a fiery note raising his voice louder over the shower spray.
“Call it stalling if you want. Maybe I’m crazy, but I think it’s a stupid fucking idea to make decisions about the future of our band—our livelihood, our art—in a hotel room at the spur of the moment for no good reason.”
“This is unbelievable. You’re too chickenshit to make a choice either way, that’s what it is, isn’t it? You can’t kick me out but you can’t kick him out either.”
Blake was silent.
“You know what? I didn’t realize I was negotiating with a child. Come find me when you’ve grown a pair, Bradley.”
The door slammed shut a moment later, a loud bang that rattled off the walls. Cal breathed out through teeth that were clenched just a little too hard. He tried not to think too hard about what Rhett had said—how Blake couldn’t make the choice, couldn’t step up and just pass judgment, couldn’t choose Cal over Rhett when it seemed to Cal like an easy choice to make. Blake was upset. Upset people didn’t think clearly. There was no way in hell Blake would kick anyone out of the band just to appease Rhett.
He had to admit, it hurt. Just a tiny amount. Part of him was hoping to hear Blake say it, to hear Blake stand up and say actually, I’ve made my choice and it isn’t you. Not just for the sake of Cal feeling wanted, but because it needed to be done.
When Cal knocked the bathroom door open, he could see Blake standing there, facing the front door, his naked shoulders tense.
“Jesus H., that was close,” Cal said, trying to focus on the intrusion itself rather than the conversation he’d overheard. When Blake didn’t respond, he moved in closer and wrapped the shorter man up in his arms, tousling a hand protectively through the damp fringe of his hair.
“Fuck that guy,” Cal breathed into Blake’s ear. “It’s fine. It’s gonna be fine.”
But Blake felt so tense beneath him. Like a spring coiled too tight, ready to explode with the pressure.
27
Blake
Every muscle in Blake’s body felt tight and contracted. Tiny trembles wracked his shoulders and arms. Were it not for the sudden, careful hug that Cal swept him up inside, he might have lashed out and thrown the closest object across the room.
But he didn’t. Because Cal was there. Instead he just breathed in harsh, grating gasps against Cal’s chest.
Cal telling him that everything was going to be all right felt like a fucking joke. There was no all right anymore. The best Blake could hope for was a resolution that didn’t quite resemble full-on nuclear war. The worst part of it was that Rhett had stormed off in an ambiguous way. Was he taking Blake’s silence for a sign that he was still welcome in the Sinsationals? Or was he taking it as a sign that Blake had sided with Cal?
Truth be told, Blake’s silence didn’t stem from anything further than pure rage. He was so blindingly furious that he couldn’t force words out anymore.
The gentle stroke of Cal’s fingers down his back was all that kept him grounded. He clung to Cal as though his sturdy body was a lifeline, the only thing holding him in place.
“I’m sure what he’s trying to do isn’t as easy as he says it is,” Cal murmured into Blake’s ear, fingertips threading through his hair. “And if it is, we’ll come up with something.”
“It might not be easy, but it is possible. Rhett knows this shit inside and out. He wrote songs for other bands before we took him on. His publishing company owns the rights to most of the last two albums. He’s not bluffing.”
“I know he’s not.” Cal’s voice was calm and monotonous and quiet and all the things Blake wasn’t feeling right now.
“I haven’t felt this hopeless since you left,” Blake whispered. That confession slipped out almost without his consent, a breathed collection of syllables Blake never expected to hear aloud.
Cal went still against him. The room was silent save for the slow rhythm of their breath. Then Cal was stepping away from him, pulling back, and panic rose like bile in Blake’s throat. He didn’t mean anything by the statement. He knew Cal wasn’t going to abandon him again—
Rather than exploding in offense, Cal gently guided Blake toward the sofa. He sat down, then pulled Blake with him. Blake drifted like a man in a dream, pliant to Cal’s requests. He wanted to turn off his brain for a while, all the way down to his bodily autonomy. Even the act of keeping himself awake and alert and standing felt like a monumental task that he wasn’t sure he could fulfill.
Cal pulled Blake down and stretched the length of his body along the sofa, winding their limbs together. Blake nestled into the cottony warmth of Cal’s towel-wrapped torso, fingertips brushing the bare skin above, and normally the sensation would have been shiveringly erotic, but right now that was the furthest thing from his mind.
“Shh,” Cal whispered, holding Blake close. “Just let go for a while if you have to.”
“I want to.” Blake’s protest came out
in a thin, tight voice. “But this is our future, Cal. The band. My life. Everything I’ve worked for. I have to fight for it.”
“Weren’t you just telling me hours ago about men in suits whose job it is to look after the band’s future?” Cal’s fingertips traced over the crest of Blake’s hipbone, over the fabric of his towel. “Let them do their job. If you don’t step back, you’re going to fall off the edge here.”
Blake exhaled. Then he inhaled. He focused on breathing, on the subtle thump of Cal’s heartbeat near his ear.
“I just don’t understand how it got so bad,” Blake said at last.
“I wasn’t here for all that, so don’t ask me. But unless time travel is a thing and nobody told me, it doesn’t matter anyway.”
Blake let out the faintest, most feathery hint of a laugh. Little by little, Cal was winding him down. The low rumble of Cal’s voice, the soft brush of his hands, the solid presence of him nearby—God, Blake had missed it all so much. How did he cope with anything at all after Cal left?
“You’re so good at this,” he whispered, lips brushing the soft skin over Cal’s collar bone. Cal twitched just a bit beneath his mouth. His arm slid tighter around Blake’s waist, anchoring him in place.
“It’s because I know you.”
“You really do.”
“Better than anyone else.”
“Yes.”
Even admitting such a tiny thing felt like it took more energy than Blake had left. He fell limp against the rock-hard planes of Cal’s body, letting himself go. Soft and noodly was how he wanted to feel. And, maybe later, soft and noodly and a little drunk.
But there was a gig between then and now. The idea of getting up on stage in his current state filled Blake with dread. He must have tensed against Cal reflexively, because Cal squeezed him one more time, murmuring another soft “shh” into his hair. Blake went still, obedient and quiet. Cal had a calming effect on him that nobody else could ever hope to match.
