Page 60 of Refrain
“It gets under your skin,” Spook added.
“You’re not suggesting drums are the answer, are you?” Luthor’s brows furrowed in surprise.
“Could be. Maybe the missing piece is something fancy from yours truly.”
It turned out that quite the opposite was the case. What it needed was some brushes and some shed-building— a nice steady, functional beat, soft on the ear, but with just the right amount of fill to give the licks a cohesive backdrop. They were at work on it until way after dark.
-24-
Spook
The moment the composing ceased and the other stuff began was the moment Spook felt like he’d been plopped back into a life he didn’t know how to fit into anymore.
“Food,” Luthor insisted, and started poking around for a takeaway menu.
“Forget it.” Xane followed him over to the kitchen area. “There’s nothing for miles, and assuming anywhere would even deliver, it’d be stone-cold by the time it arrived.”
Luthor hushed him with an arm hooked around his neck, and a kiss to the opposite shoulder. “It’s not that far to civilisation, only ten miles or so. I could collect—”
Luthor had brought a car. Spook couldn’t stop his feet from marching him straight over to the window to peer out. Sure enough, there it was, sat in the lane just beyond the boundary wall. A big chunky four-wheel drive, of the variety posh school mums liked to use to ferry their offspring around town. The sight set a hoard of angry wasps off buzzing in his ears. The vehicle’s presence a reminder that reality was just out of sight beyond the ridge, and creeping closer with every breath.
“We’ve food here. I can make something.”
Spook didn’t realise Xane had extracted himself from Luthor’s hold until his hand curled around Spook’s shoulder. “Hungry? What do you fancy?”
“I’m not. Not really.”
“Yeah, but I’m going to insist you eat. At least one meal a day, right, we agreed that?”
Had they? He supposed they had at some point. In reality, Xane hadn’t been here with him that long, but it simultaneously seemed he’d always existed in this place. The two of them rubbing along, playing music. Part of him wanted that to continue unchanging until they were two cranky, doddering old men who’d shared the richness of a whole lifetime between them. But that dream was already fading, assuming it had ever been more than an idle thought. “Pitta burgers,” he suggested. “We bought some cook from frozen chicken breasts, and there’s salad.” It wasn’t exciting, but it was relatively easy to eat.
“And oven-cooked curly fries?” Xane added.
Spook made a ‘hm’noise, completely indifferent to the idea.
“That okay with you, Luthor?”
Spook left them to cook it, then picked at his meal when he was eventually called upon to eat it. He wasn’t sure where they were all going to sleep. The bed wasn’t big enough for them to sleep comfortably, not when one of them was a bed hog, and another an insomniac prone to flailing about when he finally succumbed to slumber. He kept expecting Luthor to announce he’d booked a B&B and whisk Xane away.
This made his heart thud so ferociously, it made the act of chewing and swallowing nigh impossible.
“Is it not good?” Xane asked.
“It’s great, I’ve just… I have heartburn. I’m going to get some milk.”
Milk wasn’t an ideal substitute for a meal, but it was better than nothing, and at least he could sip it, and holding the glass gave him something to occupy his hands. Like at breakfast, it gave him the opportunity to move away from the kitchen island too. It wasn’t that he resented Luthor’s presence, far from it, he’d enjoyed the afternoon. It’s just there was so little space, it was difficult to not be aware of his guests constantly. It seemed he’d forgotten the knack of tuning everyone out as he’d done during all those long… long stints on tour buses.
His meal remained uneaten on the table.
Eventually, Xane and Luthor settled by the hearth too. It really was the centre point of the whole cottage. They pulled out a snakes and ladders game, played without him when he shook his head over a choice of counters. Tried hard to ignore how often they touched one another, and the way their gazes would connect. How, when that happened, Luthor would smirk, and Xane’s tongue would flick against his lip ring. You didn’t need to be psychic to know what they were both thinking about. The connection was right there, burning like a streamer of stars connected them both.
He excused himself for a bathroom break.
When he returned, Luthor had Xane pinned on his back, his wrists caught in an iron grip either side of his head. They weren’t kissing. Weren’t really touching, despite Luthor being crouched over Xane. The intimacy of their position nevertheless stopped him short of entering. It created a scratchy sensation beneath his skin as though his viscera were stuffed with fibreglass. As he watched, their lips met.
The sensations of it rippled through his body, as if he were part of it. He felt the tension of Xane’s body beneath him. The softness of his lips, and the contrasting pressure of his jewellery. The intensity of his need struck him so hard, he choked upon it.
That turned both their heads towards him. Broke them apart. Luthor rolling back onto his knees. Xane rolling on to his side and looking across at him. “Are you all right?” and “Do you need a pat on the back?”
