by Eden Winters
“Send it where?”
“Um… that might be a problem.”
“No, it’s not. I have plenty of room.”
“I told you….”
“I have four houses, two I haven’t been to in months. No telling what housekeeping’s been up to. I normally rent out those two, but they’re currently empty. I’d like you to stay here with me, but if you’d rather not, you have your choice between three other homes—as a favor to me, of course. Free rent—you act as caretaker when you’re there.”
Lowered brows had to mean, man thinking here. “Where?”
“Besides this one, I own a cabin near Lake Tahoe and a condo in Dallas—don’t ask, I honestly can’t remember why I bought it—and…” Should he tell Seb or not? Better to be honest. “…a lovely two-story in Evergreen, Colorado on lots of land.” He waited, the ball firmly in Seb’s court.
Sebastian stepped away. Henri missed his heat immediately, though the room wasn’t cold. “You bought my house from Charles.”
Chin up. You did a good thing. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Some assholes were going to buy it, sell off your family’s things, tear down the house, and build a resort.” Okay, maybe he’d been too honest.
Sebastian scowled. “This isn’t your fight, Henri.”
“But I love that house. And the grand piano.”
“Henri….”
This situation called for a little more honesty. “I love you, Seb. This probably isn’t what you want to hear right now. You’ve got your life to get back together and want to do that on your own. I understand. Believe me, I do. I stood in your shoes not too long ago. If not for you, I wouldn’t be where I am right now.”
“What you feel is gratitude and pity. Nothing more.” Resignation pushed back the hopefulness on Sebastian’s face.
“Maybe. If gratitude and pity cause butterflies in my stomach whenever I hear your name. If gratitude and pity make my heart do cartwheels when I see someone who sort of looks like you. Seb, I’m writing sappy love songs. The guys are freaked out, but Tessa loves them.”
Resignation turned to shock. “You love me?”
“Yes, and I understand if you can’t say the same right now. You don’t have to. For years I’ve been too busy being famous to realize how few genuine friends I have.” Fists balled at his sides, Henri pled his case. “You taught me what to look for, believed in me without worshipping me for something I took for granted. You get me, Henri, Henry, or whoever the fuck I am. Besides, you’ve done something for me no other human on the planet ever has.”
“What’s that?”
“Made me tuna fish sandwiches. C’mon, let’s take this to the kitchen. I’m starving.” Although Sebastian held his hand, he didn’t say the words Henri longed to hear. Maybe he never would.
“Who’s that one from?” Seb pointed to a brightly wrapped package under the tree.
“Tessa.” Henri shook the tiny box, the kind a ring or pin might come in. It rattled. He ripped the paper and lid off to find a packet of crystals. “For luck and protection,” the card said.
Steve the stylist included another cross, along with a clipping from a fashion magazine depicting models dangling crosses from their belt loops, along with snippets from various fanzines showing the legion of Henri’s fans who now copied his style. A “Season’s Greetings” card held the written inscription, “Told you.”
Henri had sent his family vouchers for an all-inclusive resort in Cabo. Their card lay face down on his dresser. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the picture of the three of them smiling in front of the family tree without him, but couldn’t throw the reminder of happier times out either.
Jake sent a vintage Stones T-shirt; Michael, a book on the evolution of rock and roll; and Colton gifted Henri with a reproduction samurai sword.
“That is so cool!” Sebastian held the sword aloft to admire the workmanship while Henri unwrapped an oddly flat package from Lucas. Oh shit. He slid the gift under the couch before Seb noticed. Seb’s yawn offered a perfect out.
“It’s getting late. Why don’t I get you settled in?”
Sebastian placed the sword on a nearby chair. “I suppose I could use a shower before bed.”
Henri tuned out the gasps and “ohs!” while showing his lover the rest of the architectural nightmare he wouldn’t call “home.” They trudged up a willies-inducing curved staircase, the acrylic steps giving the illusion of walking on air. Garlands on the handrail lent a more solid appearance. Who the fuck thought invisible stairs were a good idea?
For the first month or so after moving in, Henri had enjoyed the glass outside wall of his room, which, at night, afforded a good view of the lights of LA. Times had changed. Who might even now be sitting in the bushes across the street, with binoculars trained on his every move? He shuddered, closed the blinds, and turned away, only to see himself in a wall of mirrors. Whoever’d built the place must’ve owned a massive ego, if the mirrors throughout the home were any indication.
A bed big enough for four took up a small fraction of the floor space. Funny, Henri had been more comfortable in the modest double bed with Seb in Colorado. At least he couldn’t see through the floors up here, where acrylic gave way to marble.
Sebastian stood in the middle of the room, mouth open, slowly turning. “Oh my God. I’ve never seen a room quite like this one.”
Henri found his dwelling hideous. How odd to hope Sebastian liked the place. “Does that mean ‘oh my God, I love it?’ or ‘where’s a wrecking ball when you need one’?”
“It’s… it’s not you.” A wrinkle formed between Seb’s brows. “Or is it?”
“It’s not. It never was.” The wrinkle smoothed. “It’s something my mo… manager talked me into.”
Like Sebastian’s room, no pictures adorned the walls—Henri never figured out how to hang them on glass and mirror tiles. If not for the magazines and other effects stacked on any available surface, his room might have had even less personality than Seb’s.
Now wasn’t the time to point out Seb’s lack of luggage. “The bathroom’s through there if you want to take a shower, and there’s a robe hanging right inside the closet. I’m going to clear up downstairs and be right back.” Henri kissed Sebastian, holding on perhaps longer than necessary. Sebastian. Here in his room. But for how long?
He trotted back down the ghastly stairs, ears tuned for running water, and retrieved Lucas’s gift. A picture, in a tarnished silver frame. A woman who must have been Seb’s mother held a chubby-cheeked infant in her arms—an infant with soft copper fuzz on his head destined to darken into Seb’s now-auburn locks.
No telling how Sebastian would react to seeing what just might be a father’s way of giving his blessing. Oh shit! Seb’s father! Henri reached into his pocket for his cell phone to tell Lucas Seb was safe. Hell, where had he put his phone? He patted his pockets, but no phone. When had he last seen it? Oh yeah, when Seb had arrived at the gates. But he couldn’t recall seeing it after then. He must have dropped the thing in the yard.
While he’d entertained Seb, night had fallen. His housekeeper kept a flashlight in the pantry, but no matter how hard he searched, Henri couldn’t find his phone.
No problem. He kept a spare in his bedroom.
He returned to the living room. Seb must still be in the shower. A few presents remained under the tree. His new recording studio had sent champagne, along with news Lucas had hinted at: “Ice Inside” had scored the fifth spot in the weekly top-twenty countdown. Nice!
Various other music types had sent gifts of wine and food. He’d eat the food and regift the wine. He didn’t need temptation in the house—other than Seb.
He didn’t receive even a card from any of his former bandmates, not that he’d expected them. Still, Seb’s presence made this the best Christmas in recent memory.
The ornaments glittered a bit brighter; the sappy carols Sebastian insisted on playing lightened the mood. Sebastian appeared i
n the doorway, towel wrapped around his waist and voice as decadent as ever. He did justice to a rousing rendition of “Joy to the World.” Henri joined in on harmony, their voices merging, becoming one. The song ended. Sebastian said, “Merry Christmas, Henri.”
“I have a gift for you.”
“You shouldn’t have. I didn’t get you anything.”
Yes, you did. You showed up. “You can owe me. Have a seat.”
Sebastian perched on the edge of the couch, one brow raised and his legs open enough for Henri to hope for a cough or sneeze to reveal all. Okay, no perving on Christmas.
“I hope you like it.” Henri handed over the professionally wrapped package. His own wrapping skills sucked big-time.
Always meticulous, Sebastian peeled the tape off the paper and slowly unwrapped the gift, a Christmas gift strip tease. Finally, he opened the paper to peer inside. “You got me an e-reader?”
Was that a good reaction or a bad one? “You said you like paper novels, but I figured, as much as you travel, this might be easier to carry around more books.”
Sebastian scrolled through the preloaded listing. “Hitchhiker’s Guide, Stranger in a Strange Land.” He glanced up at Henri.
“Uh…. I didn’t know exactly what you liked beside sci-fi, so I tried to give you a variety.”
“Lord of the Rings. Hunger Games?”
“It’s a good series. Or so I’m told.” Henri’s face heated clear up to his ears.
“Thank you. You shouldn’t have.”
“‘You shouldn’t have, I’m charmed,’ or ‘you really shouldn’t have’?”
“You shouldn’t have, I’m charmed. Thank you.” The thank-you kiss was worth every moment of agonizing over book choices.
“I got you something else too.” Henri handed over another package.
Sebastian stripped off the paper on an entire case of chocolate bars.
“I stole one from you back at the house. I paid you back—this is interest.”
Sebastian threw back his head and laughed. A good sound, a genuine sound. “Henri?”
“Yes?”
Sebastian stared at the present in his hands. “Would you take me to bed?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Even before I managed to escape Charles, with you I let myself dream. I didn’t think of my career, or even the consequences. I wanted you. I pretended you wanted me too.”
“I did want you. Do, I mean.” And he’d spend however long Sebastian would let him proving it.
Sebastian’s naked skin glowed in the low light of a bedside lamp, dark whorls of hair adding interest to his body. His chest pushed against the sheet, and Henri lowered the fabric for a better view. His cock throbbed.
He climbed up on the bed, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, palmed Seb’s stomach, ran his fingers through dark curls, and paused to tease the pink nipples peeking through the chest hair. With a light touch he ran a finger down Seb’s long nose and lower. Sebastian puckered his lips to kiss the fingertip as it wandered by. Down and down Henri stroked, over a bobbing Adam’s apple, zigzagging across Seb’s sternum, and lower, to seize the drop of fluid at the tip of Seb’s dick. Henri brought the offering to his mouth and sucked away the moisture. Another drop formed. Henri licked it away and settled on his side to suck in earnest. Sebastian maneuvered him, pulling, pushing until the warmth of his mouth welcomed Henri inside.
Fingers danced across Henri’s buttocks, left unadorned of artwork for the time being. Sebastian cupped the globes of Henri’s ass in his large hands, working him to the beat of a song known only to Seb, vibration from his humming shooting fire to Henri’s groin.
Seb was here. In Henri’s bed. No telling when he’d leave again. Henri opened wide, putting Sebastian’s open throat lessons to good use.
Suddenly, cool air shocked Henri out of his approaching bliss. “Stop! I’m about to come!” Sebastian shouted and pushed Henri off his cock. “What do you want?”
The uncertainty in Sebastian’s eyes ripped at Henri’s heart. No telling if Charles had ever given the man a choice.
Henri didn’t hesitate. “I want you in me.”
A quick trip to the bathroom yielded what they needed, and Henri saved time by preparing himself in front of the sink. He’d never been one to require a lot of preparation, as noted in his song “Fuck the Foreplay”—banned in thirteen countries.
He paused a moment in the doorway, enjoying the vision of Seb in his bed. Instinct took over—no thinking needed. Henri slid over Sebastian. Skin against skin. Breath mingling in a kiss. Someone moaned. Sebastian bucked, rubbing his erection against Henri’s. Seb. His beautiful Seb.
His normal brand of condom strained to accommodate Seb’s larger width. Time enough to restock later.
Henri rose up in the bed, positioned Sebastian, and hissed at the burn of the wide head pressing inside of him, stretching him. Teeth pressed tightly together, he blew out a breath. Pleasure. Pain. Mingling. Fullness. Ecstasy when Sebastian brushed against the one perfect spot deep inside.
Movement. Barely registered by a mind overloaded, nerve endings tapped to the limits. He rocked, pressing Seb harder against his prostate, and reached down to cup his cock. No stroking. Not yet. Tonight must last.
Up and down, side to side, he took his lover into his depths. Perfect. He rode out shockwaves and shuddering chills, his breath coming in gasps and pants. Sebastian gripped his sides, helping him keep the tempo. With a surge of his hips Sebastian buried himself deep, only to retreat and return.
Again and again and again. Henri lost the battle to resist temptation and enclosed his cock in one hand, holding tight but not moving. Seb’s motions rocked them both, forcing a groan from Henri.
Flutters began deep in the core of his being. He raced toward the finish, fingers gliding over his flesh, aided by his own precome.
Sebastian’s thrusts grew harder, more insistent. Henri impaled himself on the cock breaching his body, savoring the sweet ache heralding his orgasm. Pleasure slammed into him with hurricane force. He’d have fallen if not for Seb’s hands guiding him. “I’m coming.” His guttural growl barely sounded human.
In response, Sebastian picked up the pace yet again, moving at frantic speeds. “Oh God, oh God,” he chanted.
Henri let go, mind bursting into a thousand glittering pieces. He came to rest in the crook of Sebastian’s arm, vaguely recalling Seb’s roar of completion. In a moment he’d get up, stagger to the bathroom for a washcloth, and wipe away the evidence of their passion. In a minute. Definitely not now.
One perfect moment, secure in his lover’s arms. All he’d ever wanted.
Twenty-Three
Empty breakfast plates littered the nightstand. Sebastian drained his coffee cup and placed it amid the pile. Seemed he’d loosened up his neatness. Then again, no one would scream at him for not immediately cleaning up the mess—may Charles rot in Hell.
“I want you to hear something.” Henri padded across the bedroom floor naked, toes squeaking across cold marble, so different from the hardwood of Sebastian’s home. He preferred the hardwood. After adjusting the stereo and inserting a disk, he stood, arms across his chest, to study his lounging guest.
The pristine white sheets of Henri’s bed enhanced Seb’s coloring, bringing out the copper highlights in his hair. “What are we listening to?”
“You’ll see.” Recently, guitar players had blended together in Henri’s mind, but from the first chord of the recording, he recognized Michael’s distinctive flair. If only Margo hadn’t ditched him years ago.
Jake followed behind Michael; two different musicians with different styles circled each other musically and came together in a meeting of minds. Together the newfound accord welcomed Colton’s keyboarding, and then Tessa’s bowls, the haunting ring adding a touch of the odd that fit perfectly with the song.
A male voice sang, “Ethereal. She’s ethereal….”
“That’s not you,” Seb commented.
&n
bsp; “No, it’s not.” He said no more. Head cocked to the side, Seb listened. The song wound down, the musicians dropping off until only Tessa remained. Henri hadn’t even provided backup. The last note held. Voice a mere whisper, Tessa sang, “She’s ethereal,” her silken tones evoking the words she uttered.
Sebastian smiled. “Gorgeous. Is this some new band you’ve discovered?”
“No, it’s my band, showing what they’re capable of without me.”
“And you don’t mind?”
“Of course not. They’re talented in their own right. I don’t mind giving them the spotlight on occasion.” Something he’d never done with his old band.
Sebastian snorted. “You’d never make an opera diva.”
No, Henri supposed not. “I’ve got something to show you now.”
He turned on the big-screen television he seldom watched, never being home much, and sat next to Seb on the bed. He clicked the remote. The song started again, this time with Henri singing lead.
A tree’s branches swayed in time with a swing rocking back and forth. Tessa wore a flowing green dress, and elf ears peeked through her hair. Flowers decorated corkscrew curls. Behind her and the swing, Michael appeared in silver, giving her a gentle push. He faded in and out of sight, a nod to his accidental Starman persona. Up in the tree Jake plied his trade, a lute magically moaning out the bass line, while Colton, dressed as a medieval knight, lounged beneath the branches.
“The theme wasn’t my idea.” Henri had questioned the whole concept at first. What kind of video was this for a serious rock album? Tessa loved it. Tessa, the heart and soul of Mismatched Delusions. The nurturer. She wanted this video with elves and fairies? Henri would deliver on a silver platter, as would the rest of the band.
The camera focused on the fairy maiden, following her across a meadow. Wand in hand, she seemingly played the swaying flowers towering above her, the sweet music of her bowls emanating from their petals.
A boat ferried her across a crystal lake, the faces of her bandmates reflected momentarily in the looking-glass surface. The song ended with her lying in the boat, hand folded over her breasts and eyes closed as she whispered, “She’s ethereal.”
