Page 119 of Syncopation
Chapter Twenty-Three
Zavier bought a small roll of antacids, a toothbrush, and some toothpaste from the truck stop across the street from a motel somewhere outside of someplace. He had no idea where he was, only that he might need to stop eating hot dogs from disreputable establishments and maybe he should have had the forethought to take a bag with him when he’d gone for a “walk.”
He jogged back across the road and to his room. Place looked like a shithole, but the rooms were clean enough. Not even bed bugs, thank goodness.
He should have anticipated that he’d do this, wander far and wide. He’d left that note for Ray, after all, knowing that there’d be a decent possibility he’d not be back right away.
But it was easier to think that he was just going out to clearhis head. To ponder. Not that he would hunt down a rental place, plunk down money for a compact car, and hit the highway. He wasn’t about to admit to himself that he’d gotten in over his head and that large questions about what exactly he was doing loomed over him.
It was—as Nadia had once said when he’d first realized he liked tying people up, beating them, and then fucking them—existentialcrisis time.
He wasn’t running from Ray. He was running fromhimself, which was a futile and foolish exercise. And yet here he was, in a tiny concrete room off some state route, who knew how far from the posh hotel Ray was holed up in.
He missed Ray with every fiber of his being. They hadn’t been out of each other’s orbit since that first practice. They’d eked out a friendship and a kinkyrelationship and now they had something—something Zavier didn’t want to name and didn’t want to face and nevereverwanted to let go of.
He stripped the comforter off the bed and lay down. It wasn’t the most comfortable bed, but no worse than the bunks in the tour bus.
He’d known for most of his life that he was a little off center of normal. First he realized he had no gender preferencewhen it came to bed partners. He’d found a word for that fairly fast—pansexual. The kink was easy enough to quantify, too. He loved dominating. Enjoyed the tears and moans of his partners. He was, as Nadia put it, on the mild side as a sadist, closer to a service top, since he so enjoyed giving his partners what they desired most. He had a passion for making his subs fly or go out of their headsor whatever they needed most from their kink.
But his aromanticism? That had been harder to find words to describe. He’d never particularly understood the trappings of romance, from the diamond engagement commercials to why people found giving flowers some holy romantic gesture. The whole concept of starry eyes and falling so in love that your whole being was consumed with the thoughts ofanother scared the shit out of him. People actually lost their whole sense of self tolove? That sounded like some kind ofnightmare, like love was a zombie that ate your brain. He’d seen it, too, people changing their whole selves to be with someone. Even politics and interests and religion. Atheists becoming born-again. Liberals turning right wing simply because they’d fallen inlovewith someone.
Being completely uninterested in romance had made sex in high school and college a lesson in how he absolutely had to set expectationsearly. Because, man, did his bed partners expect him to fall head over heels for them. God, even that expressionsoundedpainful. Like, how was ramming your face into the ground a fun experience at all?
People seem to obsess over romantic love and the constantdeclarations and gifts. He’d been raked over coals when he hadn’t met whatever romantic standards his partners expected, even when he’d worked so damn hard not to lead anyone on, and set expectations. The worst was when his partners had claimed they would die if he didn’t return their love in the way they expected. Guilt wasn’t caring.
He did care for friends and family. Hell, he’d go outof his way to help them, care for them. Be there to support and cheer and listen. Provide a shoulder when needed.Thatwas the “love” he understood, his definition of whatfriendandfamilymeant. The sense the word made to him.
Everything else seemed like play-acting.
It had been such a fucking relief to discover that he wasn’t screwed in the head when he’d finally stumbled across thearo community. A breath of fresh air. He could finally be who he was: Zavier Demos, the guy who utterly enjoyed sex and kink and didn’t do romance.
He rubbed a hand over his face, unwrapped the antacids, and popped two in his mouth. Mint. Would go well with the toothpaste later. His stomach roiled.Fuck. Usually he could stomach questionable rest-stop meals.
The ceiling had water stainsin a corner. Lovely. Zavier closed his eyes. He’d been in worse.
He couldn’t say he was in love with Ray, because hewasn’tin love with Ray. He’d never felt any of the things society said he should feel when someone fell in love. He hadn’t lost his sense of self. His heart didn’t flip over and over when he thought about Ray—at least not when Ray wasn’t in the middle of anaphylaxis. He’d contributedthe latter to being terrified he was about to watch his best friend die.
He had been so very afraid and angry and desperate to do something—anything—to help. That was a moment Zavier never wanted to live through again. Ray collapsing into his arms. Watching Ray struggle to breathe. Not knowing if he’d see Ray again. That had hurt so fucking much.
The worst part had been watching Dom leavewith Ray. Oh, he didn’t begrudge Dominic at all—Ray had been smart to give someone in the band medical power of attorney. Hell, they all should do that.
But it hurt that it hadn’t beenhim, that they hadn’t reached that point yet in their relationship.
And there—right there—was the twist that left Zavier breathless.
Whether he liked it or not, whether he acknowledged it or not, hewasin a relationshipwith Ray Van Zeller. They were kink partners. They thoroughly enjoyed each other’s bodies. They were bandmates. They werefriends. Best friends.
Zavier pried his eyes open and stared back up at the ceiling.
Maybe that was the difference. Ray had become a friend on top of everything else—or rather, they’d been friendsfirst. He didn’t become friends with the peoplehe fucked, because that only led to expectations he couldn’t fulfill, and even then he still had issues, like with Dimitri.
And he’d never fucked with anyone he’d become friends with. He’d made some friendships at Juilliard, but they’d been based around music and nothing else, and he’d never bedded one of them. His strange friendship with Nadia had been all about kink and not at all aboutsex. Aside from the one time she’d tied him up and flogged him, they hadn’t even touched but for chaste hugs. Neither of them had ever been interested in the other sexually. Sure, Nadia liked to tease about his sexiness, but that was born from her sadism—it made Zavier uncomfortable.
Since Juilliard, he hadn’t made many friends. Dom and Mish were both good friends now since they were also aband. They’d lived on top of each other for almost three months. You didn’t go through that without forming bonds.
Ray waseverything, though. He fit into Zavier’s life so damn comfortably. Ray was his best friend and a man who understood him. A sweet submissive who listened, anddidn’t, in equal, intoxicating measure. Someone who enjoyed sex as much as Zavier did. Ray was also an exquisitemusician in his own right. That Zavier could help Ray relax and lift the world off for a while—well. That was also a turn-on and a kink.
Service top, indeed. Nadia had pinned that on him early on.
