Guarding January

by Sean Michael

  Jeff seemed calmer—in fact, the more ramped up he got, the calmer Jeff seemed.

  Rye got the makeup off Jeff, then turned off the shower. “I need to actually be able to see you to make sure you’re not hurt.”

  Stepping out, he grabbed a towel and began carefully drying Jeff off. Jeff was still, watching him with red-rimmed eyes. Picking Jeff up, he carried him to the bed. Goddamned people trying to hurt his lover.

  He started at Jeff’s face, checking the pale cheeks, behind Jeff’s ears. There was nothing, barring a few bruises from the harness Jeff “flew” with. He checked every inch too. Very thoroughly.

  Finally, he was satisfied. “You’re okay.”

  “I am. Tired, but okay. No cuts.”

  “No. No cuts. Thank God.” He would have had to kill someone.

  “Uh-huh.” Jeff leaned in.

  Rye rested his forehead against Jeff’s, just breathing, the fear and anger finally backing off.

  “You’re okay. I promise. I used to let them cut me on purpose, and I survived it.”

  “Not anymore. And not by some nut who rushes the stage and gets to you, waving a fucking razor in your face.”

  “Good. I don’t need it anymore.”

  That actually made him feel better, hearing that from Jeff. Pressing their lips together, Rye took a long, hard kiss. Jeff stroked his side, his back, obviously trying to soothe him.

  “It’s okay. You’re okay.” He nodded, kissed Jeff again, working to make it less manic. He was supposed to be soothing Jeff, not the other way around.

  “I am. I promise. I’m tough.”

  “You shouldn’t have to be.” Jeff should have been safe.

  “God, you’re a good man.” Jeff kissed him hard, framing his face, holding him.

  “I’m your man.”

  “They’re just fans. Nothing terrible is going to happen.”

  Uh-huh. He saw the dark circles under Jeff’s eyes, the way his lover lost weight until he was bird-like. “Things happen, baby.”

  “Shh. I’m a vampire lord, remember?”

  “No, you just play one on TV.”

  “And on stage. That reminds me, I have an interview in the morning with that reporter from the Times.”

  “I know. I’ve got the alarm set for six.” He kissed Jeff’s cheek. “You think you can go to sleep now?” Rye was all keyed up, but he’d hold Jeff.

  “No. No, let’s just stay up all night watching movies.”

  “A Keanu Reeves marathon?”

  “That works.” Jeff pushed him into place, cuddled into his arms. “Sit and stay.”

  He chuckled, easily holding Jeff close. “Yes, boss.”

  “Good boy.” Jeff patted his belly.

  That had Rye laughing harder, and he kissed the top of Jeff’s head, feeling so much better than he had. “Thank you,” he whispered, hugging Jeff tight.

  “I can’t always be the psycho. Sometimes it’s your turn.”

  “I like that.”

  It made what they had together more real somehow.

  The movie came on, and before he knew it, he was dozing, Jeff on his laptop, watching the movie.

  They were together and safe.

  SOMETHING WAS wrong with Roach.

  Jeff wasn’t sure what, but something was weird. The man was just off, and it unnerved him. They were stopped for a few hours, and they were pretending to rehearse, but mostly they were goofing off and playing horrible parodies of their own songs.

  Except for a handful of roadies and a couple of groupies, it was just them.

  Rye brought him over a smoothie. “You okay, baby?”

  “Baby? Since when do you call him baby?” Brandy looked over, eyebrows waggling.

  Rye simply stared her down for about a minute, then turned his back on her. “Well? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m cool.” He looked at the smoothie, smelled the strawberry, and smiled. He loved the strawberry ones.

  “Yeah? You just seemed….” Rye shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Me either.” He stood, grabbed his guitar. “I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”

  Roach looked at him, face serious. “You feeling okay?”

  “Just tired.” And weird. He felt weird.

  Rye collected his jacket and his smoothie, his giant following dutifully.

  There were a bunch of teenagers standing back away from the bus, and he could hear them whispering. “Is that him? It can’t be him. He’s too little. Don’t be stupid. Of course it’s him.” On and on.

  Rye just put an arm around him and led him to the door, pushing him in ahead and slamming the door closed behind them.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Something was weird. Something was wrong with Roach. His friend Jim never called back.

  “I’m not so sure that you are.” Rye passed his shake back to him. “Drink this, okay? You’re too skinny again.”

  “I was getting fat.” Jeff put it down, started pacing.

  “No. You were getting healthy.” Rye frowned and stepped in front of him, grabbing hold of his hands. “Something is wrong. Tell me.”

  “I…. Everything. Nothing. I just…. Something’s wrong with Roach. I know it. And Jim still hasn’t called, and I’m not freaking out and I should be!”

  “You’re kind of freaking out,” Rye told him.

  “Well, now I am!” He wanted to scream.

  “Well, there’s one problem solved, then.”

  “I—” He wanted to do something. Run away. Swim. He wanted to swim.

  Rye dropped his hands to cup his cheeks. “What do you want, baby?”

  “I need to expend some fucking energy. I want out of this goddamn bus! I want some trouble.”

  “Yeah?” Rye looked around. “We could go run away for the night.”

  “Anywhere.” But even as he said it, Jeff knew that wasn’t true. He wasn’t going to go.

  “Get changed—jeans and a T-shirt, with a hoodie.”

  “I can’t. What if something happens?”

  “I’m going to be there with you, Jeff, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. We’ll put your hair in a ponytail. Hell, your eyes aren’t even the same color.”

  Rye got him in jeans and T-shirt, a colorful hoodie. “I didn’t know I owned anything bright.”

  “God forbid, eh? Nobody is going to guess it’s you.”

  Rye made a couple of calls, and there was a car outside, waiting for them. They slipped out, and Rye told the driver where to go. Jeff thought maybe it was their usual driver, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Where are we going, Rye?”

  “Neighborhood bar where they’ve got a couple pool tables. We can have potato skins and play a couple rounds. Be normal guys for a while.”

  “Oh. I…. Really? We’ll just do it?”

  “Yep. Like a Nike ad.” Rye gave him a grin.

  They pulled up and the driver parked. “I’ll wait here, boss.”

  “Good deal. Keep your phone on.” Rye patted the guy’s back, and they got out, Rye putting an arm around his shoulder. “This place is gay friendly.”

  “Oh.” Should he have worried about that too? “Is it vampire friendly?”

  “You’re not a vampire today, baby. You’re just Jeff. A hot guy with a big, possessive boyfriend.”

  They went in, the place fairly quiet, classic rock playing loud enough that silences wouldn’t be uncomfortable, but quiet enough that you wouldn’t have to shout.

  They found a table and sat together, and Jeff blinked. A date.

  They were having a date.

  Rye checked out the menu. “Oh, they have french onion soup. I bet you’d like that. If you don’t mind, I’m having the bacon cheddar burger.”

  “Go ahead. I want the cheese nachos.” He could pretend to eat those, and then Rye could finish them.

  “Oh, yum. We’ll order the large, and I’ll steal a few.” Rye closed his menu, looking pleased. “What do you
want to drink?”

  “I want a ginger ale. Do they have those?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  Rye smiled at the waitress who came over with perfect timing.

  “Large nachos, all-dressed bacon cheeseburger with the fries, and two ginger ales, please.”

  “You got it. No appetizers?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

  Rye grinned at him when she’d gone. “I guess they have ginger ale.”

  “I guess.” Jeff looked around, watching the people talking and joking, playing pool. It was mostly, but not all, guys. He wasn’t sure he would have known it was a gay place if Rye hadn’t said.

  “You want to play some pool when we’ve finished eating?”

  “I haven’t in a long time, but sure. I remember how.” He’d been okay as a teenager.

  “We don’t have to. This is supposed to be something fun—a way to get away from everything.” Rye nodded toward the jukebox in the corner. “I read online that after ten there’s dancing.”

  “Dancing? Really? Like slow dancing?”

  “I’m pretty sure there’s regular dancing as well, but hopefully some slow songs.”

  “Would you like me if I wasn’t LJ, do you think?”

  “Baby, I like you despite the fact you’re LJ.”

  “I mean…. The money, the—” Fact that he was basically worthless.

  “I don’t care about your money, Jeff. I’m interested in you. I love you. Not your persona, not your fame, not your money.” Rye met his gaze head on.

  “But I’m a loser.”

  “What? No, you’re not!”

  Jeff didn’t argue, but he knew better. He was at his creative best when he was fucked up. His fans were starting to say he was aging, slipping.

  “You’re not. Have you thought any more about giving up the LJ gig?”

  “I spoke to Donna, but…. People depend on me. It’s not like when I was new. People know me.”

  “And they can all get other jobs. If you die from this, they’ll be out of a job anyway.”

  “I’m not ready to die….” The waitress brought their drinks, and his words trailed off until she left. “I mean, when my heart stopped, I didn’t want to die.”

  “Then take your life back and live.”

  Jeff felt his cheeks heat, the words stinging. No matter what he chose, it was wrong. It sucked.

  “You said yourself someone else could play LJ and nobody would know. So let’s let it happen.”

  Then what would he be? A loser with no reason. Crazy rock stars were celebrities. Crazy normal people were committed.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours, baby? You need to talk to me.”

  “I don’t have anything to say, really. The food’s coming.”

  Rye stayed quiet until they’d been served. Once the waitress had gone again, he spoke. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, and that includes dumping the LJ gig.”

  “Eat your hamburger before it gets cold, huh?”

  “Trying to shut me up?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Chuckling, Rye grabbed his burger. “I’ll eat, but I’m not forgetting.”

  Jeff picked up a chip, playing with it, his mind going a million miles a minute.

  “You need to eat that,” murmured Rye.

  “Huh?” He looked up and met Rye’s eyes.

  “You’ve hardly eaten for weeks. So eat the chips.”

  “You know me. I don’t eat much.” He did try a bite, though.

  “And you know me. I’m the crazy guy who insists you do eat.” Rye took a few bites of his burger, waited until he’d had another cheese-covered chip, then asked, “Did anyone tell you, you were fat or something?”

  Jeff shrugged. It happened. He was supposed to be gaunt.

  “Jesus Christ, Jeff. You’re skinny as a rail.”

  “How’s your burger?” He wasn’t getting into this.

  “It’s good. How are your nachos?”

  “Fine. Spicy.”

  “Good. Have another.”

  “Uh-huh.” Maybe. Maybe later.

  Rye watched him for a moment, then one eyebrow went up.

  “What?” Jeff held Rye’s gaze.

  “Eat, baby.”

  He took a bite, feeling himself vibrate.

  “That’s a good start.”

  He wasn’t going to eat any more. He wasn’t.

  “Don’t make me do the airplane thing.”

  “The…. Oh. Don’t be a turd.” He giggled, tickled at the idea of his giant lover waving the spoon about and making airplane noises.

  Giving him a shit-eating grin, Rye took another bite of his burger.

  Jeff did eat another chip, before pushing it to Rye.

  Rye grabbed a chip and started waving it around in the air.

  “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Nope. Eat some more, and I won’t have to keep faking it.”

  “I had some. I did.” He drank his ginger ale.

  “I don’t think three chips constitutes ‘some.’”

  “Stop counting. Eat your burger.” Damn it.

  “I am eating. I’ve had half of it.” Rye looked at his plate.

  “So, I ate too.” Sort of.

  “Are we going to have this argument for the rest of our lives? Or just the rest of the tour?”

  “The rest of our lives. You’re a giant—you have an unreasonable idea of how much normal people eat.”

  “I know normal people eat more than three chips and call it a day. And I am not a giant. I’m big-boned.” Rye’s eyes twinkled for him.

  “Huge. Vast.”

  “You’re just Lilliputian.”

  “Moi?” He fluttered dramatically, and suddenly they were snickering together, the weird tension dialing back.

  Rye finished his burger, and Jeff actually had a few more chips.

  “Can I talk you into dessert?”

  “Can I have a french fry?”

  “No. You can have two, though.” Rye picked them up and raised them to Jeff’s lips.

  Jeff opened, blinked, and ate, the grease and salt so good. Rye’s fingers slid on his lower lip, heat in Rye’s eyes.

  “We should be careful.” He licked his lips.

  “Gay bar, remember?”

  “Uh-huh.” What? He was fascinated by Rye’s smile.

  “Besides, I don’t want to be careful. I want to feed you dessert and dance with you.”

  “Can we have something with ice cream?”

  “We most definitely can have something with ice cream. A hot fudge brownie? A chocolate chip cookie?”

  Oh. A cookie.

  A cookie with ice cream.

  “You want the cookie.” Rye grinned and got their waitress’ attention.

  “I just…. Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good.”

  “Your face lit up when I said it.”

  Rye was still smiling as he asked their waitress for the dessert with two spoons.

  “Why did you become a police officer?” Jeff asked, the question coming from nowhere.

  “I know I’m supposed to say something like I wanted to help people, but the truth was, I wanted to go fast, run the light, and carry a gun.”

  “That’s okay. I wanted to be Bill Gates.”

  “Bill Gates? Why?”

  “He’s brilliant, rich. I was a geek back then, until I discovered music.” Hell, he was sort of a geek now.

  “And now you’re a music geek.”

  “Yeah.” He supposed so. He definitely wasn’t a rock star in the traditional sense of the word.

  “If only LJ’s fans knew.” Rye nudged his foot under the table.

  “Yeah, yeah. They’re all probably IT guys during the day.”

  “Oh, here’s our dessert.” Rye licked his lips as the waitress set a plate with a huge cookie on it, two scoops of ice cream slowly melting over it.

  Christ, it was huge. Jeff took a bite
and let the ice cream melt on his tongue. The cookie was warm, soft, gooey.

  Rye made a great face as he ate his first bite. “God. Good.”

  “Uh-huh.” He ate another bite.

  Rye took a spoonful of cookie and ice cream and offered it to him. “Dessert tastes better if you feed each other.”

  “That’s a big bite.” Even so, he opened and ate it.

  “You’ve had a big bite from me before,” murmured Rye, a naughty look on his face.

  “Rye!” That made him laugh, right out loud.

  Rye looked so pleased at his reaction, and he waggled his brows.

  “Butthead.” Jeff scooped up a bite, fed it to Rye. It was surprisingly intimate. Weirdly exposed. Rye slowly took the dessert off his spoon, lips closing over it, sliding off it. Someone liked sweets. Oh hell. Rye liked food. Lots.

  “Give me another bite, baby.” Oh, that was a switch, Rye not trying to feed him, but getting him to feed Rye.

  “A big one?” Jeff didn’t wait for the nod, just scooped up a bite with cookie and ice cream. Rye opened his mouth and took the bite, but Rye’s gaze held his, made the feeding even more intimate. He could feel his cheeks heating, and he wiggled on his seat.

  Rye licked his lips. “You want another bite, baby?”

  “A little one.”

  Rye didn’t try and feed him a huge bite, instead offering the small bite he’d asked for. The ice cream was his favorite part, slick and cold and creamy. It felt good against his throat.

  Rye ate most of the rest of the dessert, teasing another biteful into him now and then.

  The music started—goofy and rhythmic, light, with the barest beat behind it. Still, people started dancing, gyrating on the floor.

  “You want to?” Rye asked, nodding toward the little dance floor in the corner.

  “Okay. Okay, sure.” He danced for a living, didn’t he? Dancing with Rye shouldn’t be weird.

  Standing, Rye took his hand and helped him up, then drew him over to the dance floor. Rye wasn’t the best dancer in the world, but he was good—he could move. Jeff let himself lean in, not working too hard, just enjoying himself.

  The music slowed after a couple of songs, and Rye pulled him into the strong arms, swaying with him. Oh, that was lovely.

  Jeff leaned and let his eyes drop closed. One hand settled in the small of his back, the other on the curve of his ass, and they just swayed easily. It was like a high school fantasy, wasn’t it? Slow dancing with the perfect guy.