Access Unlimited

by Alice Severin

  I started to wriggle, wanting to see him, face to face, but his hands caught me and pressed me to him. The shirt that he was wearing, the strange small cheetah print he’d found in a thrift shop, the one that I had questioned the wisdom of buying, was now like silk over his muscled skin, leaving his arms bare and draped over his shoulders. All I could imagine is what it would be like to feel him, me naked against him. His kisses had turned into small little licks, and his hand drifted between my legs from behind, making me jump and making him laugh, darkly. He breathed into my mouth as he continuing kissing me. He laughed and pulled away, then stretched against me like a cat, his cock making a very noticeable shape down his leg. I looked down at the bulge. “Go on stage like that, they’ll love it. The picture that burned up the internet.”

  “You mean it doesn’t have its own Tumblr page yet? Now that’s a travesty. Well, maybe we can change that tonight.” His eyes were suddenly filled with that strange fire. And as he moved against me against I lifted my shirt for a minute, after I looked around. Miraculously there was still no one around, but I was starting to feel like I wouldn’t have cared even if there was. I rubbed against his chest, against that softness, the smoothness of his shirt, so thin I could feel his skin. I shuddered. This was getting out of hand, and I could hear the muted applause greeting the end of the set. Any second now, the lead on band would be here—I didn’t care. I dropped my shirt but launched myself at his mouth, with little finesse but a strange desperate feeling. I suddenly wanted him inside me, burning me, making me take all he had, all he was about to show to an entire crowd. I slipped my hand into his pants and managed to get it as far down as the solid base of him and squeezed it.

  He groaned.

  “Fuck, girl…you’re killing me.” We both heard footsteps and the other band was coming towards us. I slipped my hand back out as furtively as I could and ran my hand down his arm, he had goosebumps. My legs felt weak. He waved at them.

  “Nice show lads. Getting ready here. Beer’s in there.” They laughed. One of them winked at me, letting his eyes trace down my body, but they passed us, laughing. And as if on cue, the door to the room opened, and everyone poured out. The bassist and the drummer gave us a look and followed the sound techs going ahead to do the final adjustments to the stage set-up.

  Then AC was there. He had a sort of wry smile on his face. I looked up at Tristan, but all his face revealed was a sort of devilish merriment written all over it. “AC,” he said, outlining the shape of his balls with his hand. “Come have a look. We’re going to get my pride and joy its own Tumblr tonight.”

  “We are? Yeah, of course. Shouldn’t be hard—or should it?” he said. “This your work, Lily? Nice.” He questioned me with a nod and wink, then suddenly reached out and squeezed Tristan’s still hard cock through his jeans.

  He had meant it as a joke, but I saw the look on Tristan’s face, as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment. Then he opened them, looked directly at me, then smacked AC on the ass with a laugh. “AC, you’re not just hung like an elephant, you’ve got a memory like one. That’s it exactly.”

  “I’m your man, babe.” AC leaned in quickly towards Tristan, then suddenly turned and kissed me, hard, on the mouth. I had the impression that he was tasting me, looking for traces of Tristan. “It’s not so bad, really, is it?” he said cryptically. Tristan followed with his own kiss. Soft, and sweet, and oddly reassuring, it was in clear contrast to the fast little kiss AC had just given me. But there had only been a heartbeat between them, and I didn’t think it was only my mouth they were after.

  I stood there for a moment, touching my lips with a fingertip, and watched the two of them head toward to the stage, Tristan’s arm draped over AC’s shoulder. I thought I heard AC say “Nice shirt. Silky.”

  I laughed.

  Watching the show from the sidelines was an experience. With the VIP cord now permanently around my neck, one of the roadies actually brought me another beer when he noticed mine was finished. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a concert from the sidelines, but it seemed like the first time I’d noticed that my status had permanently been altered. People fell in behind me, not wanting to block the view, almost hesitant if they bumped into me.

  Pretty different from the mosh pit, I thought, watching the frenzy that was going on in front of the stage. People didn’t realize how different. You were there, in front of the crowd, controlling, leading, making it look easy, when in fact almost every last thing had been blocked out and rehearsed. It was a show, but the trick was to make it look like you’d just rolled out of bed, had a beer, then strapped on a guitar, ready to roll, dripping sex. And the boys hadn’t been kidding. If there wasn’t a Tumblr devoted to either what Tristan was packing or bromance by the end of this, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. The songs were killer just by themselves, but did they get a little more intense every time AC sidled up to Tristan, leaning his head on his shoulder, Tristan’s arm slung around his shoulders? Then AC dropped to the floor, wailing out a solo, on his knees. As Tristan approached him, he leaned back, and Tristan straddled him, as AC ran over the strings, increasingly frantically, his face inches away from Tristan’s cock, staring at it, as Tristan thrust his hips out, towering over him. So close to what everyone was imagining, what everyone wanted them to do.

  The crowd was shrieking, a wall of cell phones capturing the moment for eternity. The song screeched to a halt, and AC stood up slowly, swinging the guitar out of the way, and gave Tristan a full body hug. Maybe I was the only one that saw the moment of serious pressure he put into it. Maybe not. By that time my ears were ringing and my heart was beating. They were quite the double act. It struck me what I hadn’t seen before was how comfortable they were with each other. I wondered if I should feel jealous, and I wondered why I didn’t.

  The rest of the concert went by in a blur. They were playing brilliantly—really doing justice to Tristan’s songs. The temperature was blistering. The crowd up the front were pushing up the barriers, and the bouncers holding them back were having a hard time keeping the frenzy in order. So when AC spun his guitar around to his back, and rubbed up against Tristan, I wasn’t surprised really when Tristan dove in, and slammed against him with a fury that looked long-repressed. AC flailed for a moment as Tristan forced his mouth open with his tongue, and kissed him, hard, as the seconds went past, and the crowd half-groaned, half-screamed with the sense of relief their contact brought everyone. They finally pulled apart, AC glancing down noticeably at the swelling that made his jeans look as though they were going to pull apart at the zip, and gave him the dirtiest, most knowing smile I think I’d ever seen on anyone. It made me blush, there was something so intimate about it. And in a flash, it was all over, and the band was blowing the crowd kisses, throwing guitar picks and drum sticks, and scooping up the teddy bear with a leather jacket that someone had thrown on at the end.

  I felt dazed, and I looked around to see a couple of people who had obviously been watching me turn away a little too quickly. I raised an eyebrow at one of them who was slower than the rest. If they thought I was going to be a train wreck, they were going to be sorely disappointed. I had no idea what was going to happen next, but as the band ran off the stage, I had a feeling I wanted in, center stage, no matter what.

  We all filed back into the room with the food and drink, feeling the high the band was on. They were all hugging each other, and the bassist and the drummer were waltzing around the room singing “I want to rock and roll all night and party every day.” Kiss. I had to laugh. Even James was smiling, as he reminded us we had to be back on the buses in a couple of hours for the overnight drive to Minneapolis. Someone put on some music, and the whole atmosphere was this kind of crazy party. There was the usual contingent of pretty girls, and some enterprising souls from the guest list. The usual hangers-on, basically. I was ducking grapes the drummer was throwing at me, trying to throw them back without getting
hit, when I realized that AC’s organic wine was getting to me, and I felt a bit dizzy. Figuring I just needed some air, I slipped out of the room, and headed to the bathroom. As I walked down the grey breeze-block corridor, I passed by one of the dressing rooms. The door was just slightly ajar. I glanced around, and pushed the door open slightly. Then I stopped, frozen to the spot.

  They hadn’t heard me, and I stood there, unable to decide if I should back out quickly and quietly, or stay, transfixed at the sight. Tristan and AC were leaning against the far wall, letting it support them from the side. They were looking at each other, faces nearly touching. My eyes traced down their bodies. Tristan’s shirt was pulled up slightly, showing a line of skin. Their jeans were unzipped, hanging open on their hips, belt straps dangling. Tristan’s large hand was between them. His long fingers were wrapped around both their cocks, stroking them together. AC reached out and gripped Tristan’s shoulder. His eyes were tightly shut, and he let out a gasp as Tristan began to speed up his movements. AC’s low whisper broke through the sound of their breathing. “I’m so close, please, Tristan, please.” Tristan moved closer and finally kissed him, his mouth on his, a fierceness in his movements as he moved his hand. A moment later, AC broke away, then his voice shattered, repeating Tristan’s name as he clung to him, trying to stay upright as a series of shudders ripped through his slender body, letting out a final cry. Almost immediately, his hands dropped to cover Tristan’s with his own, finally pushing Tristan’s hands away completely so his hands were sliding over Tristan, pulling at him slowly, teasing him. Tristan gasped, and thrust against him, their mouths tangled. Then suddenly he was still, his voice a twisted plea, “oh fuck, AC, so good, fuck, now” and his dark head fell back, their hands now moving together, as Tristan came over both of them, AC intently watching him finally lose control.

  I silently backed out, pulling the door nearly shut to hide them, while they were still dazed, and headed, practically tiptoeing, to the bathroom. Once there, I leaned against the counter, and splashed water on my face, trying to stop shaking. The sensation thrumming through my body was intense. I could feel my heart beating hard against my chest. I was powerless. I just stood there, letting the electric pulse run through me, hip bones jarred up against the counter, arms straight, holding myself up against the cold edge of the sink, wishing they’d both come in and find me. I turned on the cold water, and leaned over, thrusting my hips out into air. I placed my head very slowly under the cold water, until the chill hurt, and the feeling of want seemed to run through my whole body, as though I could touch my skin at any point, and find the pressure unbearable.

  I finally stood up, shaking my wet hair, and pulled out some paper towels from the dispenser and squeezed my hair dry. I looked at myself in the mirror, and my eyes were wide and black, endless holes where my pupils had taken over all except a thin ring of color. I looked like a wild animal. Who knew what the rest of the band was going to think—I could only imagine the state Tristan and AC were going to roll up in. Maybe they would go right to the bus. That suddenly seemed a good idea. I didn’t want to see anyone but them, and they’d have to draw their own conclusions.

  It was a hell of a secret, and now it was mine too.

  chapter eleven

  Chicago to Minneapolis

  I had gone back to the bus, once I’d calmed down a bit. No one else was there yet¸ and I was glad to be alone, at least for a little while. I switched on the light in what passed for a living room, and made my way past the empty bunks to the very back. The first thing I saw was a bottle of Wild Turkey that someone had given to the band. Somehow, it had wound up back here. I stared at it. Sure. The plastic seal on the top came off easily, and bottle in hand I looked at myself in the mirror. Standing there, lit by the little fairy lights that ran across the top, the disconnect between seeing my face and hearing the thoughts hammering at my head made me turn away. I didn’t want to see myself. I didn’t want to think either. I didn’t even have to look at the bottle. Nothing was easier, so easy. The first swig went down, slowly, burning a line through my chest. The second was longer, and sent warmth shooting into the rest of my body. I suddenly realized my feet were cold. The third one felt good, almost too painless. I put the bottle down by the bed so I could undress. I fished around in the suitcase and put on the short, lacy nightdress I’d brought. Then I lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t know what I was thinking, exactly. It didn’t matter. I finally pulled myself up, and took another drink. Sitting up was better, and cross-legged, bottle in hand, I stared into space. After a while, I got my phone, and putting in my headphones, just set it to shuffle. I couldn’t choose. And propped up by the pillows, I sat there, in the dimmed light, listening to music, pulling the bottle towards me when it seemed like a good idea. No one to stop me. No one to say something pointless. Nothing made sense. Except it did. It really did. How could I be surprised? All the signs were there, right back to when AC and I had first talked, sitting in that hotel room in London.

  I wondered if I was supposed to be jealous. The idea kept floating around the edges of my thinking. So I tried it out. “But he’s mine now,” I said out loud to the half-light of the room. That sounded stupid. We were together. I didn’t own him. “I love him,” I whispered. That made more sense. I said it again. But that other thought was still there. I had another drink before I spoke again. “He wants someone else,” I stuttered. That hurt a little. But it wasn’t someone else, it was AC. But what did he want? How much? I thought back to the two of them together, the pure pleasure over both their faces. “I don’t mind,” I murmured.

  “Oh, fuck it,” I said to the room. Silence followed, like a shadow in the corner that had been waiting its turn. I took another burning sip to fill up the gap. Talking to myself in the back of a tour bus wasn’t going to help or change anything. I loved Tristan, I cared about AC. They were rock musicians. On tour. I didn’t think rules applied. Maybe those rules never had to apply. Maybe we could make up new ones. That made me feel a bit better. I grabbed the bottle and swallowed until I began to cough. Then I placed it very, very carefully on the side table, so it wouldn’t move, and wiped my mouth. Nothing mattered. So much better this way. Much better. I pulled the covers up to my chin. Finally warm. It didn’t matter so much anymore what I’d say to him when I saw him. I closed my eyes. I had no idea. Nothing seemed clear. Nothing. Nothing.

  * * *

  The first thing I noticed, after the slow rhythmic breathing of the body next to me, was the rumble of movement, the feeling that you get on a plane but slowed down, with the odd bump in the road. I lay there, and everything that had happened came back to me, along with a vague dizziness, and a pounding in the center of my skull. I must have had more to drink than I thought. I guess I’d finally passed out, headphones on, and hadn’t even noticed their return, or the bus leaving. I rolled over carefully to look at Tristan. He was so striking just lying there, with his back slightly exposed, showing a long curved creamy expanse of smooth skin. Tristan had beautiful skin, especially for a man. The color of it, that pale yet honey tone, the ripple of muscle visible underneath, alive and warm, was crying out to be touched, to be admired. In a smaller man, it might have made him look softer. On Tristan’s six foot two frame, it gave him a slightly otherworldly air, as though he had been sent to us from a planet where everyone was naturally graceful and sleek, like fine race horses. For a moment I wanted to pull down the sheet that was covering him, and slide my fingers over that expanse of skin, going further down, until I reached even more silken skin that would be warm and cool at once to the touch. It wouldn’t take long to feel him grow hotter and harder under my touch, still dry and smooth except for the slight bead of wetness at the top waiting to be smoothed over the aching hardness, sign of more to come, that would soon be everywhere. Unless he was spent from being with AC. I took a deep breath. That was a complicated feeling, and it made the pressure in my head worse.

 
I reached my hand out to pull the sheet away then stopped. No, it wouldn’t be fair. He was only just now getting some sleep. He was in the middle of a tour, with more still to come. Exhausting him, or worse, testing him, wasn’t going to help. I crawled out of bed slowly, before I could change my mind. I wanted him to be happy. I needed to see how he was going to act, without my prompting, or demanding explanations that I already knew didn’t really exist. There was only one explanation. There was only ever one. He wanted to do it. And if exhaustion and stress meant he was more likely to start using again, then I would do whatever it took to help him, even if that meant AC helped too, even if it hurt. Which it did, a little.

  I managed to extricate myself from the sheets without waking him, and putting on my leggings, a t-shirt and a big sweater, padded across the carpet to the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I could see my own lines of stress. I was worried about him, worried about us, worried about the tour, worried about the blog that I was dutifully writing up every day and sending over to Dave. Dave. For a moment, I thought about calling him. No. Dave was not an answer to this. Dave was work. Work was a good thing, giving me something else to think about. Or not. I shut my eyes. AC’s face as he watched Tristan come flashed across my mind. The two of them. Unbound.