Page 111 of Code Word
Turning him on so much was a powerful thing. It was the sexiest I’d ever felt.
I took him into my mouth, I sucked, I tongued his frenulum. His back arched and his grip on my hair... fuck.
Hot.
He cried out and I knew he was close, so I finished him with my hand. I wasn’t up for swallowing. But it was something I’d definitely be interested in working up to.
He returned the favor in the shower the next morning, and if it wasn’t the hottest thing to get to watch him on his knees in front of me, his lips around my cock... But he did swallow this time, and I saw fucking stars.
Actual spinning stars.
It was a stellar way to start the day, and maybe that contributed to my good mood. Even the airport, security and screening, and long lines, didn’t put a dent in my happiness.
Most people didn’t look at us twice, but some did.
I didn’t care.
I kinda hoped they posted pics of me with Luke. We weren’t holding hands or touching in any way, but we were there together, and once upon a time, that had been enough to trend on every social media platform.
We found our gate with half an hour to spare, taking two seats against the wall. Luke seemed happy to keep his head down, cap pulled low, but I noticed a piano in the middle of the concourse. The kind where the public was invited to play.
And I wondered . . .
Could I?
Should I?
“What’s up?” Luke asked quietly. “You’re bouncing your knee. Means you’re thinking about something.”
I laughed, then stood up. “Be right back,” I said, heading over to the piano.
“Blake,” he hissed at me.
But I wanted to do this. I needed to.
I sat on the piano stool and played a few keys, testing it out. It sounded in tune, so I played the intro of “The River Flows in You” and a few heads turned.
Then I began to play “Metronome” from theCode Redalbum, because it was Luke’s favorite. I had more attention now.
But playing an Atrous song felt... contrite. Self-serving? I wasn’t sure.
So I morphed the song into a slowed-down version of “Piano Man” by Billy Joel. Then I began to sing the lyrics.
People stopped, gathered, forming a circle around the piano. People with their phones filmed me and I didn’t even care.
I needed to do this. I needed to take back my love of music. I’d had years of being curbed and streamlined into what Platinum Entertainment deemed marketable.
We didn’t have those shackles anymore.
I could do whatever I fucking wanted.
And apparently, that was singing a rustic song on a public piano in an airport in Mexico.
The applause was astounding, and fuck, it felt good.
Then I played “Help” by The Beatles but stripped back, and the crowd sang along.
When it was over, and when the applause died down, the announcement over the PA system asked people not to congregate or crowd in the concourse.
