A gay story: A Deviant Spawn Betrayal Ch. 01 Author’s Note:
Yay! A return to the world of Deviant Spawn! Finally, lol.
Due to the length, I’ve broken this story up into 4 parts, each about 2 to 4 pages in length. Don’t despair (I know I’m horrible about posting quick updates), the story is already completed in full and all chapters have been submitted. No long wait for parts 2, 3 & 4!
If you guys enjoy reading about my boys, and if you haven’t already done so, then check out WickedWendyDru’s awesome series Dust & Ash. Dust & Ash is also about a band & my boys/Jazzy will feature in some of the later chapters.
Just a few words of warning on A Deviant Spawn Betrayal. First, as if the name doesn’t totally give this away, the tone of this story is completely different than Rory’s. Completely. As you’ll immediately see, everything is not peaches and cream with Shane & Rev. You’ve been warned…
Second, I don’t want my readers to be jarred unexpectedly, so you should know this story is told in 2 different tenses. I received an anonymous comment on A Deviant Spawn Christmas that I should write the story about what happened between Shane & Rev on Christmas Eve and I liked the suggestion so much I took it and expanded on it. Don’t know who you are, Anon, but thanks for the idea! So, the flashbacks are told from a 1st person perspective while the rest of the story is told from a 3rd person perspective. Both perspectives are Shane’s and, for the most part, they are at complete opposite ends of the emotion spectrum. In essence, this story is 2 stories rolled together into 1.
Lastly, for all my music aficionados, I’ll tell you upfront which songs Shane & Rev made me think of. Creep by Radiohead really puts me in the mind of Shane while Snuff by Slipknot makes me think of them both but more so Rev. If you know anything about these 2 songs, then I think you already know what the tone of part of this story is going to be.
And I want to give a heartfelt thanks to avidreader_01 for being my Beta reader.
As always, comments & suggestions are welcome.
*”You ruined my fucking life.”
~Linda Wilkinson to nine year old son Shane~*February 4, 2011
Shane Wilkinson stood on the tips of his toes, craning his head this way and that, searching for a familiar face in the baggage claim section of JFK airport. In particular, Shane searched for one familiar face. He searched for the face of the person who’d convinced him to fly up from Orlando for a quick visit starting the Friday before and ending the day after Deviant Spawn’s last concert of their current tour.
Despite his serious misgivings, Shane had agreed to dunh, dunh, dunh…The Visit, as he’d come to think of the trip, when his best friend Rory had suggested it. Rory claimed to be in desperate need of something from his past to help keep himself grounded in his new whirlwind lifestyle as the fiancé of Taz, the mega-celebrity lead singer of Deviant Spawn. And since Taz had arranged a fast approaching, extended vacation to Massachusetts for him and Rory to plan their upcoming May wedding, thereby preventing Rory from visiting home anytime soon, Rory had decided a visit from Shane would be the perfect solution.
Shane was well aware the reason presented by Rory as the basis for The Visit was bogus. The real reason had to do with Rory’s need to make sure with his own two eyes, before he jetted off to Boston with Taz, that Shane was doing as good as Shane often assured him he was during their near nightly phone conversations. Because, afterwards, Rory would be too busy to hound Shane as he critiqued possible wedding sites, bitched over dry cake tastings and ripped new assholes for his flaming, bourgeois wedding consultants.
And the argument with the florist was sure to be an epic distraction all of its own accord once Taz’s color choice for flowers was revealed. Shane could just imagine how the whole scene would play out: Yes, Rory did know black roses were morbid and, no, he didn’t care that stargazer lilies were a trendy alternative while still being nontraditional unless they, too, could be provided in the needed quantities in black.
Certain aspects of Shane’s not so distant past fueled Rory’s concern for him. And a couple incidents had occurred a few weeks ago, incidents Shane refused to talk about, which worried Rory. Rory was convinced the incidents could prove to be just enough to launch Shane head first into a depression Shane had barely beaten the first time around.
In theory, much as Shane dreaded the inevitable confrontation with his best friend, there wasn’t much about The Visit for him to stress about. All of his expenses were being paid, after all. Plus, Deviant Spawn did hold the spot of being his favorite rock band of all time. And not only was he going to be spending time with Rory, Shane was going to be seeing Deviant Spawn perform for free…for the second time. And by rights of his friendship with Rory, Shane would also be mingling and hobnobbing with the three men who made up the band…for the second time.
And The Visit certainly beat the hell out of spending yet another weekend without Rory, his bestest ever, his only bestest, to get into mayhem with. Because the thought of that just sucked. Majorly.
But there was a drawback. The reason behind Shane’s misgivings. And it was a doozy, one which sent the theory flying right out the door.
The Visit would make seeing Revelin again unavoidable.
Revelin St. James. Deviant Spawn’s lead guitarist. Deviant Spawn’s awesomely hot and gay lead guitarist. Who Shane had had a one night stand with on Christmas Eve. Followed by a totally embarrassing meltdown over the man on Christmas Day. And an emotionally painful encounter with him seven days later on the first day of the New Year.
The incidents Shane refused to talk about.
But Shane could deal with seeing Revelin again. He would deal with seeing Revelin again.
Because, truth be told, Rory wasn’t the only person with an ulterior motive. Shane’s agreeing to The Visit had very little to do with keeping his best friend rooted in reality. And a whole lot to do with Revelin.
Shane hoped for the opportunity to speak in private to his one-time lover about what had occurred between the two of them. But Shane was afraid Revelin would reject his request to talk, would reject Shane’s explanation for his actions on New Year’s Day even if he did agree to talk—thus, the basis of the uncertainty Shane felt towards The Visit in general.
After his scan confirmed Rory still wasn’t in the vicinity, Shane rocked back onto the heels of his feet. There was an older couple to his right who, from the look of the mountain of Louis Vuitton bags piled in front of them, had decided to lug the contents of their entire house across the country. And was waiting for yet more of their crap to arrive.
A quick glance around revealed most of the people from his flight already had at least one of their bags in their possession, making Shane wonder what Jet Blue god he’d pissed off. He’d been standing there for fifteen minutes, just like his fellow passengers, waiting for his luggage to be unloaded. However, unlike his fellow passengers, Shane’s luggage consisted of a single bag.
To Shane’s left, just behind him, stood three college age girls. The fourth member of their group stood right by Shane’s side. The guy wore his obviously bleached, nape length locks swooped down over one eye and, from what Shane could see of the visible one, his eyes were tinted a deep shade of honey. He was the same height as Shane, slim—almost willowy—with a pointy, upturned nose and lips which appeared well suited for the forming of flirty, mischievous grins.
Somehow, the guy had been relegated by his female companions as the retriever of bags while the trio occupied themselves in other ways. Mainly, the three seemed to be entertaining one another by seeing who could sigh the loudest, stomp their feet the hardest and devise the most interesting manner to elsewise indicate their impatience.
Shane totally got their frustration. He was two seconds from indulging in a bit of stomping of the combat boots of his own when the guy spoke to him in a voice so high it barely qualified as masculine. “Let me guess…here for the Deviant Spawn concert.”
I’m here for Revelin, Shane thought. “Something like that. You?”
“Uh, yeah. Hello, you do know that Taz is getting married in a few months, right? It’ll take much longer than normal for the guys to put their next album together and to hit the road on another tour.” The guy stuck a hand out. “Eric.”
Shane grasped the extended member. “Shane.”
Eric’s wrist was limp, his grip inconsequential. “You from the Orlando area, Shane?”
And the handshake lasted far longer than Shane would’ve liked. The need to wipe off the feel of Eric’s dead fish touch was an overpowering urge he had to fight hard against. “Pine Hills.”
“Crime Hills? You actually live there? In peace? Make that, you live there in one piece?” A grimace flitted across Eric’s face. But he quickly covered his disgusted reaction with an, “Ignore me. Especially since we’re practically neighbors. I attend UCF,” he explained, studying Shane. “Actually, do we already know each other? You look real familiar…”
“We’ve never met,” Shane replied, positive his answer was the truth. Just as positive he knew why Eric thought he looked familiar.
“Er-ric!” one of the girls whined. “Pay attention! You just let one of my bags go by!”
“Either shut the fuck up, Jessie, or waddle your ass up here and grab your own damn bags,” Eric said with a toss of his head.
The girl muttered, “I will, just as soon as your new weirdo of a friend moves out of my way.”
“Better watch your mouth, bitch. My new weirdo of a friend lives in Pine Hills. I bet he can beat you up.”
“Who you calling a bitch, slut?”
“Who you calling a slut, bitch?”
Shane mumbled in response, not really saying anything, but just making a sound to acknowledge the two friends’ catty swipes at each other. Ready to be away from the foursome, he lunged for his bag right as it made its long awaited appearance around the conveyor’s bend.
“Wanna exchange numbers?” Eric asked as Shane straightened and shouldered the backpack. “We should keep in contact with each other while up here. Back home, too, I mean. Just as long as you know, no offense, I’d never come visit you at your house. But you can always come see me up on campus.”
Shane considered Eric’s request as he considered Eric himself. There was a crooked grin on Eric’s face. It highlighted just how attractive he was, in a sassy sort of way.
But there was something about the young Carson Kressley lookalike that really put Shane off. Which was ridiculous considering Shane couldn’t identify what that something was. Nor did he know Eric well enough to have formed a dislike of him.
But still…
And was Eric flirting with him?
Better yet, was Shane ready for that?
The most important bond Shane had ever formed in his life was his friendship with Rory. And though they’d been involved with one another sexually, they’d never become involved with each other romantically, a deeper, emotionally entangled involvement which terrified Shane. And now that Rory was no longer in Orlando, Shane was left with no other friends at home and definitely with no lovers or love interests anywhere around.
Making a new friend would be good, but fuck, just the thought of doing so, or of becoming involved in something more meaningful, made Shane feel like his entire body was suffocating. It made his skin tingle, made it feel too tight all over. He felt physically ill.
So many possible implications and so many possible unfavorable outcomes. Any type of relationship, whether it was a simple friendship or an affair full of passion and life, meant learning to love. And opening himself up to another person. And baring that part of himself that was the real him that he didn’t like to expose to anyone but Rory. And trusting that part of himself to the care of someone new.
That part of himself he’d long ago walled off. An unconscious defense mechanism which had resulted from the personal quest of his mother to tear him down whenever he’d sought out her love or affection while growing up.
But it was as a result of letting those exact same self-doubts rule his actions that shit had turned so sour with Revelin, wasn’t it?
Christ, he was so screwed up.
Shane didn’t want a relationship with Eric—didn’t particularly want a friendship with the guy either—that much he knew for sure. But he did want more with Revelin. A whole lot more. He wanted passion and life and love with him. He craved a lifetime’s worth of what he’d tasted just the barest hint of at the end of two thousand ten with the man.
But how could he truly expect to ever get anywhere with Revelin if he couldn’t even open himself up to making this one new fucking friendship with Eric now?
“You really don’t seem like the kind of person who’d be interested in getting to know someone like me,” Shane hedged. Eric’s zipped up winter coat prevented him from seeing Eric’s entire outfit, but Shane’s imagination conjured a fitted, fuchsia shirt made out of some type of sparkly material to accompany the tight, shiny, dark pants he could see.
“I am,” Eric assured. “Very interested.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Yeah, why not? Shane echoed to himself. “You are talking about getting to know one another as just friends, right?”
“Just friends?” Eric’s smile widened. “Sure, right, just friends.”
“Umm, Eric,” a different member of the trio said, “I’m not exactly the expert on gay men or anything, but I’m pretty sure you two play the same position.”
“Well, I am the, quote-unquote, expert, Lyddy, and just because me and Shane are both, ahem, catchers doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends. Isn’t that right, Shane?”
“Right,” Shane forced himself to agree amid the chorus of the girls’ ewwws. He was scared to death of getting to know Eric better, of inviting Eric to get to know him better, but he was going to fight his demons, goddamn it. The battle was one he was fully prepared to win.
And accepting Eric’s offer of friendship was a small victory for Shane. One that placed him mentally in a much better position to deal with Revelin.
After they’d swapped contact information, Shane made to move away from the luggage carousel…right as Eric’s friend Jessie rushed to fill Shane’s void. The void Shane hadn’t quite managed to yet leave.
She knocked into him, pushing him back a step, but instead of apologizing, she sniped, “Move it, freak.”
“Going, bitch,” Shane returned with a bright smile. Strange as it was, he was grateful to her for her disrespect. Her nastiness flung him solidly back into his comfort zone. Unlike the exchange with Eric, this type of encounter was something Shane knew a little something about.
He’d been dealing with it his entire life.
The Queen Bitch, aka his mother, specialized in the spewing of hateful comments. On the regular. Meaning being called a “freak” by a stranger meant less than nothing to Shane. Far as insults went, it was actually kind of lacking. Rory’s penchant for referring to him as an animal well known for its stubborn disposition and the loud braying noises it made carried more bite.
Pressing his fingers to his lips lightly, so as not to smudge the black lipstick he wore, Shane then blew chubbs a kiss. While she busied herself retrieving her jaw from the ground, he danced around her to the tune of Eric’s tinkling laughter and headed to one of the building’s exits. Eager for his first taste of New York with a foundation of solid ground beneath his feet, he stepped out the sliding glass doors.
And found himself the unfortunate victim of a brutal assault mounted by the nighttime winds of early February.
Shane quickly reached the conclusion that waiting inside for Rory was the preferable option to the frozen tundra. Just as he was about to beat feet in a hasty backtracking, the cell he still held in his hand chirped. The screen indicated he had a new text.
From: Emma Frost
Where the hell are you???
The message was from Rory, the moniker the name he’d chosen long ago in their comic book infatuation as the character he felt was his alter ego. In X-Men world, Emma Frost was an evil shrew turned good. And her change of character had no bearing at all on the reason why Rory identified with her. He’d chosen her because he felt she was the fictitious epitome of beauty in the female form. And, pretty as he was, Rory represented the feminine facet of beauty in the male form.
Hey, no one had ever accused his friend of being deep when it came to his pretty boy good looks.
Shane, on the other hand, had changed monikers as he himself evolved throughout the years. First, he’d been Wolverine during the time he still tried to conform to what he thought his mother wanted from him as well as to society’s expectations. Strong, manly, masculine. What the world expected of boys.
But after his very first encounter of the sexual nature with a Rory attired in a homemade Emma Frost costume, it became apparent to Shane that, although he’d been playing the part of Wolverine during their faked skirmish, he was not Logan and Logan was not him. Especially considering the only reason that encounter hadn’t reached culmination was due to the ill-timed entrance of Rory’s father.
After that, Shane referred to himself as Northstar of X-Men fame. Then as the rogue superhero Midnighter from The Authority. And, finally, as Midnighter’s husband/partner in The Authority’s team of superheros, Apollo. But, one by one, he’d eventually cast all three aside because, outside of the fact they were homosexual, he felt no true connection to the characters.
In more recent months, he’d settled on DC Comics’s Klarion. The witch boy. Chosen in spite of the character’s heterosexuality because Klarion looked different, a characteristic Shane could identify with. He was different.
And just like the original version of Klarion, Shane felt incomplete.
Sliding out his phone’s keypad, Shane typed out a reply.
To: Emma Frost
Freezn my nuts off. Bad. Very bad. I adore my nuts. Love them! More than whats healthy. Be warned, lose mine, takn yours…or tazs.
Before Shane could hit the send button, the door behind him slid open. And a familiar voice filled with elation shouted, “Shane!”
Readying himself to receive an armful of Rory Banks, Shane returned his cell to the holster clipped to the waistband of his skinny jeans and dropped his backpack to the ground. He heard Rory’s fast approaching footsteps and whirled around at the last moment, just in enough time to catch Rory when he launched himself out the building’s exit. Granted, Shane had about two inches on Rory’s five-eight height and about fifteen or so pounds on Rory’s one-fiftyish weight, but he was no match for a Rory moving at the speed of light and with all the power of one of Jet Blue’s AirBuses. He almost found himself bowled over by the staggering force that was his best friend in motion.
Shane planted a hand on a nearby wall to steady the two of them. Then wrapped both arms around Rory’s gray wool peacoat covered waist and hunkered down slightly so he could burrow his face into Rory’s scarf covered neck.
A million things he both wanted and needed to say ran through his mind. He settled on a muffled, “Shit, I’ve missed you, dude.”
“Well, that was very anticlimactic,” Rory replied, returning the embrace. “We haven’t seen each other since Christmas and the best you’ve got for me is a ‘Shit, I’ve missed you, dude’?”
“Hell no, that’s not the best.” Some of the tension that had plagued Shane nonstop for weeks melted away. He almost felt whole again. It felt that good to be in Rory’s arms and to hold Rory in his. Rory, who had so often been Shane’s anchor when his emotions threatened to consume and carry him away. “Orlando is dead without you, Rory. And when I say dead, I mean deceased, defunct, expired, lifeless. And why the hell didn’t you tell me New York is synonymous for the tenth, unexplored, frozen level of hell?”
“C’mon, Shane, you’ve only got a hoodie on, for crying out loud. Did you really expect to come up here and not be cold?”
“We’re Florida boys, Ror. If memory serves me correctly, up until two weeks ago, you didn’t even own a winter coat. I still don’t because it makes no sense for me to buy one just for a two-night trip. And since you brought up the issue of expectations, let me share mine with you. What I expected was not to have to deal with the retraction of my nuts inside of my body, dude. They said to inform you they’re staying put until my return flight lands at OIA. And I also didn’t expect that without you, Orlando would really, truly—”
“Suck?” Rory dropped his arms and tried to step away.
Shane held tight, threading his fingers together at the small of Rory’s back as he stepped forward with him. He pressed his face more firmly into Rory’s neck, not caring that his black cosmetics were in danger of being wiped off by Rory’s light gray scarf. “What? Suck? Nah, that’s not what I was going to say. I was going to say I didn’t expect that without you, Orlando would really, truly, er, um…reek! That’s it! Reeks! The city absolutely reeks without you. Like horse shit. Or elephant shit. Or cat and dog shit. All mixed together.”
“Did you really just say reeks?” Although Shane couldn’t see Rory’s face, he could still hear his amusement.
“You already know the O sucks without you, man. Sucks donkey balls. Giant donkey balls.”
“Great, big, giant, hairy, sweaty donkey balls,” Rory finished. “That’s exactly how I feel about every place I’ve been so far with Taz. Wherever I go with him always feels right, like I’m living out a dream, because he’s there with me, but, at the same time, it feels wrong, too, because you’re not and we’ve always done everything together. Sounds corny, I know, but d’ya know what I mean, Shane?”
“Yeah, Ror, I do. That feeling of wrongness is definitely all throughout Orlando without you around.” They both stopped speaking, both silently acknowledging the fact that things didn’t have to be the way they were. Shane could’ve come along on Deviant Spawn’s tour. He’d been asked to.
And not by Rory.
Rory knew about the invitation extended by Revelin. Damn near each and every one of Rory’s family members—as well as half the people who lived in Rory’s parents’ neighborhood—knew about the invitation extended by Revelin.
The very public invitation extended by Revelin.
The very public invitation extended by Revelin that Shane had also very publicly rejected.
“Okay, ’nuff of this mushy stuff,” Rory said after a few seconds. “Let go now so I can see you.”
“Nuh-uh.” Shane held tighter.
“Let go of me, Shane.” Rory wedge his hands between their fused bodies, placing them flat on the center of Shane’s chest. He tried to dislodge Shane with a push, but when that didn’t work, he removed his hands and reached behind his back. Grasping Shane’s wrists, he tugged ineffectually. “Sheesh, quit being a jackass, already, and let go. I want to see you.”
“No, you don’t,” Shane muttered under his breath.
“What?” Rory asked.
“What?” Shane repeated, all innocence.
“Don’t play stupid with me, Shane. What did you just say?”
“Wha-huh? Say? I didn’t say anything, man. You’re hearing stuff.” Figuring he better shift the conversation in a different direction, Shane added, “And, shit, Rory, it really has been too long since the last time we saw each other. By the way, where’s Taz at? Since you guys are damn near attached at the hip all the time now, thought for sure he’d be here with you.”
“We are not attached at the hip…well, at least not all the time, but he is here. Last I saw, he was being mobbed by…” Rory stopped speaking, then suddenly went stiff in Shane’s arms after another bid for his freedom resulted in failure. “Shane Matthew Wilkinson! Why, exactly, are you holding on to me so tightly? But, more importantly, why are you trying to distract me from the fact you’re holding on to me so tightly?” Voice suspicious, he accused, “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”
“Have no idea what you’re talking about, pretty boy.”
“What have I told you about calling me that? And you’re not slick, Shane! I know that was nothing more than another one of your attempts to distract me!” Twisting and turning, Rory wiggled ferociously. He wedged his hands against Shane’s chest a second time, pushing with all of his strength.
In an attempt to keep his secrets hidden, and to stave off the confrontation with Rory as long as possible, Shane used his slightly bigger size to keep tenuous hold. But when Rory went slack, the cessation of movement shocked Shane so much he loosened his grip, fearing he’d caused harm to his friend. He only realized he’d been fooled when Rory pushed him away with a forceful shove.
“Hiya, Ror!” Shane chirruped, the left side of his face turned away. He’d had to snap his head into position so quick he’d almost given himself whiplash.
“Heya, jackass,” Rory trilled, circling Shane. His chocolate browns were fixed on Shane’s profile. “What’s up? Anything new or interesting you want to tell me about? For example, how ’bout you go ahead and share whatever it is you’re trying so damn hard to keep hidden from me.”
Shane turned in place, in sync with his friend. He kept pace, left side of his face always just out of Rory’s view, even when Rory tried to trick him by slowing down followed by a sudden increase in speed. “Hidden? I’m not trying to hide anything from you. Nope, not at all. Whatever gave you that crazy idea?” They completed one full circuit and started in on a second. “Gosh, Rory, I really have missed you, dude. Like crazy. You have no idea how—”
All further efforts to derail Rory’s inspection were crushed when a sliding door a few feet away opened. A loud combination of screaming shouts and stampeding feet rolled out the airport onto the artificially brightened platform. Shocked by the commotion, Shane stopped moving so he could see what the excitement was all about. He watched as Broderick “Taz” Phelps swaggered out the door’s opening followed by Nietz, his behemoth personal bodyguard. They were trailed by a huge throng of tittering fans.
“Oh. My. God.”
Uh-oh. Shane’s attention flew back to Rory. He immediately knew his secrets weren’t quite so secret anymore. “You like? Fits my image, huh?”
“Do I like? Fits your image? Are you kidding me?” Arms cocked at the elbows, Rory planted his fists on his hips. “No, I don’t like! And what image were you going for, Shane? I’m depressed, kill me now? ‘Cause if that’s what you were aiming for, you nailed it, buddy!”
“And that’s why I tried to keep the piercings hidden from you, Rory, because I knew you would read too much into them.”
“Not with another person, I wouldn’t. But with you, yes, I do. You, I know. Jesus, it was bad enough when you told me about the lip piercings, but why weren’t they enough, Shane? Why the hell did you feel the need to go and do all that to the left side of your face?”
“Technically, I didn’t—”
“We are so not playing word games right now.”
Shane opened his mouth wide to voice another protest.
“Shane, please tell me that is not yet another piercing I am seeing in your tongue!”
Closing his mouth, Shane looked around frantically for something he could use to divert Rory’s attention. Over Rory’s shoulder, he honed in on the trio. They were right on Nietz’s heel, star struck expressions in place. Shane blurted through lips held stiffly in place, “Straight girls, Ror, three o’clock. Eyeing your bisexual fiancé lustfully.”
“Considering what he was doing to me just a few hours ago, I’m going to go ahead and put it out there that Taz isn’t bisexual anymore,” Rory countered, not missing a beat. “He’s extremely gay.”
Eric walked a few feet behind his friends, his gaze fastened to the back of Taz’s head, his face reflecting a strong, naked hunger. His beautiful, brandy hued orbs flicked forward, completing the path to Taz’s end destination, and landed on Rory.
Then moved on over to Shane. When he saw Shane, the blond’s eyebrows drew together, his forehead knitting in a confused frown.
Shane knew the exact moment Eric worked out in his head why Shane had looked so familiar to him. As recognition dawned, Eric’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“In that case,” Shane said, “maybe you should be more worried about the cute twink—”
“Quit trying to sidetrack me! And tell me—”
Taz finally reached them. He wrapped a hand around one of Rory’s arms and spun Rory towards him. Bowing his head, he slanted his lips over Rory’s, cutting Rory off mid-shrieking question. Shane couldn’t help but stare at the two as intently as the group of people crushed around them, who watched and captured the zealous presentation with a variety of devices capable of both taking pictures and recording videos.
The kiss was no chaste peck on the lips between two lovers reuniting after a very brief separation. Regardless that Taz’s long, unbound, platinum locks fell forward to mostly shield the two from prying eyes, it was clear the kiss was just barely fit for public viewing. It was driven by Taz and all the sensual singer’s desire and love for his intended were evident as he buried his fingers in Rory’s longish brown hair and consumed Rory’s lips voraciously.
“Missed you,” Taz said, tenor guttural, when he broke contact several seconds later. “Thought I told you to wait for me.”
“And I thought I told you if you want something to order around, a lapdog is the way to go,” Rory mumbled through swollen lips.
White blond eyebrows canted, a suggestive smile formed on Taz’s tanned face. “Why in the world would I want to own a hairy little mongrel when I’ve spent so much time and effort training a hairless little Rory on how to keep me happy for hours on end?”
Rory’s pale skin turned a very becoming shade of pink. “Broderick!”
A throaty, seductive female voice declared from the mob Nietz was pushing back, “Train me, Taz. I’m more than happy to be his replacement.”
“Back off, sweetheart,” Rory hissed even as Taz gave the busty bombshell an appreciative once over. “He’s mine.”
“I’m definitely his,” Taz concurred. He leaned in close to Rory and said, “And as for your idea, lovely, you’re cuter than a lapdog, easier to take care of and much more satisfying to play with.”
The outrageous rocker may have been using the opportunity to entertain the surrounding, giggling crowd, but Shane could see the heat in his dark rimmed, silver eyes as he spoke the words. There was no doubt in Shane’s mind Taz derived lots of pleasure “playing” with Rory. Lots.
Shane’s heart ached in longing. If things had gone differently, if his insecurities hadn’t caused him to totally spazz out, he could’ve had a similar fairy tale romance with Revelin.
But now Revelin hated him. With good reason.
Unless Shane could make him understand.
“Remind me to show you later exactly how much more, Rory,” Taz said. He brushed his lips against Rory’s mouth, which hung open in embarrassed shock, slung an arm around Rory’s shoulders then straightened. He turned his attention to Shane and, after a thorough perusal, nodded. “Hey, witch boy, very cool piercings.”
Setting his melancholic thoughts aside, Shane grinned as Rory’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Not only had Taz publicly flustered Rory’s cool in a manner Shane would never be able to emulate, he’d also hand delivered to Shane a very useful platform to use against Rory in the argument he knew would be forthcoming.
“See?” Shane said, smug. “Taz likes them.”
*”Get out of my sight, get out of my house, get out of my life!”
~Linda Wilkinson to eighteen year old son Shane~*December 24, 2010
“Let go of me,” I leaned over to hiss in Rory’s ear.
His response was instantaneous. “No.”
I couldn’t believe Rory! I knew he’d just seen Deviant Spawn’s delicious guitarist wink at me! I knew he could see the intense come-hither look those cobalt blues were giving to me from the other side of the dressing room!
But leave it to my ever collected best friend to destroy my fantasy. He refused to relinquish his hold on my wrist because he knew if he did, the force of my bouncing body would levitate me right off this ugly ass jacquard couch and right into a full-on, rabid fan attack of Revelin.
But, shit, wasn’t that what I was supposed to do? Last time I checked, losing your mind over being in the same room and breathing the same air as your idol was acceptable behavior in the land of fandom.
And when that idol winks at you, well, a rabid fan attack was only to be expected.
Despite my denial to Rory’s application of the word to me just minutes before, I knew I was exactly what he claimed I was. Where Revelin St. James was concerned, I, Shane Matthew Wilkinson, was a self-admitted fangirl. And sooo star struck it wasn’t even funny.
Hell, I’d even come to tonight’s concert dressed just like the man. Over my long-sleeved black mesh shirt, I wore a replica of the black leather vest Revelin always performed in that I’d ordered long ago off the band’s website. And for the past year I’d been styling my short, black, spiked hair so it was blue at the tips just like Revelin’s black, chin length locks were.
Rory knew I lusted after Revelin as much as he himself lusted after Taz, Deviant Spawn’s lead singer. So that’s why I couldn’t believe my best friend really had the nerve to be reasonable right now! Didn’t he know, if the positions were reversed, I’d never let a trite issue like, gag!, sensibleness get in the way of his fun?
“But I really, really want to go talk to Revelin,” I said, hearing the whiny quality of my voice. But I didn’t care. I’d whine, beg, grovel and do everything I could to make a pest out of myself if it would make Rory turn me loose. “Come on, Ror. Let go, man. Pretty please. I swear I’ll make it worth your while later.”
I meant what I said, too. If Rory would grant me this one favor now, then later, when it was just the two of us in my one bedroom apartment drinking strawberry milkshakes from McDonalds and playing Batman: Arkham Asylum on the Xbox, I would do all the things to him I knew he found pleasurable. And after years of unimpeded exploration of my friend’s lithe, soft body, I knew everything he liked.
How having his toes sucked drove him absolutely bat shit crazy. How hard he liked for me to fuck him. How fast he liked for me to go.
How long he liked for the fucking to last. But that was something he’d learned to compromise with me on. I didn’t really have a choice in the matter so neither did he.
If I could just convince him to let go of me, I decided, I’d start off with some foreplay which would include the bathing of the crack of his milky white ass with my thick, pink, strawberry milkshake and the licking up of every single sticky drop. Then I’d use his shake to give the same messy treatment to his front side.
I was just about to tell Rory that, using as many nasty, dirty, descriptive, imaginative words I could possibly think of when he spoke again, dashing my hopes to death. And I mean death as in my single seater just lost power at twenty thousand feet. Or like I’d just come face-to-face with a starved mama bear searching for sustenance to feed her hungry young.
Or like I was Superman battling the most badass villain in all of comic book history, Doomsday. At least, he was the most badass in my opinion, because, come on, the guy killed Superman.
Really, he did.
“No way,” Rory responded. “There is absolutely no way possible I would dare let you loose on him all hyped up as you are right now. You know my cousin hates that I have balls and she doesn’t. Do you want her to have a valid reason to cut off mine?”
He had me with that one, I hated to admit. It was the ultimate reason for him not to let me at Revelin. A reason I couldn’t argue with.
Rory’s cousin, popular Orlando radio personality Jasmine “Jazzy” Banks, had arranged this meet and greet. I didn’t know how she had managed to do it, as the band was known for shunning all gatherings of any type immediately following their performances, but I was sure glad she had. Free, front row tickets and this meeting after Deviant Spawn’s Christmas Eve in Orlando concert, their very first concert in the US after touring Europe for over a year and a half, was her Christmas gift to us.
Which meant we had to be on our best behavior ever. Despite the fact that any insane behavior on me and Rory’s part could no doubt be smoothed over by Jazzy, as she was friendly with the band, punishment meted by her for any infraction was sure to be fierce.
If Jazzy really wanted to, she could kick both me and Rory’s asses at the same time. With a blindfold covering both of her eyes. And with both of her arms restrained behind her back. And both of her legs chained together. While sitting in a chair, no less.
Damn Jazzy, stupid ass butch lesbian.
Damn me and Rory, stupid ass weak fruitcakes.
Bottom lip poked out, I resigned myself to only being allowed to make googly eyes at Revelin from across the room. But then, miracle of all miracles, Rory’s tight grip on my wrist vanished as he stood when Taz entered the room. Eyes glazed over, Rory walked away from the couch where I sat watching him in incredulity and it was on the tip of my tongue to quiz him about just what in the hell he thought he was getting ready to do.
But my spiteful question remained unasked. I refused to let Rory make a hypocrite out of me. No, siree, wasn’t going to happen.
I was a cock lover. Not a cock blocker.
As Rory approached Taz, I hustled over to Revelin.
When I skidded to a halt in front of the chaise he lounged upon, Revelin smiled up at me. He rolled the toothpick hanging from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Took you long enough to make your way over here, pretty blue eyes.”
“My friend wouldn’t let me come over,” I hurriedly apologized.
Oh, my god, I couldn’t believe it! I was actually talking to Revelin! And he’d just called me pretty blue eyes!
This was so beast!
And mega sweet!
Heart thudding painful and loud, I continued in one breath, “Cause, believe me, if it had been up to me, I would’ve been over here looong before you even had a chance to sit down yourself. And, jeez, I can’t believe I’m actually having a conversation with you! Do you have any idea who you are? You’re Revelin St. James! And I’m, like, in love with you! Totally! Completely! Have been for six whole years. Ever since the first time I heard you playing the guitar when I was thirteen. That was the year Rory, my hater of a friend over there, gave me Deviant Spawn’s first album for my b-day. And has anyone ever told you the way you play the guitar is crazy sensual? Because it is. Almost like you’re making love through your notes.” I paused to take a much needed deep gulp of air, then decided I should probably introduce myself, “By the way, I’m—”
“Loquacious,” Revelin’s scrumptious, deep voice interjected.
I grinned, unabashed. “I’ve been called that word before. Well, maybe not that exact word, but Rory and a few others have referred to me as both chatty and talkative a time or two. I bet it means the same thing, doesn’t it? Sounds like it does.”
“It does. And just a time or two?”
“Give or take a couple thousand.”
“Now that sounds more accurate.” With his hand, Revelin motioned to an empty spot on the chaise. “Sit. Make yourself comfortable.”
I took him up on his offer. But instead of sitting where he indicated, at the unoccupied foot of the chaise, I made myself right at home in a different location.
One that just happened to be between his legs I’d nudged open.
“Bold, too, I see,” he commented.
“I can also cook and clean,” I remarked cheekily.
Then, figuring I might as well go for the gold, I leaned back until my body mirrored Revelin’s. The top of my spiked head was snuggled under his chin. My back was to his chest with its light mat of exposed dark hair, which trailed down his taut belly to disappear into his tight black jeans. And his hard, muscular legs outlined mine.
He wrapped his right arm around my middle, pulling back on me until my bottom was nestled securely against his crotch. Warm, moist air ghosted across the shell of my ear as he asked, “Comfy?”
Barely repressing a full body shiver, I squeaked, “Yes.”
“Yes?” he questioned, but when I didn’t say anything more, he added, “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Now you choose to be a miser with your words? You’re a funny one, my gothic little twin.” A seductive chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. “Well, I plan to have one more word from you, at least. I want your name, Blue.”
“Shane,” I murmured.
“Shane, Shane, Shane. What would you say, Shane,” he breathed into my ear, “if I told you I like you?”
“I would say I love you.” My last three words were spoken so low, they were no more than a whisper.
“You love me, baby? Is that what you just said?”
“Totally. Completely. Have for six whole years.”
Revelin fell silent. Then cautioned, “Better be careful with those words of yours, because you do know what happens if you declare your love for me one more time, don’t you?”
“I’ll turn into a prince and you’ll transform into my knight-in-shining armor?” I asked hopefully.
“I like the way you think,” he responded, laughing, “but we need to get one thing straight. I ain’t no goddamn knight. Not one in shining armor, at any rate.”
“I can live with that.”
“Can you?” There was a clear challenge in the question. “Can you honestly deal with belonging to me? Because if you make that third declaration, baby, that’s what’ll happen. I’ll own you.”
“And I can live with that,” I proclaimed, letting the shiver which had threatened earlier overtake me.
“So you say. But I think you’re in need of a distraction before you end up committing yourself to something you haven’t taken the necessary time to think all the way through.”
Embarrassed, I closed my mouth. My mouth I’d just opened again so I could boldly make that third declaration.
“Ahh, our friends. Look at them over there, Shane.” Revelin’s right hand snaked under my vest and stroked up and down my mesh covered left side. “They’re the perfect distraction. Is it just me, or does it appear that the hater is in dire need of saving from the horny?”
With extreme effort, I extracted my attention from our little corner of the room to focus on the two figures standing near the double doors. And couldn’t believe what I saw.
Taz, still naked from the waist up after stripping out of his shirt during his performance, had Rory hemmed up tight against his body. And it was obvious he was using his hand to guide Rory’s in an intimate massage of a certain part of his body below the belt.
“The hater is most definitely in dire need of saving,” I observed, giggling. My giggles had nothing to do with Rory’s abject helplessness, however, and all to do with my own giddiness. But what gay guy wouldn’t giggle girlishly if they found themselves damn near sitting in Revelin St. James’s lap with his solid, unmistakable bulge pressed up close against their ass?
And with the very real possibility of being owned by the man? I wasn’t into the dominate/submissive lifestyle, but I’d gladly let Revelin control me for a night.
Right at that moment, Taz huskily said to Rory, “Now, you can clearly see what it is that I want from you, lovely. So, the question is, do we continue? Or do we stop?”
“Stop, Taz. For the love of God, stop,” Revelin called out, voice tinged with amusement, before Rory had a chance to answer for himself. Which was probably a good thing because I wasn’t sure my normally unflappable best friend was capable of speech at the moment. “Can’t you see you got that kid all shook up? Leave him alone.”
“Is that true, lovely? I got you all shook up?” Taz quizzed Rory.
Rory gave the tiniest shake of his head in the negative.
Yep, that settled it. Mr. Calm, Cool and Always Collected was totally incapable of forming coherent sentences.
“The kid says he’s cool,” Taz asserted, all the while continuing to use Rory’s fingers to stroke his erection through his black leather pants.
“Then, for the love of God, lover boy, stop because you got me all shook up.”
“Never let it be said that Taz doesn’t give his audience what his audience wants.” Taz released Rory from his hold. “Even when those wants clearly don’t coincide with his own.”
Rory stumbled backwards a step. Then spun towards the exit and fled the room.
And Taz, appearing very much the proverbial cat who ate the canary, watched him. He held something squeezed tight in one of his fists.
As the door swung shut behind Rory, everyone but me guffawed raucously. Even the two chicks wrapped around Angel removed their licking, sucking maws off the Hispanic drummer to join in on the mirth. Mind on other matters, I twisted around in Revelin’s hold and, as his lively blue eyes flicked down to settle on mine, I reached up with one hand and plucked the toothpick from his mouth.
Cover to mislead from what I was really doing.
Flipping the toothpick to the ground, I stood up and rushed out the door, following after Rory.
Just as I burst into the hallway, I heard Revelin’s smooth baritone ask, “Think they’ll come to the after party?” Followed a second later by his statement of, “I’m really digging the talkative goth, but I think you scared the quiet, girly one shitless, Taz.”
Taz’s sure and confident response of—”They’ll be there.”—provided fuel for a second bout of snorts and snickers. Before the thick, steel door clicked shut behind me, Revelin gasped out a choked, “Fuck, Taz, you always have been a slick ass bastard.”
I had a strong feeling about the meaning behind the verbal bantering. Rory leaned against a wall of the hallway, trying to regulate his breathing and it was obvious he also puzzled it over.
Hoping to facilitate another meeting between me and Revelin later in the night, I frantically thought of a way to prevent Rory from thinking too hard. It could only be to both of our advantages if he didn’t straighten out his Taz baffled brain to discover the singer had probably somehow managed to confiscate his keys. Taz evidently had some type of grand plan in the works and I recognized it fell to me to keep Rory off kilter long enough for him to set that plan into motion.
I thrust my hand at Rory. The hand I’d used to grab a quick, inconspicuous grope of Revelin’s hardness.
Confused, Rory stared down at it. “What, Shane?”
“Just wanted to greet a fellow member of Club Fangirls, s’all,” I replied, straight-faced.
After a few hesitant moments, Rory grabbed my outstretched hand. I didn’t fail to notice it was the same hand used in the feeling up of Taz. Vigorously, he shook our Deviant Spawn familiarized appendages up and down and said, “I’m not only a member, I’m also the founder and the president.”
A cheesy smile spread across his face. Mission accomplished, I let a similar one overtake mine.
As we headed towards the building’s exit, I enthused, “Did you hear Revelin? He actually said he digs me! He digs me! Not nearly as much as I dig him, of course, but still! Man, that is so beast! And, holy fuck, what the hell was that with you and Taz? Jesus, Rory, I think he likes you. Like, really, really likes you!”
And I strongly suspected before the night was over and done with, Rory was going to find out exactly how much Taz liked him.
Just as I hoped to find out exactly how much Revelin dug me.
[zilla_likes]