Page 37 of Patchwork
I flash my backstage pass to the stoic security guy guarding the door and he checks the list for my name before waving me through. My heart pounds impatiently and everything inside me fucking aches to have Onyx within touching distance again. Down a hallway and through two sets of doors, I find the exact kind of post-show party I would expect from rockstars. The lead singer, Gray, has a couple of half-naked women in his lap, stroking his bare chest and fawning over him. Jade, the keyboardist—and Gray’s on-again-off-again girlfriend according to Onyx—leans over the table to inhale a line of white powder, then chases it with a swig from a bottle of Jameson. And Jett, the drummer, lounges in the corner with a halo of weed smokecircling his head and a twink between his legs. He threads his fingers through the twink’s blond hair and meets my eyes with a hazy kind of friendliness, as if he doesn’t currently have his dick in someone’s mouth.
“Hey, man, you want a drink?”
Jade wipes her fingers under her nose and looks me up and down, swaying slightly in her chair.
“Finally, a groupie who looks like he knows how to show a girl a good time.” she grins at me suggestively and leans forward half an inch so her tits spill out of her top in a way that I’m sure is meant to be enticing.
“Uh, actually, I’m looking for—”
“Thanks, guys, but this one is mine,” Onyx says, sliding an arm around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s go somewhere quieter.”
He grabs a handful of the back of my shirt and tugs me out of the room.
“We’re on the road in two hours,” Gray calls out as the door swings closed behind us.
“Only two hours?” I grimace. I should have asked, but I guess I figured we at least had the night.
“Sorry.” Onyx gives me an apologetic smile and flicks his tongue absently against his lip ring. He threads his fingers through mine and walks backward, continuing to tow me along towards the exit door. “It’s just been too damn long. I had to see you, even if it’s only for a couple of hours.”
I might be annoyed at the omission, but he’s right. Two hours is better than not getting to see him at all. I don’t want to ask the question of how long we’re going to do this—stealing a couple of hours or a weekend whenever he’s within driving distance of Fall Crosse. I don’t want to know his answer, but I already know mine. As long as he keeps snapping his fingers, I’ll keep running to him. Pathetic? Maybe. I don’t think I give a shit though, not ifit means getting to taste him and touch him and be the sole focus of his attention for a few hours at a time.
Cool air rushes to chase the sweat off our skin as we step outside into the quiet loading dock area where the tour bus is parked. Onyx’s old Mustang is tethered to the back of the bus the way he said he always insists on. He grins at me and pulls the car door open, then drops my hand, pushes the seat forward, and climbs into the back.
“Are you coming?” he asks.
I chuckle, grabbing the collar of my shirt and pulling it off as I follow him into the car.
“It’s going to be a tight fit,” I warn, clambering in and pulling the door shut behind me.
“I think that’s my line.” Onyx laughs, the metal part of his belt clanking as he tugs it open.
Our eyes meet, and this time there aren’t two thousand screaming people surrounding us. It’s just me and Onyx in the cramped back seat of his car, our heavy breaths already fogging up the windows, six months of pent-up lust between us.
We move at the same time, crashing together with a grunt in a desperate, tongue-heavy kiss. He tastes like sweat and mint, like maybe he brushed his teeth before he came to find me backstage. I tug his lip ring between my teeth, and he groans and jerks his hips, grinding his hard cock against my thigh.
“The woman sitting next to me said she’d kill her whole family for five minutes alone with you.”
“That would be a fucking headline.” He laughs against my lips and reaches between us for the button of my jeans.
A tiny, masochistic part of me wants to ask how many people he’s been with since the last time I saw him, but I think it might drive me fucking insane to know the answer. We break the kiss so I can peel his shirt off, and I rake my eyes across his bare chest and arms. The patchwork of ink I’ve given him over thelast year and a half is all accounted for, and I don’t see anything unexpected.
“No one else has touched me,” he says with a laugh, clearly reading the look written all over my face.
A possessive, prideful feeling surges in my chest, and we fall back into the heated kiss.
ONYX
The buzzy adrenaline I always feel post-show is so much more fun when I have something to do with all this energy. There’s a lot I don’t get about my bandmates, but the urge to fuck and party after a concert, that I get. And for the first time in six months, I’m not jerking off alone in the tour bus.
Every rough, possessive drag of Hero’s fingers against my skin sets off a symphony of pounding music in my ears. His lips are hungry against mine, and his tongue is demanding, lapping against mine like he can’t get enough of the taste of my mouth. My cock throbs against Hero’s thigh, wedged between my legs thanks to the awkward, cramped way we’re positioned so we fit in the back seat together.
“Let me suck you,” I murmur.
It’s hard to pick what I want to do with him when the clock is already ticking and our time is nearly up, but I haven’t been able to think of much except the weight of his cock on my tongue and the taste of his cum for months now.
Hero groans and I slip my hand inside his unzipped jeans to palm his hard, throbbing cock through his briefs. The warm, solid feel of it is enough to make my mouth water and my body heat with the aching kind of need that I know two hours with him won’t even begin to sate. Our tongues tangle again, his moans vibrating against my lips as I stroke him slowly through his briefs.
“Tell me to blow off the rest of this tour and come home with you, and I’ll do it,” I murmur around his tongue.
