Tequila Mockingbird (27 page)

“I can’t fucking believe she expected you to bail her out.” Connor came in from the kitchen and handed his lover an opened bottle of strawberry lemonade. “Hey, don’t glare at me. I keep telling you my mum’s already decided you’re her son. I’ve got to watch my step, or I’m out of the family.”

“Right.” Forest rolled his eyes as he took the lemonade. The couch looked really good, especially since his thighs hurt like a son of a bitch and his arms felt like Jell-O. Flopping into the curve of the sectional, he moaned when the cushions cradled his aching body. “God, what the hell were we thinking playing that long?”

The house was warm, helping his clenched muscles. Another hot shower helped, and he’d pulled on a pair of black sweats but hadn’t bothered with a shirt, since Forest hadn’t been too sure he’d be able to lift his arms up high enough to get one over his head. He hesitated to lean into the couch, but Connor gently pushed him back.

“Your shit’s too nice for—”

“Only thing of mine I worry about is you,” Connor growled at him while setting his beer down on the coffee table. “You were there all day. How much of it was spent playing?”

“Nine hours.” Forest made a face when his spine disagreed with his shifting about. Something popped in his lower back, and the rush of relief sent sparkles along his vision. “Oh yeah, I needed that to give. Damn, D’s hands must be bleeding. Fucking Miki—not even hoarse. His throat’s got to be made of adamantium or something. Con, really—what was I thinking? Nine hours!”

“You were thinking it was nice,” Connor replied. The man tapped Forest’s thighs. “Lift up. I’ll massage your legs.”

“Nice?” Forest contemplated the word. Nice didn’t seem to fit. Brutal. Heartbreaking—especially when he joined in on the chorus of “Whiskey and Rye.” The shock on Miki’s face was palpable, but a breath later, he’d recovered, his raspy, hot vocals returning as strong as ever. They’d found their sync right then, and Damie nodded once at Forest, a silent encouragement to continue on.

That’s
when he’d found his wings and he’d fallen into the music, rising up to the challenge of double-timing “Gin and Demonic.” Miki’s laughter was as sweet as the riffs coming off Damien’s guitar, and they’d pounded through another set, teasing one another with long, drawn-out battles of chords, beats, and vocal acrobatics.

It all felt so right, but still, Forest was taken aback when Miki—damnable, street-suckled Miki—told Forest to show up for practice the day after next. He couldn’t breathe then. He didn’t even start breathing until Damie came and slapped him on the back.

Shoving some clothes into Forest’s arms, the guitarist had said, “Welcome to the Madhouse.”

He was paying for that contentment. Forest’s mind buzzed from stimulation, and his thoughts kept going back to song bits, hammering out rough burrs in spots they’d hung up on. He’d need to get some music sheets and notebooks, maybe even work out a vocal harmony to support Miki’s melody on the last song they’d done before collapsing from exhaustion.

Connor picked up Forest’s bare foot and rubbed at a knot in his arch. Forest moaned at the tingle of pain and pleasure of his tense muscle being dug into.

“Did you get a hold of that guy’s family?” Forest asked softly. “Shit, I should probably call them—”

“Maybe in a bit, love,” Con suggested. “Right now, they’ll need time. You did, remember?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his expression going soft. “Except I had this cop stalking me, so I don’t know exactly how much time I had.”

“Yeah well, that turned out okay. Hold on, there’s a bad knot here.”

Leaning his head back against the couch cushion, Forest gritted his teeth against the groans crawling up from his throat, but one escaped anyway, drawn out when Con’s thumb found a particularly hard spot.

“Con… Jesus!” Forest bit his lip, hard enough to almost taste blood. “God, I don’t know if that feels good or not, but fuck, don’t stop. I hurt fucking everywhere.”

It was late. Late enough for Forest to have eaten twice at Miki’s and worry about Connor’s late appearance at the warehouse. The cop in Connor filled Forest in with brief bursts of information, a staccato report of words and gestures, but the delivery’d been sweet, a rocking of embraces and kisses hot enough to make Forest blush even as Damie and Miki wolf-whistled and catcalled their drummer. They’d come home, and Connor’d lit a fire in the family room’s massive fireplace while Forest went to climb into a hot shower, his body finally acknowledging the shock of having played steadily for too long.

“I’d figure your arms, but your feet?” Connor’s fingers ghosted over the spot again, and Forest twitched in anticipation. “Take some of that ibuprofen I gave you, because, babe, it hurts to watch you move.”

“Feet. Legs.” He tried to lift his arms, but they wobbled a bit before he let them drop. Connor shook out the requisite number of tablets into his hand, then gave them to Forest. He swallowed them with a mouthful of sweet-tart lemonade, gagging slightly at the powdery drag of the pills in his throat. “Drumming beats down your ass. You’ve got kicks to worry about and twisting around to get the upper part of the kit. I haven’t done a long session in fucking forever. Usually it’s just a couple of hours then a break. This was… intense.”

“But you had fun?”

“Fun?” Forest had to think about it, then nodded. “Yeah, it felt—good. Like it was easy but at the same time hard. Damie writes some hard licks to keep up with, but Miki’s got some stones. The shit he writes, it blows my mind. I just sat there thinking: fuck I want to play this. Hell, then he asked me what I thought about something, and suddenly they weren’t rock stars, you know? Just… really fucking good musicians… guys I’d want to play with—for, like, forever.”

Connor’s crooked smile warmed him, nearly as much as the man’s hands roaming over his calves. “So yeah, you had fun.”

They sat in companionable silence as Connor kneaded the hard muscles in Forest’s calves. Forest’s sweats rolled down over Connor’s hands, and he hissed in frustration.

“Here, lift your hips,” Connor said as he reached up to grab Forest’s waistband. “These need to come off.”

“If those come off, am I still going to get my massage?” He tried for a leer but must have been so off the mark, because Connor let out a rolling chuckle. “Fine.”

He lifted his hips, and a burning ache shot through his thighs. Wincing, Forest held still for a few seconds while Connor tugged his sweatpants down, then let his bare ass hit the couch.

“You’re not wearing underwear under these,” Connor said flatly. “And you expect me to ignore you long enough to give you a massage?”

“You took my underwear with you,” he protested. “Give them back.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Con refused with a shake of his head. Tossing the pants over Forest’s crotch, he said, “Here. Keep the bits part covered. I’m strong. I can do this. Talk to me about something. Take my mind off the fact you’re lying across of me naked and pretty.”

“If a pizza delivery guy shows up, you’re going to be doing this porn shoot by yourself,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Hey, I picked up a lot of good tips from that pizza delivery guy,” Connor shot back. “Don’t hear you complaining.”

“I’ll start complaining when you’re done.”

Connor’s hands began moving again, and Forest gripped the couch, whimpering.

“Hold on, I’m going to get some Tiger Balm.” The man lifted Forest’s legs and slid out from under him. Connor returned to the couch with a small glass jar and maneuvered back under Forest’s lower limbs. The smell of cinnamon and cloves hit the air when Con unscrewed the jar, and Forest hissed at his lover when Connor smeared a large dollop of the salve over his palms.

“You are
definitely
not fucking me with that on your hands,” he warned. “I don’t care
what
the pizza guy taught you.”

“No sex. Not now.” Connor chuckled. He picked up where he left off, soothing the ointment’s heat into Forest’s aching legs. “I’m not even sure you could bend in the right direction. Now, talk to me. Remember? You’re supposed to distract me.”

“What am I going to do about my mom?” Forest said suddenly. Connor’s eyes found his, and the man’s mouth tightened under Forest’s stare. “About bail. When she called me—well, her court-appointed lawyer did—he thinks he can get her bail tomorrow morning. She can’t even get her shit together to see me in the hospital but—
fuck
.”

Connor didn’t say anything for a long while. He continued to rub and dig into the knots along Forest’s calves, then shifted up to reach the ache in Forest’s thighs. Finally he said, “What do you want to do? And whatever that is, I’ll stand by you in it. You just need to tell me what you want.”

Sitting in the quiet comfort of a peace Forest never thought he’d ever experience, he whispered, “Would it be bad if I just wanted her to go away?”

“No,” Connor replied softly. “No one would blame you for that.”

“I feel like I’m—dirty.” Forest leaned forward and put his hands on Connor’s, stilling them. “What I did with her—what she—shit, just everything—like I can’t ever get clean. And then, it’s like you’re here, and I’m thinking—shit, I don’t want to get this on you.

“I feel like every time you touch me, I smear it on you—this stinky, oily me I can’t ever wash off. You’re so fucking good, Con. Sometimes it hurts to touch you, because it’s like I’m holding onto the sun. And I hate feeling like that—hating myself because I’m scared to touch you—scared to—love you. And I hate her for it. I really just—”

He had to look away. In all the time since he began living with Frank, he’d ignored the whispering of disgust coming from the back of his mind. But being with Connor changed things, and the walls he’d built to hold back the grime broke, flooding his awareness with just how deeply he’d bathed in the gutter’s filth.

“
A ghra
.” Connor sighed. Then his hands came up to cup Forest’s face. The strong sting of balm on his jaw made his eyes water, but Forest didn’t mind. Not when the cupping was accompanied by a slow, lingering kiss turned to a deeper ache when Connor growled at the stretch of their tangled bodies. “Shit, that stuff burns.”

Connor dropped his hands to Forest’s shoulders, kneading them lightly. He stole another kiss, this time a delicate whisper of lips and their breaths, scented berry and citrus, drifting together in a swirling warm current.

“I look at you, and all I think is—God, thank you for his strength,” Connor murmured into their kiss. “I can’t imagine how you put one foot in front of the other every single day of your life. That woman—the one whose only thought should have been for you—she may have given birth to you in that filth, but that’s a stew of her own making.
You
were the one to walk out of it—that foul, depraved mire she wallows in. It’s her soul that’s wrong—so fucked up she’s happy in that kind of life—but
you
,
a ghra
, you survived her trying to drown you in it.

“Then you picked yourself up and fought her when she tried to drag you back into it.” He paused, stopping long enough to curl Forest’s toes with a sensual, fierce kiss, then continued. “I’d be happy to have any of your power, any of that strength, smeared on me. Touching you—is incredible, but loving you, Forest mine, makes me feel invincible.”

C
ONNOR
SCRUBBED
his hands before locking the house up for the night. Swaddled in the sheets, Forest sniffed at Con’s fingers and eyed him suspiciously.

“I can still smell it,” he grumbled.

“Then I guess you’re going to have to be the one to spread lube over yourself,” Con replied smoothly. His cock liked the idea, because it steeled itself immediately, tightening up his already hard length. Tossing the lube toward Forest, he chuckled, “Actually, I really like that idea, but can you bend that much? ’Cause if not….”

“Oh, I’ll bend,” Forest muttered. “Help me find the damned tube.”

They had a Benny Hill chase with the lube, especially since Connor decided he’d spend more time with his hands on Forest’s hard abdomen and ass than locating the small plastic vial. While swearing at Con’s interference, Forest burst into laughter when Connor half rolled him over under the pretense of looking for the lubricant. Instead, he bent down and sank his teeth into the meat of Forest’s ass, getting a playful yelp from his lover.

Connor let Forest roll back over. He straddled the lanky drummer, then placed his hands on either side of Forest’s shoulders, resting his weight on his palms and knees.

“God, it is good to hear you laugh,” he said.

It was good. He’d never really thought about how little he’d heard laughter in Forest’s voice until a few days before when the blond chuckled while they watched a movie, and his smile shyly stretched over his face.

Connor felt like he’d taken a shot of whiskey when he saw that smile—or maybe even swallowed a mouthful of sunshine. Either way, he’d sworn there and then to keep Forest laughing, every day and for as often as he could, selfishly wanting to bask in that warm glow.

“Shit, I hope I can do this.” Forest slathered lube onto his fingers. He pushed Connor’s hand away before he could help.

“Hey, I scrubbed them!” Connor protested lightly.

“Yeah, like I’d gotten all of the rooster sauce out from under my fingernails before I got that eyelash out of your eye.”

Connor winced, remembering the half hour burning sear he’d endured, and dropped his hands back down to his sides.

If there was anything hotter than seeing Forest kneel on the bed and dip his oiled fingers down his own crack, Connor didn’t know what it was. Resting on his shins and his feet angled out into a
V
, Forest’s pale body arched forward and his shoulders twisted about, his arm down along his hips. His hands were graceful, artistic, and fluid, and Forest’s long fingers slid farther down, smearing the fragrant oil on the cheeks of his ass.

Hooking his fingers down between his cleft, Forest looked up through a tangle of gold-streaked hair, his enormous brown eyes hooded with lust. Connor saw the shift in the man’s awareness when Forest realized his pose—his movements—enflamed Connor’s lust. Forest finally realized how much power he had over his lover, and he licked his mouth, a long sweep of pink tongue over plump lips. He arched his body farther, the tilt of his hips splaying his asscheeks apart and giving Connor a clear view of what lay between them.