Confide/ant - 7. Chapter 7

Treat a boy right & I might blow u in the shwrs again

I grin down at my phone, my dick twitching in my jeans. I’ve been half hard for about an hour, it’s pleasant and fun, but I don’t feel the need to do anything about it.

If u want me 2 grope ur ass in class u only have 2 ask

His reply is instantaneous and makes no sense.

ehgfdrnv n frf

I gather he’s stuffed his phone in his pocket rather abruptly, so I take my time composing another message for him to read when he opens it again.

I know u give gd head. I wonder if ur ass is as hot as ur mouth? Find out soon?

I don’t have to wait long for his reply, but it’s hardly everything I hoped for.

Careful rock star. Danger lies ahead.

“Marty?” Leon repeats my name twice, and then something hits me in the head. It turns out to be the manual for his latest set of foot pedals. “Dude, wake up. We’ve been riffing for the last twenty minutes waiting for you to come up with this magic lyric. C’mon man.”

“You know he’s texting some girl, right?” Jerome is practising his double-time, bass-snare with a standard ride pattern. Boy makes it look far too easy to deal with one foot and two sticks all doing very different things. “He hasn’t been more than a foot away from that phone all day, and it’s in his hand every two minutes.”

Damn Jerome: I didn’t know he so was fucking observant. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I tear the top sheet off the scribble pad that I’ve been using to copy down lyrics from my journal. They were mostly finished anyway, and I know Leon will change a word here or there as he sings. I watch Leon look them over, his frown getting more severe with every line.

“It’s a bit fucking dark, Marty.”

Aaron takes the page and Jerome peers over his shoulder to read it too.

“You sure he’s hung up on some girl? Sounds like a pissed off kinda heart break to me.”

“I can hear you,” I remind them sharply, “and I’ll kill you.”

“I prefer you when you’re drunk,” Aaron mutters. “Jus’ get the damn guitar on and get back up here, Marty.”

I do as I’m bid, tune up my Gibson – I fancied a change from the straight tones of the Telecaster – and take my place beside Leon. When we practice, we always stand like we would on stage, and Leon sings to his empty bedroom. They’re my words as they so often are when we’re not working on set pieces for class, but Leon’s voice makes them sound angrier, dirtier, and I can barely recognise them as my own emotions. Like I knew he would, Leon changed some of the words. After we’ve run through the song twice, I take a break to jot down the new words over top of the original lyrics. What could sound like whiny teenage angst is made raw and brutal by Leon’s voice and the sharp rhythmic twang of my guitar. I say as much when we stop for water; no one drinks during practice.

“Marty, if all it took was a good voice, then there’d be a lot more rich morons out there. The lyrics rock.”

I shrug non-committedly.

“Don’t do that.” Leon knocks my shoulder with his fist. “We all know who has the talent around here.” He glances back at the song sheet. “You pissed because this is about your new girl?”

“I haven’t got a new girl.” Tensing instantly, I’m terrified I won’t be able to tread the line between hiding the truth and outright lying; and petrified of what might happen if my friends and band mates find out about my particular sexual proclivities. “Lay off.”

“Well c’mon then, call Debbie, you know she wants you.” Leon smirks, arching an eyebrow. “Unless you’re already getting a little something-something on the side you ain’t telling us about.”

“We’re your mates, Marty,” Aaron says gently.

“Yeah, it’s rude not to share.” Jerome looks quietly confident and smug, and I have to remind myself that he can’t actually read minds and has no idea that I’ve been nursing a semi throughout practice while envisioning Hrishi on his knees. I feel myself begin to blush and look away quickly. “You are!” our drummer crows loudly. “I knew it. Pay up boys!”

“Damn, Marty….”

Leon sounds shocked as he and Aaron both begin to fish around in their clothes for crumpled ten-pound notes. I can’t believe they bet on my sex life.

“You never used to be able to lie so well. Least not to me.”

I shrug at him, and we go back to practice.

Later, after helping Jerome load his drum kit into his car and waving him and Aaron off, Leon and I stand in his driveway. He leans up against the hood of my car thumbs hooked through his belt loops.

“Marty….” That’s a tone of voice too serious to belong to my best friend with his semi-permanent hang over and string of sexy semi-anonymous hook-ups. I stare at my feet not willing to meet his eyes. “Dude, why didn’t you tell me? I feel a bit shit for leading Debbie on now. I was so sure you liked her.”

“I dunno, sorry man.”

“I suppose it’s pointless to ask who?” I nod tightly. Leon looks disappointed, but not surprised. “You didn’t have to lie to me, bud, we’ve been mates since, like, forever. C’mon, Marty, you know you can tell me things.”

I nearly do. Seriously. I’m so sick of feeling like a douche and lying to his face. Right there and then, I nearly spill my guts and tell him everything, or at least, the details, that might be welcome. I want to share how I feel about Hrishi, the powerful way he is in private, but I don’t. Leon won’t have any frame of reference at all for the fact we’re still hooking up with each other and texting, but not talking to each other, and I do not want to admit to the way Hrishi has wound himself around my self control and shredded it. I shouldn’t want him to bite my neck or pull my hair, and I certainly shouldn’t whine and moan when he does so. I’m the cool and confident rock star; he’s just some nerdy little dude, and I really shouldn’t be so into him. But I am.

I stow the Gibson in the front passenger seat, give Leon a half-hearted hug and a clap on the back, and then drive off without telling him anything at all.

*

“Hey, Marty!” Christina catches my arm as she passes and I twist to face her. I very nearly yelp, because her fingers are resting on the exact spot where I am wearing a brand new bruise. “How you doin’ there, rock star?”

“I’m fine.”

I’m way better than fine. Hrishi and I just spent ten wonderful minutes making out and rubbing against each other in the little storeroom where all the spare computer parts are kept. We were both so worked up, I barely had time to get his cock in my mouth before he came. Afterwards, he forced me to my feet; and with his hand pressed over the head of my dick, he snarled against me as I jerked myself off until I came. The whole time he held tight onto my arm and practically panted in my ear. It was fucking intense.

“We never see you anymore.” Bayley links arms with me on the other side, and suddenly I’m in the centre of a gaggle of girls with perfect hair and bright smiles. “Why don’t you come have lunch with us?”

I falter. I have no timetabled classes for the next hour and a half. Usually, I would spend the time with Leon and the other students from music department jamming along to whatever’s going on in the common room. But I know everyone’s going to want to ask about the lyrics. Once a song has become band property, it’s all about sharing, and I don’t want to have to justify myself to everybody. Leon will cover if I’m not there and make something up; it’s one of his many unquantifiable skills.

“Sure, OK.”

We head off campus over the railway footbridge and into town. In a little café, I tuck myself and my guitar into the corner of a bench seat while the girls fill in the space around me. When the waitress comes over to take our order, she gives me this look, which says very obviously that she suspects I’m attempting to sleep my way around the circle of pretty girls. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“You know, you really need to stick with one guitar,” Christina sighs at me, “we can’t keep dying your hair to match if you choose a different instrument every day.”

“Sorry.” I run my fingers through my fringe and Bayley tuts, pulls my hand away and restyles it for me with a quick twist of her fingers.

“So what have you been up to?”

“Not much, I wrote a couple of new songs for the band.” I begin to dig through my rucksack to find my wallet choosing not to mention that: I’m failing one of my classes, got ruinously drunk in my friend’s driveway a few weeks ago, and have been meeting Hrishi in various locations around the campus to kiss and get off without talking.

“When are you guys going to have a gig? You know you’re our favourite band.”

“That’s just ‘cause you all think Leon is dreamy,” I sigh, rolling my eyes. My phone buzzes as our food arrives, so I ignore the chatter for a moment and lose myself in the fact Hrishi has sent a picture instead of words.

His face isn’t in it, and I swear he must be in the computer lab because there’s too much electronic light simply to have been cast by his phone screen. His jeans are open; his cock fully hard and poking above the waistband of his boxers. I can see the edge of his fingers pulling up his shirt to reveal his abdomen, all tense and ridged. Held between his skin and his fingertips is the corner of a torn page. Hrishi’s neat handwriting is cursive and soft, his message clear.

Missing you always already

I gulp. He must know I can read the word he’s crossed through, because it’s not like it’s been completely obliterated, and he could have just written a new note if he didn’t want me to see it.

“Hey, Marty?” I stuff my phone hastily back into my pocket as Christina pillows herself on my shoulder. “Who’s the black eyed boy?”

“Huh?” I gape at her.

“Sounds good. Is it going to be sort of rocky or like a ballad?” Bayley askes. “I can’t read music for shit.”

I’m confused, I know they didn’t see my phone, and even if they had, Hrishi’s dark eyes are not anywhere visible. Then my eyes focus on the fact that Bayley is holding my journal in one hand, and chicken salad speared on a fork in the other.

“Er… can I have that back?”

Bayley hands the journal over without complaint.

“It was on the table, are they lyrics for a new song? Will you play it to us?”

“Not for public consumption,” I mutter unhappily. It’s a song, which has been plaguing me since the morning after I woke up hung over and realised Hrishi’s decision not to talk to me was going to stick. It’s about him, but it’s certainly not a love song. I don’t know if hate songs are even a thing, but it’s not that either. I dislike the fact the only way I can describe my relationship with him is; it’s complicated.

“Kinda catchy though,” Christina smiles at me as though she doesn’t know my belly is full of snakes and rats gnawing at my insides. She hums to herself and sings, “black eyed boy hiding from the sun, leading a war neither lost nor won.”

Her tune is good, and although neither of them can read music, already the scrap of time is playing over and over in my head like a track on repeat.

We eat and talk easily enough, and it’s only on the walk back that the others draw ahead and leave me keeping pace with Christina. She twirls her fingers through her hair as though thinking hard.

“What’s up?” I ask her softly.

“Oh, just y’know, crushin’ on someone.”

“Anyone I know?” I say with a smirk.

“Yeah….” Christina’s blush is very attractive, and she’s very pretty, if girls are your thing. “Trying to work out how to tell them though.”

I shrug, like it’s easy.

“If there’s someone you like, you should tell them. Gotta be better than not knowing, right?”

Christina stops, turns to me, and takes my chin between her forefinger and thumb. I think she’s about to kiss me, but she looks deadly serious.

“And how good are you at taking your own advice, Marty?”

*

“Hey.”

A small sea of worried faces greets me. I can read the instant fear in their eyes, the concern I’m here to hurt or belittle someone. One of them shoots another a look, like ‘I can’t believe we have to bother with this knuckle walker’. I fix all my attention on the boy sitting front and centre of the little group with his laptop on his knees.

“Can I talk to you?”

Hrishi’s friends flick their eyes between him and me. He sits there so long I get impatient, grab his arm and haul him out of his seat.

“Marty!”

“Shut up and come with me.”

All his geek friends sit there like I’ve just slapped each of them across the face, and though I can hear them muttering to each other, not one tries to stand up for their friend. They sit around twiddling their thumbs acting all persecuted and it makes me feel sick. As I pull Hrishi out of sight and then into an empty lights-out seminar room, I’m sure that a dozen private blogs and forums are already chattering away with how unfair it is that they get pushed around by lowbrow musicians like me.

“What the hell, Marty?”

“Oh, so you are talking to me then?” I snap. I stop myself; take a deep breath and lean back against the wall with a sigh. I’m way too tense. Hrishi seems to sense something is up, steps between my boots and presses himself along my front. When my arms settle around his waist, it strikes me this is probably the most intimate we’ve ever been. Sure, we’ve been way more indecent, but now I rest my chin on top of his head and just inhale the clean spicy scent of his shampoo. It’s bliss. “I missed you.”

“It’s only been twelve hours.” Somehow I’m not surprised he’s been keeping count.

“Missed your voice.” I stroke his hair, running the too-long silk strands through my fingers, trying to memorize the texture in my palm. “You know we’ve not spoken in like, a month.”

“Hmm….”

“The band is playing a gig Saturday. Please come?”

“Marty?” Hrishi turns enough to look up at me, his eyes dark and hard to read. “Are you asking me out?”

“Maybe.”

“You know you can’t do that right?” Hrishi runs the tip of one finger over my lips, and I have to resist licking him. “You can’t ask me out if you want to stay in the closet.”

“Oh.”

“Nothing’s changed since the last time we spoke y’know, Marty.” Hrishi snuggles himself more firmly against my chest, and I’m drawn into the feel of his heartbeat against my abs. I sort of love that he’s so little and fits so perfectly against me. “But I don’t hate you.”

“No?”

“No.” His voice is firm, and for a moment his fingers grip hard into my ribs, almost painful but deliciously sweet too. “I don’t hate you. I’ll come to your gig.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh, text me the details.” Hrishi wraps a slender hand around the back of my neck and pulls me down to his level. “We got another ten minutes until I have to go play blacksmith.” The idea of Hrishi sweating over a hot forge makes me way more turned on than it should. “You’d better start kissing me now so I’m not late.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mmm….”

Hrishi’s purr is everything my ego could want.

“Good boy.”

*

The old brewery is rammed. A Saturday night when it’s suddenly too cold to be outside despite being spring combined with it being reading week at the local uni somehow come together to give us probably the best turn out we’ve ever had. A bunch of the first years are up on stage warming everyone up, mostly running covers of classic rock and a few beefed up country songs which have plenty of people up and dancing already. The gigs are always loosely chaperoned by the guys who run Starfish, our music club and in-town indie record producers, but they’re only in their mid-twenties and they lose track of who’s supposed to be allowed to drink really quick. We’ve finished setting up our gear, so while Jerome is fiddling with his drum kit, Leon drags me out onto the floor for a drink.

“Marty, what the hell? You keep looking over your shoulder like you’re expecting your mum to walk in.”

I shoot him a hard glare.

“Don’t even joke.” I swig my beer, gritting my teeth. “I will leave you hanging on stage, make no mistake.”

“Don’t you dare.” Leon rubs the back of my head with his knuckles. “So you’re sticking with the Gibson then?”

I roll my eyes at my oldest friend and drain the rest of the bottle. Bayley talked me into dying my hair freshly for the gig, and since I’ve been writing with my other favourite guitar, my fringe is now four shades of Memphis blue. She, Christina, and the others are here somewhere, probably up front dancing to the music. But I’m looking for Hrishi. He sent me a text during sound check, ten dirty words and a promise he’d be here before the show starts. I’ve never felt this jumpy in my life.

“You’re just jealous because you’d look like a prat with blue hair Leon.”

“You wanker.”

I make a lewd gesture.

“Don’t you know it!”

“Now that’s a song we ain’t never gonna sing!” Leon backs away from me, his hands held aloft in supplication and bumps into someone. For the longest heartbeat I think it’s Hrishi. Seeing the shock of dark hair and the height makes my entire body vibrate with sudden tension. Then the figure turns, and it isn’t him, doesn’t even look like him, and I don’t know what my mind was thinking about.

“I gotta go get some air.”

“Marty! We’re on stage in like, ten minutes. You’d better fuckin’ be there.”

“You’ve got my guitar,” I remind him with a shout, “ain’t like I can run off anywhere!”

I’m almost at the door when I feel rather than hear a commotion to my left. I glance back, look away, and then my brain registers what I actually saw, and my blood boils faster than a lightning strike at sea.

Hrishi, my Hrishi, getting pushed by some guy I don’t know. My possessive senses snap. How dare someone else touch him when he’s mine? No one is allowed to mess with Hrishi apart from me. I like messing with him.

I don’t even really hear what the guy I don’t recognise says, just that his tone is derogatory and the word ‘fag’ is in there somewhere. I pull him away from Hrishi by his shoulder, which my brain suddenly realises is kind of broad and tattooed and before he can get a word out, snarl.

“Don’t you fucking touch him!”

“Fuck’s sake man, it was his damn fault. Stupid faggot should watch where he puts his hands.”

“Sod you!” Hrishi’s voice is like a knife. “Like I’d touch you.”

I’m instantly proud he stands up for himself. The guy with the tattoos looks me up and down, taking in my hair, my band emblazoned shirt, and the tense set of my shoulders. He scoffs.

“You gonna spend your time defending this pussy?”

“Yeah, I am. And you’re backwards attitude ain’t welcome here at all. Get out.”

“Fuck you say?”

Hrishi sidesteps me and places his hand on the jerk’s chest, even now it’s like he doesn’t want to touch him at all. I can’t help but let my eyes slide briefly to his butt and the fantastic way it’s framed in his chinos. His trousers match my hair.

“You heard the man. Get out.”

“Hey, I’ve got a ticket!”

“And he’s got a guitar,” Hrishi’s voice drips with scorn and a little bit of lust. “Bye now.”

I watch the guy glower, bluster wordlessly, and stalk huffily away. Whether or not he leaves doesn’t really concern me right now, because Hrishi turns to me with a smile, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to jump him right this second and ram my tongue down his throat. He grins at my hair.

“So are you going to go through the whole rainbow?”

“You sexy bastard.” No one is paying us any attention right now, and it’s loud in the basement, with the noise of amps starting up and guitars tuning in making the air vibrate. I touch his fingers boldly. Hrishi bites his lower lip.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing?”

“I’d rather look at you being beautiful.”

“Fuck off, Marty,” his tone is jovial, “go play rock star.”

Leon shouts my name into the microphone with some combination of expletives which would get us both thrown out of the house if our parents heard, and I give Hrishi a long lingering look before I make my way through the crowd and up on stage. It’s not like I can watch Hrishi all the way through our set, but every time I scan the crowd, I find his eyes on me, and it feels fantastic.