“I guess you’ll have to rail me in the bathroom afterwards.”
He yanks at my belt, and genuinely, he’s about to drag me off there, when we almost walk straight into Amber and Shashi. “Watch out! We haveallthe beers.”
August’s brow furrows gorgeously, but he’s too polite to turn them down, as much as it clearly pains him.
I love him for that as well.
We take the drinks and settle into our places for the show, August’s eyes rarely leaving me and my new shirt.
Shashi and Amber are doing great. Still splitting their time between Cambridge and London, but since they got engaged, which they did as soon as we made it home, they’ve been looking for a place to buy together. Until then, I don’t think the hour-and-a-half commute’s going to slow them down at all. Not when you have something like they have.
The lights flash bright white on the stage, and everyone starts to scream. Richie’s out first, or Travis, as he goes by now. The others follow him, as tight a unit as there ever was. They haven’t lost any of the glamour from their Non Jovi days. They’re still all hair and leather and swagger.
The first notes strike new energy into the audience, then a splash of beer leaps onto my shirt when Assassin August bumps my arm, breathing hard. “I made it! I’m here! Watch!”
He wraps an excited hand around my arm and stares, absolutely star-struck, at the untenanted mic, even though he was just backstage three seconds ago.
The music swells, Jon stalks out, and the crowd loses it. Assassin August especially. He’s a mess. It’s ridiculous. It’s sweet. It’s something I never thought I’d see.
“We’re Sex Accelerator,” Jon announces. “And this one’s for August.” They burst straight into their biggest song, ‘Cosmic Lover.’
“He dedicated it to me! Did you hear that?” And Assassin August’s gone, mentally, ready for a solid hour of worshipping the boyfriend who worships him right back. Half of Jon’s songs are about him. Last I heard, he’s working on a ‘rock space-opera concept piece,’ and I think it will do great.
I’m still not sure Jon is a one-man kind of guy, or that Assassin August is. The only thing I do know is that neither of them seem to have time for anything but each other and the band, now that Jon’s writing so much. And I couldn’t be happier for them.
Life is gorgeous. I’ve no less respect for its delicate tenacity now than I had when we came back. Every day feels like a miracle, one I get to spend with my best friend, my lover, myself.
The show’s incredible—a complete success. There’s an after-party at a bar across town, but… August’s got his eyes on me in a way that’s got me making our apologies. A way that’s definitely making the shirt worth the price.
We’re barely out the door and his lips are on my neck, fingers digging into my back. It’s summer now, and the warm air means I can wear this all the way home.
We could get the Tube, but it’s far too nice out. And not a long walk.
Not too long, anyway.
Not with August.
Not with his hand sliding into my back pocket, his hip bumping mine with each step, and him telling me, “You’re gorgeous. You look so good in that shirt. You can keep it on. Will you keep it on?”
By the time we get to our front door, he’s falling apart. The second we walk in, he pins me against it and wraps his hand around my already-hard dick. “You are such a tease.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you, August Blackthorne.” He tears at my studded belt even as he kisses me, fisting my dick. “Hottest man in existence. Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me.” He rips my jeans open.
“So, you like the shirt, then?”
“I like everything about you.”
August’s been working out with me for months now, but even I’m shocked by his strength when he wraps two hands around my thighs and lifts me. He kisses me as he carries me all the way into the bedroom, throws me down, then tosses the sex box onto the bed, spilling the lot out.
Lube, sounding rods, condoms, the loot goes rolling onto the floor. August ignores most of it, stopping just long enough to snatch up the shining handcuffs.
My squeal of unbridled joy is about as undignified as an elephant in an antique shop, but I give zero fucks. He snaps them on so fast I couldn’t take the shirt off if I wanted to. Not that I want to. In fact, I think I’ll wear it again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. I’m going to buy ten.
August’s clothes are on the floor, and before I can even tell him how hot he’s looking, he’s got my dick in his mouth, and I’m ripping at the cuffs, biting my lip to try to stop myself screaming. It’s as futile as it ever was.
He doeseverything. He fucks my mouth so deep there are tears streaming down my face, and I beg him for more. He eats my ass like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. He takes my dick down his throat with four fingers up my ass, so I’m choking on his name, begging for him. And it’s all just another night in this perfect life we’ve carved out for ourselves.
