by BA Tortuga
“Sure. Tawny and Jack will run with that. Who’s your assistant?”
“Uh. Tawny has one.” He didn’t have a PA anymore.
“Dude. How do you function?”
“I got my laptop. My phone. Tawny is superhuman.” His ears felt hot. He wasn’t as busy as he’d been once either.
“I’m impressed. I’m not smart enough to keep all that shit straight.”
He surprised himself by wanting to growl. “You do fine.”
Seb chuckled, bare feet curling up under his legs. “So. I’m yours until noon. Wanna write?”
“Hell, yes. I got my guitar.” He pulled off one boot, then the other. The business meeting was over.
“Fucking A!” He got this grin—wide and wild and pleased. “I’ll grab the pens and paper.”
Markus found that he had the same goofy grin on his lips too. They had always connected best over music. Wherever they were.
Seb came back with two bottles of water, a pad of paper, and a guitar case. “Let’s do it.”
“Start with the stadium rocker?”
“Uh-huh. I was thinking something about fireworks and flames?” Seb plopped down beside him, pulled out the ancient six-string. God, how many memories did he have about that man and that Gibson? Shit.
“Old flames, maybe. America loves an old love story come back to life.” He popped his acoustic out of the case. It wasn’t old, but he loved it and it was custom.
“Oh, man. ‘Fireworks and Old Flames.’ I fucking love the hook.” The words were scribbled down in Seb’s weird, backassward script.
“Yeah.” He keyed up the first chord, already having a good idea where they were going. Man, he hadn’t been this fired up to write in months.
Hell, maybe Seb would be good for him, like a B12 shot or one of those juice fasts.
Either way, Markus figured it wouldn’t be boring, and that was a shot in the arm to his semiretired life.
“IT’S FIFTEEN ’til nine, Seb.” Bev had one of the damned protein shakes in her hand. “Mr. Kane is at the pool and says to meet him out there.”
Sebastian looked at the treadmill. Nine miles. Not bad. “Did you tell him I’d be there?”
“He has his guitar, boss. That’s working, right?”
No. That was breathing, but whatever.
“Yeah. Get my stuff for me. I’ll be out there after my shower.”
She gave him a nod. “You got it.”
He did five minutes cooldown, eyes on the TV, which was playing ESPN, just like normal, the talking heads yammering about football, saying nothing at all for hours and hours. He approved.
The water in the shower was hot, the pressure beating down on him. He drank his shake when he got out, the pineapple masking the flavor of canned coconut protein goo. He loved that. The pineapple, not the goo.
Shorts, gimme cap, sunglasses. Supplements. Time to work.
Time to go admire Candy’s bod and the way the man’s eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled. Candy had always had great smile lines, but a few months out of the spotlight had done wonders for Markus’s skin. Sebastian stopped on the way into the pool area, staring through the big window at the carved-from-oak son of a bitch sprawled out on a lounge chair, wearing a pair of white board shorts and nothing else. The man needed a haircut too, the typical cowboy buzz cut and shave given over to shaggy and stubbly and fine. Oh yeah. Candy looked good in the sunlight, chest and belly bare and ripped, covered with a mat of deep, chocolate-brown hair. Nice.
Sebastian thumped his cock, which was altogether too interested in old trouble, and headed out into the private pool area, loving how the sun was already beating down. “Hey, man. Morning.”
It was adorable, how Markus thought he was an early riser now, instead of the truth wherein his happy ass crashed in the afternoon.
“Hey.” Markus waved the hand not holding some kind of juice. “Man, they have the best fruit here. I had breakfast before I came in, though. Bev told me how you don’t do food in the morning.”
“Nope.” Calories. He had an image to protect. “The pineapple’s good.”
“It is.” Markus looked him over, the faintest grin pulling the corners of that well-shaped mouth, and for a moment he remembered all the things that mouth could do.
Remembered long, late nights fucking like bunnies in the back of a bus, in hotel rooms, limos.
It was the limo that had done them in, though. One blowjob, one fucker with a camera, and then it was payoffs and damage control, and he’d lost the best friend he’d ever had. Shame too. There’d been moments in the last few years where he could have used a friend like Markus.
Candy cleared his throat. “You okay, ba—man?”
“Absolutely. Just woolgathering.” He grabbed his guitar. “Worked on the chorus for ‘Denim Heaven’ some last night.”
“Yeah? We were going the wrong direction, I think. Let’s hear it.”
He had to admit, this was way more fun than it was work. The EP was going to end up with them sharing the writing credits on every song. He’d dropped the key and cleaned up some of the lyrics, making them a little slinkier, a lot hotter. Markus could pull it off too. Maybe Sebastian couldn’t; he was more… bouncy.
Still, it would work.
Markus licked his lips at the end, nodded, gave him that wicked, near-demonic grin. “I like it.”
Oh. Sebastian liked that too. Christ, he needed to focus. “Yeah? Excellent. You’ll work it like no one else.”
“Thanks.” Candy stretched, wiggling his toes. “This is the life, buddy.”
“You know it. I spend every winter here.” He’d purchased the entire block of condos, after all. A guy needed investments; at least that was what Bev said.
“Cool.” Grimacing, Markus shook his head. “I put a hot tub in at my place, but I wasn’t real bright about it. It’s on the wrong side of the house for winter use.”
“Damn. That sucks. Too windy?”
“Too much shade. Great in the summer, though.”
He chuckled. “When you don’t need a hot tub.”
“Not right now, no. We will when we’re needing a little tour break.”
“You don’t have one on your bus?” He winked. He didn’t either, but he did have a decent tub.
“Nope.” Those long toes poked his leg. “Hedonist.”
“You know it.” He hooted, leaned back toward the sun.
“You still want that ballad?”
“Yep. Girls love those, and they sell.”
“We might have to watch some chick flicks.” Markus strummed a little ching-a-ling. “I haven’t had much romance.”
“That’s a fucking shame.” He blinked, ducked his chin. “Sorry, man. Uh…. Love gone wrong? New love? Booty call?”
“Booty call is very in.” He couldn’t look at Candy at all, not with the way the man’s voice had gone gravelly.
“Yeah. Yeah. Old lovers needing to get it on?” Seb knew his cheeks were burning. He could so get it on with that long, muscled hard body.
“That works. I think people can relate.”
When he did finally glance up, those dark eyes were pointed down toward the guitar and Candy’s face was bright red.
“Yeah. Yeah.” He chuckled softly. “We got something to build on. For the song, I mean.”
“We do.” Now he got a sideways glance. “I mean, we ought to know, as old as we are.”
“Positively ancient, you and me.” Asshole.
“Yep. You’re a year older.”
Oh, that deserved something. Ice water to the chest maybe. Sebastian took a drink of his water, then went for it, squirting the hairy bastard smack between the nipples.
“Fuck! You little shit.” In a flash, Markus had gently tossed the guitar aside and was hunting his ass.
He backed up, brandishing the water bottle, this time getting Candy in the crotch.
“Jesus.”
He could almost see things shrivel. Taking time to gloat was a mistake, th
ough. He ended up in the pool, Candy pulling a wrestling move on him. Like TV wrestling.
He floated up to the surface, treading water, sputtering and laughing. “Caveman!”
Markus yodeled. “You know it.”
He flattened his hand and sent a huge wave from the pool, right at the big gorilla. The big gorilla who was now soaked.
“Yee-haw.” Markus did a cannonball, sending water right into his face.
He dove deep, pinching Markus’s ass as he moved underneath, swimming hard. The man was a fine swimmer, pacing him pretty good, considering the head start he had. They reached the side of the pool at the same time, bodies slamming together.
His abs rolled, his hips bucking in a dance move older than music. For a long moment, Markus rocked back against him, and that hard cock made itself known. Then Candy pulled away, pushing up out of the pool.
Sebastian took a couple of laps, cursing himself for all sorts of a fool. They weren’t starting this shit again. Not at all. They couldn’t afford to. Oh, he could pay people off with even more money than before, but it had damned near killed him to lose Candy the first time. He wasn’t as strong as he used to be. Sometimes he thought it would only take one more earthquake for his internal framework to come crashing down. God was a shitty contractor, taking the lowest bidder.
That would make a decent lyric, really.
He pulled himself up out of the pool and dried his sunglasses off before putting them back on.
“Sorry.” Markus gave him a crooked grin, the look apologetic. “You know me and a challenge.”
“Not a problem.” He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and tucked it in, then went to get his guitar and his phone. He punched Bev’s link. “Bev. Coffee, huh? You want anything, Candy?”
“More juice would be great.” Markus toweled off too, water glinting in his chest hair.
“More juice for the giant fuzzball gorilla too.”
“You got it, boss.”
“Thanks, lady.”
“Are you saying I need a wax?” Settling back in his chair, Markus grinned. “I thought I could wait for the tour, at least.”
“It’s a thing, the fuzz.” He’d waxed for the first time ten years ago and never looked back. He wasn’t sure he could get fuzzy anymore. “How much gray’s in it now?” He chuckled at himself, tickled.
“Shit. A ton.” That got Markus laughing too, the sound like sandpaper on barnwood.
“Well, there you go.” He waxed so there was zero evidence. Maybe the eye lines told a story, but there was always Botox if that got bad, right?
“You got nothin’. You wear those sunglasses to hide the wrinkles?”
“Yep.” That and the fact that his pupils were the size of small third-world countries and the light hurt like a dozen pickax-wielding garden gnomes.
“I’m beginning to wonder if you got eyes, man. I kinda miss them.”
He chuckled, hoping to hell he didn’t blush. “They haven’t changed—still the color of stagnant water.”
“Oh, stop it. Hundreds of thousands of screaming fans think you’re the hottest thing going.”
He flexed and grinned, making his abs roll. The fans loved that. His grin faded when Markus just stared, tongue touching that pretty lower lip.
“If I don’t go, man, I’m going to do something we’ll both regret later.” His cock was hard as steel, and he didn’t bother to hide it as he stood, grabbed his guitar.
“Yeah.” Markus nodded before hopping back into the pool. “I’ll just swim it off. Later, buddy.”
“Later.” He headed back to his condo at a trot. It was eleven. He could write for an hour, jack off like a madman, and then crash.
Dream a little.
Something.
Fuck.
Chapter Three
MARKUS WAS damned surprised at how hard it was to see Sebastian.
They spent three hours a day or so writing. The rest of the time Seb just wasn’t around, which was crazy. What on earth did the man have to do in New Zealand on his off time? There was a constant flow of surfers, cowboys, skateboarders—but they made an appearance for the press and left, Bev gently showing them the door. Seb went out once that Markus had seen—swimming with fucking sharks, the press all over it—and then hid.
Markus never saw the man eat. Never saw him sleep. Bev was pretty damned secretive when Markus asked her about it. He thought about sneaking into Seb’s condo, but the security was better than he’d ever had, even in the height of his Bull in the China Shop days.
He grinned a little. Man, that album had gone platinum with a bullet….
Sobering, he pondered how he could get in to see Seb. Three days it had been since that silliness at the pool, and now the man was avoiding their writing sessions.
They could sit inside. With the air on high. In clothes.
He saw Bev’s shiny, unnaturally blonde hair as she headed over to Seb’s front door at 8:40 a.m. sharp, a glass of something in one hand, key in the other.
Time to stalk.
Markus slid in behind her, grabbing the door before it could close. “Hey.”
“Mr. Kane! Good morning.” She offered him a careful smile. “Can I help you?”
He heard weights clinking, heard the talking heads on ESPN. The place he could see was all white—walls, furniture, carpet—real people didn’t live in here. Seb, the bayou baby who’d painted their first studio apartment bright purple and yellow and had covered every inch of the ceiling with Mardi Gras beads, that man didn’t live here. No way.
“Yeah. I need a place to work out. The pool is great, and body weight is okay, but I’m going to get soft.” There. See what she did with that.
“I. Okay. Okay, can you wait here for a second?” She headed to a closed door, tapped it. “Hey. It’s eight—forty-five. I have your breakfast. Mr. Kane is here, and he’d like to work out.”
“It’s almost nine.”
“I know. What do you want me to do?”
“Hey. Seb?” Markus didn’t go to the door. Just called out.
Seb’s bald head popped out, drenched with sweat, beet red. “Hey, Candy. Come on in.”
Bev’s eyes went comically wide, obviously surprised. Go him.
“Thanks, man. I need the weights.” Damn, this was a nice setup. The room was all windows and TVs on two sides, then all the weights and machines and cardio shit a guy could need. Impressive.
“Yeah. I get it.” Seb was in the tiniest set of workout shorts on earth, muscles bulging. “I’m almost done with the bar. You can use the rest.” Seb went over to Bev, talked quickly, and took the glass of goo. She disappeared for half a second, and then she brought a pair of those damned dark glasses.
Markus shook his head, not sure what the hell he’d done to deserve the barrier. Still, he got to look a minute.
Seb turned the lights up as soon as the glasses were on. “There you go. I have to finish my set. How you been?”
“Good. I’m good.” He couldn’t help but drool a little.
“Rock on. I been working on the ballad.” Seb picked up the bar, and those amazing pecs started clenching. Jesus.
His mouth felt like quick-dry paint, and he licked his lips. “Any luck?”
“Some. I’ll need to put my head with yours.” Up. Down. Up. Down. The sweaty workout shorts slipped down, the top of a black tattoo peeking out.
“Okay.” Christ, was that his voice? He cleared his throat, trying to remember how to work out.
He grabbed the thirty-pounders, looking everywhere but at Seb. The man really did have an entire gym—treadmill, stairs, weights, ab machines. Damn. There were dry-erase boards—keeping track of weight, workouts, inches, everything. That was a level of obsession even he couldn’t claim. Oh, Markus knew his stats okay. He just knew how to keep panic about getting out of shape at bay.
It wasn’t like Seb was fucking puffy or anything, right? The man was a fucking Greek god.
Cajun god.
Whatever.
He breathed deep a moment, taking in the amazing smell of Seb’s body. Musk. Mint. Pineapple.
Seb worked hard, sweating, panting before stumbling over to the table, gulping the shake down with a cupful of tablets.
“So, what’s all that?” He tried to go for casual, starting up the treadmill to warm up.
“Hmm? Protein shake. Want one? I can call Bev back.” Seb went over to the dry-erase board, started recording.
“No. I had breakfast, thanks.” He cranked it up a little and started jogging.
“I’m going to get my shower. You mind?” The words on the board were a little shaky. The man must’ve been working out awhile.
“Nope.” No, he could concentrate on his workout better if Seb wasn’t there, especially now that he knew the man would let him in, would see him when they weren’t working.
“Cool.” Seb headed off, and soon he heard water, then singing, the man just wailing on a bluesy version of “Gold Digger.”
He chuckled, reminding himself that he needed to bring his little iPod next time he came over to work out. Which would probably definitely be when Seb did.
He looked at the dry-erase board, shook his head. Apparently Mr. Stud Hardbody worked out every day. Damn.
Seb came out of the shower, freshly shaved and gleaming, towel around his waist, those glasses back on.
Good thing Markus was off the treadmill or he would have fallen. He lifted the free weights, grinning. “Looking good, man.”
“Thanks. I work at it.” He could feel Seb’s eyes on him. “You got it going on. You haven’t looked that tight in five years.”
“Yeah. Amazing what happens when I get off the juice.” He was pretty prosaic about it. Puffy went away when he stopped drinking.
“Good for you, man. There’s a shitload of calories in that stuff.”
“Do you ever eat?” All he’d ever seen Seb consume was shakes and pineapple.
“Nope.”
Well, okay, then. That was definite.
“Why not, man?” He changed out to thirty-five-pound weights. Those would challenge his biceps.
“The shakes keep me going just fine. Keep me lean.”
