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CHAPTER NINE
It’s only a few hours bus ride to Austin, but with every slow minute that ticks by, my skin burns more and more as I think about Ash’s skin on mine. I shove the familiar feelings of disappointment down as low as they can go each time I think about how I had to sneak out of his room before the sun rose, and ponder over how many mornings I’ve done so in the past.
Despite the years of hiding, the late nights spent in the dark with lust and sweat the only things on our skin, all the times we’ve lied to steal a minute or so alone…every time I look over at him, my aching heart swells inside of my chest.
Ash lounges in “his spot” at the back of the bus. He’s always on that couch unless one of us beats him to it, typically just to mess with him. I lay on the lower bunk bed across from him, tired from making up for our two weeks apart last night.
He has his Apple AirPods in and he’s bobbing his head to a familiar beat that I can hear faintly across the small room. He does this before every show, ritualistically. He listens to the songs we have on the list for that night, goes over them, and reminds himself of the beats and the lyrics as though he doesn’t know them all by heart. Ash always likes to mix things up. He might draw out the last line of a song one night. He might skip that very song altogether the next. He might mash up one of our songs with a classic (though he at least warns us for those). Hell, he might be brainstorming new lyrics now for all I know.
The look plastered on his face is my favorite: his brows are knitted together in concentration, and his lips are parted ever so slightly as he sings silent words to himself. He taps a pen on his knee to the beat. Every few moments, he sits up and takes a sip of his lemon water or tea or whatever is steaming in the cup on the table.
As tired as I am, I want to go over to the couch and climb on top of him and put those lips to use on me–but no. There are people on the bus. Friends who are also coworkers, technically. It would be inappropriate, even if we were out in the open with our secrets.
Still—the thought lingers, and my cock begs for attention. I inhale a deep breath and stare at the top bunk to try and calm myself down. Right as I start to come down, though, I feel his eyes on me. I don’t even have to look over to know his thoughts are similar to mine. You’d think we had been apart for far longer than a couple of weeks or that we were teenagers again.
Ash gets up from his spot and puts his phone and AirPods down on the seat. He walks out of the room, and I hear him talking to Sean down the hall, though I can’t make out what he says. Then he’s back. He closes and locks the door behind him, and his eyes are all heat as he stalks toward me.
“What’re you doi—?”
He cuts me off by crawling on top of me and kissing me deeply. He kisses me like he’ll never kiss me again, and for a split second, that scares me to my core because I almost believe it.
It’s not like it’s unlikely, after all. I’m not blind and there have been close calls in the past.
Ash presses his weight into me as he parts my mouth open with his tongue. I flick at his tongue with my own and moan softly into him, temporarily forgetting the others.
I pull back, already gasping for air. “What the hell did you tell them?”
Ash props himself up and runs his hands over my chest. He’s always been a fan of my muscles, and I’m happy to keep going to the gym if it means he’ll touch me like this.
He feels me through my jeans, and I squirm, trying not to move and trying not to lunge at him at the same time. My heart threatens to fall out of my chest as he leans forward and licks his lips. “We have work to do on a new song we’re trying to write,” he whispers.
It’s not technically a lie. Wedohave some songs we’re working on together. Our best songs come from me and Ash staying up all night and brainstorming.
“But what about the others?” I all but groan as he unbuttons my pants.
He shrugs. “Trish is asleep, Brian and Sean are watching a movie, and Mike is FaceTiming Miranda.” Miranda, Mike’s wife, is one of the coolest people ever, and he was constantly homesick when he was away from her. I understood the feeling all too well.
“Oh.” I swallow hard.Oh.“Aren’t you tired of me after last night?” I tease.
“I’ve never been tired of you, Drew,” he whispers in my ear. Then, he nibbles on my lobe as he works my pants down past my ass. “And I know you want me, because I’ve been watching you, too.”
I would have thought that by now we would have tired of one another after ten years of this, but it’s the opposite. As we’ve grown up and turned from boys to men, we know what we like, and sneaking around has always been a turn on, despite how upset it can make me. Ash knows what gets me screaming his name in a matter of seconds. Knows how to make me see stars. Knows what to say to calm me down and support me. And vice versa.
My worries about the others on the bus fade as his lips meet mine once more. He parts from me way too soon, and I almost protest, until I feel his warm lips wrap around my crown and slowly work my length into the back of his throat inch by blissful, dizzying inch.
Austin is beautiful.We’d stopped during our first tour, and I’ve always wanted to return. Especially because of Zilker Park.
It’s lunchtime by the time our bus made it to the city—an hour after Ash took me in his mouth. An hour after he took me on the floor of the bus, and we spent minutes and minutes just making out like a couple of horny teenagers hiding from their parents. I guess some things never change, after all.
I want nothing more than a beer and a cigarette after what happened on the bus, and I don’t even smoke that often anymore, but it’s early, and we have a lot to do before the start of the show tonight. That, and there’s nothing like a smoke after a mind-blowing orgasm.
Needless to say, we’re starving.
Before we head to the hotel, Mike reserves us a whole ass restaurant to eat at in peace. He said it wasn’t a hassle for them, that they don’t open until after four anyways, and that the chef and hostess are big fans. Still, it feels pretentious to me. It always has–but the feeling fades at the taste of fresh, homemade garlic knots on my tongue. The Italian restaurant is quaint, and the chef knows his shit.
We sit at a large round table in the center of the restaurant. Sean is high as a kite after taking an edible. His red eyes almost match his hair at this point. Brian and Trish look at the menus with serious concentration while Mike taps at a game on his phone. He always orders the same thing for his Italian meals. Chicken Alfredo. He didn’t even bother to look at the menu.
Underneath the table, Ash’s knee bumps into mine, and a comfortable warmth spreads throughout my body. It’s the same feeling as falling into bed and cuddling in a clean set of sheets.
