Sebastian tugged at Henri’s clothes while hauling him up the stairs. They didn’t quite make it to a bed. In a tangle of arms and legs they rolled on the floor, connected at mouth and groin. Had it been only two weeks?
Henri wrapped a hand around Seb’s cock. “Bed!” he commanded. Somehow they made it to the closest option—the four poster in Henri’s old room. Sebastian jerked a drawer out of the bedside table. A rain of brightly colored packets showered the floor. They hadn’t been there two weeks ago. A tube skittered across the hardwood floor.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Henri hopped off the bed and chased the escapee down. He slicked up his fingers and returned to the bed. Sebastian’s cock stood out among its bed of surrounding curls. A feast for the mouth. Henri sucked the head in, sliding down the length while working his fingers against the resistance at Sebastian’s opening. Seb laced his fingers in Henri’s braided hair, bringing him down more fully. Oh hell yeah. He loved the man’s forceful side.
The pushing turned to tugging. “Up.”
Henri grabbed a packet from the floor and sheathed himself. He slid into Seb’s body little by little, painting a swath with his tongue over Sebastian’s chest. Damn how he’d missed this. Framed by his lover’s thighs, he erased two weeks of loneliness. In, out, breathe. He twined the fingers of one hand with Sebastian’s. “Stroke yourself,” he ground out.
He matched his rhythm with Seb’s, taking his cue to slow down or speed up. For the past two weeks, most men he’d met were too thin, too fragile, or otherwise didn’t capture his interest. With Seb he let go. Seb liked rough. Seb liked lots of touching. Seb wasn’t worried about mussing his hair, and he damned sure wasn’t worried about damaging what a surgeon’s knife had wrought.
His breath came out in gasps and moans, and he frantically tugged between their bellies. Close. So close. Henri slammed in. “Am I hurting you?”
“Oh, God, no.”
Harder. Faster, Henri wrapped his arms around Seb and pushed in as far as he could. Pulse after pulse exploded from him, and still he thrust in, until spatters hit his abdomen. He slid out and connected their mouths.
Desperate kisses grew less frantic, their breathing and heart rates slowed. Only then did Henry notice the breeze blowing in from an open window, carrying the crisp scent of the great outdoors.
Damn, but it was good to be home.
* * *
A lazySunday morning spent in bed, where they’d pretty much stayed since Henri’s arrival. He’d been here three days and hadn’t even taken his bag out of the car—not that he’d needed clothes.
“How’s the band coming along?” Seb lay on his back, a thin sheet offering up tantalizing glimpses of his body.
Henri rolled to his side to rest his head on Seb’s shoulder. “Good. I found someone for keyboards who thinks he’s Bruce Lee.”
“I liked Bruce Lee.” Seb’s energetic nod rocked his shoulder, which, in turn, rocked Henri’s head. “But can he play?”
“Like nobody’s business. And I found a bass player. You probably don’t remember them, but he played with Alternate Phantasm back in the nineties. He crashed, burned, and now he’s back. He’s a fixer-upper, but he’s talented.”
“I’ve never heard Alternate Phantasm, but if he played in the nineties, isn’t he a bit older than the rest of your band?” Seb. Never judging, merely offering the voice of reason.
“No one else wanted to take a chance on him because of his age and background.”
“What is he? Late forties, maybe? Forty is young for an opera singer.”
“For a rocker it’s the kiss of death. But he’s got the sound.” Boy, did he ever.
“Aren’t rockers supposed to be thin, young, and beautiful? Isn’t skinny and hot a requirement? Unless you’re one of the Stones, that is.”
“What? You mean I’m not young and beautiful enough?” Actually, Seb had never once complimented Henri on his looks—only on his music. The slight soreness in his posterior said Seb at least found him useful. Many times in the past, Henri had been just a fuck, and happy for the short-term arrangement. He didn’t want casual with Seb. He wasn’t sure exactly what he did want, but a little genuine affection wouldn’t hurt.
But no. Soon he’d leave again to go back to life in LA while Seb went off to wherever he needed to go. He’d be grateful for the time they’d had; he didn’t have the right to ask for more.“I’ve got a problem I hope you can help me with.”
A laugh rumbled through Seb’s chest. “I thought I just did.”
“Amusicalproblem.”
Henri’s arm-pillow curled around him, pulling him closer to Seb’s fur-covered chest. “What kind of problem?”
“I believe I’ve found the best lead guitarist ever to pick up an instrument.” An understatement, plain and simple.
“I listened to the demo you sent. He’s talented. What’s the problem?”
“He’s okay with small groups, and the kids he teaches, but in front of an audience, he freezes. Can’t play a note. We played together for a few weeks with my first band. My mo… manager didn’t think he was worth the trouble—or pretty enough.”
