by Rhys Ford
“What’s the difference between this and corn Chex?” Miki said through a mouthful of crumbs. “Just cheesy powder. And you dairy Chex up with milk.”
Damien couldn’t argue that. In reality, there was little arguing with Miki St. John. Most of the time his odd decisions on food, love, and life in general made sense if asked. It was just the convoluted path getting there that made Damien dizzy.
But there was definitely no arguing the point of Doritos and Chex.
It was early morning, early being relative for a couple of musicians. Ten was early in Damien’s mind, but he guessed Miki’d been up for hours. The passing years were good for the guttersnipe he’d found on a Chinatown fire escape. Sure, the car crash was a shitty thing to happen, but what followed seemed to hang okay on Miki’s shoulders.
A lot of that had to do with Kane Morgan, the man Miki’d fallen hard for, and the scraggly blond terrier gnawing at an old bone on the couch by Miki’s feet.
“Give any thought about the band?” He figured he’d make an early stab at it. Get the argument over before the day really got started so he could call it done and move on. Surprise wasn’t a big enough word for the shock Damien felt when Miki nodded while he scribbled in one of his damned notebooks. Damie waited his mostly-brother out; then when Miki remained silent, he prodded again, “And? What do you think?”
Miki stared up at him, glittering hazel eyes through a shock of dark brown hair. In all the years Damien’d had Miki at his side, never once had they’d been at the crossroads they were at right now. Damien longed for the stage, but Miki needed the music. They could play in a closet at the back of a fast food restaurant on pans they found in the kitchen and Miki would be happy.
Damien would not. He knew it. They both knew it. What Damien was asking—begging, really—was for Miki to step up onto a stage and live his life out in public. Again.
Back when they’d had nothing and no one, being a touring band was all they’d known, all they’d wanted. Now without a reason to sleep four to a van or eat stolen diner crackers for lunch, climbing back up on the boards seemed a lot to ask of Miki.
But there Damien stood, at the edge of the refurbished couch they’d dragged around from apartment to apartment, silently begging Miki to join him in the insanity of being in a band. It was a lot to ask the very private Miki St. John.
Maybe even too much. But he couldn’t do it without Sinjun. He wouldn’t do it without his brother.
Miki licked the bright orange dust off of his fingers, scraping at it with his teeth. He swallowed, then said very softly, barely loud enough for Damien to hear, “Yeah, we should do it. D. Let’s get a band together.”
MIKI’D BEEN waiting for Damien to push again, asking once more to cross over a line he thought he’d never have to cross again.
He’d thought about what to say. What to do, really. Recording was exhausting. Touring was…. He couldn’t even think about that. Not yet. Not with the searing guilt building up inside of him.
Damien spent the day on Cloud Nine. Excited and chattering away, he didn’t seem to notice Miki slinking down into his thoughts, plunging into the inky thickness waiting for him beneath the what-nows plaguing him. Sionn came home to snag Damien off to a date night, and Miki waved them off, thankful to be alone.
That is how Kane found him, alone and in the dark with a snoring Dude splayed out in the middle of the living room floor.
“Any reason you’re sitting here without the lights on?” Kane’s Irish rolled thick and deep, breaking away the fragile solitude Miki’d built up.
To give Kane credit—and Miki was always one to give Kane credit—his lover didn’t flip on the switch. Instead, Kane found his way across the warehouse’s great front room, probably using the ambient light coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows to see, until he was standing at the end of the couch where Miki sat staring off across the Bay.
“You okay, a ghra?” Kane sat on the shipping crate they used for a table. His hands were on Miki’s face and arm, stroking away the tickle of uncomfortable he’d been unable to shake since he’d agreed to Damie’s insane plea. “Talk to me, Mick. Is everyone all right?”
Fair question, considering the shit they all went through recently, so Miki nodded. “Everyone’s fine.”
“Then what is it, love? You don’t wallow in the shadows anymore, remember?” Kane teased. “No more Batman for you now, right?”
He should have turned on one of the lights. Kane didn’t need to come home to darkness, but the time’d slipped away from Miki before he could grab at it. Kind of like his mouth answering Damien’s impossible question before his brain could stop it.
The ambient light was spare. They were too far from the bridge and piers for the floods to really touch the warehouse, but there was enough of a glow to see Kane clearly, especially since the curtains were pulled back.
“I told Damien yes today.” Miki shifted, easing his legs from the couch so he could face Kane. “About the band thing.”
“The band thing.” Kane slid his hands around Miki’s, holding them like Miki was precious. It was a touch Miki had a hard time getting used to. It was easier having Damien back than to really accept Kane loved him, but there it was, in every little thing Kane did and said, he loved Miki and had never looked back once. “You okay with it? Being in another band?”
“No,” Miki choked out. “I’m so not fucking okay with it, K.”
MIKI LET himself get bundled up off the couch and into the kitchen. He’d agreed to the no sex on places where they prepared food, but he’d be damned if anyone told him where to sit. Perched defiantly on the counter while Kane rattled about making them dinner, Miki sorted through his feelings and thoughts, thankful Kane was patient enough to wait for him to get his head together.
Handed a bowl of green beans, Miki stared down at the worm-like vegetables for nearly thirty seconds before shaking the container at Kane. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?”
“Clean them.” Kane had his back turned to Miki, so he couldn’t see the confused look on Miki’s face.
He sniffed at them, smelling only beans and water. “They’re already clean.”
“They’re washed, Miki love. You’ve got to….” Kane finally spared Miki a glance, then laughed at the snarl he got back. “Sorry. Here, you grab the end there like this, then peel up the string. Leave that in and it’s like you’re chewing on fishing line.”
“Huh.” Miki experimented with one of the beans, drawing out a long thread of translucent green from its side. “Fuck, that’s why they’re called string beans.”
“Probably.” Kane went back to frying chicken pieces. “Put the string part in that bag I put next to you. I’ll toss them in the water once you’re done.”
“Why not use frozen?” He knew he didn’t like fresh peas. They were too mealy and off in his mouth, but frozen were good, and there was nothing like canned peas with a bit of mayonnaise and pepper. “Do they taste different?”
“I think they taste better.”
“You said that about the peas too.” A large piece of one bean snapped off in Miki’s fingers and he tentatively licked at it. It tasted raw, as green as anything green should taste. Curious, he bit down into the end, careful not to get the hard stem in his mouth. It was sweet and a bit meaty, but not bad. “They’re okay.”
“Better cooked with a bit of butter.” Kane finished poking at the chicken and turned around to watch Miki de-threading their vegetables. “Nothing’s the same as what we’re used to. Sometimes it’s better. Sometimes it’s worse. But we’ve got to try, you know?”
Kane was big, thick and muscled in places Miki found fascinating, but it was the intelligence in his dark blue eyes that captured Miki’s heart. As one of the older Morgan boys, he’d grown up during the beginning of Donal and Brigid’s marriage, gleaning off pieces of wisdom as his parents learned how to maneuver through their own love and growing family.
Miki had no doubt in his mind Kane was not
talking about green beans.
“Suppose it’s shitty? Like peas. But you’ve got to eat them because you’ve promised.” He paid much closer attention to the beans than he needed to, but it was hard to look at Kane. Kane, who’d never stood at the edge of nothing and stared it down time and time again until the void became his shadow, something he could never avoid. “And I’ve promised him, K. I’ve promised Damie. Now suppose I let him down? Suppose I can’t deal with a new band?”
FOR ALL of his prettiness, Miki was far from delicate. Still, Kane edged up to him carefully, moving the beans to the counter, then nudging in between Miki’s legs. He brushed away a piece of hair from Miki’s troubled hazel eyes, sighing when Miki instinctively flinched when Kane drew near.
If the men who’d taught Miki to flinch weren’t already dead, Kane would eagerly set his badge aside and beat them to a pulp. His lover’s soft muttered sorry humbled Kane, and he tucked his finger under Miki’s chin, lifting his head until he could see Miki’s face.
“Mick, love, I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t want you to get mad at me for asking.” The look he got from his lover was one of Miki’s best snarls. Kane kissed the corner of Miki’s mouth, teasing out a smile. “Don’t growl at me. Just listen.”
“I don’t growl.” Miki tugged at Kane’s collar, stretching his T-shirt. “Talk.”
Kane wasn’t going to point out the obvious rumbling purr beneath Miki’s words. He was tempted, but his lover was kissing the edge of something dark, and the last thing he wanted was for Miki to go over.
“Are you going to be in this band of Damien’s because you want to or because Damie wants you to be?” Kane pried Miki’s fingers from his shirt, kissing his lover’s knuckles once he got them free. “What do you want?”
“I want the music,” Miki admitted. “I just… fuck.”
“Now, you talk to me, love.” Kane pressed in, sliding his hands up Miki’s strong thighs. “What’s the fuck for? What’s got you tied up in knots if it isn’t the music or the stage?”
“I don’t even care if we suck….” The husky velvet of Miki’s voice broke, crumbling into hard thin threads. “So fucking stupid. There’s just so much shit in this. You’re here. Home. I have a fucking home, and D wants to go out gallivanting around. Then there’s who the hell else are we going to bring in?”
“Not stupid,” Kane reassured him. “All things considered, very normal. And yes, I’ll be here. Hell, I might even follow you. I could be your groupie.”
“Groupies are crap. Trust me,” he snorted. “D was big on them back then. Now, probably not so much with Sionn. He’d rather have Sionn on the phone than someone disposable in his bed. Got no worries on that one.”
“What about you? Phone calls good enough?” He said it to tease, but the stricken look Miki gave him cut Kane down deep. “I wasn’t serious, Mick love. It was just a joke.”
“Not funny, asshole.” Miki shook his head, pulling back when Kane leaned in for a kiss. “Seriously. Not fucking funny.”
Relationships were hard for Miki. Kane often forgot that. When raised in the boisterous sprawl of a large, affectionate family, it was hard to step back and see the world through Miki’s eyes. It was a rosier view than when Kane first met him, but there were still lingering wounds beneath the surface, often rising up when Kane least expected it.
“I never for once believed you’d take someone else to your bed, love. That’s not you.” Kane got his kiss this time, a simmering hot splash of Miki on his tongue. “And being unsure about new people is normal. I’d be.”
“That’s the big thing, you know?” Miki sighed and leaned his head on Kane’s shoulder. “Because it was so fucking magical before. And I want it to be magic again.”
“YOU FEEL guilty about going on with a band without the other guys?” Kane rubbed at Miki’s legs, generating more than heat under his skin.
The last thing Miki wanted was to deal with a hard dick while he hashed out the crap in his brain, but Kane probably had no clue about how much his touch tickled Miki’s senses. There’d been times when he’d struggled to keep his mind focused on the pleasures of sex before he met Kane, but there were moments when all Miki could see or feel was the bleakness and pain of being trapped in a little room with no hope of escaping.
He never had that with Kane. His cop never made him feel unsafe. And unfortunately, there were now little things Kane did, like rubbing Miki’s battered knee or quirking a wicked smile, that brought Miki’s libido up to a roaring boil.
“If Connor and Quinn died, would you feel guilty if you liked new brothers your mom brought home?” Miki asked softly. He was unprepared for Kane’s shocked hiss and frowned when his lover’s hands stilled.
“Got to hand it to you, Mick, you’re never one to pull your punch.” Kane exhaled slowly. “I guess for you, that’d be what this feels like… like you’re replacing brothers with strangers. And yes, when Mum brought the twins home, it wasn’t exactly my most shining moment. I didn’t need any more siblings… and certainly not a girl.”
“Kiki can hand you your ass,” he reminded Kane. “Worst part about your dad and mom getting together. All of Donal’s bad-assedness and most of your mom’s fuck-the-rules in one package.”
“Yeah, I figured that out when she grabbed Con’s balls and twisted them around because he pulled her hair.” Kane chuckled, probably at Miki’s wince. “Thing is, I love Kiki and Riley because of who they are, not who I already had in my life. And unlike siblings, you and Damie are going to be choosing these guys, so it’s not like you’ve got to take what you get. You did that with Johnny and Dave, didn’t you? Or were they there before you?”
“Damie knew Dave, but they weren’t in a band. Damie had some guys he was playing with, but they fucked around too much.” Miki caught Kane’s slightly confused expression. “Not show up for gigs. Didn’t learn the music. Or when they did show up, they were too drunk to play.”
“So he just kicked them all to the curb and started over with you?” Kane asked, his fingers moving over Miki’s knee again. “Not stupid on his part.”
“Not stupid on mine. Got me a place to crash.” Damien’d struggled back then, but to Miki, the one-room apartment was a godsend. He’d never thought things were lean. There were always ways to get by, stolen toilet paper from gas stations, recycled fast food cups refilled on the sly, and sharing a large fry after scraping up some change were how things were. The music… that had been life changing.
And probably would be again.
Kane was right. It was just another beginning. One of many. A new band changed nothing of the past and sure as hell wouldn’t take away anything he already had in the present. He had Kane, Damien, Dude, and everyone else crowding in on him, within reach whenever the world got too dark. Adding two more to the mix would just be icing on the already filling cake.
“Yeah, you’re right. Not replacing anyone I’ve already got. Just making new.” Miki stole a kiss, then lightly tapped Kane on the jaw with his fist. “And I think your chicken’s burning.”
Interview With The Boys
Interviews
SITTING DOWN with Miki St. John is always interesting. Reunited with Damien Mitchell, things go from interesting to explosive.
They are definitely a couple. Not in the traditional way two men connect with one another—a forever-romantic love and sex—but rather an entangled brotherhood rarely seen in modern days. Seeing them together on stage gives a fan only a hint of the bond between these two men. Up close and in person, that friendship is almost palpable.
I’d arranged to meet the boys of Sinner’s Gin and their lovers for a two-part series of interviews. Meeting them at a renovated warehouse Miki moved into following the band’s tragedy, there is no trace of sorrow in Damie’s face when he opens the door. He’s as cockily handsome as he is in the band’s past photos, but there is a depth of shadows in his eyes, a passing darkness as Miki, his figurative twin, comes out of the kitchen to join us
in the living room taking up a big chunk of the warehouse’s first floor space.
Both are relaxed and happy. Damie’s charismatic smile is in place as he takes a Gatorade from Miki, and he waits until the other man settles down before perching on the couch next to him. Their shoulders touch, and there is a brief moment of aggressive jostling, a childlike tug of play between them before they both burst into laughter, Damie’s baritone rolling under Miki’s rich tones.
Miki St. John is quite sexy in person, a slithering boneless man with a shy, sweet face. His hands are constantly in motion, picking at the bottle’s plastic ring or playing with the tear in his jeans’ knee. Damien is less fidgety but no less personable. Nearly aggressive with his charm, the guitarist provides a social buffer for his best friend, stepping in to fill any silences as we make small talk about the city they both love.
I show them a sheaf of paper with a small list of questions posed by fans, and Miki’s nose wrinkles. Damien gives him another nudge and tells him to behave, then gives me permission to let the questions rip.
FIRST, THANK you both for answering these. I appreciate it.
M: Not like we’re doing anything else.
D: What Miki means is that we’re delighted to. You have to speak fluent asshat with him sometimes. He’s cranky. We’re out of cinnamon brown sugar Pop-Tarts.
M: Nice. Dick. He ate them.
Okay, let’s get started. Do you like apples?
M: Apples?
D: Really, apples?
Don’t judge. She was shopping for apples.
Miki shrugs, then says: Yeah, I like them a lot. The really dark red ones. And sweet. I like sweet apples. Not the green ones.
D: I like the green ones.
M: I just don’t want them to taste like potatoes. Blech. Gack.
