by Sean Michael
"Oh, my keeping you company will cure you of that urge if nothing else does." He gave Scotty a wink and peeked into the bathroom. Not too shabby. It boasted a huge old-fashioned tub, as well as a little shower.
"What's your room like?" he asked, not wanting to pry if Scotty wanted to keep the space private.
"Come on over." Scotty ushered him across to a decadent room painted maroon, the bed piled with quilts, one entire wall covered in photos.
"Wow. It's gorgeous." Beautiful, yet homey. He was drawn to the pictures, crossing over to give them a closer look.
There were pictures he remembered--of him, of Scotty, of Scotty's folks. There were pictures of strangers, some of Scotty and someone who had to be a lover, leaning close, holding each other.
He felt a pang go through him and didn't want to look too closely at that. "Who's this?" he asked. If Scotty hadn't wanted to talk about it, he wouldn't have shown him the room.
"His name was Nick MacGeorge."
"Was?"
Scotty nodded, put his hat on an old hat rack. "Yeah. He got cancer five years ago and he passed away about eight months after that. He was a songwriter. You'd've liked him, I think."
"I'm sorry, man." There wasn't really anything else you could say to that.
He always felt awkward though, always felt like people expected him to have poetic words to make them feel better. Well, not Scotty, but the fans... He went over and patted Scotty on the arm.
"Thanks, honey. It was good while it lasted and he never hurt, not even a day." Scotty leaned toward him a minute, then chuckled. "Come on. Food. It's calling my name."
"Oh, now see, I knew there had to be something wrong with coming here. You've got talking food."
Scotty's laugh rang out, as familiar as breathing. "Yep. It's a magical place I got here. Pure magic."
He chuckled and followed the man back down the stairs, admiring as he went. Admiring hard enough that Lady nearly tripped him up when he didn't notice her getting underfoot. He wound up careening into Scotty's back. "Oof. Shit. Sorry."
Scotty stumbled a little--fuck, the man was solid, for all he was skinny--but held his weight. "You got to watch her, now."
He nodded, resting a moment against that solid strength before righting himself. "Yeah, sorry. I just wasn't paying attention." He'd been more than a little distracted.
"'S okay. You don't have to apologize, man. Just think of this place as home, huh?"
"Home." He shook his head. "I have a place, you know? I don't think I've spent more than four days in a row there since I bought it." He'd hired some fancy designer to decorate the place. It felt less like home than the tour bus. "It'll be nice to stay put a little while."
"I hope so, Dee. I've been missing you." The words, for once, didn't sound like a con job.
"I've been missing me, too," he admitted. "Now where do I sit? I could murder that chicken."
"Pick a chair. You want beer or tea?"
"I think I'd better have the tea." Tired as he was, if he had a beer, he'd be out face-first in his dessert.
And the way that carrot cake looked on the counter? That would be a damned shame.
* * * *
Scott got Dee settled in bed and then went out to the studio.
The man was worn out.
Tired.
Exhausted.
Not someone a decent man would lust after. Or seduce. Or anything.
Man, that was a fucking shame because Dee was still beautiful.
He laughed at himself, turned his stereo on loud, and got to work. Dee needed a friend and he needed company. That was good enough.
The next thing he knew it was dawn and he was panting, covered in paint and exhausted.
There was a knock at the door, a tousled blond head popping around the door. "Scotty? I hate to bother you, but I'm starving and I really am crap in the kitchen."
"Huh?" He blinked over, trying to figure out what Dee was talking about. "Let me turn down the music."
Lord, he hoped his series of Drake portraits were draped.
Dee came all the way in, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, looking just fine from that messy hair to the bare feet. "I thought you painted the canvas, not yourself." Dee chuckled.
"I do." He waved over to the eight-foot tall canvas, the colors bright, fierce.
"Wow. That's..." Dee walked slowly from one side to the other, really checking the canvas out, moving in closer. "It's something. Something powerful."
"Thank you." It was. It was part of a series. It was his lifeblood. "It's called Fantasy."
"Yeah? Are there more yet? This one makes me want to sing. Hey, was that a piano I saw at the back of the front room?"
"Yes and yes. Feel free to bang away." Oh, did that come out badly?
"Cool. Can I see the others?" Dee turned to him, giving him a fine view of those pretty abs, a touch of hair just above the low slug sweats.
"Sure." He wondered back through the studio, pulling out three huge canvasses--Fear, Fury, and Fucking.
"Oh, man." Dee examined them each, fascinated especially by Fucking, eyes drawn to it and then back to Fantasy over and over. "Powerful, Scotty. Amazingly so."
"Thank you." Scott yawned and stretched, back popping. "How do you feel about blueberry muffins?"
Dee's stomach growled, and he chuckled. "Just what the doctor ordered."
"Well, there you go. Come on, let's go up to the house. Can you make coffee?" Christ, he was tired.
Dee stretched and yawned, nodded. "Coffee I can do. I've spent months living off the stuff." Only one night but Dee looked better already.
"Well, there's hope for you yet." He stopped at the little tub outside the studio, stripped down and washed off in the cold water, gasping and shivering as he did.
He could feel Dee watching him, but when he turned around, Dee's eyes were looking out over the fields.
"'S pretty out there, huh? I'll have to feed the horses after breakfast, you can go look." He grabbed a pair of shorts off the clothesline as he walked by.
"I'll give you a hand," Dee suggested, falling into step beside him.
"I'd like that." He rubbed shoulders with Dee as they went up the stairs. "You sleep okay?"
Dee smiled brightly. "I did. Best sleep I've had in months. It's quiet out here, Scotty. Real quiet. Peaceful."
"It's the best place on Earth." And his, free and clear.
"Not to mention no one knows about it. I love that there's nobody with a camera about to jump out of your bushes."
Dee made a beeline for the coffeemaker, nearly tripping over Lady again.
"Lady!" She was always underfoot and just fascinated by new people.
Dee shook his head and petted her. "You're just a big dog, aren't you? With those paws you can't help being underfoot." Dee flashed him a smile. "I knew you'd have dogs."
"Yeah, they're just big spoiled babies." Hell, he'd always had dogs.
"That makes you the momma."
He looked over and butter wouldn't melt in that mouth. But then Dee's eyes flashed up to meet his, dancing wickedly.
"Bitch." He grabbed a towel, swatting Dee good and hard on the butt, laughing.
Dee jumped about a foot and grabbed a tea towel, turning to retaliate, grinning like a fool.
"Oh, you think you can take me?" He spun his towel around, ready to play.
"Long as you don't cheat." Dee snapped his towel experimentally, and then again.
"I don't have to cheat to take your ass, Dee." He got ready, laughter bubbling out.
"I'm thinking my ass is safe." Dee danced around a little, trying to get around him, face lit up.
Dee's towel snapped, hitting him in the hip.
"Come on, Rock Star. You can do better than that..." He caught Dee's thigh, snapping with the end.
Dee jumped and feinted left, then went right, snapping him good and hard on his ass cheek. "Yes! Got you!"
"Oooh. Ow." He bounced, hands on his butt. "My poor butt."
"Dork." Scott snorted, laughing hard enough his stomach hurt.
Dee collapsed into one of the chairs, grinning like crazy. "Maybe. But I got you." Dee sobered suddenly. "You didn't let me win, right?"
"Come look at the bruise on my ass and ask that again, shithead." If Dee got close enough, Scott'd whap the living shit out of him.
"You need me to kiss it better, Scotty?"
"Like you'd know what to do when presented with my gorgeous hiney."
Dee leaned back in the chair, head tilting. Checking his ass out. "I don't know if I'd say gorgeous. Not bad though."
"Hey!" He grinned and headed to get a box of muffin mix.
That chuckle was sweet. Dee stretched out on the chair. "You pull a lot of all-nighters like that?"
"Mmhmm. I work whenever I can." He grabbed eggs and milk, turned the old stove on.
"Well, don't let me cramp your style--I don't want to be in the way here, Scotty."
"You're not, honey. You're here because I missed you and because you wanted to come. Grease the muffin tins?"
"Sure." Dee got up and came to stand next to him. "How exactly do I do that?"
"Grab the Crisco and a paper towel and rub it in the holes." God, he could just kiss the clueless son of a bitch.
"You make it sound so easy." Dee reached past him for the paper towel.
"You'll figure it out, honey. Just imagine rubbing grease into somebody beautiful."
"I don't know, Scotty. Been awhile since I did anything like that." Dee grabbed the muffin tin started rubbing the Crisco into it.
"That's a shame. You ought to get some loving."
Dee shrugged and it looked practiced. "It's complicated. Hell, everything's been complicated." Sighing, Dee hunched over the muffin tin, stabbing at the last few holes.
He reached over, fingers sliding on Dee's wrist. "Hey, breathe, honey. You're not in the public eye here. You don't have to make excuses with me."
Dee nodded, hands stopping and setting the muffin tin down. "I... Scotty, I..."
"Right here, Dee." His heart was telling him that his oldest friend hadn't been held in too fucking long, so he just did it, pulled Dee close and held on.
Stiff as a board for a moment, Dee suddenly leaned into him, arms wrapping around his waist. The blond head landed on his shoulder. Scott didn't push, didn't say a word, just held on, hands petting that long spine. It was gonna be okay. He knew it.
For the longest time Dee leaned against him, seeming to soak it all up. Then he took a long, shuddering sigh and stepped away. "Bet that coffee's ready." Dee's voice was a little gruff.
"Bet it is. I take mine black." He got the rest of the muffins ready, then plopped batter in the tins.
Dee poured out cups of coffee and handed one over, leaning against the counter to drink his own. "So what's your typical day like out here?"
"I paint. I feed the horses. I nap. I paint. I lay in the sun. I wander." He grinned over, licking batter off his finger. "This is not excitement central here."
Oh, that laughter was sweet. "Nothing to do sounds like a slice of heaven to me, Scotty. In fact, I might want to buy a calendar just so I can write and nap and lie in the sun."
"You can put it on the dry erase board on the fridge." He popped the muffins in the oven and set the timer. That way they'd not burn, even if he sat on the sofa and fell asleep.
Dee actually got up, brushing by him and putting "nap" and "lie in the sun" on the erase board in big letters.
Then Dee added "laugh" underneath.
"There you go." He collapsed on the sofa, legs sprawling. "I bet you feel better already."
"I do." Dee flopped down next to him, head lolling back against the cushions. "I haven't been this relaxed in a million years."
And that was after just one night. Give the man a week and he might actually lose those bags under his eyes.
"Good." He nodded, eyes falling shut. Very good.
Chapter 2
Drake was lying on a deck chair in the sun, half dozing. Okay, mostly dozing. He'd been doing that a lot in the last few weeks since he'd arrived at Scotty's.
He wore his old jeans and sweats, T-shirts and beat-up Kodiak boots or his tennies, and didn't have to worry if he had mud on his sleeve or if he hadn't brushed his hair that morning.
It was glorious.
He'd forgotten how good it felt to get a good night's sleep, to not have every inch of his life planned and organized and timed.
Lady's head landed on his belly, waking him and making him "oof." She'd taken a liking to him. Lucky for her, he thought she was pretty darned cute. Kind of like her owner, though he had to admit, Scotty'd never licked his face. A shame that. The man was fine.
An old quilt dropped over him, then Scotty whistled for the dogs and wandered away, tight little ass swaying. There'd been a lot of that, too. The little things that Scotty did for him to make him more comfortable, taking care of him and not making a fuss about it--like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Hey," he called, standing and following. "Where're you headed?" He'd dozed enough for one day.
"I was going to take a ride. There's a blue norther coming and I wanted to get out before it got too cold." He got a warm, welcoming smile. "You still remember how to ride?"
"It's like falling off a bike, right?" Of course it had probably been even longer since he'd been on a bicycle.
He fell into step with Scotty, their shoulders rubbing.
"Mmhmm. Except Tarzan doesn't fall over with you." He'd met all five horses--Tarzan, Cheetah, Junebug, Polly, and Woody. Scott spent a lot of time out there, messing with them.
He chuckled. "Thank God--he'd crush me." He tilted his head. "You sure that big old beast is the right choice? It has been ages since I was in the saddle." Not that he minded looking like a fool if there weren't any cameras around, but he didn't want to ruin Scotty's ride by needing to be rescued.
"Tarzan's big, but he's soft-mouthed and easy and just happy to be ridden." Those warm eyes met his, the grin welcome as spring rain. "I wouldn't steer you wrong."
"I know." And he did know. Scotty made him feel all sorts of right. A little funny in the belly often, too. Like now, with those happy smiling eyes looking at him like that. "Let's do it. Let's go riding before this storm of yours blows up."
Scotty nodded and got the tack out, whistling tunelessly as he did. It was cute as hell, that little warble.
"So what do you need me to do? Aside from stand here looking studly."
"You're doing a damn good job of that, honey. Get the bridle on Tarzan."
He grinned, grabbing the bridle and slowly approaching Tarzan. It went over the head from the front, bit in the mouth, unless he was mistaken. Which was entirely possible. "I am, am I?"
"Yep. You make good eye candy. I, of course, want you for your mind." Scotty came over and helped him get set up, while Tarzan lipped Scotty's shirt pockets.
"Yeah, because to be a singer these days you have to be a rocket scientist." He patted Scotty's pockets himself. "You hiding treats?"
"Yep." Two carrots appeared like magic. "And does that playing dumb thing work for your fans?"
He grabbed one of the carrots, holding it out on his palm for Tarzan as he blinked innocently. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Scotty arched an eyebrow, then snorted. "My ass you don't."
"Nobody cares if I can count higher than twelve, Scotty." Not his fans, not the label.
"I care. I remember. You were always smarter than me. I remember that."
Man, Scotty just kept making him feel good. If Scotty wasn't careful, Drake would never leave. "Yeah? So how come I was miserable and this close to a breakdown while you were here in paradise?" He stroked Tarzan's nose.
"I had my breakdown in college. I started early."
"No shit. What happened?" Scotty seemed so together.
Always had.
<
br /> "I found out that I can't work and deal with groups of people. I found out that too much input makes me short out." Scotty grinned, shrugged. "I found out that twelve jocks, one queer artist, and an empty warehouse? Less than entertaining."
He frowned, not liking the way that sounded. "You get bashed, Scott?"
"Yep." Scotty patted his hip. "Up and at 'em, honey."
He stared at Scotty a moment, and then let the subject drop with a soft, "That's not right."
Foot in the stirrup, he grabbed the pommel and hoisted himself up, the movements bringing it all back to him.
They headed out, Scotty's whistle random and constant, all at once. God, it was pretty out here--quiet and simple and perfect. Felt good, the big horse between his thighs, muscles working as they roamed.
Man, he could get used to this--was getting used to it, really. The fact that they could go for ages and not come across anyone totally rocked. Scotty took him all over the property, pointing out this and that, making it easy to just listen, to just be.
He almost didn't notice the way the sky was darkening up, but couldn't miss the way the wind suddenly made him shiver. "We should probably get back, huh?"
"Yeah, we'd best." Scotty nodded, moving them a little faster. Even the horses seemed to want in.
The sky lit up suddenly, and he counted to eight before the thunder sounded off in the distance. "Still a bit away," he noted, the horses speeding up even more.
"We'll be inside before it hits." Scotty didn't look worried. Hell, the man looked tickled.
"Yeah? Cool." He watched a bit longer and smiled, Scotty's grin infectious. "What aren't you telling me?"
"Hmm? What? You don't love the energy in the air?" Scotty leaned back, stretching, riding like he was born to it.
Drake laughed, remembering running with the rain back when he was a teenager. "It's been awhile," he'd admitted. Shit, that seemed to be his answer for everything. All that money in the bank, all those adoring fans and he'd spent the last years not living his life.
It was time he did something about that. He shouted "I'll race you!" and took off.
Scotty's laughter followed him, the horses heading toward the barn, knowing right where they were going. In fact, Tarzan sped up even more once the barn was in sight and he nearly took a header, managing to cling in place long enough to get his balance back. He was laughing like mad by the time they hit the barn, feeling wild and free and wonderful in a way he hadn't in ages. It kind of reminded him of the rush of performing for a crowd. A rush that he'd been too tired and cranky to appreciate the last couple tours.
