If there's one thing in the world that I enjoy as much or more than sex, it's
singing. I love the way my voice just sort of rises up and out of me without
me really having to think about it. I don't like thinking too deeply. And I
love the way it feels to have everyone's eyes on me, some envious, some
passionate. But no one is really disinterested in me. They either hate me or
want me, sometimes even love me.
I don't feel that way tonight though. I'm on-stage and I'm singing, putting
my all into it, but I'm not getting the warm fuzzies that I usually do. Mike
has already popped one string and Curt has gone off beat too many times to
count, probably because of the half a fifth of Quervo he consumed before
jumping up on stage. The moron can't even twirl his chops without dropping
them. And Oz....well, Oz hasn't done anything to really annoy me yet, but
just give it time.
See, there it is. That annoying little thing. He keeps looking at me out of
the corner of his eye, questioning me. He can tell that I'm pissed off and
knows that it's effecting my performance.
The last song of the night is winding down and my voice feels like it's going
to crack, but it doesn't. It still pisses me off. It should pour out, without
even a twinge of weakness. And as Oz strums his last cord, I look out to the
audience which barely even applauds us. Just a little titter of clapping
hands. Well, fuck them!
Pushing my mic back into the holder, I swagger exageratedly off of the stage,
pushing my way passed the mingling teens and completely ignoring the one
groupie that seems interested tonight. Walking passed the bathrooms, I throw
open the door to the pinter ass "band room" and slam it shut behind me. I can
feel the anger making me shake and kick one of the metal folding chairs,
loving the clang it makes as it hits the wall and bounces back to thud
against the floor. I turn around in the small space, looking for something
else to take my aggression out on as the door opens and Oz enters, closing
the door quietly behind him.
He gives me that look. That stupid look he gives me when he's reading my
thoughts and is just waiting for me to express them verbally. And I don't
disappoint him. I never do when I'm like this. "Are those fucking morons
deaf?! And I've fucking TOLD Curt about drinking before gigs!! Not too damn
much! Didn't I?! Hell, you don't even show up for practice half of the time
and somehow you managed to stay on tune MOST of the time! Is it too much to
ask that they don't suck ass?!"
"Quite possibly," Oz answers casually, trying to make light of my anger. I SO
fucking hate when he does that. He should be mad too, just because I am. He
should fucking sympathize with me.
"Fuck you, Oz!"
"How is getting mad at me going to help this situation any, Devon?" he asks
me in that calm voice that never fails to just piss me off even more.
"I'll show you how it's going to help," I say in a low voice. Before I can
even think of what I'm doing, I grab Oz by the collar of his shirt and drag
him against me, crushing my lips against his. There's nothing sweet about the
way I kiss him right now, and he lays limply against me as I abuse his lips.
Twisting both of our bodies harshly, I push Oz onto the table and against the
Now I've got my hands all over him, pushing them underneath his T-shirt to
scrape my nails against his chest. His legs are spread wide, allowing me to
nestle my pelvis close to his where he can feel my hard cock pressing against
him. My teeth scrape against his lips before I let my tongue plunge into his
mouth again and suddenly he's kissing me back with the same ferocity. His
hands tangle into my hair and his legs wrap around my thighs, holding me
tightly against him.
Frantically, I push his flannel down his shoulders, sucking and biting my way
down his neck. His heat pulses from his body into mine as he starts thrusting
up against me. He loves it when I take him hard and fast without thought or
care. He loves it anyway I fuck him. Running my hand down his chest, I move
it to cup his rock hard cock, smiling against his skin as he lets out a low
growl and thrusts into my palm.
Suddenly he freezes beneath me and his hands on my shoulders are gently
trying to urge me back. The anger isn't gone and his resistance to me is just
making me even hornier. What the fuck is his problem? I'm just about to ask
him that, but I notice that he's looking at something over my shoulder.
Twisting my head, I follow his gaze and find Xander standing in the doorway.
For a split second, there's a glimmer of some kind of emotion in his eye.
Hurt? Anger? I don't know what, but it's gone almost before it can even
register. Now he looks slightly embarrassed, raises his eyebrows briefly.
"Sorry, guys. Didn't mean to interrupt," he says with a slight quirk at the
corner of his lip that could be interpreted as a half smile. It doesn't put
me at ease though. I saw that little glint in his eye for that micro second.
Something in me is panicking as he turns and leaves the room, closing the
door behind him. I don't want him to be mad at me. I mean, it's not like
we're together, but Xander has sort of a fragile ego. It probably sucks to
find the guy you'd just had sex with going at it with someone else just two
days later. Shit, Xander, don't be mad at me.
Oz pushes my shoulder again, this time a little more forcefully. "Why are you
just standing here? Go follow him," he tells me. Of course Oz saw the look in
Xander's eye too and he's probably even more worried than I am. Without a
word, I do as he says, leaving Oz to straighten his cool, as I rush out of
the room in search for Xander.
There he is, standing at the bar, talking to Hank, the bartender. Hurrying
over to him, I take his arm and lean closely to him so that he can hear me
over the music. "Are you okay?" I ask.
"I'm dandy," he answers and gives me a reassuring smile. It doesn't comfort
me since Xander is pretty much known for covering up his true feelings.
"Let's talk," I say, dragging him with me, away from the bar. We end up in
the Men's bathroom, which is, thankfully, empty. "Are you upset about what
you just saw?" I ask him, getting straight to the point. Beating around the
bush isn't something that I do well.
He gives me this look, like what I'd just asked him was a silly question, but
I stare back seriously. "No, Devon. Why would I be?" he answers and questions
"I don't believe you," I say straightforwardly.
His face scruches up a bit, like I'm annoying him. "What do you want me to
say, Devon? You want me to tell you that I'm jealous of the relationship
between you and Oz? Well, I guess I am a little, but that's just because I
don't have anyone that I'm close to like that. But if you want me to tell you
that I'm in some deep emotional turmoil because of it, then I'm afraid I'm
going to have to disappoint you there."
Geez, he didn't have to get all snarky about it. "I just want you to tell me
the truth. I don't want you to think that I'm using you or something. You're
not just some cheap fling for me, and want to know that you understand that."
He smiles at me, one of those utterly genuine smiles that sometimes freak me,
because I don't think I've ever done anything that true. "Truth, huh? I
think I can do that," he says, moving over to sit on the edge of one of the
bathroom sinks. He runs his fingers through his hair and then, "The truth is,
I like you. For the first time in my life, I can admit to myself that I like
another guy." He shrugs. "But it's still so new to me. I'm not looking for
some kind of commitment from you, and let's face it, you don't want one
either. Besides, there's baggage between you and Oz that I think that needs
to be worked out. Yeah, I felt a little disappointed at first, but it's just
a natural reaction for me. I want us to be friends, Dev, but that's all I
need right now. If it's all the same to you." He gestures to me, as if to
say, 'your turn'.
I can feel my eyebrows scrunch together. Well, finally, a sexual partner that
doesn't seem to want anything from me. Except sex, of course. "Well, all
right then. Just wanted to make sure," I say. He nods and slips away from his
seat to move to the door, but I have one more thing to say, so I put my hand
on his shoulder to stop him. He turns back to me, eyebrows raised. "I do
think of you as a friend, Xander."
He gives me that super sweet smile of his and takes my hand into his. "That's
cool, man. Me too," he says. Cool. Glad we got that all cleared up. Now it's
time to get him back to my place.
I'm not pissed off anymore. Every band has it's bad days. Of course, if we
sound like that at the next gig, I'm going to tear Curt and Mike a couple of