Even if they hadn’t talked about it, it was obvious the bassist worked out. The curve of his shoulders, back, and arms, and how any piece of cloth wrapped around his entire fucking body wouldn’t look the way they did if he wasn’t so fit. Besides, it wasn’t the first time he’d seen him half or completely naked. But something in the way his muscles were flexing and relaxing as he rubbed the t-shirt over his chest tossed Chris into a trap he couldn’t escape. It dragged him deeper with every second that ticked away, forcing his mind to venture into a jumbled mess of confusing thoughts and electrifying sensations he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager.
Yet it was when Marc turned around, smiling and shaking his head at whatever the others were saying, that Chris’s dick throbbed inside his pants, and made him swallow hard.
He’d noticed men before. It wasn’t a secret; had shared opinions with Leah countless times about it, but it was something that had always stayed on an abstract plane for him. His body hadneverreacted to them. Not like this. Not for such a futile thing, like a pair of dark eyes landing on his before dropping to his mouth.
Chris should have felt uncomfortable from the intensity connecting them right now. Marc was too much of a man with those ridiculously ripped abs, sharp jaw, and a prominent Adam’s apple. But he didn’t. Instead, he couldn’t help but swim in the memories of the last time they’d screwed two women together.
It had happened a year before, after performing at Nova Rock and before they drove to the next summer festival. He and Marc had brought a couple of bimbos to the back of their bus. They hadn’t touched each other; it’d been one-on-one with the girls most of the time—save for the brief interactions between the two of them.
Chris didn’t remember their names. Not because he didn’t care or considered himself better than the rest. He was simply awful at this part of socializing. Could recite lyrics of songs he’d listened to when he was ten years old, but names? His memory was pure trash. However, the images of that night were clearly printed in his memory.
The forked tongue of the blonde kneeling in front of him playing on his cock. Her hands caressing his abs. The expression on Marc’s face as some long strands got entangled on his pierced nipples. His eyes fixated on the eager brunette taking almost every raw inch of him down her throat. The moans resonating in the room.
Later on that same night, they had exchanged partners, becoming a gibberish of legs, hands, and raunchy sounds. Blonde lay on her back with Marc’s dick inside of her while Brunette got on all fours, framing her friend's head with her knees, as Chris pounded into her from behind, face to face with the bassist.
With newbies, it would have been clumsy, yet those women were obviously seasoned in the matter. During the first few times of group sex, people usually stumbled between transitions, not knowing where to go or who to touch. But that hadn’t happened with them. It all had been so pornographic.
However, for Chris, the peak of the night had been when Marc revved up. Ruthlessly fucking his partner, he gripped the other chick’s nape and kissed her hard, hungry, dark eyes never leaving the guitarist’s.
Chris had never admitted it to anyone, sometimes not even himself, but that night had been, with no doubt, one of the hottest of his life.
Although he’d heard Marc fucking before, having done it in the same room a few times, too, if someone had told him a few years before that he’d end up in that situation, he would have said they were crazy.
None of his friends were narrow-minded, but they were married, in exclusive relationships, dealing with personal shit, or they were Leah, and that was a big fucking no for him—she was like a sister. So he hadn’t even considered it. Besides, the thought of him or the others acting all awkward the next morning put him off. He was happy keeping friendships and one-night stands separated.
But, with Marc, it’d been a religious experience. Even after the first and totally unexpected time, all that weird dance of polite words and repented glances never happened. They had only done something like that five times over the past three years, but things were still the same between them. The jokes, the more serious conversations, the dynamics within the band. Nothing had changed, which just made the guitarist appreciate this dude much more.
“Hey you,” Green Hair greeted, startling Chris when she touched his shoulder.
A wave of shame crashed against his conscience, making him blink away these indecent thoughts.
“Hey.” His gaze shifted to the bassist for a second as he got up. Marc seemed… disappointed?Whatever.
“So,” the woman started, “we hanging out?” Her voice was low as she ran a finger up and down his forearm.
“Yeah, but I’ve seen their faces enough for today.” Chris waved dismissively. “Let’s go do our thing.” He flashed her a devilish grin, earning a sexually charged smile in return.
“Sounds good to me.”
“Okay, fam, see you tomorrow,” the guitarist said, putting an arm around her shoulders and walking her towards the bus.
Under different circumstances, this would have looked like too much. Too fast. Too sultry. Too inappropriate. But they both knew why they were meeting so late at night. Besides, Chris needed to extinguish the flames the memories of him and Marc together had just lit up on his skin. And the sooner the better. No one wants a bonfire becoming a raging, out-of-control wildfire that could burn all traces of life around it.
6. Learning To Survive
July19th,2017
St. Louis, Missouri
Funny how in nightclubspeople transformed into different animals, or more like they let their true natures crawl out.
Some just got their personality traits enhanced, like thesmooth operators.Usually know-it-all men, who became overly friendly when wasted and tried to seduce every woman in the club. You could also easily find theone-who-won’t-go-home-alonetype. Those kinds of people exuded confidence and sexuality, and they would indeed wake up with someone beside them the next morning. The ones that drank too much and the ones that went out to smoke every twenty minutes were also quite common.
Marc was the sober one who stood there in a corner watching everything unfold before his eyes—boring. Some days, he drowned his mind in alcohol with no problem. Some he avoided getting hammered because it was his turn to drive. Tonight, however, he didn’t even want to drink; had barely drunk a couple of pints while they were playing darts.
When he was in this gloomy mood, with the darkness coiling inside of him, he’d rather stay in control and not end up blurting everything he usually kept silent about.
He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but this festival was awakening things in him he didn’t expect, and holding back was starting to physically hurt.
