And discover each other.
The slide of tongue against tongue, the press of Killian’s hand against his back, drawing him closer, and closer still, shot fire straight to Mike’s groin. He moaned into Killian’s mouth. L.A. might be a foreign place to him, he might not fit in with the people in Killy’s world, but with every fiber of his being he knew he belonged with this man. Needed this man.
Unknowingly had been searching for him his whole life. Someone who’d understand, who loved and lived for music the way he did.
Two parts of a soul, finding each other.
As he kissed Killian Desmond, Mike’s mind already spun words and a melody.
Lost and lonely, all alone
Drifted two parts of a single soul
Searching through life, needing to find
The other piece to make me whole
When I stopped looking, then I found
What I wanted, needed so bad
When you stood before me, at long last
Couldn’t believe just what I had
Killian gripped Mike’s stiffening dick through his suddenly-too-tight jeans.
Oh, yeah. He could always write later.
* * *
Things moved too fast. He’d finally decided to live again, and already life spun out of control. Killy had found a drummer, a keyboardist, a bassist.
Was he being disloyal to his former bandmates by finding new ones? Would he cheapen their memory by keeping the Trickster name alive with others who hadn’t been with him from the beginning, hadn’t paid the hard dues?
What was he doing?
For three years he’d found freedom. Made his own choices.
Like finding Mike, opening himself to let someone else in, even if only a little bit.
He clung to his savior like a lifeline, unsure of everything but the man in his arms. The man who even now reached into Killian’s jeans, stroking him, making him stiffen and buck into the hand so perfectly gripping him.
Blocking his thoughts, he focused on feeling, the scent of Mike and the general Bronco smell in his nostrils, the feel of skin and muscles beneath his questing fingers. Scents of trees and flowers from outside the truck.
He fumbled a few times before unbuttoning and unzipping Mike’s jeans, and then matching Mike’s strokes with his own.
Losing himself in the moment, Killy’s world narrowed down to one man, one moment, one place, Mike’s lips on his neck, the abrasion of whiskers against his skin. He let the seat back and Mike crawled over the console.
Bang!“Ow!” Mike rubbed his head. “Why did someone have to go and put a window there?”
Without hesitation, Killy opened the door, catching Mike in time to keep him from hitting the ground, laced their fingers, and trudged down a worn path, away from the overlook.
Birdsong created a counterpoint harmony to their heavy footfalls. When at last they reached the relative safety from curious eyes, Killy urged Mike onto the ground on his back. Lifting first one foot then the other, he pulled off Mike’s boots, tossing them to the side, then yanked off Mike’s jeans and boxers in one smooth motion.
“What the—”
Killian cut off Mike’s question with another kiss. He’d fucked guys on the tour bus, backstage, in public bathrooms, in barn stalls, and in the sleeper cabs of eighteen-wheelers. How fitting for his first time outdoors in the mountains to be with Mike.
