My fingers wander under the waistband of my boxers, and I grip my cock at the base. I’m already dribbling precum across my clenched fist. I tighten my grip, shifting my hand up and down the base minutely; the sensations are so intense my legs start to tremble. I lean my forehead against my hand on the door, peering into the room beyond.
Kat spreads her legs wide, the zipper of her jeans fully lowered. I’m able to see the pink and white stripes of her exposed cotton panties, the pattern pulsating as her hand moves up and down inside them. I try to match my strokes in time with hers, but it’s difficult, because all I want to do is come.
She moves her tablet to the side, balancing it steady on the crease of her inner thigh. I catch a glimpse of the video that’s playing and, from shock, my hand goes still on my cock.
Oh my God.
Is she watching us?
She’s watching us in concert and masturbating.
This is the single hottest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s like the world’s greatest ego-boost. Without hesitation, I redouble my efforts, stroking harder and faster than I ever thought possible.
My cock is stiffer than I’ve ever felt; with it pressed against my jeans, it’s like having a fucking lead pipe stuffed down there. My shoulders are shaking from the tension building in my body as my head presses deeper into the back of my hand. God, my cock feels so hot. The friction of my palm matches the burning in the pit of my stomach. Fuck. I’m so close to coming, I have to bite my lip hard to stop any sound. Kat makes no such efforts, moaning on our bed like she’s begging for cock.
When her breath hitches, my body is on the very precipice of release. She throws her head back and the most ungodly cry falls from her lips. She clamps a desperate hand over her mouth to quell it, but as she shudders and bucks, I still hear the breathless panting of her trembling, post-orgasm body.
Lust spears my core, and all it takes is a few frantic tugs of my cock for the world to narrow and shatter. Come erupts over my hand in one hot, pulsating gush, and my cock twitches from the shock of its brutal treatment.
I’ve never come while standing. I’m almost dizzy, spinning from release, my legs ready to collapse beneath my weight.
Feeling broken, I groan.
There is silence.
Complete silence.
In fact, other than my groan, it’s like Kat’s not even breathing anymore.
Wait...
I pause and peel away from the door frame. Peering into the room, all I can focus on are Kat’s large, terrified eyes as they meet mine.
Shit.
Quickly, I wipe the sticky come off my hand and against my underwear, then zip up my pants. Kat seems to do likewise. I hear the sharp jerking noise of her zipper, so fast it’s like a race, and then she furiously gathers her tablet into her arms, clutching it against her chest like it’s armor. She brushes down the bed like she can’t help herself, then flies out the door like a shot. Kat doesn’t even look at me.
What? She can’t do this. She can’t just leave — not after that, not without acknowledging what just happened.
“Wait.”
I grab her wrist.
She glances down at it, at the sticky residue of my release now smeared across her skin.
Fuck.
Her cheeks are flaming-red, but not, I think, from anger. Embarrassment, I’m guessing. The wheels turn slowly in my sleepy post-orgasm head, and I realize it’s all on me. My intrusion, my fuck-upedness.
Somehow, I have to make her less embarrassed.
The silence stretches and I cough slightly to cover it, though I don’t trust my voice to say anything intelligent, particularly in a moment like this. Kat’s staring at me like she could burst into tears. I’m not qualified for that kind of emotional minefield.
Instead, I do what feels natural.
I pull her wrist closer to me. Kat staggers forward a little, and I realize she too is probably on frail, weakened legs. Suddenly it’s like taming a baby deer.
Looking deep in her eyes, I raise her hand to me — the hand she got herself off with. And gently, I lift her fingers toward my mouth. Kat’s eyes widen. Without pause, I draw her slick digits into my mouth and suckle her essence off them softly.
She gasps.
Enthused by her response, I lick each and every finger, swirling my tongue around them like I can’t get enough. My cheeks hollow as I plunge them deeper into my mouth, sucking them thoroughly clean, right down to the knuckle. She tastes divine. The scent of a woman is enough to drive me wild, and I crave more of her sweet release. All I want to do is drop to my knees and take her fully in my mouth, grip her hips and squash my face against her dripping-wet cunt.
Instead, I release each of her fingers with a gentle wet pop.
I meet her eyes with a smile. And then, our gazes still locked, I lower my lips and softly kiss the back of her hand.
Kat stares at me with an expression of utter astonishment, but now there’s a small flicker of warmth in her eyes. She’s no longer petrified or overwhelmed by embarrassment. I did that, I think to myself, I melted it away.
Still, it comes as no surprise when her hand slips from mine as she drops her gaze and darts to her room.
Because it’s the right thing to do, I let her go.
The partially rumpled bedsheets grab my attention when I enter our quarters. I lie back on my bunk and, in a room that still smells of her, imagine I’m not alone.
8. LEON
WHAT. A. NIGHT.
You know, if I thought Dan Mercury was a real person and not a god of music, I’d buy him a drink. Or buy him. I dunno. I’d set up a record label and add him to our roster of talent, and I’d be so happy in life knowing I had Dan Mercury existing creatively under my name.
But why would he do a stupid thing like that? Dan Mercury is smart enough to start his own record label and release under it. Because Dan Mercury is the man.
We stumbled out the club around 3 a.m., smashed off our faces. I don’t know what happened. We didn’t go out with the intention of getting hammered, but somehow that was the result. After the gig, we were determined to say something really important to Dan, like “hello,” but he said no.
Didn’t say why. Just said no.
What a guy.
We’d never be able to get away with rejecting people. We have obligatory autograph-signing sessions and meet-and-greets to keep the fans happy. Dan Mercury being cool and aloof toward us is almost better than any signed photo.
After the gig, we drank at a nearby bar. We were going to be sensible, maybe only have one drink... or two... But then Adam stood up and proposed a toast — an ironic toast to mediocrity, popularity, and to looking as hot as us. We laughed and cheered. We started a drinking game — a shot for every Phonogram-nominated band or song the bar played, with Seth verifying it on his phone.
Next thing I knew, we were back on the bus.
Seth and I woke up bleary-eyed on the sofa bed, with Adam slumped against it.
Tarek didn’t even make it to bed. We found him collapsed on the floor, arms splayed out, still wearing vintage Gaultier as nightwear and hugging his old teddy bear.
Conor — the lightweight — was curled on his side, still sleeping deeply despite being the first casualty of the night.
I try to expand my mind and center my soul with some midmorning meditation. I concentrate on my breath, delving deeper into relaxation.