Confide/ant - 12. Chapter 12

Leon blinks rain out of his eyes, and then hides behind his hands for a brief moment.

“This is a conversation which desperately needs whiskey. Are you still gonna let me in your house?”

“Are you sure you want to?” I growl nastily, “after all, a faggot does live there.”

“Don’t say that,” Leon mutters, and I wonder why it always seems the rule for me is different from everyone else; he’s called other people that plenty of times. “Come on, I’m fucking soaked.”

It’s his fault we’re both shivering and dripping on returning to the East wing. I hand Leon a fresh towel, and for a moment, I wonder how he’s going to react now that he knows about me, but Leon pulls off his shirt and jacket and throws the towel over his head like nothing’s changed. We’re similarly enough sized that my lounging around clothes fit him fine, and he takes a pair of my sweats whilst I change into pyjama pants and a hoodie. I stuff my hands into my pockets and sit on my bed while Leon goes to the freezer, takes out the whiskey and pours two very large measures into a pair of tumblers.

“Cheers.” He knocks his glass into mine as soon as I take it from him, then downs about half the amber liquid in one long gulp. “Why did you lie to me, Marty? You’re my best friend.”

I sigh, running my fingers through my hair and feeling the warm burn of the whiskey as I sip. It’s not that we’ve bypassed the revelation I’m gay, but I know how much it hurts to be lied to, and I hate I’ve done it to him.

“It’s not like you’ve given me much choice, Leon.” I glance up at him as he settles back on my desk chair. “Every time I’ve thought I might tell you, you go shooting your mouth off. I’m not coming out just so you can ridicule me and kick me out of the band.”

Leon drains his drink and pours another.

“You seriously think I’d drop you for being gay?”

“Well wouldn’t you?” I sneer. “You have any idea how often you drop homophobic slurs casually into conversation?” It’s gotten far worse over the last couple of years. I can’t remember Leon being this bad back when we were still at school. He looks at me levelly over the top of his glass, and then puts it down with a very careful motion.

“No… yes. Yeah, I do.”

“Seriously? Then why the fuck do you do it? Do you even believe what you’re saying?”

“Sometimes,” he admits unhappily.

“That’s fucking embarrassing, dude.” We sit silently for a while. I drink slowly, Leon stares at the guitar studded wall behind me with his eyes unfocused as though seeing something else in his head. “Why do you do it, Leon?”

“It’s….” Leon looks like he’s going to be sick, but he covers his grimace with more whiskey. “You remember the band I wanted us to open for on that tour?”

I do. We’d all just taken the last of our exams, we had a whole summer free of responsibility before college started, and a band we all thought were shit-hot had needed a local act to open their shows. Nothing huge, maybe three hundred people each night, but we were excited. We tried out for them, just four boys trying not to show how nervous we were, and then Jerome, Aaron, and I had sat in Jerome’s dad’s van waiting while Leon spoke with the other frontman. I could picture him now as he watched us perform. He was sort of Latino looking; a skinny, but powerful guy with long black hair, and leather trousers. We’d been full of nervous energy and hope when Leon climbed back into the van; and bitterly disappointed when he told us the band had gone with another act.

“He was going to give us the gig.” Leon takes a really deep breath before he continues. “The band liked us, thought we were talented and offered us three nights and four hundred bucks. I was so stoked, it was the break we’d been hoping for. Then that guy, Tommy, put his hand on my shoulder and asked me to follow him into some little back room.”

“Leon….” I have an awful sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me where this is going. I don’t want to hear it, but Leon doesn’t take any notice. I’m not the only one who’s been holding onto secrets.

“He told me if we really wanted the gig, I was going to have to….” He gulps, screws his eyes shut, fists clenched in his lap. “’Put my pretty little mouth to use’.” Leon makes finger quotes in the air, even though he’s not looking at me. “Said it was the only way we were going to get the job. I had to prove how much we wanted it.”

“Fuck,” I exhale the word shakily. I don’t want to ask the question, but the words are already lodged in my throat, and I know I have to. I don’t want to think of my best friend in the dark being told to blow some guy for a shot on stage. “Did… did he force you?”

“No. I got away.” The relief in Leon’s voice is palpable.

“I’m sorry, Leon.”

“Ain’t your fault.”

“You know that guy wasn’t gay right?” Leon frowns at me, and I trip over myself to explain. “I mean him being gay has nothing to do with the fact he was obviously a colossal douche. You could have reported him y’know?”

“I’m wasn’t gonna put you all through that.” Leon scuffs his shoes as he stands up. “Sorry I walked in on you and…?”

“Hrishi.” I supply gently.

“Yeah. Seriously, though… he’s the one who does it for you?”

God, but he does. I shiver involuntarily.

“Whatever floats your boat, man.” Leon picks up his guitar case and turns towards the door.

“You’re going?” I frown at him.

“Well I didn’t figure you’d want me to hang around after I interrupted you boys….”

“Leon!” My oldest friend thinks he just walked in on me having sex; as though I could keep my fingers in the right places on the fret board with that going on. “I was just playing for him.”

“Is that the new song?”

“Solo performance piece for college,” I confirm with a nod. “You wanna hear it? I mean we may as well jam. You’re already here, it’s raining cats and dogs, and I ain’t letting you drive back like that.” I nod to the whiskey bottle on the floor, now seriously depleted. “It’s Saturday, let’s get drunk.”

I am pleased to discover despite everything we’ve just told each other, that once Leon and I are sitting across the corner sofa facing each other with our guitars, nothing seems to have changed at all. We work a delicious two-part harmony into my new song, something I won’t be able to use in performance but which is just for us, and he smiles as our eyes meet.

“I’m sorry, Marty.”

“I forgive you.”

“I’ll try harder.”

“Just don’t tell my parents.”

Leon scowls, and I expect he is easily able to envision the trouble my coming out would herald.

“I won’t. C’mon, let’s put your composing skills to use, I still haven’t even got half a song for my solo performance.”

*

Hrishi keeps me from not failing computing by a very small margin, and I’m sure the cocky son of a bitch is already crowing about that fact. As soon as my marked paper printouts arrive on my desk, dropped with disdain by the lecturer, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I sneak a quick glance at the screen and try to cover my reaction by becoming intently interested in my compiler feedback. Hrishi has sent me a picture of his half-hard cock pinning a slip of paper with a question mark to his abdomen, and I already know at least one of us is going to be sweaty and moaning as soon as class ends. I’m not wrong, and I quite like thanking him from my knees while he pulls my hair. I swallow him down eagerly, and he smirks.

“Greedy.”

“I skipped breakfast.”

“Too busy jerking off in bed?” he enquires. I grab his arse with one hand as I stand and squeeze him appreciatively.

“You know exactly what I was busy doing.” Hrishi turned up on my doorstep and had me straddled, pushing himself onto my morning erection inside of sixty seconds. Apparently, waiting until we got to college was just too hard. “I can do it again if you’d like.”

“I’m going to be late to study group.”

“Fuck it,” I suggest. “C’mon, Hrishi….”

“You’ll just have to be patient.” Hrishi palms my erection through my jeans. “I’ll see you later.”

“You’re a jerk.”

Hrishi grabs my jaw, kisses me hard, his tongue down my throat, our teeth clacking painfully, and bites my lip hard as he pulls back.

“You love it. Be good, rock star.”

I glare after him as he slips out of the half-dark seminar room, the low light capturing the way his hips wiggle as he walks. Damn, but it’s so much fun. I’m still grinning when I reach the music common room and slump down between Leon and Jerome. The latter is playing his drum solo on his thighs.

“Where the fuck have you been, Marty? You were MIA all morning.” Jerome frowns at me. “You know we’re recording the demo today.”

“I know.” I really hope Hrishi doesn’t make me wait that long, because the idea of being stuck in the studio with an iron bar in my trousers isn’t nearly as attractive as it sounds. “I had computing.”

“Well, what took so long?”

I ignore Jerome’s question and glance at Leon. He is already wearing a knowing smirk and I grin. We both dissolve in a fit of giggles until I’m struggling to draw breath.

“You dirty fucker!” Leon bumps my shoulder with his own. “You’d better not be late to sound check.”

“I won’t.”

Aaron bounces up on the balls of his feet, a ukulele grasped in one hand. We each raise an eyebrow at his approach.

“You chose to perform your solo on that?”

“Fuck you, Marty. Not everyone has access to your extensive collection of instruments.” Aaron kicks my boot without force. “I think it went OK. Please tell me one of you has food.” Jerome passes a packet of crisps to our usually calm bassist. “You’re up next, cocksucker.”

Leon reaches out and smacks him upside the head.

“Shut up, Aaron!”

“Don’t sweat.” I stand, brushing down my shirtfront, and grin at my band mates. “After all, it is an accurate description.” They gape at me. “Wish me luck, boys.”

Leon is the only one who says anything, and I know the moment I’m out of sight they’ll be drilling him with questions. It might not have been the smartest way to come out to the guys I spend almost all my time with, but it’s certainly better than letting them walk in on me naked.

Whilst Jerome will have to use the standard drum kit, being a guitarist means I can choose my instrument. Because it was the guitar I played with Hrishi, I hook the Hummingbird over my shoulder as I enter the big practice room, which is being used as the assessment area for the solos. A panel of our lecturers await, along with a trainee teacher who sometimes takes us for soundboard, and one other member of the faculty I don’t recognise. She’s wearing a suit, and hardly looks the music type. I settle myself on the waiting chair and watch them spreading my music out on the table for examination. The session recorder is already rolling, and I clear my throat as my name and student number are recited.

“So, is there a title for this piece?” I can see the head of department frowning at my scrawl. The music is clear as day, but my handwriting is generally appalling.

“Yes.” I strum the first chord just to check all is well. The Hummingbird sings beautifully. “This is Confidant.”

“Proceed.”

I smile down at my guitar, imagining the space in my lap where Hrishi sat while I sang to him, the feel of his smooth skin against mine, his pulse felt through his back. It’s not the sort of song the band would ever play, but I’m glad someone gets to hear it.

*

“Again.”

“Again?” Aaron groans, almost dropping his bass. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Leon snaps from the mixing booth. “It’s fucking pitchy as shit.”

“We’ve only got another hour left in the studio,” Jerome reminds us with a scowl.

I glare at him through the viewing panel of the demo booth where I’ve been laying down lead guitar parts, which have been screwed over every time by one of the others messing up. “If you could concentrate for more than sixty seconds, we might have finished a four minute song by now!”

Leon arches an eyebrow, but nods, and we turn back to our instruments and microphones.

“Again,” he snaps.

In the middle of another argument where we should be playing the bridge, my phone buzzes, and I duck out of the studio. Hrishi’s text is blank, and I frown at my phone.

“Hey, rock star.” Hrishi breathes against the back of my neck. “You look tense.”

“Studio day,” I reply sulkily. “We’re recording the demo.”

“I know.” It surprises me Hrishi keeps accurate tabs on my schedule, but it shouldn’t; we’ve been doing this for months. “Come with me.”

There is a little workroom with a solid door I must have walked past a dozen times and never noticed before. No one’s in there, and Hrishi wedges a chair under the door handle the moment we’re inside.

“I mustn’t be long,” I mutter softly.

“You’ll last as long as I want you to, Marty.” Hrishi growls in my ear like a tiger, and I quiver helpless to resist him. “Now come over here and be useful.”

I do as I’m bid, wrap my arms around Hrishi’s chest and kiss the back of his neck as he turns around in the cage I have made at his command. He pushes his butt against me with deliberate suggestion. Not until recently have I been the kind of guy to carry condoms and single use packets of lube, just in case. We both get just naked enough, and I push Hrishi’s shirt up under his armpits wanting to explore his chest with his spine pressed against my sternum. He wiggles his naked arse against me again.

“Really?” We’ve never done it like this, even though I’ve come against his back a bunch of times. Hrishi likes to ride me, and I love to be his steed. My cock twitches in anticipation and lust at the prospect.

“You ask too many damn questions.” Hrishi pulls my head over his shoulder and twists to bite my neck. “Shut up and fuck me like you mean it.”

These days, I’m practised in the quick motions of applying condom and lube to my aching erection. I’ve been half-hard for an hour or more, and Hrishi places his hands on a bare desk, presenting his beautiful arse for fucking. I enter him swiftly with a groan, wrap a hand over his chest and pull him back against me. He says nothing, but lets me fondle his cock with my other hand, jacking him in time with my thrusts just the way he likes. Hrishi groans, keeps his fingers carded into my hair, pinning me to his back as I pound his fantastic arse. His other hand comes to rest over mine, and then he’s taken over my motion, covering my fingers and fucking my fist. I groan against his shoulder.

“C’mon, rock star, you can do better than that.” Hrishi’s voice sends my sense of self-control into hiding. “I know you want me.”

“Fuck….”

I push him forwards forcing him to let me go and use both his hands to support his weight over the desk. I grab his hips and pound into the tight sheath of his body again and again until I can barely remember my own name. He feels fantastic around me, indescribable, and I can’t get enough.

“Good boy.” Hrishi sounds almost calm, but there is a ragged edge to his voice he can’t hide. “Come for me. Now.”

I am a slave to his will, so I slam my hips against his and groan my orgasm out between gritted teeth. I want to fall panting against his back and dissolve into a spineless puddle of post-orgasmic bliss, but Hrishi pulls himself off me so suddenly it’s very nearly painful, rubs himself against me, and then he’s coming over my abs and crotch. I’m a mess, and I don’t care.

We kiss for what feels like hours.

“Feel better now, rock star?”

“You’re amazing.” I nuzzle his hair, taking in his scent. I’ve still no idea how it is he smells so damn good. “That was awesome.” I breathe deeply. “Yeah, I feel much better. Thanks.”

“Told you I wouldn’t leave you hanging.” Hrishi wipes his cum away with the tail end of my shirt. Hopefully, my guitar will hide it; I don’t have a spare. “See you later?”

“The band’s going out.” I smile at him, considering my next question. “You want to join us?”

“No thanks,” Hrishi replies with a kiss. “You musicians are so boring when you talk shop. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Alright.”

As Hrishi straightens his clothes, I brush his hair with my fingers.

“I’ll be thinking about you naked,” I say cockily.

He grins broadly, his hand on the door knob.

“I already am. Bye, Marty.”

I head back to the studio and snatch up my blue Gibson from where I left it waiting during our last failed run through of the song which someday, might get us noticed. Jerome and Aaron are at each other’s throats, though the drum kit and several microphones physically divide them.

“Just stick to your fucking job!”

“Maybe we should trade you for someone who can actually shitting play!”

Leon looks haggard.

“Boys, boys….” I open my hands in a gesture of peace. “Why don’t we just take it through from the top, altogether, just like we do at practice.”

“Marty….” Jerome stares at me, then frowns. “Well, where the fuck have you been?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I smirk. “C’mon lads, let’s show our instruments who’s boss.”

Leon picks up his white Telecaster, the match of my own at home, and he counts us in for the first notes of Black Eyed Boy with a grin just the way he always does. Hrishi isn’t there, and I’m not singing lead vocals, it’s not my job, but as I join Leon for the chorus and the two part harmony in the bridge, I imagine him standing in the mixing booth, looking proud. Just this once, I’ll sing it for him, my black eyed boy who drives me wild and fights me for everything.

As the last note fades out, we smile at each other, four boys who are one band hoping to be stars, because we all know that was the one. We cut the demo, burn two-dozen CDs and save the master file to each of our flash drives and an external hard drive Leon has bought just for the occasion. Holding our song in my hand makes me feel important and more talented than I probably am.

“Shall we go drink then?” Leon suggests.

“For luck?” Jerome queries.

“Not luck, no.” I glance at my band, the guys I wouldn’t want to be without, and grin. “Let’s drink to victory!”