The Gift

by A. F. Henley

  Tension began to fade and it was such a welcome relief that August sighed. Doren rested his chin on August's shoulder and they both watched Geoff and Cooper tune up and start picking at guitars. It took less than three minutes after the guys started playing for Doren to start singing, a fact that didn't surprise August in the least. And when Doren wrapped his arms around August's shoulders, laid his head back against the wall and smiled, that was when August knew he was listening, really listening, to the music the guys were strumming.

  Once he found it, once he tuned it in, it flowed right through and out of him.

  August relaxed while Doren sang, feeling the reverberation of Doren's voice run through his chest. It was soothing and he found himself drifting off again and again. Finally he slid from the bed, pointing at the sliding door when Doren reached for him, grazing their palms together as August stepped away. He needed air to wake himself up a bit. Besides, he wasn't a rock star or a musician. Two a.m. hit him hard.

  He grabbed a blanket from the floor and threw it over his arm, stopping to pull some papers from his case before stepping out into the cool, damp night. The torrential rain had tapered off to a depressing drizzle and it coated the surroundings with a shiny, slippery glaze. He dragged a beat-up plastic chair from off the grass and set it on the eight squares of concrete that made up the boys' patio. At least it was covered. For the most part. Only the most persistent raindrops found their way through the overhead layers of balconies. August shook out the papers and stared at them hard. Doren's contract. Again. Regardless of the fact he was more than sure he knew it inside and out. Because there had to be a way around it. There had to be a way to save Doren from Anton.

  Doren

  He'd been surprised when August got up to leave, even concerned at first. But only until he touched August's hand and got the smile. August simply had other things he wanted to do. It was a fact that nagged at Doren while he sat and socialized. He wasn't used to people getting up and leaving when he sang. Usually he had their awestruck attention. But he guessed that was one of the cool things about August. To August, he was just Doren. He could leave the Rock God title at the door.

  It was after four when they started to lower their instruments and talk about hitting the sack. It was almost five by the time they did. Doren however, had other plans as he pushed the patio door over and walked outside. The whisper quiet of pre-dawn was nice after the noise in the tiny room. August was wrapped up tight in a blanket, reading a handful of papers, his jeans lying in a pile beside him. "Hmm," Doren said, pointing at the discarded clothing with a smile. "Did you know I was on my way out?"

  August looked up, distracted, then grinned at the presumption. "You wish. They were insanely uncomfortable. How the hell do you wear those every day?" He looked past Doren at the lack of lighting beyond the glass. "You guys calling it a night?"

  "Almost." Doren knelt in front of him. "What are you reading?"

  August dropped the papers with a sigh of frustration. "Your contract. It's pretty tight."

  He shrugged and tugged on the chair, pulling August closer. "I'm not worried. That's the kind of thing lawyers live for."

  "I know. But I worry."

  Doren gave the blanket a yank. "You worry too much. Maybe you need a distraction."

  "Not a chance," August laughed. "Not with all those guys here."

  Frustrating, Doren thought. And he had no doubts that August had no idea just how much. "Come in and lay down then? Sleep with me?"

  "You don't think they'll get freaked out?"

  "I think if they do," Doren stood and extended his hand, waiting for August to grab it, "then this isn't the place we should be hiding out at."

  The room was quiet, the drapery kept the dawning light out, and Doren pointed at the loveseat. "Sorry, no beds left. Unless you want to sleep with one of the guys."

  "No." August swatted him. "This is perfect. You think we can both fit?"

  "I think we can do a good job trying."

  They folded themselves together, Doren spooning August's back and ass in a way he knew would lead to awesome, yet unfulfilled, dreams. He wondered if it would matter if he told August how much he thought about the two of them lately. Or about how much better it felt to lie beside him then lie alone? He wondered if he finally got the nerve to whisper the words he really, really wanted to say, if August would believe him.

  "August?"

  "Hmm?"

  Doren paused, tried to force the words, and swallowed before trying tried again, "Auggie?"

  August shifted in an effort to turn and look but there was no way either of them could move much on the tiny couch. "What's wrong?"

  Once again Doren opened his mouth and once again the words wouldn't come. "Nothing. Don't worry about it. Good night."

  August tucked the hand around his waist up to his chest. "Good night, Doren."

  Anton

  His forehead was beaded with sweat and his body shook with exertion. But he was smiling.

  It may have taken him hours, but he'd found them.

  Stupid little bastards; did they really think they could hide from him?

  Oh, sure, they'd thought they'd been pretty smart, thought they were doing a good job of shrouding themselves from his probing mind. But it was only a matter of time before they'd let down their guards. And like spring fawns, staring in lovesick adoration, humming their little songs into one another's eyes, they'd done just that.

  At least he knew two very important things. The first one was that they would be at the concert. The papers had scared August, the signatures at the bottom sealing their fate as though written in blood. That was the thing about contracts and laws and fines that always made Anton laugh. The only people truly worried about them were the good guys. Villains had no such issues. Which meant, all things considered, this would be his final shot, the last kick of the can. He had to make sure Morana had everything planned to a tee. It had to be perfect.

  The second thing he knew, probably the most important bit of information he had pulled from their minds, were the words that Doren had been about to speak to that little prick. The words that had refused to leave Doren's lips even as Doren's mind had been screaming them. Words that just might change the way he and Morana orchestrated their next move.

  "I love you."

  Behind Blue

  Eyes

  Curtis

  They were a cool couple. At least, he thought they were a couple. They hadn't said they were. But they'd slept together and most guys, at least most of the guys that he'd known, didn't cuddle up to one another unless they were … well … together. That was just a fact of life. And August was quiet, unassuming and sweet. He didn't seem like the hanger-on or groupie kind. Trustworthy somehow. Solid. He had to assume those two things got the same appreciation from a lover regardless of the gender it was coming from. So he had to guess that there was some attraction there.

  Doren, on the other hand, was a riot. Like when they'd got up that morning and Doren bitched about the instant coffee. Within ten minutes he'd had the lot of them sneaking into his hotel room and all but emptying the room of any amenity they could walk off with. The bar fridge had been emptied, the snacks had been scooped, the coffee maker had been acquired along with every pillow, blanket and towel. Doren had even joked about trying to take the much larger television until August had growled that he was going to break something. It had been awesome. A real I'm-touring-with-a-rock-star moment.

  But he could smell shit underneath the shine. That was one thing they'd always said back home: Curtis, you got a nose for trouble. No matter where it was hiding, he could sniff it out, even in the brewing stages, and he managed to avoid it every time. And this shit didn't just smell; it reeked. Not everything was peaches and sunshine in Doren's world right now.

  He wondered if it had something to do with the studio. He wasn't sure why he thought that; it could have had something to do with the contracts clasped in August's fist the night before, or the way that Augu
st had continued to pore over them through the day. It could have been what he was sure had been the whisper of the big cheese's name when the two of them had been talking quietly as they lay together that morning. There'd always been something about that power-hungry bastard that made him nervous as all hell. He avoided Anton whenever possible. He'd even made an elaborate show of checking all his drums, weighing the sticks, tightening and loosening the skins, just so he didn't have to shake the man's hand when he'd been hired. And one thing Curtis had learned a long time ago: when the senses started pinging him that trouble was around, he'd best be paying attention.

  He wasn't alone in that belief either. Geoff and Dawson had made it very clear they thought the same way. Geoff had even said that he'd wanted to punch Anton in the face the minute they met. But then Geoff wanted to punch a lot of people in the face. Dawson, however, seemed to believe that quiet harmony was the secret to life. So it had been kind of surprising to hear that Dawson was keeping his distance from the man too. Cooper didn't have a problem with him, but Cooper didn't have a problem with anyone. Cooper would have a conversation with the devil if the beast offered him a hit of weed.

  "What you got there?" Curtis asked, accepting the cup that August brought him.

  "Espresso and grappa. Try it. You'll like it."

  Curtis grimaced, sniffing again. "Is there something wrong with plain old coffee?"

  "Yes," August grinned, nodding his head in Doren's direction. "From what I understand it's 'unrockstarish.'"

  "Oh." He took cautious sip. "Good to know."

  Doren dropped down beside them, gazing up at August and Curtis almost snorted into his coffee. Easy there, boy, try not to make it too obvious. Even he knew that rule, and God knew he was no Casanova. Doren looked over at the snort and grinned, hitting Curtis playfully in the shoulder. "Are you hitting on my assistant, drummer boy?"

  "Ah," Curtis said, taking another long sip. "That is no assistant, Doren. That is an angel come from heaven. I mean—have you tried the coffee?"

  "An angel, sure," Doren nodded, watching August walk away to grab a cup for himself. "But he's a devil when he wants to be."

  "No doubt," Curtis agreed. "I'd probably be tempted to light a fire for him if he asked."

  Doren narrowed his eyes. "Don't make me kill you, Curt."

  "It's Curtis. I'm pretty sure I introduced myself as Curtis."

  Doren waved Curtis' words away. "I like Curt. It's direct. To the point." He started pointing around the room. "Auggie, Geoff, Daws, Curt, and Coop. It's just easier that way." He leaned against Curtis' shoulder and batted his eyes. "Besides, it's more personal. Like, all up close and everything."

  "Ew," Curtis groaned. "Get off me." He put down his coffee and pushed Doren away. "If you don't have tits, don't make eyes at me."

  "Wait a second," Doren laughed. "You just said you'd be tempted to light a fire for August!"

  "Yeah, well." He winked at August when August turned around in confusion. "That's August, not you."

  "August does not have tits."

  "August doesn't need them."

  Doren punched him, harder. Which only made Curtis laugh, inspiring most of the room to follow suit.

  "Hey!" Doren said suddenly, turning back to Curtis as August sat down beside them. "Let's cut your hair."

  "Uh, no thanks," Curtis said, pulling away. "My hair is just fine, just the way I like it."

  "Nah, I can do better," Doren insisted, getting on to his knees and flipping Curtis' bangs from left to right. "Really, I know how. I used to cut mine all the time."

  "No," Curtis insisted right back. "It's fine." Doren might be "all that" but the guy wasn't about to go sticking scissors into his hair. Besides, it had taken months to grow it out all shaggy and choppy. It was staying.

  "Trust me. I can make it real cool. It looks like hell all bushy like that."

  "Doren!" August frowned. "What a dick thing to say! What the hell is wrong with you? Didn't your mother ever teach you that if you don't have something nice to say, then you don't say anything at all?"

  The wince Curtis gave was only one-fifth the oh-shit that he felt as he watched Doren's face tighten up. He couldn't believe August had said that. That of all things!

  "What?" August asked, eyes traveling from Doren's to his, back again. "What did I say?"

  "Nothing." Doren stood. "I'm going out for some air. It stinks in here."

  Well, so much for the nice day.

  "What did I say?"

  "Uh," Curtis scratched his scalp and twisted his face into a grimace. How come he had to be the one to say this? Hadn't they filled August in on anything before they'd given him the job? "He didn't have a mother, August."

  August's eyebrows lifted, his eyes widened. "What? Like … well, of course he did. Everyone has a mother."

  Curtis rolled his eyes. "Fair enough. Of course he had a mother. But he never knew her. He was an orphan. No dad, no mom, foster homes, orphanages, you know."

  "No," August said quietly. "I didn't know."

  August

  He walked out to the patio, the recurring theme of their relationship so far, it seemed. The visions, the dreams, the moments of clarity they'd shared: they all seemed to revolve around a simple walk through sliding doors. Doren heard him come and reached out for him without turning, pulling their bodies together. "Look, Auggie, the rain has finally stopped. Hallelujah and praise whatever the hell brings the sun, but the rain has finally stopped. That's got to be a good sign, right?"

  August ignored the attempt at distraction. "Doren, I'm so sorry."

  Doren's shrug lost its complacence with the tension in his shoulders and neck. "For what?"

  "I didn't know."

  "What are you talking about?"

  August sighed. "I didn't know about your mother. Or, lack of. Or, whatever. I'm sorry, I really didn't know."

  "Stop. It's not a big deal."

  August touched his shoulder and turned his chin. "I won't stop. And it is a big deal. It's a big deal when you hurt the person you care about."

  Doren groaned and looked away. "Look, Auggie, you're making too much out of this. I told you…"

  "Yeah, well, now I'm telling you," August snapped. "I care about you, Doren, and you're just going to have to deal with that or you're going to have to leave. So, damn it, if I tell you I'm sorry then I'm fucking sorry, okay?"

  "Whoa!" Doren's eyes were wide but if August wasn't completely crazy, he almost thought he finally saw a little respect in them. "You don't have to freak out, Aug."

  Fucking shame, August thought, reaching for Doren's hand and threading their fingers together. No wonder Doren struggled with things like commitment and emotion. You didn't learn about love in an orphanage. You couldn't learn to commit in a foster home. Could you even learn what love was without a mother or a father?

  "Do you miss her?" August asked, leaning closer.

  Doren wrapped his arm around August's shoulder. "You can't miss what you never knew."

  And that, August was sure, was bullshit. He was no poster-child for family love and sharing, by no means. But he loved his family nonetheless. They were still a port in the storm. At the end of the day, if everything got screwed up so bad that he had nowhere left to turn, he could always go home. It must be awful not to have that option.

  "You had no one? Not a long-term foster family or anything?"

  Doren shrugged again, flippant, but buried his face in August's neck. "No. I never stayed long. There was always something."

  His voice was warm on August's throat and August stroked Doren's hair while he chuckled. "Really? But you're such a loveable guy!"

  "I know!" Doren lifted his head to return the expression, both in amusement and affection. "But it's okay. Because now I have you."

  "Yes," August said with as much sincerity as he could muster. "You do."

  A delivery truck squealed to a stop a few feet away and they moved apart while the driver got out and banged on a heavy metal door. "Do you kno
w what happened? With your parents?"

  Doren shook his head. "I was the classic baby in a basket, gorgeous; literally left on the steps of an orphanage. No note, no mementos, not even a clean change of diapers."

  "Jesus."

  "It wasn't so bad." He watched the driver unload the truck, hands wedged in his front pockets. "People looked out for me."

  "Oh?" August frowned. "Like who?"

  "Well, Diana, for one."

  When Doren spoke the name August was reminded instantly of his dream. "You mean Diana from the office?"

  He nodded. "But back then she was Diana from City Services. She was my caseworker when I was just a little guy. She did her best to make sure I got placed in good homes, and got me out when they weren't. Then when I started high school, you can just imagine how surprised I was when she showed up there as the Principal's Secretary. She needed a change, she said. Of course, we had no idea that we'd end up at the same school though. But it was nice; at least I knew someone."

  August's frown grew, some puzzle piece trying to wind its way into place in his mind. "And then again at the studio?"

  "No, not really. It was actually Diana who contacted me not too long after I graduated. I was kind of in and out of jobs at the time. I could always find one, always smile my way into something, but it was a lot harder to actually keep them once I landed them. I was … less than dependable. But she called me up and said she had landed this great new job at the studio and she remembered that I had a talent for music so she asked me to come out and audition. My face got me through the door but I remember that when I sang, unplugged of course, just me and a guy on the piano, but when I sang this guy came barreling into the room all hopped up about me. It was Anton, of course. You think he figured out something then?"

  "I don't doubt it for a second," August agreed. "Were they good to you? The foster families and all?"