by L. A. Witt
“I know.” He rubbed his eyes. “I just don’t know why I can’t get him out of my head.”
“Because you’re a red-blooded gay man and he’s Andre?”
“Fair point.” Joel laughed halfheartedly. “I mean, I kind of do want to go to the dungeon, but not to play. The messed-up thing is that the dungeon was pretty much my social life for the last three years. I don’t want to be involved in the kink scene anymore, but I really miss just being social.”
“Then come hang out with us.” She nudged his leg. “You don’t have to play.”
He scowled. “Except now I think it might be weird. Things got awkward between me and Andre because I didn’t want to go to the dungeon. But then if I do . . .”
“Well, what if you only hang out with us at social events? We don’t just do play nights and munches, you know.” April paused. “Actually, now that I think about it, there’s a music festival in town next weekend. The whole group is going.” She lifted her eyebrows. “You want to join us?”
“Will Andre be there?”
“Probably.”
Joel groaned.
“Why? What’s wrong with that?”
“I just . . .” He made a frustrated gesture. “I don’t know. Because I want him so bad I’m going out of my mind, and being around him only makes it worse?”
“Maybe you guys need to hook up until you get it out of your systems. Obviously you both enjoyed something about each other.”
“Oh, sure.” He rolled his eyes. “Because the only thing better than pining after someone I can’t have is sleeping with him until he inevitably decides I’m not enough.” He paused, realizing he sounded a lot bitchier than he’d intended. “I get what you’re saying. I do. But I really don’t think it’s good for my sanity.” He scowled. “Except damn, that festival does sound like a fun way to kill a Saturday.”
“Exactly.” She studied him. “Let me ask you this—if you don’t go to the festival, what will you be doing that day?”
Joel shrugged. “I don’t know. Working? Cleaning the house?”
“You do those things every day. It’s not that I want to shove you in front of Andre and make you uncomfortable, but I do worry about you. If you were an introvert who liked to stay home and avoid the world, it’d be one thing, but that’s not you. It hasn’t ever been you. Rob tried to make you that person, but watching you be a hermit is like watching someone try to walk in badly fitted shoes.”
Joel couldn’t argue with that. As much as he’d been somewhat of a recluse the last few months, he missed hanging out with people and socializing.
April reached across the table and put a hand on his arm. “Here’s the thing. Rob was an abusive, toxic dick-wad. He isolated you from people until the only friends you had were his friends, and then when you left, he probably thought you’d lose us. But you didn’t. In fact, he’s the one who’s been booted out.” She squeezed gently. “You’re still welcome in this group. And if you just need some social interaction, of course you can come hang out. Especially until you’ve had a chance to get on your feet socially.”
Joel cringed. He hated the constant reminders of how much control Rob had exerted over him. For the last six months before they’d moved, he hadn’t interacted with any people he’d known before Rob unless he worked with them or was related to them, and once they’d moved here, his social circle had been reduced to the dungeon. Even months after Rob, he hadn’t expanded that circle because he sucked at getting out and meeting new people, which meant he’d been lonely as fuck. Christ, no wonder he’d been mentally obsessing over Andre.
Yeah, maybe going to the music festival would be a good idea. And the dungeon crew had always been warm and welcoming to him, even when he’d been convinced they wouldn’t be. A day of music, friendly faces, beer, and sunshine sounded pretty damn good. Even better if Andre was there.
It wasn’t like he and Andre had parted ways coldly, after all. So they’d had sex? So they’d realized they weren’t compatible for more than a roll in the hay? A lot of people in that group had played together or slept together, and then gone on as friends like nothing had happened. Who was to say that couldn’t work with him and Andre?
Don’t hold your breath.
Well, he’d go to the festival. He’d have a good time. Maybe he’d even hang out with Andre, talk with him, enjoy his company, and get over all these stupid fantasies about repeating that post-dungeon hookup.
Seriously. Don’t hold your breath.
If there was one thing everyone involved with the dungeon seemed to enjoy besides BDSM, it was music. Joel swore two-thirds of their nondungeon activities revolved around music of some flavor, whether it was a festival like this one, or one of the concerts down at the local winery. Some of the group went to country music shows, but Joel wasn’t really into that.
Today was all rock, which suited him just fine. The seating area was enormous, with standing-room-only near the front and a few grassy hills where people sat on blankets near the back. The group usually stayed up on the grass, and Joel joined them. From here, it was easier to see the two stages, which were kitty-corner to each other, and the acoustics were perfect. Plus he didn’t get jostled around by overly excited twentysomethings. He definitely preferred sitting where he didn’t wind up wearing his beer.
It also meant being closer to the beer garden, so Joel could join some of the connoisseurs in sampling the local microbrews.
Beside each stage was a gigantic vertical banner listing all the acts that would perform and when. The first few, Joel didn’t recognize. As he went down the list, they seemed vaguely familiar, and toward the bottom of each were some local bands he’d heard of. The last acts? Running with Scissors followed by Schadenfreude. Those two acts alone would be well worth enduring the bad beer, relentless heat, and—come dusk—bugs. At least he’d remembered sunscreen and had ample water, so he was ready for whatever the festival threw at him.
Maybe start with throwing me a piece of that tanned blond pouring beers. Good God.
Joel tried not to ogle the guy, but he definitely stole a few long, appreciative glances at the shirtless torso and gorgeous ass. Nice smile, too. He had a feeling that before he fell asleep tonight, he’d be imagining those lips around his cock.
In the beer garden line, Joel shivered, goose bumps springing up despite the heat. Yeah, he was glad he’d come. Lots of eye candy.
He reached the front of the line, and the cute blond poured his beer. They exchanged smiles as Joel slid the money across the table—tip included, of course—and even though Joel couldn’t quite work up the nerve to start a conversation, the little flirty smile was enough. So what if it was to get more tips?
On his way back to where the dungeon group had set up their chairs, he scanned the crowd, the stages, the banners, the cloudless sky. Today was a perfect day for the festival. Clear, sunny, not too hot, with just enough wind to stave off the humidity.
Yeah, coming here had definitely been a good idea. He’d needed this. Probably since well before he’d walked out on he-who-didn’t-need-to-be-named.
Back at the grassy hill with the others, Joel took his seat. Earlier, he’d staked his claim and laid out a blanket, which he’d held down with his backpack. Next to him, Bill had his arm around April’s shoulders as they shared a bottle of wine. There was still a fair amount of space on the grass, but in another hour or two—especially as the better bands started taking the stage—it would get crowded. That didn’t bother Joel. From where he was sitting, he’d have an unobstructed view of both stages.
And aside from the festival itself, he did like this bunch. They were one of the few groups in his life who accepted queer members without flinching. There were no side-eyes like he occasionally got when clients caught on that he was gay. No snide comments like he heard at family gatherings. New members were told in no uncertain terms that everyone was welcome in this group and at its dungeon, and even a hint of nose-wrinkling or shunning would not be tolerated.
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No one here judged him for being gay, and no one gave him crap for not being kinky. Not even when he was surrounded by a lot of heterosexual kinky people.
Or not-so-heterosexual kinksters—such as the casually dressed Dom currently making his way toward the group. It was amazing how much different he looked in a Running with Scissors T-shirt and faded shorts, and yet he was still just as sexy as whenever he strode into the dungeon in black leather.
Or when he’s naked, Joel’s mind helpfully added along with a prickle of goose bumps.
And, God help me, he’s coming right this way.
Andre stopped beside the blanket Joel was sitting on. He hesitated, then gestured at it. “May I?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Joel scooted over a few inches. As Andre settled beside him, Joel took a deep swallow of beer. For some stupid reason, he was still a little uneasy around Andre.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Andre said.
Joel shrugged. “It was either this or stay home and work.”
“Ah, yeah. I do the same thing. If I’m home and I get bored, I start working.”
“Yep, exactly.” Joel held up his beer. “So I decided to take a break.”
“Good man.”
They exchanged smiles. Andre looked around, probably taking in their surroundings, and as he did, one of the other dungeon members caught Joel’s eye. The woman’s eyes flicked back and forth from Andre to Joel and back. Then she faced the stages again.
Joel squirmed self-consciously.
Being here with a Dom totally helps my case about not being a submissive.
His own thought made him flinch. He wasn’t here with Andre. They were just sitting together. Why did everything have to have subtext behind it? Couldn’t people just accept that his presence in the group meant a desire to be around people, and that enjoying Andre’s company meant he liked the guy—which he did, sexual attraction notwithstanding—and not because he needed a Dom?
Ah well. It was what it was, and today, he was going to enjoy himself, and other people could go fuck themselves.
As with any festival, the good bands were all reserved for the evening performances. This early in the day, well, it was usually pretty clear why some of them weren’t scheduled for the evening. It might’ve just been that their style wasn’t Joel’s cup of tea. Like the one currently on the left stage. They played their hearts out, and they were obviously passionate, but . . . no.
Bad band, empty cup—only one thing for it.
He started to get up, but turned to Andre. “I was going to get another beer. You, um, want to come with me?”
“Sure, I could use a drink myself.” Andre got up and dusted himself off, and together they walked across the sparsely crowded lawn to the roped-off beer garden.
The beer garden crowd was thicker, but fortunately, five more bartenders had arrived, so the lines were moving quickly. While they waited, Joel and Andre looked over the expansive list of options.
“Good lord,” Andre said. “There must be a million choices here.”
“I know. It’s awesome. I love microbrews. I could probably spend all day in here sampling them.”
Andre wrinkled his nose. “Really?”
“What? You don’t like them?”
He shrugged. “They’re all right. I’m admittedly a ‘beer you can buy at the gas station’ kind of guy.”
It was Joel’s turn to wrinkle his nose. “Ugh. No thanks.”
Andre chuckled. “Snob.”
“Cretin.”
Their eyes met, and they both laughed.
Joel picked out a bottled cider from a brewery he’d never heard of. The bartender—not nearly as cute as the one from earlier, but not hard on the eyes—popped the cap and handed it to him. After Joel had paid, he stepped out of the way, turned the bottle around, and looked at the label. As he skimmed over the information, he stopped himself.
Am I really at a festival, hanging out and having fun . . . and reading the nutrition facts on a beer?
For fuck’s sake.
Goddamn it, Rob. You’ve been gone for months and you’ve still got me counting fucking calories.
Fuck it. He took a swig, and it tasted amazing. Because of course it did. It was a cold beer on a hot day while he was cooling off next to a hot man. Calories just didn’t matter.
He glanced at Andre, who was still trying to pick a beer from the impossibly long list of options. While Andre perused the menu, Joel let himself fantasize about what it would be like if this were an actual date. If they were here together, enjoying the music and beer and each other’s company without the group.
But he quickly shut that fantasy down. It was stupid to even consider. It didn’t matter how much of the same music they liked, or if they both enjoyed tasting and talking about beers, or whether they could set the sheets on fire when they got home tonight. At the end of the day, Andre had needs and wants that didn’t match Joel’s. Joel had compromised his own needs and wants before, and in the end, he’d been miserable.
Andre was kinky. Joel respected that. He was frustrated by it, and he wished it weren’t the case, but he respected it and wouldn’t dream of trying to change it. They could be friends. He’d been friends with people he wanted, fucked, and wanted to fuck again, and this would be no exception.
Andre finally settled on a local microbrew that Joel thought he’d tried before, but couldn’t remember. He took a sip, rolled it around in his mouth, then shrugged. “Okay, okay. This one’s not too bad.”
“See? Told you. Not all microbrews are the piss of demons.”
“No, they’re not,” Andre laughed. “And I’m not against microbrews as a rule. I’ve just never been impressed by what I get at places like this.”
“Yeah.” Joel nodded. “Some of them are absolute crap. I’ve been having pretty good luck today, though.”
“Me too.” He gestured toward the lawn where everyone else was sitting. “So, should we go back and watch the show?”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. We should get back before someone takes our spot.”
“I dare them,” Andre said in a growl that might’ve been menacing if not for the sparkle in his eyes.
They headed back from the beer garden. Joel had a nice buzz going now. He’d still be safe to drive by the time the festival was over, and he still had his feet under him and his wits about him, but he was mellow and happy.
Which may or may not have had to do with not so much the beer but the man walking beside him. Though they were just hanging out like a couple of friends, it was better than awkward silence. And who said you couldn’t check out your friends?
When they reached the place where the others were sitting, no one had taken their spots. The group had pulled in a little tighter since the crowd around them was thickening, but they were far enough back from the stage to not get swallowed up by the worst of it.
As Andre and Joel took their seats on the grass again, they still had as much room as they’d had before, but Joel could’ve sworn Andre was sitting a little closer to him now.
Joel could barely focus on the music. Not that he really wanted to as long as this band was still playing, but even if one of his favorites had been up there, his brain would’ve been scattered. No, not scattered. Hyperfocused. On Andre sitting to his right.
On the gorgeous guy sitting to his right who had chosen to hang out with him despite being surrounded by people who were probably much more like-minded than Joel.
Joel smiled just before he sipped his beer. Being this close to Andre was frustrating as hell. Being this close to him now that he knew what it was like to kiss him, touch him, make him come? Torture.
But even still, he was glad Andre was here today.
He was glad he was here today.
The sun had gone down and the moon was rising above the left stage, which meant the better acts would be on soon. The last several had been pretty damn good too. Thank God—one more of the whiny hipster acts from the early hours, and Jo
el might’ve lost it.
Another act closed their set, the lights on the stage went down, and the other stage immediately lit up as the band jumped into a lively intro. As everyone turned to watch the newest act, Joel caught a glimpse of Andre beside him and . . . paused.
Whoa. Something about the lighting—maybe the colored lights above the stage, or from the slowly setting sun—hit Andre’s face just right. The blue in his eyes was more pronounced now, and his tanned skin seemed just a hint warmer. Almost like he’d blushed, even though he hadn’t really.
Andre turned to him, and his eyebrows jumped. “What?” His voice barely carried over the music.
“Nothing. I . . .” Joel shifted his gaze away. “Nothing.” He paused. “I think they’re getting down to the good bands.”
“Thank God,” Andre muttered into his water bottle. Though neither of them had been drinking all that heavily today, they’d both stopped completely an hour or so ago. They’d driven themselves to the festival, and a DUI wasn’t terribly high on Joel’s bucket list. Or Andre’s, apparently.
Joel’s buzz was mostly gone, especially since his last beer had been pretty fucking weak, but he still felt amazing.
Cradling his water bottle between his hands, he watched the show, taking in the nice weather and the great music.
Two or three songs into the set, Joel’s skin prickled, and when he turned, Andre wasn’t watching the band. No, he was looking right at him.
Joel squirmed self-consciously. “What?”
“Nothing. Uh . . .” Andre shook himself and faced the band again, and if Joel wasn’t mistaken, some color really had risen in his cheeks. It definitely wasn’t from the sunset or stage lights this time. “Nothing. I’ve just, um, I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“Huh?” Joel glanced down at his clothes. “You’ve seen me dressed like—”
“No, I don’t mean how you’re dressed. I mean, I’ve never seen you . . .” Andre held his gaze, and his voice was soft as he added, “Happy.”
He had a point, didn’t he? Because Joel had actually been happy today. Not completely carefree and without any kind of stress or baggage or whatever, but he’d been able to check out from all of that and just enjoy the day. Enjoy the music, the beer . . . and Andre.
