A Matter of When

by Eden Winters

  Who was he kidding? What friends? And who wanted bigoted homophobes for fans?

  “Sebastian, I can honestly and truly say I’ve never gotten butterflies in my stomach when a woman entered the room, unless you count the time Sister Mary-Agnes caught me composing dirty limericks in the school music room.” Henri shuddered. “That woman had no qualms about taking a ruler to my knuckles.”

  “What? You’ve never been in love?” Seb stopped talking, but his sympathetic frown continued the conversation. Oh you poor thing.

  “I didn’t say I’d never been in love.” In junior high school, each week had brought a new crush, sometimes on a guy in class, sometimes an idol from one of Henri’s numerous rock magazines, once a substitute teacher. He took a deep breath and disclosed what would soon be public knowledge, and damn the consequences. “I’ve never been in love with a woman.”

  Confusion, shock, disbelief, revulsion. No telling how Sebastian would react. He never batted an eyelash. “But you’ve still been in love. Draw from your own personal knowledge. Use the pleasure, the pain. In my experience, audiences crave strong emotion of any kind: love, triumph, sorrow, heartbreak. Make them feel what you’re feeling and they’ll eat from your hand.” Without another word Seb left the room, la-la-la-la-la-ing all the way.

  Damn. That had gone well.

  After dinner Henri called his new manager. “Is there a reporter you trust to tell the truth and not embellish?”

  Lucas didn’t hesitate. “I know a few.”

  “When I get back in town I want to tell my side of the story. The drugs, the band, the drugged drink. And Lucas?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m giving you a heads-up. I plan on coming out.”

  “To LA? But you’re not due back for three more weeks.”

  Henri let silence answer for him.

  “Oh. Tabloids got it right for once, did they?” Lucas’s laugh carried no derision.

  Well, damn. The tabloids. How Henri hated proving those bastards right. “Do we have a problem?”

  “No. But I have to ask you something on a personal note.” Lucas took on a businesslike tone.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Has something happened between you and Sebastian? You’re my client, but he’s the son of a dear friend, with his own career to worry about. If you hurt him, you’ll answer to me.” Fathers of sixteen-year-old daughters never sounded so fierce to defend virtue.

  Did Lucas just out Sebastian?

  “How’s it going?” Sebastian eased down onto the settee, facing the piano where Henri had spent a fruitless few hours.

  “Not good.”

  “Why not?”

  “I heard what you said about emotions, but saying and doing is a lot different.” Most of Henri’s recent emotions conjured the same kind of angry, depressing songs Hookers and Cocaine thrived on.

  “What do you have so far?”

  “Come here.” Henri patted the bench next to him and scooted over.

  Sebastian sat. Before Lucas had dropped his bomb, Henri had no problem sitting close to Seb. Now, proximity added fuel to the fire of thoughts he shouldn’t be having about a man his manager would kill him for seducing. He didn’t usually go for intellectual guys, yet the warmth of Seb’s body summoned him closer. A hint of cologne teased his nose. Huh? He’d never noticed Seb wearing cologne before. Then again, quitting smoking might have contributed to there currently being more smells in the world. And never had Henri’s fingers been more awkward on a keyboard. Hands as graceful as hammers, he banged out the basic opening for his new version of “A Matter of When.” With a too thick tongue, he launched into the vocals.

  “From the moment I saw you.”

  “Nope. Not feeling it.” Sebastian placed his hands over Henri’s to still their frantic pounding.

  “But I just started.”

  “And already your audience is yawning. Grab their attention with the very first note. Now, the original song starts, ‘I’ve got a date with a bullet,’ right? All dreary and depressing.”

  “Hey!” It’d been catchy enough to warrant Grammy attention.

  “Well, it is. If you want to remove the previous image from people’s minds, you’re going to have to think big. Maybe you should put this one away and find something easier to work on.”

  Like hell would Henri give up. He dug his heels in. “I like this one.”

  Sebastian squared his shoulders. “Try another.”

  Henri would show him. “How about ‘Whores and More’?”

  Seb’s sigh ruffled Henri’s scrawled-on music sheets. “Guns and bullets it is.”

  Henri shifted on the bench to begin again, his thigh rubbing against Sebastian’s. Sebastian stood abruptly. “Time to fix dinner.” He fled the room. Henri stopped playing and pressed his hand against his leg where Seb’s had been. A bit of tingle remained, and his cock began to rise at the recollection of Seb’s nearness.

  And Seb ran. He’d felt their connection too, had he? Henri smiled, humming a new song and conjuring lyrics.

  “The spark is there, let’s fan the flames.”

  Seb had a certain quality that spoke to Henri. He wasn’t the type Henri usually went for, but maybe, like his music, Henri had simply gone for what was available without giving much thought to what he really wanted. Sure, Seb chewed Henri out on occasion, but only when Henri deserved or needed the scolding to strengthen his resolve. There was something to be said for a man who could hold his own, and who cared about more than fame and money.

  Seb provided meals and training, but didn’t stop at the bare minimum. He truly cared about everything more than Henri’d ever cared about anything. In time, could he care about Henri?

  But what did it matter? They’d be together for a short while and then go their separate ways. In a year, would either of them recall the single month spent in each other’s company?

  Henri stopped playing, stroking his fingers silently on the piano keys. What secrets lurked beneath Sebastian’s clothes? Henri imagined them both naked, moving in unison in the four-poster bed upstairs. He unzipped his fly and slipped his hand inside to stroke his growing erection. “Loo-looing” from the kitchen meant he’d be safe for a while. Heh. What would Mr. Perfect think about what the big, bad rocker did to him mentally?

  Would Sebastian want Henri inside of him, or roll Henri onto his belly and do what he wanted? How reserved he was in the light of day. At night, would he take control, make demands of his lover? Or would he worship Henri’s body, take him to new heights of arousal?

  Henri moved his hand faster up and down his shaft, cupping his balls through his jeans with the other hand. Oh, damn. His breath hitched. “Oh, oh, oh!” Harsh breathing filled his ears, his heart hammered. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” he hissed.

  The Sebastian in his mind invaded his body, stretching him, making him burn. “Oh, God!” He vaguely heard the loo-loo-loos drifting in from the kitchen, almost caressing him. His stomach muscles tightened and lightning zinged through his groin from the raw power of Seb’s imagined thrusts.

  Henri shot, one hand tugging a faltering rhythm, the other catching a rain of droplets. Eyes tightly closed, he breathed through his climax, hissing out “Sebastian!” from between clenched teeth. He opened his eyes to find Sebastian standing speechless in the doorway.

  “I… um….” Someone needed to call the fire department to put out the flames in Sebastian’s cheeks.

  “Dinner’s ready?” Henri should be embarrassed. He wasn’t.

  Did Sebastian realize he’d licked his lips? “Err… yes.” He spun on his heel and tromped off down the hall.

  Henri stared down at his cupped palm. Oh yes. Seb could run, but he couldn’t hide.

  “Can you pass the salad, please? I want more.” Henri added a hint of innuendo.

  Sebastian didn’t take the bait. “Sure.”

  One-word answers, that was all Henri had gotten since his arrival at the table. Sebastian passed the salad bowl. Henri made sure
their hands connected. Sebastian jerked his fingers back and sat rubbing them on his side of the table, keeping his eyes firmly on his plate. This wouldn’t do.

  “Sebastian, we might as well clear the air here. You caught me jerking off. I didn’t intend for that to happen. We’re both men—these things happen. I don’t want you uncomfortable around me.”

  “I’m not.” Seb sat ramrod straight, muscles bunched to flee at any moment.

  Oh, really? “Are you worried I might try to seduce you?” Sebastian’s reserve added an element of excitement to their meal. Why shouldn’t Henri and Sebastian entertain each other? They were here, the two of them, with no witnesses. Seb was hot, in a quiet, take-a-minute-to-notice way.

  “No. Not at all.”

  Henri reached across the table, lifting Seb’s face with two fingers under his chin. “You should be.”

  Far from the backpedaling Henri expected, Sebastian met his challenge full-on. “I’m your teacher, you’re my student. I also refuse to be another notch on your bedpost. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Well, damn if the man’s refusal didn’t make him the most desirable fuck on the planet.

  The next morning Sebastian prepared breakfast and left early for lessons. He kept out of Henri’s way all day. Henri spotted him through the window, walking the wooded trail alone. Fuck. He’d been looking forward to their walk. Oh hell, they needed to clear the air. Again. However, Sebastian only put in a brief appearance at dinner, not allowing enough time for conversation.

  Henri hadn’t noticed how much Sebastian’s company meant to him until he lost it. Time to apologize—if he remembered how. He knocked on Seb’s bedroom door.

  “What is it?” Seb had never sounded so annoyed before, no matter how badly Henri goaded him.

  “I’d like to talk.”

  “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  Not good enough. Spilling one’s guts required eye contact. Henri dropped his usual cockiness. “Please open the door, Seb.”

  The door slipped open a crack. “What do you want?”

  “I’m out of practice with admitting I’m wrong, since I haven’t been allowed to make my own decisions since kindergarten, but I admit that I messed up. You’re not someone to fuck and forget.” He swallowed hard. His admission didn’t wipe away his guilt.

  “Go on.”

  Oh crap. Full disclosure. He hated full disclosure. “I’m not going to lie and say I don’t find you attractive. I do, even if I don’t understand it. You’re not the kind of man I normally go for.”

  Seb’s face darkened. “And what kind do you go for? Thin? Gorgeous? Rich?”

  “More like shallow, vain, and clingy. I’m not used to being around men who tell me no.” The tiny space in the door started to close. Henri placed his hand in the way, not forcing the door farther, but not letting it shut. “I’d welcome you into my bed, but realize I value your friendship too much to lose it because I did my thinking with my dick. Can we call a truce?”

  Silence. Henri readied himself to snatch his hand back if need be. “A truce? Name your terms.”

  “I’ll not try to seduce you if you’ll forget what an ass I made of myself.”

  One side of Seb’s mouth quirked up. “You do make an impressive ass. Have you ever considered auditioning for A Midsummer Night’s Dream? It’s a starring role.”

  Was that a chuckle? “So I’ve been told. Look, Seb, I like you. And I’m sorry. Can we go back to the way we were?”

  The moments ticked away, Henri holding his breath. Hell, if he kept this up, he’d be able to sing three lines without breathing at all.

  Sebastian let him off the hook. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

  “Not really. Trust me, I’m not that great. Just a drugged-out rocker who put his foot in his mouth.”

  The door opened a bit more, revealing Sebastian dressed in a robe, holding a book in his hand. “I’m all for pretending it never happened.”

  “Thank you, Seb. Good night.”

  The stiff set of Sebastian’s shoulders relaxed. “Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Henri let out his breath once the door closed. He’d fully meant his apology, so Seb should have invited him in. “You’re incorrigible,” he muttered to himself. He hummed all the way back to his room, words forming in his head.

  “Incorrigible, there’s no hope for you….”

  Lucas had been right about one thing: Henri found plenty of song inspiration while staying with Sebastian.

  “Stretch your neck.” Seb lifted Henri’s chin with two fingers. “Stretch, stretch. Feel the muscles pulling.”

  Henri had to look stupid as all hell. Still, Sebastian spoke to him, actually touched him. Stupidity well spent.

  “Now,” Seb continued, his quiet murmur as soothing as Tessa’s bowls, “imagine you’re picking apples. There’s one way up high over your head, nearly out of reach. Loo, loo, loo, loo….” He ran up the scale. Henri joined him on the second “loo.”

  “Nice, now keep going, stretch, stretch, reach for it.” Seb pushed Henri’s chin up higher, so far he almost couldn’t swallow. “Breathe from your diaphragm. Take a deep breath, let it out slowly.”

  Seb circled. Henri followed each movement with his eyes. “Loo, loo, loo, loo….” Henri hit his limit. Seb kept going.

  He made a full circuit and returned to stand in front of Henri. “I have lessons this afternoon. I want you to practice while I’m gone. Keep thinking of picking apples, reaching for something on a high shelf. Believe it or not, it works.” Without another word he swept out of the house. A few moments later the VW rumbled down the driveway, fading from Henri’s hearing.

  “Damn. I thought he’d never leave.” Henri dashed into the kitchen and flung the pantry door open. Spices, dried lentils, a bag of potatoes, canned soup, canned tuna, spaghetti noodles, a bottle of wine. Aha! There! Way in the back, on the top shelf. There all the time, and Seb didn’t share. “Mr. Healthy, my ass.

  “Loo, loo, loo…,” Henri sang, standing on tiptoes and wriggling his fingers. Almost there! “Loo, loo, loo….” He bounced on his toes. Just one more half inch and…. “Gotcha!”

  He snagged the chocolate bar and danced away with his prize. Junk food! Finally! Chocolate goodness exploded on his tongue the moment he peeled the bar open and bit down. Oh damn. Now that was good.

  Holy shit! Had he actually bypassed wine for chocolate? Huh. Must be some kind of breakthrough. Wait! He stopped nibbling and reached into the pantry again, stretching for all he was worth. “Loo, loo, loo, loo, loo, loo… loo!” Hot damn! Chocolate and a high C. Wait until he told Seb. Well, not about the chocolate. His throat felt a bit sore, but… a high C!

  Seb would be so proud. Wait a minute. Why? Why was the man so concerned? Sure, Lucas paid him for lessons, but Henri’s dance teacher certainly hadn’t put so much effort into seeing him succeed. And Henri wanted Seb to be proud of him. What the hell?

  He sank down onto the kitchen floor, munching his pilfered treat.

  Now if Sebastian rewarded Henri with chocolate, he might do better with his vocal training. He grinned. What if Sebastian rewarded him with kisses? Or maybe more. Oh yeah. What if, instead of running the other day, Sebastian had fallen to his knees and taken Henri into his mouth? Oh hell yeah!

  But… Sebastian cared. He acted like a friend. Fucks were easy to find, friends weren’t, and fucking a friend was a damned good way to lose the friend. And yet, just conjuring the man’s satiny smooth tenor crying out in ecstasy had Henri hard and throbbing.

  Was it wrong to want a man he considered a friend? Or did he want the man because he was a friend? Safe. Sebastian made him feel safe, and like he was worth more than his bank account or fame. Then again, exactly how much was Lucas paying him? Probably enough for a helluva lot of chocolate bars.

  Henri’s elation crashed and burned. Sebastian had told the truth. Henri was a student, nothing more. A fat wallet full of cash, like he was to everyone
else. He picked himself up off the floor and marched to his room for his keys. Might as well make Sebastian earn the money, and learn to keep his hands to himself. But first, time to ride to town and replace Sebastian’s chocolate stash.

  Never let it be said that Henri Lafontaine owed anyone anything.

  “Have you ever danced close to someone?” Sebastian strolled into the room, swaying to the smooth jazz Henri had playing on the stereo.

  Henri shot a glance to the grandfather clock. Wow! He’d been wrapped up in composing and hadn’t noticed the time. His newly acquired high C had called for some revisions. “Not really. There was an awkward high school prom thing my mother insisted I go to.” He’d been photographed a million times with the school homecoming queen on his arm. He’d have preferred her brother.

  “You don’t talk about your family much. Are your parents still alive?” The question from anyone else might have seemed nosy. Sebastian wasn’t nosy, merely interested. He’d get an answer.

  Henri fought off a sigh. “Yeah. We’re on the outs right now.”

  A wrinkle appeared between Sebastian’s brows. “Make amends.”

  What? “But….”

  “But nothing. I have no family. It’s just me. Christmas, Thanksgiving, I’m alone. I’d give everything I have to be able to sit down at dinner with my parents, or call them, share my good days, get their advice. Don’t take your family for granted, or one day they’ll be gone, leaving you with nothing but regret for things you did or didn’t do. Now, come here.” Seb jabbed a button on the stereo. Music too slow to dance to wafted from the speakers.

  “Why?” And what did this have to do with singing?

  “We’re going to dance.”

  Dancing? With Henri’s two left feet? No, Seb would dance, Henri would make a fool of himself. “Why?”