Brando 2 (5 page)

“First
show of the tour…and
we
fucking
nailed it!”
he screams, shooting his beer-carrying hands into the air and
spraying everyone.

The
room erupts. Stage techs, roadies, anyone with a backstage pass –
they’re
all jumping and shouting as if whatever the fans are experiencing
outside is contagious. As if on cue, Lexi’s
show starts, and the room becomes a congested mass of noise, beer,
and post-orgasmic energy.

“Haley,”
Brian
says, leaning in close so I can hear him over the crowd, “you
okay?”

“Yeah,”
I
say, laughing the last of the butterflies away, “I
feel like I just woke up from a coma –
but
I’m
alright.”

Brian
doesn’t
pull away, and I notice that he’s
letting the crowd push his body up against mine.

“You’re
amazing, Haley,”
he
whispers into my ear.

I
pull my head back to stare up at him. He’s
giving me a look I haven’t
seen before, a look that makes me feel like we’re
the only two people in the room.

“Thanks,”
I
say, slowly. “You’re
not too bad yourself.”

Brian
smiles at the joke, but his eyes have no humor in them. They’re
the eyes of someone seeing something they want badly. He holds my
gaze, and I wait for it.

“You
make me kinda nervous,”
he
says, awkwardly.

I
sip slowly from my beer. I don’t
know what I’m
doing, but I’ve
just grabbed the biggest opportunity in my life and made it –
I
feel invincible. Like I can do anything I want, and do it without
thinking.

“Aren’t
you always kinda nervous, Brian?”
I
say, cocking my head to the side, and rubbing the beer bottle against
my cheek.

“Only
when I’m
around you,”
he
says.

I
giggle and lean into him.

“And
why’s
that?” I
purr.

It
takes Brian a few seconds to change his expression from nervous
surprise to keen excitement. He opens his mouth to speak, but before
he says anything, his cute, boyish face is replaced by Brando’s
hard lines and manly stubble, as he sweeps Brian aside like a soft
blanket.

Brando
stands over me, his loose shirt hanging over his broad shoulders, the
faint outline of those neck muscles I liked so much teasingly traced
in soft fabric. His eyes are hard and narrowed beneath his dark
eyebrows, two planets that pull me into their orbit.

“Just
like in your dreams, right?”
he
says, fixing me in place with the symmetry of his face.

I
press a hand against his torso, feeling the grooves of his six-pack
on my palm.

“So
far,” I
whisper, as I roll my hand up and down his bicep, along his forearm,
before locking fingers with his. I feel a flicker of excitement
seeing the lines in his face get a little harder, a little more
intensely focused upon me, as he sees where this is going. A small
dimple on one of his cheeks where he smiles. He leans in until his
mouth is almost touching mine. Our eyes lock. Then he hesitates, as
if he’s
not sure this is the right move.

But
I know exactly what I want.

I
grab the back of his neck and our lips meet hungrily, moving together
in perfect equilibrium, soft and wet, plucking the sweetness from
each other. I feel his stomach tense up under my hand as he struggles
to control himself. His tongue flicks against my lip and I pull back
to flash him a teasing smile. I tighten my grip on his hand, lower my
face to look up at him through my hair, and lead him out of the room.

Brando

I
let the sway of her hips in those tight, black jeans hypnotize me as
she pulls me by the hand. Out of the green room, down the hallway,
and then turning off down a set of stairs that gets darker with every
step.

We
go through a door that leads into a dark storage area. In the little
bit of light that trickles in I can see amps, mic stands, and a bunch
of other equipment. Somewhere in the distance the music’s
still playing, but only the bass thump makes it this far. A pounding
beat that we feel more than we hear.

Haley
stops, turns, and backs me slowly up against the wall. The elusive
light playing off strands in her hair. Her face comes close, breath
so hard and warm it feels like she’s
kissing me already.

“I’ve
missed this, Haley,”
I
half-growl, half-sigh as I nuzzle against the side of her face.

“Oh
yeah?” she
says, and I can hear the seductive smile in the huskiness of her
voice. “Missed
what?”

I
press my nose against her neck as her body rolls and curls itself
against mine. “The
way you smell…”
I
suck softly on her earlobe, and roll my tongue down the base of her
ear along the smooth curve of her neck. “The
way you taste…”
She
lets out a low moan followed by a sharp intake of breath as I run my
fingers down her spine and grab her ass. “This…”

She
throws her head back, and I move forward to kiss the soft part of her
neck but she backs away, laughing seductively. I push myself off the
wall and follow her, my hands still around her waist, fingers working
their way under her shirt.

She
backs up onto a large speaker-stack and sits up on it, and I move
forward between her legs.

“Keep
going,” she
murmurs, leaning back, her arms stretched out behind her.

I
stroke my hand around to her navel. “The
way you tremble when you’re
excited,”
I
say, smiling at this new game. I bring my hand up under her shirt
toward her breast, her nipple between my fingers. “Your
tits…” she
lets out a two-tone moan, “and
the way you sing when I touch them…”

She
yanks her shirt and bra off and pulls my head toward her with both
hands. Her tongue whips against mine as I bait her, bringing her body
closer. My hands savor the round firmness of her tits, the elegant
way she twitches and undulates beneath me. I feel her thighs squeeze
me, her body acting on its own now, urging me in, craving me.

Even
in the dark, her nakedness drives me wild. It’s
been over a month since I last had her –
since
I last had anyone –
and
even wild horses couldn’t
hold me back now. I take her nipple in my mouth, biting and sucking
to the tune of the distant drumbeat, to the rhythm of her purrs and
sighs, feeling every pulse of pleasure that tickles its way down the
tender skin of her torso. Her hands fumble with my fly, releasing the
tightness that’s
been aching in me since she first took me by the hand.

Her
hips sway like a dance as I ease her jeans down, then her panties,
the sound of rustling clothes mixing with her short breaths. I lower
myself and kiss her thighs, run my tongue slowly up to her pussy,
then around it in ever-nearing circles. I listen to her breathing
like a musical cue, moving closer to the spot like a throbbing
groove, my hands still playing across her stomach and ass, pulling
and grabbing at the goosebumps on her skin.

When
I take her clit in my mouth she pulls my hair, grits her teeth and
growls with aching anticipation. I fuck her with my tongue, deep and
wet, bringing it out to flick it over her clit. Slow, resonant
strokes, pausing at the end for a split-second to make her beg for
more.

“Brando,
stop,” she
pants, in between her moans.

I
pull back. “Tell
me what you want, then,”
I
rasp, my voice husky with needing her.

“I
want you to take those stupid clothes off and fuck me.”

It’s
everything I’ve
been waiting to hear, and I don’t
need to be told twice.

I
grab a condom from my jeans and put it on while she caresses her
tits, pinching the nipples, dappled light dancing over them as they
bounce back. I stand up and watch her for an agonizing moment, my
hands spreading her thighs wide open, my tip teasing her wet lips,
before sliding my cock inside her, deep and sure. It’s
like coming home. Her breathing stops for a second, her body tensing,
and I ease back just a little and then slam back inside until I’m
all the way in, and she releases a half-suppressed scream.

“How’s
that feel?”
I
ask. She only manages a satisfied moan in return.

I
raise her legs and put them over one shoulder, holding them there
with one hand on her ankles, the other reaching for her breast. She
clutches at my hand, holding it against her breast tightly, her
fingers scratching and pulling at the knuckles.

“You
get me so fucking hot, Haley,”
I
snarl, leaning over her as I start to fuck her to the beat of the
distant drums. Her legs almost folded against her, her hands
clutching at mine. I’m
hard enough to break bricks, horny enough to fuck for hours, but
she’s
tight and wet enough that I know I won’t
last that long. I put a little swing in my thrust, enough to make her
really feel me inside, enough to make her scream without worrying
who’ll
hear her, enough to make her pussy tighten around my cock with the
unbearable sensation of too much bliss.

“Oh
my God, fuck, don’t
stop,” she
gasps, her screams turning into stuttering moans, her fingers digging
deep into my hand. I smack her ass as her pussy clenches, wetness
flowing against me, and I know she’s
right at the edge, almost there. Instead of thrusting faster I slow
down, making sure she can feel every single stroke. “Brando.”
Her
breasts shiver under my hand as she comes hard, breathlessly, blood
rushing to her head.

I
can’t
hold back any longer. I pump into her again, my need taking over,
losing myself in the moment. I cum fast, the ecstatic heat of it
slamming through me in groaning waves, and I collapse onto Haley and
let her twine her fingers through my hair. After a few minutes of
drowsy contentment, I pull out and ease her legs to the ground. She
lays on the speaker-stack, arms out wide, catching her breath, even
the light that outlines her shoulder seeming fuzzy now with
post-orgasmic warmth. Slowly, I lean over her, and kiss her one last
time on the lips. So soft she can barely feel it. She receives it
sleepily, and smiles when I pull away.

I
wait for her at the base of the stairs while she gets dressed. By the
time she emerges from the dark she’s
back in control, a sly grin on her lips, that knowing sway in her
hips. She walks right past me, and I lose myself in her mesmerizing
ass as she ascends the steps. A view that makes me immediately ready
for a second round. But suddenly I’m
full of doubt.

“Haley?”

She
looks back at me over her shoulder.

“That
meant something, right?”
I
say, slowly.

Haley
chuckles slightly, then turns to face me, looking down at me from the
height of the steps.

“No,”
she
says, with a sense of satisfaction. “It
didn’t.”

I
freeze on the stairs. “Are
you serious right now?”

Haley’s
smile gets even more condescending, and all at once I feel like it’s
more than just the higher ground making me feel like she’s
the one in control.

“It
was just sex, Brando. Just a bit of fun, nothing more.”
She
turns around and walks up a step before adding, “Just
like before.”

She
continues to walk up the stairs, and I watch her. Half-crazed by that
ass, half-stunned by those words.

“Haley!”
I
call out, causing her to pause, though this time she doesn’t
turn. “Maybe
you want to believe that, but your body doesn’t
lie. That meant something.”

She
snorts derisively before continuing up the stairs.

“Just
like before,”
I
add, quietly to myself.

Haley

We
play Portland, Seattle, Salt Lake City, Denver, and Austin. But it
turns out that playing the biggest gigs of my life are the least of
my worries.

It’s
hard keeping my hands off Brando, since he’s
a constant presence, and each time I come off stage, flushed with
adrenaline, all I want to do is drag him away to a dark corner and
fuck all of my energy away. But I don’t.
I can’t
let that happen again.

We’d
already be doing it on the tour bus if it wasn’t
for my other band members demanding all of my attention. After a
mix-up in Portland where we end up staying three-to-a-room (I
declined Brando’s
invitation, of course) he decides to start flying out ahead of the
crew and the band to make sure nothing else goes wrong with the
hotels and venue arrangements. The fact that I can’t
see him move any more heavy equipment should give me a chance to calm
down, but even during the times when he’s
away, I feel the echoes of his touch whenever I’m
alone. A post-orgasmic bliss that refuses to fade. Like a drug, I’m
itchy and thirsty for another fix of him –
however
much I insist to myself that I’m
not addicted.

Soon,
I’m
thinking more about the stolen moment at the first show than I am the
next performance. I twist myself into knots remembering both how good
he feels, and how badly he treated me. I almost break obsessing over
the memories of him lifting amps onto the tour bus, his shirt off,
muscles bulging, but a cold shower or my daily run-in with Lexi
usually helps me get through it. If not, there’s
beer.

Eventually,
I start actually looking forward to the shows instead of constantly
twisting myself up in knots over each performance. It’s
a big, cathartic release of all the tension inside of me, a chance to
channel all of my mixed emotions and conflicts into something
positive. Being on stage is the only time I let loose, and the shows
are better for it.

Lexi,
on the other hand, only seems to get worse as the tour goes on. She’s
a tangled knot of negativity, a whirlwind of tantrums and complaints.
She talks in a language of bitchy put-downs and self-pitying
breakdowns. Her massive entourage follows her everywhere, sycophantic
when she’s
feeling good, hiding behind each other when she’s
not. Me and my crew steer clear, but the times I accidentally get
close to her and witness the way she never stops berating or
manipulating them, I feel like I’m
back in time witnessing a head cheerleader gone mad with power. I
almost begin to feel sorry for her; it’s
as if she can’t
help it.