Chapter 32
Theo
Each time we step out onto this stage, the roar of the crowd seems to swell a little louder and the lights burn a little brighter, wrapping us in a heat and energy that feels almost alive.
As a child, I threw myself into every spotlight I could find—music, theater, standing on cafeteria tables cracking jokes.
I chased the feeling of eyes on me like it might make someone truly see me.
Deep down, I believed that if enough people looked, one of them would look long enough to understand. Even then, though, I never quite fit. Life felt like a jigsaw puzzle where my edges curled in ways that refused to match the straight, neat lines everyone else seemed to follow so easily.
And then I met this ragtag band of misfits, and for the first time, everything clicked into place.
Eric’s rugged, jagged pieces settled perfectly against the part of me that is snippy and insecure even when I’m trying my hardest to hide it.
Dmitri’s bright, pure soul still shines despite the fractures in his past, and reminds me you can survive anything and still come out good.
Tai… well, Tai is literal perfection, a living goalpost I’ll never quite reach but am happy to keep running toward.
And then there’s Dante.
At first glance, he’s a box with crisp, perfect square edges, knife always at the ready in case he needs to trim the puzzle to fit his shape.
But if you lean in close, if you hold him under a microscope, you see the intricate patterns etched into every surface—the complexity that makes him who he is.
I watch him now as he plays, fingers moving with effortless precision across the guitar strings, as though they’re natural extensions of his body.
Beads of sweat catch the stage lights as they gather along his forehead, and his lips press into that familiar tight line he gets when he’s lost in concentration.
My gaze drifts across the rest of them: Eric pouring raw emotion into the microphone until his voice cracks with it, Dmitri’s drumming a cathartic release of the anger he thinks no one notices, and Tai playing with his eyes closed, hands gliding over the keys like the music is breathing through him.
A slow smile curves my lips as I take in this chosen family.
Who could have guessed we’d fit together so seamlessly? Who could have imagined we’d make it this far?
I throw myself back into the song, letting the melody pull me under. Every note guides the sway of my hips and roll of my shoulders. Too soon the final chord rings out, swallowed by a wave of cheers and screams. Eric steps to the mic to thank the crowd for coming, and for believing in us.
While I’m packing up, Eric ambles over, absently scratching his beard as he glances past my shoulder. “Who is he and what have you done with Dante?”
I follow his gaze. Dante stands in his usual post-show position, clipboard in hand and overseeing the loading of the bus with meticulous care.
I cock an eyebrow at Eric. “That’s literally what he does after every single show.”
“Yeah, but he’s like… happy.”
I look again and notice the softer set of Dante’s eyes and the relaxed curve of his mouth where there’s usually a scowl. Tension usually lives in his shoulders, but right now, there’s an easy looseness in them.
“You’re good for him,” Eric says, clapping me on the shoulder.
“Took him long enough to realize it,” I tease as Dante’s gaze finds mine across the space.
Eric lets out a gentle chuckle and nudges me once more. “Take it from someone who knows… he always realized it.” He walks off, leaving me alone to finish packing while the echo of his words settles quietly somewhere deep in my chest.
Dante wanders over, then guides me gently into a shadowy corner away from the bustle of the crew and the lingering glow of the stage lights.
His hands cradle my cheeks to tilt my face up to his, and when his lips meet mine the kiss lands with such raw, unguarded emotion that it steals the air from my lungs.
My mouth parts under the gentle pressure of his tongue.
We meet in a hungry clash as we press closer, chasing the impossible distance between us.
A low, throaty groan rumbles from his chest as my name slips out between our lips, and rational thought simply dissolves. I reach for him, fingers curling around the firm curves of his ass to pull him flush against me.
He freezes, just for a heartbeat. It’s so brief no one else would ever catch it, and his posture loosens almost instantly. Still, I release my grip and slide my hands higher, settling them at the small of his back.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur against his mouth.
“Do it again,” he insists, refusing to break the contact of our lips. When I hesitate, he eases back just enough to let a sliver of space form between us, eyes dark and steady on mine. “Touch me, Theo. Exchange the memories for better ones.”
I nod once, throat tight, and sink back into the kiss.
This time my hands move with careful intention, tracing deliberate paths across the solid planes of his body.
They glide down over the globes of his ass, mindful to keep every touch light, and never pushing past what he can take.
When my palms settle into the crease where his cheeks meet his thighs, my fingers squeeze gently and he hardens against my hip.
He breaks the kiss first, breath coming in soft, uneven pants. “We should stop,” he whispers, voice rough. “Not because it’s bothering me, but because I have to walk to that bus. Right now that’s going to be a problem.” He rocks his hips once, letting me feel exactly what I’ve done to him.
“Better tuck that away,” I say, grinning despite the heat pooling low in my belly. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”
He glances over his shoulder toward the others, then back to me as his hand drops to cup me through my jeans. “What about you? Think I have time to take care of this?”
“Always the charmer,” I groan, already half-lost to the pressure of his palm.
His gaze holds mine as he works the button of my waistband free, then drags the zipper down. The corner is dark, shadowed enough to feel private, but if anyone looked too closely, they’d see us.
The risk only sharpens the edge of it.
His hand slips beneath the denim, gripping me through my underwear.
“You know how much I love you in lace,” he mutters, before he flicks the elastic once so it snaps lightly against my skin.
When his fingers finally slide inside the fabric and wrap around me, I arch into the touch, hips jerking forward on instinct.
The sounds of the band chatting and packing up drift close enough to make my nerves spark with warning, but the slow, deliberate stroke of Dante’s hand drowns out every scrap of logic screaming at me to stop.
My fingers curl around his forearm, feeling the muscles flex and roll beneath my grip as he works me in a steady, unrelenting rhythm that has my knees threatening to give.
His lips brush my ear. “If I could get away with it, I’d drop to my knees right here so I could taste you on my tongue.”
I whimper as I brace against his hand, hips rocking forward into the friction.
“Or maybe I’d slide those jeans just past your cute little ass and claim that hole.” His finger drifts lower, probing gently at my entrance while I grind faster against him. “Fill you until your pretty panties are soaked with both of us. You’d feel it the entire drive home.”
He wraps his fingers around me again, stroking with purpose as the pressure coils tighter inside me. “You want that, don’t you? To sit in that bus covered in me, that tight asshole stinging from the burn of my cock deep inside you?”
“Fuck, yes, please.” The words spill out louder than they should, restraint crumbling as my hips snap forward, balls drawing up tight. It’s a frantic battle—fighting to hold on while every cell in my body screams to let go.
He releases me suddenly and I whimper in protest, but he tugs my underwear back into place and grips me through the lace instead. The simple friction sends my eyes rolling back, a shudder ripping through me as his tongue traces the shell of my ear.
“I want you to fill these up for me, sweet boy,” he murmurs.
The distant clank of equipment makes me jolt. My eyes dart over his shoulder to where Dmitri is loading his drums less than fifty feet away, completely oblivious.
“Ignore him,” Dante snarls softly. “Focus on me. Don’t you dare look at anyone but me.”
My gaze snaps back to his as he tightens his grip and strokes faster.
My head thuds against the wall behind me, words failing as pleasure crashes through every nerve.
When he slips lower to press firmly against my taint, my body finally gives in.
I come on a low, broken moan, hips jerking as warm pulses spill into the lace.
“That’s it,” he praises as my cock throbs in his hand, cum soaking through the fabric and coating his palm. “Come in those panties for me, you perfect little thing.”
I thrust weakly against his palm as he milks me through the aftershocks, a violent shudder racing from my shoulders down to my quaking thighs.
“Fuck, you’re so good,” he groans, exploring the drenched material with an appreciative rumble. His fingers drag through the mess and he brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean while I whimper at the sight.
He leans in, thrusting his tongue into my mouth in a deep, claiming kiss.
I moan his name against his lips as he buttons and zips my jeans, trapping the warm, sticky evidence inside.
“Sit in your mess until we get home,” he whispers, filthy grin flashing in the dim light, “and then I’ll be cleaning you up. ”
My cock flexes helplessly against the damp lace at the promise. Calm as ever, clipboard in hand, he steps away and walks back toward the bus like nothing happened, leaving me slumped against the wall—convinced I’ve died and gone straight to heaven.
I’m still floating as we finally make it to the bus and settle in for the hour-and-a-half drive back to the studio. Fatigue settles deep into my bones, both from the performance and Dante’s earlier magic with his hands. My eyelids feel heavy, my limbs loose, but sleep stays just out of reach.
Dante’s eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror, and a slow, knowing smile passes between us.
My hand drops to my lap, fingers brushing the now-cool dampness of my jeans where they cling to my skin.
The reminder sends a faint, lazy pulse through me, but exhaustion dulls the edge of it into something almost comforting.
Eric and Dmitri sit huddled together in the row ahead, heads bent over their phones as they scroll through social media to catch up on the night’s posts and fan reactions.
It used to be something we all did as a group after shows, but as the schedule got more packed and life sped up, the habit slipped away.
Still, every now and then one of them will fire off a link or a photo to the group chat, and it pulls a small, nostalgic smile out of me.
“Have you two set a date yet?” I ask.
Both sets of eyes flicker toward me. “Not yet,” Eric answers, nudging Dmitri with his elbow. “We’re having a difference of opinions. Dmitri wants to just run off and elope and be done with it.”
“A solid choice,” I agree.
Eric scoffs and rolls his eyes, but there’s no real heat in it. “Do you have any idea what my mother would do if I got married without her there to witness?”
Dmitri shakes his head, tucking Eric closer against his side. “Baby, I told you I’d do whatever you want to do. You can’t keep arguing with yourself about it and blaming it on me.”
“I mean, I can,” Eric mumbles, half-buried against Dmitri’s chest.
Dmitri grins and presses a gentle kiss to his temple. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it,” Eric responds.
“Will your parents show up?” The question slips out before I can soften it, but Dmitri doesn’t flinch.
“Probably not,” he says evenly. “If they decide to come, it’ll be because they can’t tolerate the public image of their absence… especially if there’s media coverage.”
Eric grunts and shakes his head, mussing his hair against Dmitri’s shirt. “If you don’t want them there, they won’t be there. End of story.”
Dmitri’s hand finds Eric’s without looking, fingers threading together in that effortless way of theirs, and for a moment I simply watch how easily they love each other.
“Just set Dante up at the door,” I say, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror again. “He can run them off. He’ll even get Jugs to help.”
“Who the fuck is Jugs?” Tai asks from the backseat.
“Dante’s boxing coach.”
Three pairs of confused eyes swing to me, then shift to Dante behind the wheel.
“Seriously?” I ask. “None of you know that?”
Dante gives a one-shouldered shrug and keeps driving without a word.
Eric chews his lip. “So… when you said Dante could’ve knocked me through the floor…”
“Yeah,” I drawl, patting his shoulder with mock sympathy. “Wasn’t an exaggeration, buddy.”
“Noted,” he mumbles.
The conversation fades, and everyone drifts into their own thoughts as the bus rolls on. When we finally park and climb off, the cold turns my breath to mist. We’re all exhausted, so we hurry through unloading before exchanging quick good-nights.
Dante and I pile into his SUV. He cranks the engine, then slides over and wraps his arms around me. I tilt my face toward his and catch his lips in a slow, drawn-out kiss, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine.
Finally the heat begins pushing from the vents, but I don’t let him go. “Wait,” I whine as he tries to scoot back to the driver’s seat. “You’re so nice and warm.”
“I’ll make sure you’re nice and warm when we get home,” he teases, backing out of the space. The car stops almost immediately as his face scrunches.
“What’s wrong?” I ask through a yawn.
He shakes his head, gets out, and peels a piece of paper from under the wiper blade. Despite his effort to stay composed, his lips pull tight and his brows snap together as he reads it.
“Dante? What is it?” Our eyes lock, and the look on his face floods me with dread.
The door slams as he climbs back in and hits the lock button, then leans forward to scan the building. He’s tracking sightlines from the security cameras, I realize. My pulse hammers harder.
“You’re scaring me,” I whisper.
His gaze snaps to mine, concern and fury fighting for dominance on his face. I brace myself for a fight, expecting him to shield me from whatever it is, but he exhales in quiet resignation and slides the paper across to me.
Panic swallows me whole as I read the neat handwriting. It’s only two words, but they’re enough.
He’s mine.