by Sean Michael
“Yeah. He’s huge. Bah.”
“He’s too fucking skinny,” growled Rye. The last thing Jeff needed was to be told he was overweight, joking or not.
“Oh, I think he looks good.” That was Scooter. “Just remember to ham it up, lots of writhing and gyrating on the dance floor. It won’t take long.”
“Oh, LJ doesn’t eat meat.” Rye managed not to smile even when he said it.
It took a second, and then the band started cackling, pushing and shoving each other.
Smiling, Rye poked Jeff. “Drink up.”
“I think I’ll take it upstairs.”
“Good choice.” Rye gave the guys in the band a nod and followed Jeff upstairs.
Jeff’s steps slowed, each one heavier than the next. Rye put his arm around Jeff’s waist once they hit the stairs and were alone. “Almost there.”
“I’m okay. I just… I miss the uppers. I miss the rush.”
“So you need something else to give you a rush.” Rye had a few ideas on that front, from roller coasters to scary movies to kinky sex.
Jeff chuckled softly. “What I need is a few minutes of quiet, probably. Janie will be up here soon to get me in costume.”
“More costumey than what you usually wear?”
“God, yeah. This requires contacts, teeth, paint, hair.”
What a zoo. Rye kept his mouth shut, though. He figured Jeff knew well and good how Rye felt about Lord January and all the crap that went along with it.
Jeff sat in one of the wingback chairs, legs crossed, eyes closed.
Rye regarded him for a moment, then went to stand behind him, hands dropping to Jeff’s shoulders, and he began to massage. Jeff’s muscles were hard, stiff as rocks. Rye didn’t say anything; he just kept working the tight muscles, fingers digging in. Finally they let go, easing under his touch.
He kept massaging, keeping them loose, wanting to give Jeff something good to hold on to.
“Can I have a little of my shake?”
Rye handed it over, relieved Jeff was having something to eat. Stretching, he moved to sit next to Jeff.
Jeff sipped, quiet, still. It was a bit like the man was being drained, day-by-day. He’d tried not to interfere too much; he’d tried to let things roll the way they always had. But it wasn’t working. Rye was going to have to start putting his foot down and insisting on stuff like food, like swimming.
Like sunshine and happiness and backgammon. There was no reason on earth Jeff had to inhabit Lord January twenty-four/seven.
None.
Lord January was a… a role. Just a role. One not worth dying over.
He smiled encouragingly as Jeff drank most of his shake.
“Do you like your job?” Jeff asked.
“Most of the time, I do.”
“What will you do when you’re done? Find another person?”
Rye found himself not really wanting to think about moving on from Jeff. He simply shrugged.
Jeff’s phone rang, and Jeff didn’t answer, just buzzed someone in. “She’s here to get me ready.”
“Okay.” Rye headed down the stairs to meet Janie at the door. “I’ll check her out,” he called back to Jeff.
“Check me out? I’m not a hooker, sweetie. I’m a makeup artist.”
Oh dear God.
This amazing woman with a huge pink beehive and orange cat’s eye glasses stood there, at least as wide as she was tall, cracking her gum and staring at him.
“Janie!” Jeff called from the top of the stairs. He actually sounded tickled. “Oh, I’ve missed you!”
She pushed past Rye and grabbed Jeff in a hug. “Oh, you look great! I’ve missed you. My Allie had her baby, did you hear? I have pictures!”
Rye blinked. “Okay. Just a second. From now on, no one comes in here without a pat down.”
“A pat down? Now that’s more action than I’ve gotten in twenty years.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s security measures. I’ll need to look in your cases.” No drugs, no weapons were getting in on his watch.
“Sure. Go for it. I’ll show LJ my grandgirl.” She was totally unconcerned. “Oh. Oh! I smuggled you in something!”
“Oh God. Honest?”
“You know it!” A paper bag was held up. “Rugalach from that bakery on Third. There’s a couple of bagels too.”
Food? Jeff was excited about food? Rye started going through Janie’s stuff. There was nothing—makeup and brushes and shit. Curling irons and such.
Jeff pulled out the sweets, taking the tiniest bite. “Oh, that’s just like my mom’s. You brought a ton.”
“Put it in the fridge. Make it last.”
“Or you could do something radical like actually eating it all quickly.” Rye was sure they could get more rug… ruglatch.
“No way I’m eating this fast. You want a bite?” A tiny square of pastry was held up, the scent of cinnamon and butter on the air.
“Sure. I want to try any food you’re excited about.” Rye came over and took the bite. Flaky and delicious, the pastry melted on his tongue. “Oh wow. Yeah, those are amazing.”
“There’s a tiny kosher bakery near my house. I try to grab them when I can.” Janie grinned, gold tooth shining. “LJ, I’ll get set up. What are you wearing? Do you know?”
Rye stole another bite of the treat and stepped back out of the way.
Soon Jeff and Janie were in the bathroom, creating Lord January. First Jeff got stripped down and Janie painted him, making him even paler, highlighting him with gray.
Making him look even worse than when he’d first gotten out of rehab.
Pure black contacts went in, and she dressed him in a tight, tight leather corset, lace-up pants, high-heeled boots. Then the sharp fake fangs went in, dangling rings in his ears and fake piercings in his nipples, thick dark makeup, and then a wild, black wig.
Christ.
He looked like the antichrist.
Rye’s fingers curled into fists.
“Am I sex on a stick?”
He answered without even thinking. “You were before you put on the Lord of the Vampires.”
“The corset fits beautifully, honey. Let’s do your lips. Red or black?”
“Black.” Those empty, black shark-eyes stared at him.
Rye looked away, not sure why he’d said what he’d said. Oh fuck it. He knew why he’d said it. Because he was attracted to Jeff, for all he wasn’t his type.
And Lord January simply looked like death.
Lord January—because that wasn’t Jeff, it didn’t even sound like Jeff with the teeth in.
Sighing, he glanced at his watch. “We about ready to head out?”
“You don’t have to come, if you don’t want to. There’ll be security at the club.”
“You going to make me say it again? Wither thou goest….” He winked, hoping Jeff was still in there under January.
“I will go.” Jeff reached out for him, fingers brushing his wrist.
Rye let his own fingers touch Jeff’s briefly. His Jeff was in there, and he’d make sure Jeff could shake January the minute they got home again.
“Time to go to work. Are you ready to go on the road, Janie?”
She nodded. “Just a little bit longer.”
“Make sure you bring more of the ruglatches, please.” They were good, plus it made him happy to watch Jeff eat.
“If she makes them, I’ll bring them.”
“Thank you, Janie.”
Rye went to the door and checked the stairs. “Let’s head out.”
“Time to work.”
LJ LET more blood drip from him, writhing with a bunch of young girls, bumping and rolling with the music. God, he was bored and nauseated. Tired. And his feet hurt. This was so much easier when he was high, when he didn’t care. Rye had been there stage-side the entire time, though, and was right next to him now, watching. It wasn’t like he had anything on him anyway. Of course, someone would have something if he wanted it. It was a good t
hing Rye was there to help him stay accountable.
Rye’s big hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, tugged him back against a solid wall of warmth. “Time to go.”
“Promise?”
He looked up, hating the way Rye flinched away.
“I swear. Stick with me.” Backing up, Rye moved them toward the venue’s exit.
LJ leaned back, leaning on Rye’s strength, trusting in it, wholeheartedly.
When the fans realized he was leaving, everything reached a fever pitch, and they began pushing. Rye sort of wrapped around him, his own personal giant simply pushing his way through the crowd.
The head of security at the club came up to Rye. “You want us to get the band somewhere, Hoss?”
“The limo’s in the alley behind the club.”
“Good deal. You have transportation of your own?”
“Yep.” His SUV was on the side road, close but far enough from the limo that they could slip away. “Thanks for your help.”
This club had good people.
“Anytime. I’ll have someone keep an eye on you ’til you leave.”
“Good deal.” Rye squeezed Jeff’s arm, and they started moving again, hitting the door and pushing out into the street.
They had enough lead time on the fans that they got to the SUV without too much trouble.
Rye bundled him into the front passenger seat and closed the door. Jeff heard the lock shoot home and watched as Rye hurried around the front of the vehicle. Locks clicking again, Rye climbed into the driver’s side and started the engine up. They moved off quickly, Rye visibly on high alert, checking the mirrors and the street.
“Home?” Jeff asked, feeling everything inside him clenching.
“Just as quickly as we can.”
“Good.” He slumped back, burning eyes closed. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt. “Oh God. Rye. Gonna hurl.”
Rye pulled over, and Jeff rolled the window down, the big hands helping turn him so he could lean out the window. He spit his teeth out into his hand before he lost it, heaving over and over.
Rye’s hand stayed on his back, rubbing and soothing, easing his muscles as they clenched with the effort of throwing up.
Finally, he was empty, slumping to the seat. “Home. Please.”
Rye got them going again. “Window up or down?”
“Down. The wind feels good.”
“It’ll be twelve minutes. You want some music?”
“Nothing loud.” Nothing ugly. Nothing angry.
“No, I have just the thing.”
Soft music began to play, a lone male singer accompanied only by an acoustic guitar.
“Mmm.” His eyes closed, his muscles relaxing.
They drove in silence aside from the music, but it wasn’t awkward or heavy or anything like that.
Just quiet.
The corset pressed against him, the edges slick with sweat and uncomfortable, and he smelled of smoke and other people.
“Almost there,” murmured Rye. “I’m going to do up the window, keep you safe from the photographers at the gate.”
“I got you.” He was holding his teeth in his hands.
The window went up, and they rounded a corner, Rye opening the gate remotely as they drove up.
There weren’t many photogs—maybe three—but Jeff wasn’t in the mood to deal with them. He’d already done his duty for today, mixing it up with the fans, giving them exactly what they wanted.
Rye drove into the garage, the door closing behind them, then came around to help him out. “Straight to the bathroom to get rid of January.”
He nodded. “I need to brush my teeth.”
“And shower. I don’t suppose we can burn those clothes?” Despite the words, Rye was smiling, making the words seem less harsh.
“No, they cost a fortune.”
And the corsets looked good.
“I bet. Custom leather is expensive, no matter what it’s customed into.” Rye took his hand, and they went up the stairs to his rooms.
“You don’t like guys in corsets?”
“Oh, I like the corset. It’s the rest of it.” Rye gave him a sideways look. “You’d rock a colored corset. A dark red or emerald green would look amazing on you.”
“I never wear colors, but thank you.” He shrugged the heavy coat off and turned his back to Rye. “Loosen me?”
“Sure.” Rye’s fingers began working on the lacing, fingers warm where they moved against his back.
The pressure eased, and he could breathe, could unfasten the placket in the front and free himself. The silk shirt went next, then the skintight pants.
As soon as he was naked, Rye put him in the shower, turning it on nice and hot.
“My contact case, please?”
Rye passed it over and began to strip.
Jeff popped his contacts out, put them away, and turned his face to the water, letting it beat him down.
Rye stepped into the shower with him, big hand soaping him up, helping him wash the last of Lord January away.
Suddenly he could breathe, could focus. He leaned back into Rye, the solid body supporting him. He loved that Rye was comfortable enough to be naked with him, that they could touch skin on skin. It was comforting.
“Close your eyes,” murmured Rye, and when he did, the big fingers slid soap over his face. “Just getting rid of the last of the makeup.”
“I did it.” God, he was exhausted.
“You did. Just one more of those before the tour starts, though.”
“Yeah. Just one, two nights before, and it’s faster.”
That one he’d show up, let them take pictures, and go. It would take longer to get dressed than he’d actually be there.
“Good. I’ve told Reynolds any interviews during the tour will have to be onsite at the hotels or right after sound check at the venues. That you won’t be making appearances after the shows at clubs and stuff.”
“No. No, I can’t. Not and do the shows. I’m tired already.” And on the road, it would be impossible.
“I know. He was pissed, but I told him he went by my rules or you wouldn’t even be doing the interviews.” Rye chuckled. “He called Ms. Heard, and she told him exactly how the wind blew. If I say this is how it goes, then this is how it goes.”
“How cool is that?” Leaning out of the shower, Jeff grabbed his toothbrush and the Crest, making short work of doing his teeth. Then he grabbed the shampoo and washed his hair, fingers tangling in the long mess.
Rye grabbed a hairbrush and started working through the wet tangles. “It’s pretty cool. It means I get to do more than just keep you safe and clean. I get to keep January from killing you.”
“He’s our bread and butter.” He stretched out for Rye, the gentle brushing a comfort. “You know I’ll have to take the uppers, don’t you? It’s inevitable. I won’t be able to help myself.”
“Nope. It’s not happening.” Rye’s brushing stayed in rhythm. “We’ll figure something out. Just keep me in the loop of how you’re feeling.”
“I promise. Will… will you promise to stay my friend, even when I suck and I’m January?”
“I will always be your friend. I hate what January does to you, but I don’t hate you.”
“Okay. That’s good enough for me.” And it was. He needed someone that saw him, a little bit. All the time.
“Can you do me another favor?” At his nod, Rye went on. “Only put the contacts in when you absolutely have to? The all black is… unnerving.”
“Oh God yes. They hurt, itch like fire. You should see the bleeding ones. So. Gross.”
“Sounds awful.” Rye finished doing his hair and pushed him back under the spray. “There. Are you ready to come out?”
“I am.” Jeff stepped out of the shower, and somehow a towel was wrapped around him, cradling him.
Rye dried him off thoroughly, then wrapped him in a robe and guided him to the bedroom.
Jeff crawled into the bed, leaving a side for Rye. He slept better with th
e big man close, with the sound of that steady heartbeat.
“You hungry?” Rye asked, drying himself off.
“I don’t think so.”
“I could grab a milkshake, just in case….” Rye stood by the bed, waiting for his answer.
The man was rather stunning naked. Well, he was stunning not naked too. “Did you know you were hot? I mean, do you have a girlfriend? A wife?”
Rye looked startled for a moment, then chuckled. “I’m queer, remember? So I don’t swing that way. And with the scars….” Rye shrugged.
“Huh. Really?” Jeff didn’t remember, but he supposed it didn’t matter. “I think the scar thing is probably in your head. Come to bed. I’ll eat tomorrow.” The scars were just scars. Jeff was covered in them.
Rye climbed in and tugged him close. “That’s a nice thought, but I’ve been told the scars on my thigh are… less than attractive.”
“I think they’re fine.” He touched them, exploring the skin. “They don’t bother me.”
“Thank you.” Rye’s voice was slightly thick, like when he’d just woken up.
Jeff curled in close, head on Rye’s chest, hand on his hard belly. Rye’s arm slid around his shoulders, and he felt completely safe.
He kissed the broad chest. “Good night. Thank you.”
Thank God he was home.
RYE WAS getting used to pushing his weight around.
Lucky for him, he had a lot of weight to push with. And that Donna Heard appreciated the fact that he’d kept her client clean, that what he was doing was working, and she’d laid down the law.
He was going to have to have a talk with her about Jeff’s chances as a songwriter and singer away from the Lord January persona. Because Jeff was fucking talented. And he had a lot of money in the bank because he didn’t spend anything on himself now that he wasn’t buying drugs.
Because January was fucking killing Jeff, sure as he was breathing.
He could totally understand the lure of the drugs, how they had helped Jeff deal with being January, but that wasn’t going to work anymore. He had an idea now of how badly Jeff probably wanted a hit when he was on stage, and Rye was impressed that Jeff hadn’t said anything about wishing he had some, hadn’t whined about it, but had just dealt. Rye didn’t see it getting any easier, though.
