A gay story: The Adventures of Boipussy Pt. 04 Author’s note: There’s some French in this chapter. I’ve been to the cities described in this chapter and the one which will follow, but I don’t speak any French. I’ve used Google to do the translation, so don’t arc up at me if the algorithm didn’t get it quite right. And as always, please let me know what you think about the story!
Months passed. Pete and Ace were still together. They were happy, but it wasn’t an easy relationship, because they rarely saw each other. They still lived in different cities — Pete in Atlanta, and Ace in Miami — but their love of heavy metal and the mutual ambitions of their bands fused them together. They often called and texted each other, they occasionally had mutual online jerkoff sessions, and once, Ace mailed Pete a pair of his boxers that had soaked up his load one night. Pete put them in his underwear drawer, pulling them out now and again for a sniff while he jacked off, dreaming about his distant boyfriend as he inhaled his scent.
Carlos gradually pulled himself out of the deep depression he’d felt at Gorilla’s shocking death, and as time slowly passed, he rediscovered the joy of being alive. After saving up his salary from Eternal and living like Gandhi for a couple of months, he’d accumulated enough cash to buy himself a new guitar. He purchased a Jackson DK2, with a lurid lime green and black finish. As soon as he started playing it in the store, he fell in love with it. The body was slightly smaller and lighter than the precious Ibanez he left at Gorilla’s grave. The action was super-low, the whammy bar was hyper-sensitive to his touch, power chords required almost no effort at all, and the sustain he got from bending notes, even at a low volume, was out of this world. Even his mistakes sounded good, almost as if the guitar was playing itself. He looked at the price tag and winced a little, but there was no denying it — this was the axe for him. He had to have it, and he couldn’t wait to crank it up loud. It was the beginning of a fresh, new start.
Ass To Mouth got back into the rehearsal room and honed their set. Carlos brought three brand-new tunes to the band, all of which were works of dark art.
One of the benefits from working at Eternal was the freedom it gave Carlos to take time off when he needed to. He wasn’t working in a vertically-integrated multidisciplinary agile team that operated a challenging corporate environment intent on breaking down internal silos in an everchanging and multidimensional market landscape, he was just doing a fuckin’ job. And it was a pretty fuckin’ cool job, too. He didn’t have to think about corporate goals, cultural plans, sales targets, maintaining spreadsheets or filing reports; his focus was on booking bands, pouring beers, and rocking out.
He spent a lot of time with Pete during these months. They grew closer and got to know each other on a deeper level. For most of the time they’d known each other, Carlos had seen Pete as a kickass drummer with a hungry, wet mouth, but not much more than that. He didn’t know him very well as a person, and he didn’t particularly want to either, but the compassion and support Pete gave to Carlos when Gorilla died spoke to his soul. These days, they regularly met up for long, deep conversations, usually accompanied by coffee or beers. They talked about music, creativity and life, and when Carlos learned the dates for Pete’s law school spring break, they began to plan a short tour of Canada. They hired two local roadies — friends of friends with strong muscles — to help with logistics, transport and everything else. The roadies knew they wouldn’t be paid well, but they were aspiring musicians too, and they hoped to build some connections while on tour.
A2M and their small yet muscly roadcrew stowed their gear, packed their passports, and flew from Atlanta to Montréal. They’d booked four dates across Quebec and Ontario, flying back home via Toronto, where their short northern tour would end. None of them had ever been to Canada, and Pete had never been outside the States before. He applied for his very first passport to make this trip. Carlos had travelled to Mexico a few times to see family, but the rest of the band had very little international travel experience.
They touched down at Montréal International in the short daylight hours of early spring. As the plane’s wheels skidded and gripped, Carlos looked out the window. It looked cold outside. Skies were heavy and grey. They disembarked and headed into the airport.
Pete gingerly approached the Canadian immigration officials and presented his documentation. One of the officials focused on the screen in front of him, then stared suspiciously at Pete, as if there was a blotch on his record. Pete didn’t know, but the long stare was because the immigration official thought he was cute. He noticed Pete’s sexy freckles. “Parlez-vouz français?”
Pete remembered some basic high-school French. “Excuse-moi?”
The immigration official shook his head with disdain before speaking in English. “Do you speak French?”
“No,” Pete declared. “Not since high school. I can ask a policeman for directions in French, and I know the difference between left and right, but that’s about all I’ve got.” He felt a little nervous. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“No, of course not,” the official smiled. “But let me give you some phrases you might find useful.”
Pete nodded, still unsure whether he was going to be allowed into Canada. Was this an official language test? He knew some Canadians spoke French, and that in Montréal, most people did, but he didn’t know if his inability to speak the language would bar him from entering the country. He hadn’t read anything about this in his Lonely Planet guidebook.
Poor, innocent Pete.
“Repeat after me,” said the official. “Tu es mignon.”
Pete tried and got close. “What does that mean in English?”
“It means ‘you’re cute’. Try and say it again.”
“Tu es mignon,” Pete tried again. He thought ‘mignon’ was something to do with a steak. He wondered if the cows were cuter in Canada than back home.
“Now try this one,” said the official. “Veux-tu venir à la maison avec moi?”
Pete tried, but he was tongue-tied. “What does that mean?”
The official smiled. “It means ‘do you want to come home with me?’.”
“OK,” replied a flustered Pete. He just wanted to get his passport stamped so he could move on. “I’ll try to remember that.”
“Here’s another phrase you might find useful,” said the official. “Listen carefully. S’il te plait laisse moi te baiser.”
Pete did his best. “What does that one mean?”
The official smiled. “It means ‘please let me fuck you’.”
Pete blushed. This wasn’t the immigration experience he’d expected.
Carlos stepped forward, ignoring all border protocols. He didn’t speak any French either, but he wanted to find out why Pete was being grilled. “Is there a problem with my friend’s documentation?” He knew this was Pete’s first use of his passport, and he was worried that something might be genuinely wrong with it.
The official was taken aback. He looked Carlos up and down. Fuck, he was sexier than the dude with the freckles. “No, there’s no problem,” he replied. “All good.” He stamped Pete’s passport and returned it to him. “Bienvenue au Canada, sexy,” he said, watching Pete’s ass nervously move through the gate.
Carlos was next in line, but following his recent intervention, he was already standing at the immigration official’s desk. “You gonna let me in too?” he pouted. “I’m a Canada virgin. I need someone to take my Canada cherry. I need it so fucking bad. You gonna stamp my passport for me, or … do you want to take me out back for a thorough examination? I promise there are no drugs hidden up my ass, but I won’t be offended if you need to check. Also, I should declare here and now that I don’t know how to speak any French, but my slutty Mexican mouth is eager to learn.” He licked his lips.
The speechless immigration official’s dick was hard as a fucking rock. He stamped Carlos’s passport and waved him through.
Carlos blew the official a kiss on the way through. He bent over, pretending to tie a bootlace, but his only intention was to showcase his tight denim-clad ass to the immigration official. He provocatively slapped his freshly-stamped American passport on his cheeks as he stood up.
The rest of the A2M entourage made it through unscathed. They headed to the carousel to collect their luggage, only to learn that Montréal’s transport workers were taking ‘go-slow’ industrial action. They sat around, waiting, with nothing to do. It looked cold as hell outside, but at least they were warm. Two hours later, their gear arrived. They caught the airport bus into the centre of town (also late due to the strike), and as they looked out the window, they barely saw a single word they recognised. Signs were in French, advertisements were in French, and it felt like everyone on the bus spoke French apart from them. The only thing that kept them from thinking they were actually *in* France were the huge American gas-guzzlers that clogged the streets.
They arrived at their hotel. “Merci beaucoup,” said Pete, remembering some elementary school French as he offered the driver a tip.
“You don’t need to tip for service in Canada,” the driver said in English.
“Really?”
“Oui.”
“Why not?” asked Pete.
“Because we get paid decent wages, not two bucks an hour like Americans get.”
Carlos stepped forward. “Then why are you cunts on strike?” he challenged.
The driver had no response.
A2M collected their stuff and checked in to the hotel. They had some time to kill before heading to the venue. To save money, Carlos and Pete shared a hotel room (two single beds), and the other two band members shared another. Their roadies shared a third room.
Carlos looked around. Their room was cheap and gritty, but it wasn’t Sleep Inn gritty. He remembered some of the terrible hotel rooms Gorilla’s company used to book him into while he was pinballing around the continental United States, and it was moments like this that sometimes pulled him down. He was determined to shrug the negative emotions off; he had a show to play tonight. “Hey, Pete,” he said.
Pete was diligently reading his Lonely Planet guidebook. He looked up. “Yeah?”
“What the fuck happened at immigration? What were they asking you?”
Pete put his thumb in the book to mark the page before closing the cover. “I swear that dude was flirting with me.”
Carlos grinned. “What was he saying?”
Pete smiled. “He asked me if I spoke any French. At first, I thought it was gonna be a problem, but he told me some phrases I could use. I think the first one was ‘you look like a cow’, so I must’ve misunderstood him. The next one was something like ‘want to come back to my dorm’, and the last one was ‘I’m gonna fuck you now’.”
Carlos nodded. “He was definitely flirting with you, dude. I swear it’s your freckles. They’re cute as hell. Plus, your sexy Irish hair. No wonder Ace is so into you.”
Pete blushed. He wondered what was going through Carlos’s mind right now. He didn’t respond.
“I need to shower before we go,” Carlos declared. “You want the bathroom first?”
Pete was lost in thought, but Carlos’s question brought him back to reality. “No, dude, go ahead. It’s all yours.”
*
They arrived at the venue, lugged in, and did their soundcheck. There were two bands playing tonight, and A2M was first on the bill, supporting a local metal act. After they’d set everything up, they headed out to find food. Carlos and Pete found a place that served Chinese takeout noodles. The weather was cold, but the food was hot, fresh and spicy. The four band members reconvened at the venue half an hour before they were due to hit the stage. They found a case of Molson waiting for them backstage, alongside a chilled bottle of Canadian vodka. They’d smash some beers later, but a few pre-show shots of local vodka went down well.
Their moment came, the lights dimmed, and Ass To Mouth ran out onstage. Carlos plugged his new axe into his amp and grabbed the microphone. “Bonne soirée, Montréal! Comment allez-vous!”
The crowd clapped politely. Carlos wasn’t used to this kind of tepid, distant reaction. Maybe the crowd didn’t know anything about A2M, maybe they were waiting impatiently for the headline act, or maybe they were just waiting to be impressed. Carlos assumed the latter and prepared to kick ass.
“We’ve come from Atlanta, Georgia, and we’re called Ass To Mouth! Let’s fuckin’ rock!”
Pete clicked his drumsticks together to set the time, and they hammered into their opening song. Pete watched Carlos’s ass sway across the stage as he sang his guts out. He remembered how much he loved watching Carlos’s ass before he met Ace. He remembered how badly he wanted him. He put those thoughts out of his mind for now, concentrating on playing well.
They raced through their set, and 45 minutes later they left the stage to muted applause. They ran offstage and towelled down.
“Well, that was strange,” said Carlos. “That’s the kind of polite audience I’d expect if we played in a place like Japan or Korea, but not Canada.” He waved his towel over his head. “Don’t they like metal up here?”
“They probably don’t know who we are,” helped Pete. “It’s a different country. We need to build up a following.”
Carlos shrugged. “Maybe. I guess I just wasn’t feeling it tonight. I’d always hoped our first international show would be something to remember, but it wasn’t. I won’t be writing about that in my autobiography. Everything felt flat. I couldn’t get into the zone.”
“It’s not like when we play in Atlanta, where everyone in the metal scene knows who we are,” Pete continued. “If we’re gonna go all the way, this is the first big step of many. This is the life we want, right? I’m studying law, but do you really think I wanna be a lawyer? I wanna play helldrums for A2M until I’m dead. Every time we push ourselves further and further into new territory, we’re gonna need to win new crowds over. You’ve read enough rock biographies to know that this is how it goes. Nobody ever lands at the peak. Most people here tonight would’ve been waiting for the headline act to play, and they wouldn’t have even thought to find out who we are, but hopefully some people walked out of the show thinking ‘who was that other band?’ and they might google us and follow us on spotify. We can stop now, or we can keep going, but A2M doesn’t exist without you, Carlos. If you’re not here, I’m not here either. If you left and we kept playing without you, it’d be like watching INXS after Michael Hutchence died. It’d be embarrassing. It just wouldn’t work. So it’s up to you.”
Carlos glared at Pete, and for a moment Pete felt scared, but the glare was a fierce recognition that his words had cut through, and that Carlos appreciated the truth of them. “You’re 100% right. For a moment, I forgot just how hard this is gonna be, but I want it. I think we all do. And A2M doesn’t exist without you either. You’re our rock.”
Their bandmates nodded in agreement.
“I thought Canada wouldn’t be so different to playing at home,” Carlos concluded, “but maybe it will be. Maybe we need to expect more of this while we’re here.”
They enjoyed a few beers backstage while the headline act played and the crowd cheered, but they lugged out as soon as they could. It had been a long day, and their hotel beckoned. Carlos shook hands with the bar manager on the way out. The manager thanked A2M for playing, and told them not to feel downhearted — Montréal is a tough place to play. He said their share of tonight’s proceeds would be forwarded to the band’s account tomorrow as soon as tonight’s accounts were done.
They headed back to their hotel. Their roadies looked after their equipment.
Pete and Ace entered their room. “I definitely need to take a shower after that,” said Carlos, “but you go first.”
“Wait, are you saying I stink?” Pete joked.
Carlos laughed. “No, dude, it’s just … whatever, I don’t know, we both need a shower, so just go and take yours first.”
For a fraction of a split second, Pete wondered what it’d feel like to take a shower with his sexy lead singer. But he knew they were only sharing a room, and hence also a bathroom, to save money. He put the thought out of his mind as he disrobed and stepped under the warm water.
Carlos turned the TV on and flipped through the channels, trying to find a station that broadcast in either English or Spanish. He gave up as he heard the shower faucet shut off. Moments later, Pete emerged with a towel around his waist.
“There are only two towels here,” Pete reported, “so I assume that’s one each.”
Carlos’s heart sank, and Pete noticed. “I know, dude, we need two towels each — one for our body and one for our hair.”
“Is there a hair dryer?” Carlos asked hopefully. Pete opened and closed various cabinets and eventually found one. “Thank fuck for that,” said Carlos. “I can’t go to sleep with wet hair. I’ll be too cold.”
Pete smiled as he tried to dry his hair with the same towel he used to dry his body. “Same. Anyway, the bathroom is now yours. Think strategically, friend — there’s only one dry towel left.”
“This is my worst fucking nightmare,” Carlos laughed. He undressed and turned the water on. Pete picked up the TV remote and scanned through the dial, trying to find something in English he could watch to pass the time. He got into bed and eventually landed on a rerun of a British comedy show which he assumed dated from the 1970s. Something about a bus company where everyone shouted at each other about how their buses were always late. This lack of ability to stick to a timetable, augmented with massive amounts of sexism and racism, was apparently hilarious. He watched out of curiosity more than anything.
The shower stopped and Carlos emerged, shaking his damp hair back. Pete gawked. FUCK, Carlos was a sexy man. The terrible British sitcom rolled on, but it was long-forgotten as Pete’s eyes traced Carlos’s every movement. Carlos had no idea he was being watched; in his own mind, he was stressing about not having a towel to wrap around his hair.
Pete sensed Carlos’s distress. “Use my towel if you want.”
Carlos stopped to think.
“I wiped my nuts and crack with it,” Pete continued, “but if you’re OK with that, go right ahead.”
Carlos grabbed Pete’s damp towel and wrapped it around his head.
Pete wondered how he was gonna sleep tonight. He missed Ace, but jesus fuckin’ christ, he was sharing a hotel room with a man who was, without any doubt in the world, sex on legs.
Carlos climbed into his single bed. He plugged his phone in to recharge overnight, making sure to check he’d set an alarm for 10am. They were booked on a flight up to Québec City around noon, and their roadies had learned that the industrial disruption they experienced today wouldn’t happen tomorrow. He looked at the TV. “What are you watching?”
The end credits rolled, and Pete turned the TV off. “It was a show called ‘On The Buses’,” he answered. “British. I think Canadians like old British things for some reason. It was fucking terrible, but it was the only show I could find that was in English. But even though they were speaking English, there were some parts where I could’ve used subtitles. They all just fucking shouted at each other for half an hour.”
“Hard pass,” Carlos responded. “Glad I spent that time in the shower.”
Pete’s dick twitched as he imagined warm water running through Carlos’s hair, down his back and across his ass. “Was the water hot enough?”
“Yeah,” said Carlos, scratching his balls under the covers. “Water was hot, but fuck, Canada is cold for spring.” Despite the heating in the room, he felt a chill around his shoulders.
“I know,” Pete agreed. “I’m not used to this either. And we’re going even further north tomorrow.” He got out of bed, wearing only his boxers, and walked to the window. He pulled back the curtain and saw streaks of white. “Fuck, dude, it’s snowing out there.”
Carlos shivered. “At least the shower was warm,” he said, snuggling down into his blankets.
Pete returned to his bed. He climbed under his covers, but beyond that, he tried hard not to move. He was barely even breathing.
“You said it’s snowing outside?” asked Carlos.
“Yeah.”
“It’s meant to be spring.”
“I know.”
“Fuck.” A tense silence fell. “I’m cold, Pete.”
Pete said nothing.
Moments passed. Pete listened to Carlos breathe. He was a million miles away from sleep. He desperately needed to jerk off, it was the only way he’d get to sleep. He was about to roll over and try to quietly get the job done when he heard Carlos’s voice again.
“Can you come keep me warm, Pete?”
Pete waited, counting the seconds before responding. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he frowned.
“It’s snowing outside.”
“I know, Carlos.”
“Aren’t you cold too, Pete?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“So come sleep with me,” said Carlos. “We can just warm each other up. We don’t have to do anything.”
“I’m with Ace now,” Pete affirmed.
“I know, dude … that’s why I’m just sayin’ let’s sleep together, and I genuinely mean just SLEEPING together, with no touching.”
“It’s a single bed,” said Pete. “If I get under the covers with you, how the hell aren’t we gonna be touching?”
Carlos didn’t have an answer for that. He returned to his original plea. “I’m cold.”
With a sigh, Pete threw his covers off and joined Carlos in his single bed. Neither of them were gonna get any sleep otherwise. He tried to ensure their bodies weren’t touching — it wasn’t easy. “Is that better?” He tried to pretend his cock wasn’t hard. He desperately needed to cum.
“That’s better,” said Carlos. “Eres lindo.”
Pete thought Carlos’s words were a Spanish expression of gratitude. He didn’t realise that Carlos just said he was beautiful.
“Amo tus pecas,” whispered Carlos, gazing through the darkness at the constellation of freckles adorning Pete’s cheeks and nose. One of his feet brushed against Pete’s. Pete had no idea what Carlos was saying, but he couldn’t deny how horny he felt right now. For many years, he’d dreamed about sharing a hotel room with his sexy bandmate. If he was single, he would’ve surrendered to his wildest sexual dreams half an hour ago.
Pete gulped. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but … I’m with Ace.”
“I know you are,” Carlos whispered, barely even audible. “Entiendo. I understand.”
Pete felt an undeniable heat emanating from Carlos’s groin.
“I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” Carlos breathed. Their eyes met and they gazed at each other through the darkness. Under the sheets, and despite his best intentions, Pete’s hands began to explore Carlos’s naked body. The room was cold, but Carlos’s breath was sweet and warm. His wandering fingers cupped Carlos’s balls; they felt full. Carlos moaned at his touch.
Carlos reached out to touch Pete. He was wearing boxers, but it didn’t take long for Carlos to extract his leaking penis. He began to stroke it gently.
Outside, the snow continued to fall. Inside, these two sexy metalheads lay side by side in Carlos’s single bed, their cocks in each other’s hands.
“I’m with Ace,” Pete protested.
“I know,” Carlos replied. “Es un hombre sexy, pero tengo tu pene en mi mano.”
They touched each other’s erect penises.
“I can’t do this,” said Pete.
“We’re not doing anything wrong, Pete,” soothed Carlos. “We’re just two dudes keeping warm on a cold, snowy night.”
Pete felt so conflicted. “I’m with Ace,” he repeated. A tear rolled down his cheek.
“I know you are,” Carlos said as he began to stroke Pete’s dick.
Pete’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Stop,” he pleaded. “Please, Carlos, please stop.” Yet at the same time, Pete’s fingers began to tease Carlos’s fat brown sausage.
“Fuck, Pete, that feels so good,” Carlos moaned. It had been so long. So very fucking long. Not since Gorilla’s death had he felt another man’s hands on his cock. Carlos gave no sign and no warning before he drenched Pete’s tender fingers with his load. He groaned in bliss as he came. “You feel so fucking good, Pete,” he sighed, as he coated his hand with his thick semen.
Carlos’s hand was still wrapped around Pete’s cock. Pete tried so fucking hard not to cum. He felt like he was being unfaithful to his boyfriend, but this was the stuff of wet dreams. He was in a warm bed in a cold room, his longtime crush’s nut had flooded his hand, and his cock was hard. As he felt Carlos’s palm gripping and stroking his shaft, he couldn’t hold back any longer. His back arched as his balls oozed sperm all over bandmate’s fist. Carlos continued stroking him until his orgasm subsided. He sucked his wet fingers into his mouth. “Gracias,” he whispered. “Estas delicioso.”
Confused, Pete extracted himself from Carlos’s warm single bed and went back to his own. His mattress was cold, and as he pulled the curtain back for a moment, he saw snow continuing to fall.
He loved Ace and missed him deeply, but he couldn’t deny how hot it felt to lie next to Carlos in a single bed as they jacked each other off. And as Carlos drifted away to sleep, Pete had no idea that Carlos was thinking the exact same thing.
The last thing Carlos wanted to do was to get between Pete and Ace, but at the same time, he was out on the road with the sexiest drummer in the world.
*
Carlos’s alarm sounded at 10am. The room was still a little cold. He opened his eyes and felt a brief pang of disorientation as he realised he wasn’t at home. He rolled over to watch Pete yawn, stretch and shake the covers off his own single bed.
They each expected today would be awkward, and these first few moments of the day were likely to be the most awkward of all. Neither of them wanted to be the first to speak: neither of them knew what to say about last night.
Carlos slept soundly last night with the taste of Pete’s load fresh on his tongue. There was a wet spot on the side of the mattress where Pete had jerked him off. In the other single bed, it took Pete quite a while to drift off to sleep. He fretted about what he’d done, and besides, the mattress was cold and it took time for his natural body warmth to heat it up.
Pete pulled his boxers on and walked to the bathroom for a piss. He closed the door behind him. He flushed, washed his hands and was about to leave the bathroom just as Carlos was trying to get in. They brushed past each other in the doorframe, trying not to touch each other.
“Sorry, dude,” said Carlos.
“My mistake, it’s cool,” Pete replied.
Awkward.
They dressed, checked out and met their bandmates and roadies in the lobby before heading to the airport. Pete and Carlos stole glances, but shared few words. They checked in and ate a late breakfast at the airport as they waited for their aircraft to arrive. They boarded on time, departed on time, and Carlos jammed his earbuds in so he wouldn’t have to talk to anyone. Their plane touched down an hour later at Québec City airport. They found their way into town and checked in to their hotel.
Again, Carlos and Pete shared a room. Pete decided it was up to him to break the stalemate. “Hey, Carlos, have you ever been here before?”
“You mean, to Québec City? No, and this is the furthest north I’ve ever been,” Carlos replied.
“Same. I haven’t been here before either. And it’s easily the furthest north I’ve been, too.” Pete paused. “You feel like going for a walk?”
Carlos grinned, pointing to the window. “Dude, it’s fucking snowing out there! It’s the glorious Canadian springtime!”
Pete laughed. “Yeah … I know … but we don’t get snow very often in Atlanta, and I can’t remember the last time.”
Carlos shrugged. “Yeah, OK, why not?”
They bought some pre-made sandwiches from the convenience store next to the hotel, and two bottles of water, before heading out. Neither of them knew where they were going, or what there was to do. They only managed to walk four or five city blocks before Carlos dragged Pete into a café to escape the windchill. A waiter came over to their table. Pete ordered two coffees and two pastries, and despite the warmth in the room, Carlos cupped his hot mug as if he was fighting frostbite.
“I’m not used to this kind of weather,” Carlos confessed, his teeth chattering slightly.
Pete raised a pitying eyebrow. “No shit, Mexico boy.”
There was a short pause as two long-haired metalheads sat across a café table from each other, collecting their thoughts and emotions.
“OK, so I think we need to talk about last night,” declared Carlos.
Pete waited nervously. He wasn’t sure if this was an appropriate place.
“We need to talk about last night,” Carlos repeated, “but I don’t know what to say.” He rested his head in his hands. Pete thought he looked forlorn and gorgeous.
“You know how I feel, Carlos. Ace and I are together.”
“I know. And I hope last night didn’t get in the way of you two.”
“Well, it didn’t help,” confessed Pete. “Long distance is difficult. We talk on the phone most nights, but it’s not the same as living in the same city.”
Carlos didn’t reply. He waited for Pete to continue.
“And it’s been so long since I’ve had someone care about me as much as Ace does. I’ve been single for a very long time, Carlos, but something about Ace feels … right. Do you know what I mean?”
“Yeah, but … he’s gonna cheat on you,” said Carlos. “You know that, right? I mean, maybe he already has.”
Pete was stunned. He couldn’t believe Carlos would say this.
“I don’t know him as well as you,” Carlos continued, “but he’s a total fuckboi. He can’t keep his dick in his pants.”
Pete felt anger rising, but Carlos had no idea.
“You know I fucked him at Eternal the night before we played that show with Boipussy? The night he first went home with you? I fucked him in the loading dock just before Boipussy went on stage. He played that show with more than just a buttplug up his ass. Unless he shat my load out before he went on stage, that is, but I don’t think he would’ve had time. He let me fuck him on the concrete next to a stinky dumpster, and we’d barely even met.”
“Shut the fuck up, Carlos! Yes, I know you fucked him that night!” Pete screamed. “You told the whole fucking audience!” In the distance, someone dropped a glass and it shattered on the floor. Québécois might prefer French, but they understood English perfectly well.
Pete stood up, kicking his chair away. “Ace can’t ‘keep his dick in his pants’, you say? Look who’s talking,” he spat. “And you’re goddamn right, you don’t know him as well as I do, so keep your thoughts to yourself!”
Pete left $15 of multi-coloured plastic Canadian money on the table before stumbling out into the gentle snow, tears running down his cheeks. He didn’t know where he was. He found a policeman and asked for directions back to his hotel. His crappy high school French proved useful after all. He found their room, turned on the shower, undressed, and sat on the tiles. He cried until his eyes were red.
He was shocked to think how cruel his friend Carlos had been.
More than anything right now, he wanted to fly home, climb under his comforter and curl up into a ball, but he knew they had an itinerary to complete. Fuck, they had a show tonight. He didn’t know how he was going to muster the emotional energy to play.
He cried until the shower ran out of hot water. He dried himself off, shivering a little, wrapping the spare dry towel around his damp hair.
He climbed into his single bed. At least this hotel room was a little warmer than last night’s. He thought about calling Ace, just to hear his voice, but he wasn’t sure what he’d say.
Carlos could get fucked.
*
Carlos sat at the café for another half an hour. He apologised to the wait staff for the scene. He ate his pastry, then pecked at Pete’s uneaten one. He assumed Pete had returned to their hotel room, but he thought it best to give him some time on his own. If Pete was unable to play tonight and they had to cancel the show, they’d lose a lot of money, and he braced himself for this possibility.
Carlos didn’t mean for his words to come out the way they did. He didn’t mean to sound boastful, as if to say ‘I had sex with him before you did’; he just didn’t want to see Ace break his friend’s heart. Everyone knew Ace was a slut, but maybe Carlos could’ve found a kinder, softer way to express his concerns.
Carlos didn’t know that Pete and Ace had already talked about this very thing. He didn’t know that Ace had, in a moment of clarity, promised Pete he’d try to ‘keep his dick in his pants’, to borrow Carlos’s colourful choice of words, and that Pete had found Ace’s sincerity amusing.
He didn’t know that Pete didn’t really mind who Ace had sex with, so long as he stayed safe. He didn’t know that, as far as Pete was concerned, sex was sex, but love was something more.
Carlos also thought Pete had a valid point about his own sexual proclivities. He knew he was a slut before he met Gorilla, but even after meeting him, he still found room in his life for some occasional extra-curricular sex while Gorilla was out on the road. And just last night, he coaxed Pete into his own bed for a mutual jerkoff session. He was the last person in the world to be giving Pete advice about sexual commitment. He felt like an asshole, and for the first time in his life, he wondered if he was feeling jealous.
Carlos ordered a second cup of coffee to keep warm and to pass the time. Eventually, he braved the elements and stepped back outside. His sense of direction was solid, and he was soon back inside the hotel lobby.
He put his electronic key in the door. The mechanism beeped and he stepped in. The lights were out. Pete lay shivering in his bed.
“Pete?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Pete, it’s me, Carlos.”
“I don’t want to be alone.”
“What did you say?”
“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” Pete sobbed. “I’ve been lonely for so long, and I don’t want to fuck this up, but I know I will. This thing with Ace. I’ll eventually find a way to ruin it. I always do.”
Carlos perched on the corner of Pete’s bed, touching his feet through the blanket. “I’m so sorry for what I said. I forget sometimes that English is my second language. I know we Latinos have a blunt and direct way of saying things, and I’m really very sorry. If I could explain to you what I meant in Spanish, I think the words would’ve come out better, but I know you wouldn’t have understood them. Can I try again?” he pleaded. He needed to find a way to make this right.
Pete rolled over to face him. His eyes and cheeks were red from crying.
“You know Ace better than me. I know you’ve been single for a long time, and I know how much fun he is, but I’m just worried about you. I know that before I met Gorilla, I was a bit of a slut too, so I know I sound like a complete hypocrite, but the bottom line is I just don’t want to see you get hurt. You’ve helped me so much to get over Gorilla, and you deserve someone you can rely on. Someone who’ll be there for you. I don’t want him to break your heart.” Carlos paused before delivering the payload. “I love you, dude.”
Pete started crying all over again. “No, you don’t. You don’t love me. You’re just saying that because we’re sharing a hotel room and you want to fuck me.”
Carlos placed his hands on his heart. “I swear, Pete. You’ve become very special to me lately. You’ve helped me more than I can possibly say.”
Pete cried. “And so now you ‘love me’? You’re so full of shit,” he spat, his face contorted in serious emotional pain. “I don’t believe you. All those months and years where you fucking KNEW how much I was into you, and you treated me like I was a mouth for rent.”
“I was with Gorilla then,” Carlos pleaded.
“Oh, so you’re warning me about my boyfriend screwing around when you were getting downlow head from me without telling Gorilla?”
“No, I told him about that,” Carlos replied. “He knew.”
Pete felt a ball of rage build up inside him that felt hotter than the sun. He grabbed the alarm clock from the bedside table and hurled it at Carlos, striking him flush in the face. The velocity of the clock was checked only by the fact it was plugged in at the wall when Pete launched it. “I thought we were friends, you asshole,” he screamed. “I had the biggest crush on you since the first day I met you, which was a long time before you met Gorilla, so don’t give me this ‘I was with Gorilla’ bullshit. I wanted to give you everything, but all you ever wanted from me was my mouth. And now you suddenly tell me you love me, when you know I’m with someone else now? Did you set this whole fucking tour up just so you could share a room with me? I might’ve been easy and desperate before, but I’m not anymore. I don’t even know who you are to me right now. You’re fucking with my mind. Please leave me alone.”
Carlos went to the bathroom to look in the mirror. His face felt red from where the alarm clock struck him, but there were no signs of swelling. From the bathroom, he heard Pete sobbing like the world had just ended. He didn’t know what to do. He felt like he’d made a bad situation so much worse.
Pete crawled out of bed and padded to the bathroom, full of remorse, thinking he surely must’ve broken Carlos’s nose. “Carlos?” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
In the bathroom, Carlos touched his face. It hurt, but he looked OK.
“Carlos? Are you alright? I didn’t mean it. I’m so fucking sorry.” He wondered how differently today might’ve turned out if they stayed in separate beds last night.
Carlos stepped out of the bathroom. “My face is a little tender, but I think I’m alright. No serious damage.”
Pete tried to smile. “That’s why they wouldn’t let me pitch in little league. My arm was never strong enough.”
“That’s not what it sounds like when we’re onstage,” Carlos replied. “You raise hell back there.”
“I’m so sorry for throwing the alarm clock at you,” Pete sniffled.
Carlos rubbed his face. “And I’m sorry for offering unwanted advice. What happens between you and Ace is none of my business, but I just want you to understand that I meant what I said — you are very special to me, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Pete smiled and wiped his eyes. “Thank you. It means a lot to me. And you’re very special to me, too.” He checked the time on his phone. He knew they needed to leave for their gig soon, but first, he needed to say something else.
“I need to try to explain,” Pete began, “and I know we don’t have much time.” He looked over at the unplugged alarm clock, its wires strewn across the bed. “I’m glad I’ve got my phone with me, otherwise I’d have no way of knowing what time it was.” He took a deep breath. “I resigned myself long ago to thinking I’d never find someone who liked me. I’ve had esteem issues for a long time. I never thought I was particularly attractive or cute, especially not compared to someone as amazingly sexy and confident as you, Carlos. I’ve only had a few short relationships in my life, and my low opinion of myself has always found a way to ruin them.”
He paused for a second, which was long enough for Carlos to realise Gorilla had said many similar things to him while they were together.
“I think this is one of the reasons I bury myself in lectures and study,” Pete continued. “It’s a kind of escape. I assumed I’d probably be single forever, but at least I’d always have music, and this is why I love being in A2M so much. Like I said before, I’ve had a crush on you since the first day we met. I jerked off most nights imagining us lying in bed together. I imagined a world in which I wasn’t just a convenient throat to fuck, but that you wanted me in every sense. That was the dream of my life, but I always knew it was unattainable.”
Carlos interrupted. “Unattainable?”
Pete found an alternative set of words: “Out of reach.” He continued. “You were out of reach to me, and I accepted that. I went home every night thinking I was gonna live alone and die alone, and then I unexpectedly found myself in conversation with Ace backstage at Eternal that night. I had no idea at the time that you’d fucked him earlier, because even though you announced it to the crowd, I couldn’t hear your voice clearly in my foldback wedge. So we’re backstage after the show, and even though Ace and I were just talking, I felt an ease I’d never felt with another boy ever before. Probably because I’d given up on relationships, it felt to me like we were just two dudes talking quietly about music without an agenda. Months have gone by since then and we’re still talking, so I guess that must mean something. Maybe I’m deluding myself, but I’m quietly confident he sees something in me that he doesn’t see in other boys. And if he fucks other guys from time to time, I don’t care. Maybe once a fuckboi, always a fuckboi, and I can’t blame any of the curious Florida fratdudes who’d wanna hook up with him. He’s sexy as fuck, and so are you, and … and I’m … fuck … I’m …” His voice trailed off for a second before he continued.
“You told me you loved me a few minutes ago. I don’t know exactly what you meant by that, Carlos, and I’m still processing. But do you know how much I’ve dreamed about hearing those words from you, yet thinking I never would?”
Carlos didn’t answer Pete’s question.
“What *did* you mean when you said those words, Carlos? Were you saying you care for me like a deep friend?”
“Yes,” said Carlos, “but much more than that. Since Gorilla died, I’ve learned that you’re a deep, thoughtful, caring, engaging individual. The fact I only ever viewed you as a drummer and a blowjob dispenser is a harsh reflection on me, not you, and I can see now why it might’ve made you feel like I didn’t like you or didn’t care for you. My friendship with you was transactional, based on the things I could take from you while giving almost nothing back. It was selfish of me, and I can see now what I’ve lost by taking too much and giving too little. I never took the time to get to know you. I could make all the excuses in the world right now, but that’s all they’d ever be — excuses. You are someone I love conversing with and learning from, you’ve got a wicked sense of humour, you helped me get my awesome job at Eternal, you are a comfort in distress, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re sexycute. You’ve become my best friend, and I want to feel as close to my best friend as possible.” He paused for a second. “Coming back to your original question, I care for you like a deep friend, but so much more than that I can’t possibly describe. I would do anything for you, Pete. Anything at all. I know it’s incredibly selfish of me to say this, but … I wish more than anything you were single right now. Ace is a very lucky dude to have you in his life.”
Pete was crying so hard he thought his eyeballs might dry up.
They both knew they should get ready to leave. “We’re sharing a room for the next few nights,” said Carlos, “including tonight. We’ve got a show to play soon. Are you up for it? If you aren’t, we can cancel. I’ll tell the venue there was a plague of locusts.”
Pete smiled a weak smile. “We’re here for a reason, right? To become international rock gods? This is the life we want.”
Carlos repeated Pete’s words. “This is the life we want.”
Pete stood up. “But first, I need to take a piss.”
Carlos laughed. “Bathroom’s free.” He stood up too. “I don’t want to get in-between you and the toilet bowl, but can I have a hug first?”
Pete smiled from ear to ear as he wrapped his arms around Carlos’s neck. He felt Carlos’s hair brushing against his own. They looked deep into each other’s eyes, thinking about their pasts, and wondering if the present could’ve been different to this. Pete kissed Carlos gently on the lips before heading to the bathroom. “I love you too,” he said. “I always have.”
Carlos waited until Pete had unloaded his bladder and returned to the room. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. We’ll be playing Ottawa on Friday, then Toronto on Saturday. Text Ace. Maybe he can come up and hang with us? Last-minute flights might be expensive, but it’s worth a shot.”
Pete’s face burst into flames. “Fuck yeah! I’ll message him. I mean, he knows I’m in Canada with A2M, but maybe he didn’t think he was welcome to hang with us.”
“He’s your boyfriend,” reassured Carlos. “Of course he’s welcome!”
Pete unlocked his phone. His fingertips danced madly across the screen.
*
They lugged in, soundchecked and played. They were supporting a local Québécois death metal band they’d never heard of. They received a similar muted response to their Montréal reception, but tonight, Carlos jettisoned the French. He spoke to the audience entirely in Spanish. Through the foldback speaker near the drum riser, Pete heard every word, though he didn’t understand many of them. At the very least, he knew Carlos had said “good evening” and “good night” in Spanish.
They went backstage. A case of Michelob was waiting for them. It was a terrible beer, but it was free, and they were thirsty. Carlos ripped the tops of two bottles, gifting one to Pete. “Awesome show tonight,” he said.
“Same,” said a thirsty Pete, almost necking the entire bottle. “I loved watching your ass tonight.”
“Careful what you say,” Carlos joked, almost sitting on Pete’s lap. “We’re sharing a room.”
Right now, Ace felt a little distant. Pete felt so excited when he texted Ace to invite him up to Canada earlier in the night, but hours later, he hadn’t received a response.
Their roadies unplugged, packed up and shipped out, preparing for tomorrow’s flight to Ottawa. They arrived back at their hotel. They cranked the thermostat, and Pete offered Carlos first use of their shared bathroom. “I’m sorry,” Pete said, “but I already used both towels.” He paused, feeling slightly guilty. “I hated you this afternoon.”
“They say war is hell,” Carlos replied moments later, stepping out of the shower as he wrapped a damp towel around his sexy mane, “but did anyone in the trenches ever have to deal with a lack of dry towels? By the way, I just wanna say, you sounded fucking awesome tonight.”
Pete blushed. “Thanks for saying that. You did too.” Pete took his own shower, and Carlos checked socials on his phone until he heard the water shut off. Pete stepped out of the bathroom. “I love how you own your language and heritage, Carlos,” he said, drying himself off with a wet towel. Hearing you speaking Spanish to the crowd was beautiful, even though I barely understood any of it. Tonight’s crowd probably thought we came from Mexico or South America, but I don’t care.” The towels wrapped around him were no longer doing the job. “Do they have hair dryers in Québec City?” he asked.
“One step ahead,” said Carlos. He’d already retrieved it from the cupboard. He waved it in the air like drunken redneck with a gun.
“Thanks, I think I’m gonna need that.” Pete took it to the bathroom and plugged it in, preparing to dry his shoulder-length Irish red locks. It didn’t work. “Fuck!” He climbed into his single bed with damp hair. Carlos turned out the light before hitting his own sack.
Their single beds were about a metre apart.
They each tried to sleep, but their hair was too wet.
At least the room was warm.
“I’m cold,” said Pete.
Carlos said nothing. After the day they’d just had …
“I’m cold,” Pete repeated.
“I am too,” Carlos replied. “Fuckin’ Canada,” he muttered under his breath, shivering a little.
“Is it snowing outside?” asked Pete.
“I don’t know. Probably.” He heard bedsheets rustle from the other bed as Pete rolled over to face him.
“You’re closest to the window,” stated Pete. “Can you take a look?”
Carlos threw the covers off and stepped towards the window. He pulled the curtain back, and they both saw gentle flurries cascading down. “Behold!” said Carlos. “Spring in Canada!”
“I’m never fuckin’ moving to this shitty-ass refrigerator of a country,” Pete laughed.
Carlos climbed back into his single bed.
“I’m cold,” Pete said again. “I loved hearing you speaking Spanish to the audience tonight.”
“Gracias. You already said that.”
“But I mean it,” whispered Pete. “By the way, you’ve got a really nice ass. I just caught an eyeful when you were walking to the window.”
In the darkness, Carlos smiled. “I’ve been told that before.”
Pete rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “I was thinking about the day I came to Eternal with you for your interview. We had dinner later, and then you invited me back to your place.”
“That was a great day. I’ll never forget it. But in some ways I regret inviting you back to my apartment that night,” Carlos admitted. “Maybe we should have parted ways after dinner. We fucked, and it was great, but I think we took different things away from it, and I worry that it’s made things between us more difficult, and if it has, it’s all my fault.” He took a short breath before continuing. “Fuck, sorry, that was a long sentence. Don’t get me wrong, Pete, I loved spending that night with you, but again, from my perspective, it was transactional. You helped me get a job, so I felt like I needed to repay you somehow. I remember you told me you loved me that night, and I shut you down. I remember what I said in response: ‘you think you love me, but it’s just lust’.”
Pete could barely breathe. He remembered that night so clearly. He remembered the feeling of Carlos’s cock in his ass like it was just yesterday. “Is there anything wrong with lust, Carlos? Is there anything wrong with feeling attracted to someone, and to want to have sex with them, with no strings attached?”
Strings of attachment were breathing and alive, growing through their hotel room like an intricate, delicate maze of spiderwebs, climbing up the walls and stretching across the ceiling, slowly building a cocoon.
Carlos didn’t answer Pete’s question directly. “I’m not a hesitant guy, but I’m feeling hesitant right now because I’ve developed feelings for you. I kept them to myself last night, but all my cards are on the table now. You know how I feel, and I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I know you’re with … someone else. But imagine how different things might’ve been if we got to know each other before Gorilla came into my life, but I was a self-absorbed asshole then, and maybe Gorilla is the reason …” Carlos’s breath caught as he remembered his fallen comrade-in-arms. “I still feel sad when I think about him. I wish I was over him, but maybe I’m not. But at the same time, I can’t deny how I feel about you.”
“I know you miss him,” said Pete.
“Yeah, I do, but he isn’t coming back. And I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t,” said Pete. “You’re always gonna need a drummer, right? But at the same time, life goes on.”
“I know.” Carlos paused for a second. “But you’re more than a drummer to me, Pete. Eres precioso para mi.”
Pete said nothing.
“I love you, Pete,” said Carlos. “Te amo.”
Pete breathed nervously, knowing he had two sexy dudes who wanted him at the same time.
Out of the frying-pan; into the fire.
“I’m so fucking hard for you right now,” Carlos whispered.
“I’m cold,” Pete whispered. He put Ace out of his mind. “I know you’re cold too, Carlos. Let’s keep each other warm.”
The thermostat was cranked to maximum. It might’ve been snowing outside, but their hotel room couldn’t possibly have been any hotter.
Carlos climbed out of his single bed, and into Pete’s. They lay together in the warm darkness. Carlos stroked Pete’s hair. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”
“I’m not sure about anything right now,” Pete whispered.
“I think I know how you feel,” Carlos admitted. “So let’s not be sure about anything together.”
Their lips met gently at first; and then their eyes. As Pete felt Carlos tenderly running his fingers through his hair, the dam walls cracked and burst open as he gave in to what he thought he could never have. He jammed his tongue as deep into Carlos’s hungry mouth as he could.
This time was different. This wasn’t going to be a ‘thank you’ fuck, this connection had meaning, and they both knew it.
Carlos took a quick breath, pulling his face back for a brief moment so he could drown in Pete’s eyes. “Fuck, Pete, I love kissing you.”
Pete grabbed the back of Carlos’s neck, pulling his mouth back into his own. “I want to feel you inside me,” he whispered. He reached down to touch Carlos’s dick — it was rock hard, and he gave it a tender squeeze.
Carlos threw the bedclothes off; it must’ve been a million degrees in their room, and he was beginning to sweat.
Neither of them had brought any lube with them; neither thought they needed to.
“Roll over,” said Carlos.
Pete lay on his stomach as Carlos parted his cheeks and began to eat him out. Pete moaned helplessly. He couldn’t speak.
“Can I fuck you?” Carlos pleaded.
Pete rolled over onto his back and spread his cheeks. As his back touched the mattress, he felt a damp patch on the sheets where he’d leaked. He wasn’t surprised to feel it; if anything, he was surprised Carlos’s tongue didn’t make him cum. “I want you so fucking bad.”
Carlos knew he wouldn’t last long inside his drummer’s warm, sexy cunt. He forced himself inside and it only took a dozen or so strokes for him to unload. His tongue was feverishly battling Pete’s when his balls twitched. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You feel so fucking good, Pete.”
Pete felt wave after wave of semen firing inside his digestive tract. He felt his sphincter clenching involuntarily around Carlos’s shaft, milking him dry. This was the shortest sex of Pete’s life, but possibly the most meaningful. He tenderly stroked Carlos’s face.
Carlos pulled his dick out of Pete. “Roll onto your side,” he said. He spooned Pete from behind. He wrapped one hand across the top of Pete’s shoulder and his other underneath Pete’s torso. Pete felt warm, sweet breath on his neck as he felt Carlos’s hand wrap itself around his shaft. “I love you, Pete,” Carlos whispered as his fist pistoned up and down. Pete felt helpless, like a rabbit caught in headlights. He moaned as his balls twitched, drenching Carlos’s hand with his sperm.
They lay in silence for a moment or two, but it felt like hours. Carlos’s hand was still wrapped around Pete’s rapidly-deflating cock, drenched in warm semen.
They lay there, breathing, in their warm cocoon. Outside, it was snowing heavily.
Seconds felt like forevers, and they each wished they could lay like this all night, but the mattress was narrow, and Carlos’s ass was beginning to fall off the edge.
“I don’t want to let you go,” said Carlos, “but these beds are too fucking small.”
Pete nodded.
“It’s fucking hot in here,” Carlos declared. “And we need to make a plane tomorrow,” Carlos said. Pete rolled over to face him, and they kissed for a final time before Carlos climbed back into his own bed. His mattress was cold.
Pete stared at the ceiling, praying for sleep. He checked his alarm for tomorrow morning, resting his phone on the bedside table, making sure it was plugged in to recharge overnight. And just as sleep began to arrive, his phone beeped. With bleary, post-sex eyes, he picked up his device, squinting as the brightness of the screen burned his retinas. He’d received a text message from Ace.
‘U sure? Fk yeah dude! won’t be able to come up until saturday so can meet you in Toronto and we can fly back to ATL together txt me yr flight back and ill book on the same plane … love u!’
There was a bright red heart emoji at the end of the message.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.