One of the few firsts his jaded lifestyle afforded. Digging into his pocket, he found the supplies he’d learned to keep on hand with Mike around. He made short work of sliding his own jeans down his thighs, donning a condom, and working lube into Mike’s hole.
Oh yes, he needed, had to have. Now.
He lifted Mike’s leg onto his shoulder with trembling hands, lined up, and sank in. Too hard, too fast.
Mike let out a surprised grunt.
Killy stilled. Damn it! He’d spoiled the mood by going too fast. “Are you o—”
Mike hooked his other leg around Killy’s thigh and pulled him in, rocking up to meet the stroke. He grinned up at Killy and yanked him down for an awkward kiss.
Oh, fuck did Mike look good, spread out on the ground, sunlight bringing out a few blueish highlights in his dark hair.
Grunting hard, Killy plunged in and pulled out, over and over. God, how much more could he take? Mike was tight around him, open, slick, and pure heaven.
He kissed Mike again, snapping his hips in a one-two rhythm. The uneven ground put him at an odd angle. How could he rest his weight on one arm so he could jack Mike off?
Mike solved the problem, squeezing a hand between their bodies, and chanting, “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!” in time with Killy’s thrusts. Faster, harder, Killian chased ecstasy, bringing Mike along for the ride.
Mike threw back his head, eyes squeezed shut, every muscle tight. When the shuddering began, he opened those questioning eyes, silently inviting Killian to join him on the journey. Mike arched up, jerking once, twice, three times, channel tightening on Killy’s cock.
Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn! Eyes locked with Mike’s, Killy froze, electric currents shooting through his body and straight to his groin.
He pulsed, muscles seizing, chills running down his arms even in the heat of the day. He laughed for the sheer joy of laughing.
Mike joined in, pressing their foreheads together, cupping Killian’s cheeks, and bringing him down to join their mouths.
He’d returned from the dead, found someone who made him want to live again, and maybe, just maybe, he’d found a new band.
Killian’s world could come crashing down around him tomorrow, but today, he wouldn’t give one single fuck.
In this moment he had all he needed.
Until the moment ended, and they drove back to the clusterfuck of his life.
30
Killian wandered down into the basement while Mike showered. He’d not included his practice room on the tour he’d given, and reluctantly unlocked the door he hadn’t opened in three years. Had Annie even dusted down here? Stocked the fridge? Maybe he should have checked before now, an hour before his bandmates were due to arrive.
But not a single speck of dust marred any surface, and the K-cups beside the coffee maker weren’t out of date. He made himself a cup, wandered around the room, and stroked his fingers over the keyboard. How strange that someone other than Ace would make the instrument sing.
He’d have to replace the drums at some point. Couldn’t risk bad juju by letting Jake hammer away on something spoiled by Rob, who ruined everything he touched.
Ace’s coffee mug sat on the counter by the coffee pot, waiting for an owner who wouldn’t be back.
Shut it out, Killy! Shut it the fuck out!So much easier said than done. After the clusterfuck Rob had wrought on his life, his doctor suggested grief counseling. Maybe he should have gone. Then again, he needed his grief, his penance for not being enough.
In a spot by the wall, in a glass display case, sat his mother’s beloved Gibson J-45, signed by the members of her old band. He’d never even bothered to wonder where they’d wound up after her death. His younger self blamed them for encouraging her self-destructive behavior.
Don’t look back, Killian, don’t look back.
“Killy?” Footfalls sounded on the stairs outside the room.
“In here.”
Mike poked his head through the door, hair wet and tousled from the shower. He wore faded jeans, a faded T-shirt, and hadn’t bothered to put on shoes. He’d brought so little with him, owned so little.
Needed so little.
