Humpday Hump

Excerpt from the third and final installment in the Beautiful Music series at Changeling Press, Colour Haze, for Marteeka Karland's Humpday Hump blog hop. Enjoy!


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He saw Randy’s neck darken before the flush rose to his face to settle along his cheekbones. The sight of it made Tom’s cock press hard against the zipper of his jeans. He wanted to drag Randy to him, bend him over the kick drum…

Right. That’d be a great way to get him on board with this whole concept. Just grab him by the hair and bugger him senseless. The thought appealed, but as ideas went, it was a very, very bad one.

Just hold still. It’ll go away. It didn’t though, and before he could stop it, his hand lifted, reaching toward Randy’s face. His fingers landed gently on the arch of Randy’s cheekbone. At the contact, Tom’s dick jumped, pulsed inside the increasingly tight confines of denim. “Tom…” Randy started, but then stopped, swallowing whatever else he might have said. Tom’s fingers slid down, tracing the line of Randy’s jaw.

“You knew this was going to be part of the deal,” Tom said. God, he should shut up. He needed Randy. The band needed him. Without Randy there was a good chance they’d have to scrap this tour altogether. But his hand and his mouth and his body seemed determined not to listen to his brain, and to commence with doing whatever the hell they wanted.

“Tom,” Randy said, his voice tight, not quite a protest. But he didn’t pull back, didn’t push Tom’s hand away.” “Tom… I didn’t… I don’t…”

“Part of the deal,” Tom repeated. “Not to say yes or no. Just to try. See where it goes.” His fingers tilted Randy’s jaw up, and before Randy could protest, Tom leaned in and kissed him.

God, he tasted good. And the moment his mouth pressed against Randy’s, Tom felt a surge of… something. Something warm and invigorating flowing from the kiss down into Tom’s chest, like a hit of caffeine or the jolt he’d gotten from nicotine back when he used to smoke. Randy’s mouth opened under his -- did he feel it too? -- and Tom pressed his claim further, sliding his tongue into Randy’s mouth. Claiming him. Moving closer, careful of the drums, he reached out and let his hand fold gently on the bulge -- the very hard bulge -- between Randy’s thighs.

Randy jerked back, nearly falling off the drum stool. Awkwardly, he regained his balance and came to his feet.

“Tom, I just… I can’t…”

Tom didn’t know what to say. Sorry seemed appropriate, but Tom wasn’t sorry at all. So he just watched as Randy, an agonized look on his face, took two backward steps across the floor.

“I gotta… I need something to drink,” he said, and fled the room.

Excerpt: Beautiful Music: Finding the Chords--Kayla

Kayla hadn’t slept well. After hunting up cough drops for Jason in the middle of the night, she’d tried to grab some rest. She and Erik had come to a silent agreement, taking the second bed so Jason could sleep comfortably on his own. But she woke every time he moved, every time he went too long without moving. Her brain kept replaying everything -- the blood he’d coughed onto his shirt, the flushed, fevered look of his face… and of course the sleek, half-naked woman pressed against his chest.

Young. Pretty. With high, pert breasts and nary a gray hair on her head.

It was stupid. She knew this. But the relationship, as profound as it was, was still new. And Erik -- he’d been hurt. It had never crossed her mind that Jason could hurt Erik.

God, it was all so complicated. And yet, when it came down to it, so simple.

When he finally woke up, she made sure he had something to eat that wouldn’t hurt his throat, and she kissed his cheek before he left for the doctor. None of them said much. Erik was still bleary-eyed, and Jason was obviously uncomfortable both physically and in the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. Kayla just didn’t know what to say.

And now all she could do was wait.

She and Erik had been waiting for a while. Randy had invaded their hotel room after spending the night with his parents. He, too, was worried. At the moment, he was sprawled across a hotel chair cradling a latte while Erik and Kayla engaged in a somewhat listless game of travel Scrabble.

“If he gives me his stupid strep, I’m gonna kick his stupid ass,” Randy muttered.

Erik gave him a sidelong look. “Why? You don’t sing.”

“‘Cause I don’t want his stupid strep?”

Erik shook his head a little. Kayla could tell he was more amused than annoyed. “Just be glad he never gave you his stupid syphilis.”

“I do not want to know anything about that,” Randy shot back. Erik just chuckled and laid tiles down on the board. He had spelled “gonad.”

“Nice,” said Kayla, deciding she didn’t want to hear about the stupid syphilis, either. She frowned at her tiles. That was Scrabble for you. Never a vowel when you needed one.

She was puzzling out what she might be able to spell with her plethora of consonants when Erik’s phone buzzed with a text message. She tensed immediately, but kept her attention focused carefully on the game while he fished the phone out of his pocket and read the message.

“He’s on his way back,” Erik said, thumb-typing a reply.

Coming soon from Changeling Press

Excerpt: Beautiful Music: Finding the Chords--Erik

Every time Erik made love to Kayla on his own -- and he was well aware he was about to enter double digits, which thrilled and amazed him, but made him ashamed he was counting -- he faced the same dilemma. He wanted to make it last, make it good for her and savor every moment in case it turned out to be the last time. But his body wanted everything he could get, as quickly as he could get it. Wanted to pound into her hard and fast, animal, mark her as his, take Jason’s smell off her skin.

He wasn’t proud of his body in those moments.

This time, though, he felt a little different. She’d actually said it -- told him she loved him. He’d been resigned to always being second choice for her. He knew she loved Jason, and had since probably the first time they’d locked eyes. He was just… extra.

But maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was more to her than the guy she could have sex with when Jason wasn’t around, or Jason’s second dick when the three of them were together. Yeah, he’d thought about it that way before, more than once. Now he felt bad about it. Not that he hadn’t felt bad about it before, but he felt even worse now.

She loved him. He could swear he could almost taste the change on her skin as he let his tongue explore her nipples, the space between her breasts, the indentation at the center of her collarbone. She arched her body up toward his, bringing her belly against his, bringing her sex up to rub hot against the front curve of his pelvis. Her legs went around him, and he could feel the heat and the wet where she was so ready for him he could smell it.

“God,” he murmured, and she opened her eyes to look at him, one hand brushing his cheek.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He said it automatically, but it wasn’t what he wanted to say. “No, not nothing. You’re just…” He looked her in the eye. “I love you.”

Her smile melted him. She leaned up to kiss him gently, on the mouth, then on the forehead. It could have been patronizing, but it wasn’t. It was sweet, tender, and he closed his eyes at the flood of feeling that moved through him.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.” Her voice was quiet.

He just shook his head. He didn’t want to tell her it was okay, although it was, and he didn’t want to say anything that would make her feel bad. Instead he cupped her breast and pressed his hips between her legs, bringing her a little closer to him.

Excerpt: Beautiful Music: Finding the Chords--Jason

UNEDITED Excerpt from Beautiful Music: Finding the Chords, coming in June from Changeling Press


Art by me. :-)


Daze on End is performing a farewell concert in Indianapolis. Jason realizes he's coming down with a cold, but won't back out of the show. As the performance progresses, he starts to feel worse.

It wasn’t until he took that detour offstage that he realized he was dizzy and achey. Great, he thought. Fever. With his luck, this was more than just a cold—it was the fucking flu or something. He zipped up, splashed cold water on his face and headed back to the mic.

The crowd seemed not to notice anything amiss, which was gratifying, because the band was all working overtime to be sure nothing looked amiss. This was their last show in Indy for a long time, and the crowd was invested enough not to notice when Jason’s voice cracked a few times on the last couple of songs.

He came off stage to a chorus of fans offering thanks and congratulations. He shook hands, posed for pictures and passed out hugs and autographs, all the time hoping he wasn’t spreading some kind of Stephen King level apocalyptic flu to everybody within four feet of him.

Finally, with Erik and Randy running interference, he made his way backstage. He just wanted to collapse on that Godawful germ-ridden couch for a few minutes, get his breath back and settle his head, which had started pounding during the second encore. And maybe grab more tea. He wondered if it was possible to overdose on slippery elm.

He was mulling the embarrassing music blog headlines that would result if he died of a horrible Throat Coat accident as he half-stumbled through the door. As a result, it took him a moment to realize he was not alone in the room.

There was a girl on the couch. She looked vaguely familiar. She’d probably been to his shows before. Hell, he’d probably fucked her — he’d fucked a lot of girls backstage after the show.

That was definitely what she was after. She’d taken the initiative of removing her top, and her pert, smallish breasts jiggled as she tossed back her too-blonde hair. Her nipples were small and pink and, in his fever-dazed state, seemed to be staring at him.

He stared right back, his brain struggling to parse what was going on.

She wanted to get laid. That much was obvious. From the pressure he felt in his groin, all his parts were working and ready to go in spite of the chills crawling over his skin, the throbbing headache behind his eyes and the intermittent vertigo. Besides, he had to, didn’t he? Had to take what he could from the groupies after the show, before the show — whenever — so he could give what he got back to Erik, to keep him alive and well. They’d done that for years.

But now… there was a reason he shouldn’t. Wasn’t there? He could… but he shouldn’t. For a strange second he felt like he was floating above the floor. God, how high a fever did he have?

“Jason?” the woman said, stroking a hand over the curve of one breast. She stood slowly and stepped toward him. “You remember me, don’t you?”

“Not… not really.” It was always embarrassing to have to admit that. God, he was such an asshole. Had been. He wasn’t now. Was trying very hard not to be, anyway. He was —

The girl kissed him. Hard and full, her tongue pressing into his too-hot mouth, her naked breasts almost cool against his fevered skin. Flu, he thought hazily. Everybody’s gonna get the flu. It’s gonna be like The Stand. Dude, I hated that book. Too fucking creepy. And long…

She drew back, looking into his face with wide, adoring blue eyes.

“Kayla,” Jason said, remembering then what the heat in his fevered brain had forced back.

The girl’s face fell. Jason thought she might be about to cry.

“That’s not my name.”

“No,” said a voice behind them. “That would be me.”

And Jason knew at that moment that he was well and truly screwed.