Rocking Hard, Volume 2

by Samantha M. Derr

  The interior of the diner was light and airy and the scent of cooking food assailed Jon's nostrils, making his mouth water. The menu board above the counter was full of all manner of delicious sounding dishes, and Jon pursed his lips, trying to decide what he wanted to eat. Finally, he settled on the roast of the day with extra gravy. He waited for his friends and Pete to place their orders, and then he paid for everything out of the money they'd made in Melbourne. With everything settled, he went to sit down at the spacious booth near one of the windows.

  "I tell you what, it feels bloody awesome to be out of the car," Danny said.

  "My oath," Jon agreed fervently. "I'm bloody glad that the rain hasn't started. I was a bit worried there, when the tarp got blown away."

  "We're not far from Adelaide now, though," Adam said. "Only another three hundred kilometers to go. We're more than halfway home."

  "Awesome," Ellie said. She was toying with a sugar packet. "I can't wait to sleep in my own bed again."

  There was a murmur of agreement at that. Jon was convinced that none of them ever wanted to sleep on a floor again.

  Their food order was brought to them before they could discuss it, and they all tucked into their meals with a single-minded intensity that reminded Jon of ravening dingoes.

  "We don't have to get back on the road straight away, do we?" asked Danny.

  "Why?" Adam asked.

  "I was just thinking that half an hour of walking around and stretching our muscles would be good. I swear, I'm going to end up bent into a pretzel if I have to sit in one position for hours at a time without getting a chance to stretch properly first."

  "Yeah, I'm all for that," Sheena agreed. "Besides, we can play on the playground!" She sounded excited at the prospect.

  "Kids." Angie rolled her eyes in amusement.

  "Okay," Adam agreed, "we can do that. I can't deny that stretching a bit before driving again would be awesome."

  "Then I'm going outside," Jon said. He slid out of the booth. "I'm going to have a look around the back."

  "I'll come with you," Pete said, sliding out of the booth as well.

  "I guess that's our cue to avoid the public loo for a bit," Greg said.

  Without cracking a smile, Jon nodded. "Splendid suggestion, old bean," he said, affecting a posh English accent. He dropped it to add in his regular accent, "If there's a-rocking, don't come a-knocking."

  Everyone laughed, and Jon winked at Pete. Together, they walked out of the diner and around the building to the back of it.

  Behind the diner stretched flat bush land, yellow-green grass and scrub, a few scraggly trees, and thick wire fencing attached to rough wooden posts set at regular intervals into the ground. The storm that had been following them in Victoria was nowhere in sight, and Jon was relieved by that. The sky above them was grey, but the clouds did not have the threatening look of imminent rain.

  Pete rested his arm on Jon's shoulder, gazing out over the bush. "It's weird," he began, "how we're pretty much in the middle of civilization, and yet we walk around a corner, and bam! We're in the bush."

  "Bordertown's not exactly what you'd call civilization," Jon remarked.

  "It's more civilization than some towns. It's pretty big." Pete grazed the pad of his thumb over the line of Jon's jaw. "Toilet block's over there," he added.

  Jon grinned. "What are we waiting for?"

  The interior of the public toilets was cool and dim, and smelled faintly of disinfectant. Jon was indescribably relieved that the bathroom was clean; he had feared that it would be filthy. The stalls were all empty, their doors open wide, and Jon was about to point this out to Pete when Pete grabbed him, kissed him hard, and propelled him into the nearest stall, kicking the door shut.

  "F-fuck," Jon gasped, caught by surprise. "Pete!"

  "We don't have long." Pete was biting at Jon's neck now. "So this will be the quickest quickie ever."

  Jon reached over to flip the latch and lock the door, and then he tugged Pete's head up by the convenient handle of his hair and kissed him hard and hungrily, biting at his lower lip, making Pete whimper and moan and kiss back with a fevered passion that only made Jon hotter. He felt Pete's hands at the waistband of his jeans, and he groaned as those talented fingers got his jeans open and down, taking hold of his cock and stroking.

  Sliding a hand down to mirror the action, Jon gentled his kisses a little, pushing Pete back against the wooden door which creaked in protest at the weight of two bodies leaning against it. He wrapped his hand around Pete's cock, stroking him hard and fast, and Pete bucked into his hand, panting into Jon's mouth as Jon pressed closer, rocking into Pete's body and his hand as well.

  "Not ... gonna ... last ..." Pete panted, the hand not on Jon's cock sliding up to grip Jon's leather jacket.

  "Me either," Jon admitted, nipping Pete's lower lip. In response, Pete groaned and arched, and Jon felt the hot splash of come on his hand as Pete orgasmed, muttering Jon's name over and over again. Jon let go of Pete's cock and grabbed his own, his fingers tangling with Pete's. They jerked Jon off frantically, and it wasn't long before Jon was coming, breaking the kiss to draw in lungful's of air as he cried out wordlessly.

  They grinned at each other as they caught their breath, Jon brushing the back of his free hand over Pete's cheek. "That was very rock and roll, babe," he said.

  Pete laughed. "Jerking off together in a toilet?"

  "Yeah." Jon laughed as well. "It would only be more rock and roll if we were in a loo in a pub and a band was playing."

  "So it's not really that rock and roll," Pete teased. He leaned in and kissed Jon gently. "It was good, though, whether or not it was rock and roll."

  "Yeah." Jon kissed him back. "We should clean up and go outside."

  "Okay." Pete grabbed a wad of toilet paper and wiped himself down, then jerked his jeans up. Jon did the same, flipped the latch on the door, and then they went to wash their hands. A dusty breeze blew into the bathroom, and Jon looked towards the door, feeling a yearning for home; for their tiny Adelaide flat; the pubs and bars he was so familiar with that he could navigate them even if blind, deaf and dumb; the friends and Pete's family that were there.

  "Homesick, huh?" Pete asked, his eyes shrewd. Sometimes, Jon thought, Pete knew him better than he knew himself.

  "A little. Don't tell anyone."

  Pete snorted. "As if. Come on. We'll go outside, stretch our legs, have a smoke and a soft drink, then get back in the cars and go home."

  "Best plan ever," Jon agreed. He dried his hands by the simple expedient of wiping them on his jeans, and then he walked outside.

  The rest of their friends were sitting on a picnic table and chairs, talking and laughing, sharing soft drinks, and Sheena was taking photos. Jon donned a pair of sunglasses and headed towards them.

  "Still got the money?" Adam asked.

  Jon quirked an eyebrow, but obligingly dug out the wad of notes and handful of coins that were inside the inner pocket of his leather jacket. "Yeah, why wouldn't I?"

  "I just didn't want you to lose it while having your quick bathroom fuck," Adam said calmly. "How much have we got left?"

  Jon screwed up his face and then quickly counted the money. "Just under eight hundred."

  "Not bad," Adam said. "If we fill up here, we should have enough in the tanks to get us home."

  "Okay, makes sense." Jon looked out over the dusty picnic area. "I'm about ready to go when you guys are."

  "Let's go now, then," Ellie said. "You two fill up the cars and then we can go home."

  "I can't wait to sleep in my own bed," Angie said as she stood up. "Sleeping in George's living room with all of you was like sleeping in a really noisy wind tunnel. You all snore like thunderstorms."

  Jon laughed. "And none of us woke up except you?"

  "I did," Ellie admitted. "I'm used to Adam's snoring, but getting it in stereo from all of you? Not so used to that. I thought about taping you and playing it on radio back home, but I thought you'd
kill me if I did that."

  Jon ruffled her purple and red hair. "Got that right, Rugrat. Our snoring is a band secret."

  She laughed and batted his hand away. "Okay, I'll remember that. Band secret snoring. Got it."

  "Don't you forget it," Pete said, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

  *~*~*

  "It's good to be home," Jon said as he lay on his back on the bed. Pete was carefully going through their laundry from the weekend away, sorting out the clean clothes from the dirty, his expression one of intense concentration, and to Jon's eyes, adorable.

  "It is," Pete agreed. "Melbourne was good, not including the bad speed. But Adelaide's home." He sat down on the foot of the bed. "We complain about this town, talk about how we hate it, how we wish we were anywhere else, but really? I know we don't mean it. We couldn't cope living away from here for too long. A weekend in Melbourne, and we were all ready to come home. Nothing wrong with Melbourne—it just isn't home."

  "Yeah." Jon considered it. "Do you think we'll be together, playing in Capsicum Head in ten years' time?"

  Pete snorted. "Jon, do you really see us doing anything else? We'll be playing in Capsicum Head until we die, and then our kids will take over and be Capsicum Head the Next Generation or something."

  Jon burst out laughing. "I'm glad you and me can't have kids."

  "It's not very rock and roll," Pete said, laughing. He patted Jon's leg. "We'll do more shows, in the country or interstate, and some of 'em will suck and some of 'em won't. But we'll still do 'em, because we love the music we make and we love playing it, even if most of the audience doesn't like what they hear. We'll go down in history as the Adelaide punk band that wouldn't quit."

  "Or history will forget us, which would be better." Jon sat up and pulled Pete into his arms. "Either way, so long as we're playing our music and you and me are together, life is good."

  "Damn right," Pete agreed, and kissed him.

  SONG OF THE SOUL

  Cassandra Pierce

  TRACK ONE

  England, Castle Corbin, 1250 C.E.

  The draught of honey mixed with warm ale slid pleasantly down his throat, loosening the muscles and soothing his tongue. Plucking a high note from the strings of his lute, Hawk matched it perfectly with his own voice. Yes, he thought with satisfaction, he would give a good performance. The key was keeping his mind on task, which had become more difficult lately. Though most would assume that falling in love would prove a boon to a singer of ballads, to his vexation Hawk had found it quite a distraction. Imagining Aldor's soft lips as he sang about kisses made it quite difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.

  He was deep in practice when the door to the small room, graciously given to him by the duke's servants as a rehearsal space, creaked halfway open. Given its decorative paneling, complete with flowers painted on the walls, Hawk supposed the chamber had once been a lady's bower, though at the moment no lady had need of it. For that matter, Duke Corbin's entire castle seemed unusually deficient in ladies. From the hour of his arrival, Hawk could not recall seeing a single one. Perhaps some would turn up for his performance … or perhaps one had come to drive him from her private space.

  Hawk's face stretched into a smile when the door finally swung all the way open and Aldor himself entered. Since the two had met at a tourney and feast at the beginning of the summer, they had traveled together with Hawk serving ostensibly as Aldor's personal troubadour. Perhaps some of the courtiers he had entertained had guessed at the truth of their relationship, as neither was too adept at concealing his feelings.

  With his cheerful manner, clear blue eyes, and wondrous reddish-brown curls, Aldor never failed to lift Hawk's spirits. What a fine contrast he made when placed against Hawk's raven-black tresses and dark, melancholy aura, he thought as they fell together. The two kissed as though they had not seen one another in many moons. In truth, it had been only a few hours.

  "The hall is set for you," Aldor said with obvious pride when at last they broke apart. "It is filling with nobles even now."

  Hawk picked up his wooden goblet. "I must be sure I am at my best, then."

  "You are still drinking that sludge?" Aldor asked with a laugh. "The smell alone is cloying. I can hardly imagine how foul the taste must be."

  "You know 'tis for the benefit of my throat. It loosens it so that the notes will slide out." Hawk winked. "I had hoped it might sweeten my kisses, too."

  "Your kisses are already sweet enough," Aldor said, leaning over to steal another. "But I confess I look forward to your singing as well. No matter how often I hear it, I can never hear too much."

  "I am glad I please you," Hawk said, offering a playful bow. "I only hope I will continue to do so, not just tonight, but always."

  "Never worry about that," Aldor said. "I am certain you will be in fine form. Everyone is agog to see Blackhawk the Minstrel. Some are saying 'twill be the highlight of the night, better even than the feast." He paused and grimaced. "In truth, I do not find that hard to credit. I confess I expected more from the feast. Even Lord Corbin seemed to know it was far from toothsome. Not once did I see him break bread with his courtiers. But then, he is a most peculiar man. He is fortunate to be rich, or he would be quite outcast from society."

  Hawk nodded. "I suppose wealth covers for a multitude of shortcomings where men like Lord Corbin are concerned."

  "Well, soon enough we shall return to my father's castle," Aldor said. "Then we may spend all our time together, and we shall not have to waste our time with oddlings like Lord Corbin. You may sing love songs to me in my chamber all day and all night long, and no one will disturb us."

  Falling together once more, they kissed a while longer. "Enough!" Hawk said at last, pushing him back playfully. "I have spent half a lifetime learning these ballads! You shall make me forget the words of my songs and crush my lute besides!"

  "Perhaps that would not be such a bad thing." Aldor scowled. "If your voice is as fine as it usually is, the duke may try to claim you for his own bed tonight."

  "Nay. I shall make some excuse if that is so. My eyes are for you alone." Hawk shook his head helplessly. During his travels as a famed minstrel, he had shared the pillows of several men. Some were youthful, like Aldor, and a few had been older and powerful. Yet never had a single one commanded his heart the way Aldor did.

  They indulged in some more kisses. "Go!" Hawk repeated, swatting Aldor on the buttocks. "'Tis surely time for my performance!"

  "Until later, then." Laughing and bowing, Aldor withdrew from the room.

  After taking a few moments to compose himself, Hawk picked up his lute and moved to the castle's banquet hall to perform. When he arrived, he found that the jugglers and tumblers who had entertained the duke and his guests were gone. All eyes were on him alone … and Duke Corbin's eyes remained the strangest. They seemed neither brown nor blue, like most men's eyes, nor even green. Instead, they gleamed like strange black jewels set against a sallow background streaked with red. Perhaps, he thought, Lord Corbin's strange habits resulted from illness or impaired vision.

  An ocular ailment might also account for the fact that the entire castle seemed to have been fortified against the sunlight. From the time he and Aldor had arrived, they had found it curious that few of the rooms featured windows, slits, or even arrow loops. Not even the banquet hall where he stood admitted the slightest sliver of moonlight. Candles alone lit the space, leaving the air heavy with smoke and a slightly oily odor.

  Apparently unperturbed by those inconveniences, the duke himself reclined in an ornately carved chair while his courtiers stood and sat around him. Farther down the table, Aldor was seated with three other guests, one an older knight and the others, young sons of powerful lords like Aldor himself.

  "We have heard much of Blackhawk the minstrel," the duke said as Hawk bowed before him. "How fortunate that you and your master happened to pass into my territory."

  "And how fortunate my master and I are to find ourselves a
t the service of so generous and merciful a lord," Hawk stated with ceremonial formality.

  Lord Corbin stroked his black beard, the tip as pointed as a sword. "I trust your talents will not disappoint us."

  "Indeed I hope they will not, milord." Years of experience performing before great men, even a king or two in the north country, enabled Hawk to suppress the nervousness any man would feel under such scrutiny. Yet the duke unnerved him a way most of his audiences, however hard to please, did not.

  The duke continued. "Tell me of your life's journey thus far. Where did you learn your trade?"

  "I was an orphan, Your Grace. I was taken in by a traveling group of mummers when I was too young to remember anything else. I have been playing the lute since my hands were large enough to hold one and singing since my tongue could form whole words."

  "Well, then. Let us see if all this practice has done you credit." The duke laughed, not entirely pleasantly, and glanced around as his courtiers joined in. Hawk noticed that Aldor did not join in their amusement. Instead, he looked troubled. No doubt their tone also struck him as vaguely sinister. "You may begin."

  Hawk bowed again, forcing his hands to stop trembling around his lute. "Yes, milord."

  As Hawk began to play and sing, Lord Corbin watched his every move intently. Hawk noticed that the duke's face did not shift with emotion the way most listeners' did during his sad ballads of lost love and brave warriors killed by pitiless dragons. In fact, the more emotionally laden his songs became, the stonier Lord Corbin's face became. At last, Hawk finished his final song with a flash of dread. Clearly, his music had failed to move the duke. Would he—and perhaps Aldor—be punished?

  To his surprise, the duke's pale lips slowly relaxed into a wide smile. "I realize now that your master did not exaggerate. You are without doubt the finest singer I have ever heard throughout my impossibly long life."

  "Thank you, milord." The duke's change in expression and mood did not set Hawk at ease. Instead, for reasons he could not wholly comprehend, it frightened him.