***************
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.
