Chasing Death Metal Dreams (3 page)

“Are you the wrong guy?”

Carlos hesitated a minute longer, closing his fist until the pull in the guy’s hair made his pretty face tense up. Very few people around the scene knew he was gay. Mia of course, and a few guys here and there that he’d hooked up with over the years. But mostly he did his cruising well away from where he played, and even Foster seemed only half-aware of what Carlos was and did.

He watched as the dark attraction in Vampire-boy’s eyes faded, to be replaced by tension. He shook the guy’s head slightly using the handle of his hair. “What’s your name?”

“Nate.” The guy was stronger than he looked, as he clamped his hands around Carlos’s arm. “And you need to let go
right now
.”

Yeah, it could happen just like this. You could be on the ground with a turn of my wrist.
As Nate’s expression became stormy, Carlos realized he’d gone too far and too long. He opened his fingers and let go. “Sorry.”

Nate let go too and stepped back. “Yeah. So what the hell was that?”

“Maybe I’m not gay.”

“Maybe I’m a purple T-rex. But actually not.”

Carlos glanced over his shoulder. The twilight was getting darker, and they were screened from the house and the surrounding warehouses by the scrubby bushes and trees of the swamp, but he still felt way too exposed to be comfortable. “Right here, right now, I
am
a purple T-rex.”

Nate laughed, his expression softening. He crossed his arms over his chest, showing taut biceps beneath the sleeves of his black silk shirt, and licked his upper lip. “Is there anywhere you turn into a real boy?”

Real boy.
Carlos made himself not react. Nate had no idea how much of a trigger that was. Instead, he focused on Nate’s mouth, on the fullness of his lips, the pink of his tongue, on the sparkle returning to his eyes. “I sometimes stop at The Higher Bean for coffee to sober up for the drive back.”

“Not the place I’d have picked for a little action.”

“You have a car?”

“Yeah.”

“That’ll work. After the last set. One a.m?”

Nate hesitated, eyeing him. “Are you gonna have me show up, then ditch me? Or bring other T-rexes?”

“Kinda late to be careful, isn’t it?” Carlos shook his head. “I’ll be there, alone.”

Nate nodded. “Okay then. Can’t wait to see what that ink on your chest says.”

Carlos touched his chest piece through his shirt. The scrollwork lines turned into the word “Boy” under his left collarbone. This shirt was one of his usual stage-wear, with a few strategic rips and holes, so it covered his chest enough but not too much, letting a few of the black lines show through. “I might show you.”
Or not.
He didn’t take his shirt off for random tricks, ever.

Behind them came a roar of applause and a momentary lull in the bass beat that was all that carried this far. Nate sighed. “Sounds like they like him tonight.”

“Serpentine is pretty big.”

“Relatively speaking.” Nate’s pretty mouth twisted ruefully. “For this circuit.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Someday it’d be cool if my brother could break out of the ‘
put a three-thousand-dollar guitar in a five-hundred-dollar car to drive a hundred miles and earn twenty bucks
’ category.”

“I wouldn’t mind breaking out of that myself.” It was too true. Mia’s van was held together with wire and duct tape, and some nights they were lucky to have their cut amount to twenty bucks apiece. “Remind me why I do this again?”

“Masochism?” Nate’s eyes sparkled, though. “I don’t know, not having the martyr gene myself. But I think it has to do with not being able to walk away from the music. Even if it means being broke and riding in a bus with no shocks and scary-bald tires. At least, that’s what Eli says.”

“And what do you do? Something that makes you rich?” Carlos didn’t like being reminded about money. He had Tío Ramón to do that, if he wanted to feel like a failure who’d spent too long at something that would never pan out.

Nate laughed. “Nope. I’m a barista. And kind of an artist in my spare time.”

“And you say you don’t have the martyr gene?”

“Well, I never expected to support myself with my art. So I’m not torturing myself over it.”

“Just over your brother’s art?”

“Well, family’s family.”

“Sometimes.” Carlos knew some bitterness had come through in his voice because Nate’s smile faded. Carlos hurried to add, “So are you the protective older brother? Obedient younger?”

“Blackmailed-into-it twin brother. Actually, I don’t mind too much. I like the music, and I get to hear a lot of decent bands for free. I just don’t need to hear Eli for the six-hundredth time. I live over the garage, which is where he practices.”

“Ouch.”

“He tries to mostly practice while I work. It’s not that bad of a deal.”

“So what deep dark secret does he have to blackmail you into slave labor with?”

Nate put a finger alongside his nose. “It’s a secret. I’d be pretty dumb to tell you.” But then he shrugged. “He keeps Mom happy by telling her all about his girlfriends and pretending he’s getting serious about this one or that one. She gets all her grandchild guilt-tripping out on him, and I kind of fly under the radar, reproduction-wise.”

“Mm.” He wanted to ask if Nate’s mom knew he was gay, but it wasn’t the kind of question you asked out loud.

Nate’s next words answered it anyway. “I mean, I’ve been out since I was sixteen— she knows I’m gay. But she doesn’t see why that should keep me from finding a nice Jewish surrogate and having many kids with my gay-married boyfriend.”

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He wasn’t into poaching, or cheating.

“Nope.” Nathan’s eyes were amused. “She’d love to help me find one, though.”

“Oh, man.”

“She’s all right. My family’s pretty great.”

Carlos didn’t want to think about that. Sometimes you had to leave family behind and stand on your own feet. He glanced around. “Hey, it’s getting fuckin’ dark out here. We should head back before we fall into the bog.”

Nate lowered his voice to a deep sepulchral tone. “To be found, decades later, entombed in mud with broken bongs, pizza napkins, and twigs in our ears.”

“You’re weird, dude.”

“Sometimes. So, one o’clock still on?”

Carlos felt a tug of desire. “Sure. Hey, give me your number and I’ll text you if I’m gonna be late.”

Nate hesitated, but got out his phone and they exchanged texts.

“Well, I should head back.” Carlos turned for the house.

“Later, then.” Nate’s voice was low, and when Carlos glanced back, he saw Nate was following slowly, the space between them opening up. That was good. It wasn’t smart for him to appear out of the dark alongside a guy who’d been out since he was sixteen. Carlos increased his pace, until he was jogging, straining his eyes to avoid the worst of the mud and debris.

He should go inside and try to sell KnifeSwitch T-shirts and patches, and listen to Serpentine and the last band, which was supposed to be some kind of black metal. He’d never heard them, but he’d seen the lead singer in the house kitchen, wearing really unfortunate-looking corpse paint. Carlos hoped they played better than they looked, or the last hour would be penance, in order to pick up their twenty bucks each.

****

Chapter 2

Nate shifted restlessly in the seat of his car, parked in a dark corner of The Higher Bean’s lot. This was a really dumb idea. A fact that didn’t keep him from being completely hard, sitting here thinking about the lead singer of KnifeSwitch, with his tatted-up, strong arms and his caramel skin and dark, angry eyes. Not Nate’s type at all, and yet…

After watching Carlos Medina do his thing on stage, with a beat that shook Nate’s bones and lyrics that made him want to paint, he’d had to follow the singer outside. A moment of eye contact had made his whole body hum with possibilities. And when he saw Carlos head off down the path to the swamp, with his shoulders slumped like he was carrying the world, Nate was pulled after him like iron to a magnet. Something about all that confidence and snarling anger on stage, fading into pain and sadness when he thought he was alone, tugged at Nate.

He resented it a bit. He thought he’d learned how to be careful and controlled. He was done with picking up guys who looked like they needed him, very completely totally done with trying to be kind to someone who would probably kick him in the teeth. These days, he picked up guys who were clearly out, seemed cheerful, and who looked likely to let him top. Easy, fun, no hearts or pain involved.

But there was something about Carlos that rode over all his preferences and lit a fire inside him. He hadn’t wanted a guy this bad in a long time. So he was going to do this, this stupid, one more time, one-hour stand with a sad-eyed hot-mouthed closeted metal musician, and get it out of his system.

Assuming Carlos actually showed. He pulled out his phone and checked the time.
1:26.
The question was becoming, just how much longer was he willing to wait for a guy he probably shouldn’t even touch? As he frowned down at the phone, it chimed for a text.

Hey, sorry. Van was parked in. Leaving now.

He texted back:
Did you get your $20?

Hey, best house venue around. We got 40

You can buy my coffee then

For a moment he regretted the quip, as sounding like maybe he was expecting more than quick car-sex, but the answer bounced back immediately.

Can do. I need one anyway. What do you drink?

He quickly added:
No I’m already here. I’ll get it. What for you?

Just strong black and big

Got it

Ten min

He put the phone away and got out of the car. The air was cooling, but still comfortable, and he smiled. He’d always been a night owl, and this was his favorite time of the day. About to get even more favorite, with luck. It could be that simple; of course it could. Get lucky, scratch an itch with a hot guy, and go home.

He was back sitting in his car, nursing a caramel latte, when a van with “KnifeSwitch” inexpertly painted on the side pulled in, up close to the coffee shop door. He watched as the three band members emerged. The drummer was a small woman, her blond hair dreadlocked, her curvy figure emphasized by leather and chains. The bass guitarist was tall, skinny and jumpy, with long dishwater-blond hair, and thin hands that seemed to move constantly as he talked to Carlos. Carlos waved them toward the door, then turned away, scanning the parking lot as they went inside.

Nate leaned over and swung the passenger door of his Civic open. Carlos looked his way, then strode over. Nate felt his body react to just watching this guy cross a parking lot. Carlos had a confident stalk now, no sadness, no hesitation, like a big cat approaching its prey. Nate was no one’s prey, but that didn’t mean he didn’t like the look, the strong body and confident head tilt. It made things more about sex, less about anything else, and that was good.

Carlos swung into the other seat and pulled the door shut behind him. His dark eyes glittered in the neon from the coffee shop window, and under the torn T-shirt, his narrow, well-muscled chest rose and fell with fast breaths. Nate gripped his own knees, so he wouldn’t be tempted to grab Carlos, and said, “Hey, your coffee’s in the holder.”

Carlos grinned, a flash of white teeth, and reached for it. Nate watched as he gulped the brew down in long swallows, his chin tucked down a bit too far to make the ripple of his throat foreplay. Ah well. Nate would see better things soon.

Carlos finished the cup, set the empty back in the holder, and turned sideways in the seat. “Small fucking car you have.”

“It gets thirty-five miles to the gallon. I’m less broke that way.”

“Small for fucking, though.”

Nate admitted, “I don’t use it for that a lot. Um, the back seat has fewer knobs and lumps.” He was suddenly a little nervous. The predatory look on Carlos’s face was hot, but Nate wasn’t interested in taking this too far, especially in a parking lot. “Or we could go somewhere. I don’t want to get busted for public sex.”

“No worries, man. The cops all drink at the Starbucks down the block.” Carlos reached over and put a confident hand on Nate’s crotch. There was a tattoo on his forearm, a dagger wreathed in a ribbon that was unreadable in the dim light. His fingers clamped firmly around Nate through his black jeans. “I just want to taste this.”

“Really?” Nate had thought they’d have to negotiate, but if Carlos was offering to blow him, he was definitely not saying no.

“Oh, yeah.” Carlos slid down into the foot well and reached over with both hands, tugging at Nate’s belt.

Nate was suddenly, painfully eager to get that damned thing open too. “Let me.” The dagger-shaped buckle gave way to his practiced touch.

He pulled at the tab of his zipper, but Carlos smacked his hand away. “Mine.”

Usually Nate would have smacked back, but he was breathless at the touch of Carlos’s hands and the sight of his dark head bending lower, so he slid down in the seat and spread his legs. Carlos unzipped him and shoved at his jeans, exposing his naked dick, and grunted, “Commando, huh?”

“Always.” Nate’s voice hitched as Carlos blew on his already-damp cockhead. “Ngh.”

“Lift your sexy ass a bit.”

He did, and Carlos dragged the jeans down enough to bare him completely. Nate gripped the sides of the seat with both hands, aware that he was half-naked in a public place, and completely hard and exposed, and unable to care about anything but getting more. “Suck it.”

“Planning to. My way.” The rough sound of Carlos’s voice made Nate shiver. “Just sit there and take it.” A wet swipe of tongue ended with a brief lick at his slit and Nate couldn’t help grabbing onto Carlos’s curly, black hair, pushing his head lower. Carlos laughed darkly and resisted, giving Nate no more than little licks and nips, one hand ringing the base of his dick to hold it steady.

Then without warning, Carlos stopped fighting and let the force of Nate’s hands drive him down over that straining length, until Nate could feel the heat of Carlos’s throat tight around his cockhead. Nate clenched his teeth against a shout and bucked his hips upward. Carlos held still, his throat rippling in fast swallows, then slid ever so slowly up, and up, until his lips just barely kissed Nate’s slick-tipped cock. He pulled off completely, going back to tongue action, licking and probing.