Chapter 6 #2
The cheers were an exhilarating earthquake shaking the arena.
Already in motion, Roy made sure G, Warren and their teams were in position to get the band to the waiting limo, because the band had agreed to do a three-song set at a charity event.
While scheduling another performance gig on the same night as a major concert wasn’t the band’s usual preference, the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders were supposed to be there; enough said for Pete, Tal and Moss.
DJ high-fived his techs and roadies, nodded or spoke to the backstage pass holders as he passed them.
Roy and his three team members gave him the proper amount of time for that, all while easing him forward.
As they reached the exit tunnel, they tightened around him.
It was a narrow access with the usual black and silver flight cases lining both sides, stored there by the roadies after they unpacked instruments, light and sound equipment.
The enthusiastic screaming filtering down the tunnel was close to the double door exit.
Too close. Roy brought DJ to a halt and checked the outside camera on his phone.
The limo was supposed to be sitting inside a roomy hundred-yard buffer.
Instead, about fifty fans had overrun the barricades and were surrounding it. What the fuck?
“G, we have a barricade breach. Go help Henry get that shit squared away. Warren, once the path is clear, take the rest of the band to the hotel. I’ll use Plan B for DJ.”
When he clicked off, DJ put a hand on his arm. “Roy, it’s not unusual for it to happen after the big concerts. We usually just muscle through.”
Once was bad enough. Twice in a week was unacceptable. He and Henry would be having a talk. If he needed more people, Roy would bring him more. He’d have Warren get on the horn and call in their reserves. They could be at the next venue before DJ got there.
“Your bandmates can do that,” Roy said shortly. “If it’s happened before, it’s a predictable uncontrolled environment opportunity we’re not giving the guy making personal phone calls to you.”
Roy about-faced and headed back down the tunnel, taking DJ deeper into the basement maze of storage rooms. After he chose a room, he cleared it. When he stepped back out, G was crossing their path with several of her people, on her way to help Henry.
“This’ll do for now,” Roy told his two team members, Jim and Carl.
“Stay on this door. Once things quiet down, we’ll get him out of here.
We should still make the other event. Don’t be too obvious about what you’re doing.
If any of those maniacs get in the tunnel, I want them to think you’re roadies, taking a break and waiting for the band to clear out. ”
While Roy wore his suit, Jim and Carl wore jeans and black golf shirts with the security logo on it, something a passing glance would miss, so the ruse wasn’t improbable.
G had paused to hear the status, sending her people on ahead. “Don’t feel dissed,” DJ told her. “He’d ask you to do it, but it wouldn’t work. Women who look like you don’t wait for anything. You’re waited on.”
“Honey, you have no idea.” G chuckled, then continued onward when Roy’s nod told her he had this in hand.
Roy gestured DJ into the storage room and locked the door after them, another barrier if someone got past Jim and Carl.
He checked Warren’s status and then, satisfied, turned to find his charge wandering down the aisles of tall shelves.
He turned the corner, disappearing. Roy had already cleared the room, but still…
“Dory.”
“Back here. Wow, come look at this.”
When Roy followed, he found DJ in front of a long rack of costumes. Snagging a cowboy hat, he offered it to Roy. “You’d look droolworthy in this and boots. Chaps with nothing under them.”
Roy shook his head and set the hat aside without putting it on.
DJ slid a feather boa off of a hanger and tossed it around his own neck, the feathers ruffling.
He cocked a fedora over his forehead and posed for Roy, lips pursed, head up, slim body stretched backward, hand to his hair.
“Very seventies mixed-signal sexuality. I just need the hair band hair.”
“You got the makeup.”
“Tell me about it.” DJ took off the boa and hung it back on the rack.
“Mona uses this stuff no amount of sweat can remove, but it’s itching.
There’s a bathroom back here, thank God.
” It was a water closet with a sink and commode, tucked in next to a small machine shop for quick repairs.
Extra lumber and paint cans were underneath the workbench.
“I like the fedora, though. I’m keeping it.” DJ stripped off Roy’s modified shirt and the hat, and hung both on a hook next to the sink. He bent over, bare back curving, jeans revealing a hint of his upper buttocks and the dimple between as he scrubbed his face with the hand soap there.
“Do you ever wear underwear?”
“Not on stage. It’s just part of the look, though. I like boxers. Those really soft cotton ones that feel like a mother’s cheek is supposed to.”
“Thanks for the horrifying visual of my mother’s face against my ass.”
DJ grinned, his eyes closed. When he groped for a paper towel, Roy pulled several free from the roll and pressed them to his bare chest. DJ gripped his hands before taking the offering.
Roy leaned against the doorway, watching him.
He was close enough to trail his fingers along the bump of his rib cage, the smooth, toned skin.
He understood the underwear thing. Rockstars like DJ offered titillation and fantasy on stage. But in DJ’s case, Roy wondered if he’d already been that way. When he flirted with Roy, he exuded honest sensuality.
“Were you an awkward, pimply geek in high school?” Roy asked.
DJ threw the paper towels away. “Hard to say. When I landed at Marjorie’s, believing that a safe place to sleep and food to eat wouldn’t disappear overnight was my primary focus. But once I was able to get into my music the way I’d always wanted to do, girls paid attention.”
He pointed to his hair and face. “Taken in pieces, I’m not all that handsome, but I have that interesting charisma that record labels like.”
DJ leaned against the wall next to the sink.
He didn’t cross his arms over his chest, or hang them by his side.
He put them behind his back, palms flat against sheet rock.
Pressing his shoulders to the wall lifted his chest and hollowed his stomach, drawing Roy’s attention to the hip bones visible above the hold of the belt.
“When they look at me now, most people see the rockstar. The image, the fantasy they want to see. I’m in there, though.” A slight smile touched his mouth. “Because I am kind of a fantasy.”
Now DJ wasn’t flirting. Not exactly. His eyes had become more serious, his mouth a thinner line.
Roy reached out and slid his fingertips along a pectoral, over a nipple.
It became a hardened nub under his touch.
DJ swallowed, and the muscles in his stomach trembled.
Roy’s gaze dipped to the noticeable reaction under denim. He took a step in.
DJ’s eyes wandered over him. “You fill up a space. You fill up my space.” He shook his head. “Shut the hell up for a minute.”
Roy smiled faintly, knowing he wasn’t talking to him.
“Don’t let me forget that one. I can already hear the music for it.”
“So can I.” Roy cupped the side of his face, lifting his jaw with a thumb. “You altered my shirt.”
“Your wardrobe could use some jazzing up. The severe black, gray and white is a little intimidating.”
Roy traced his lips. “Do you want me to be less intimidating, Dory?”
“I just want you. Sir.”
Christ. Roy’s nostrils flared. He could feel the fire between their bodies, like the flare of pyrotechnics on stage.
“Stay still. I’ll tell you if I want you to move.”
The hard jolt that went through DJ was more of that music. Roy scraped his teeth over DJ’s jaw, the lobe of his ear. He smelled of sweat and beneath it, in his damp, curly hair, a lingering shampoo scent. The hair stylist hadn’t slicked it back this time.
Roy slid his other arm around DJ’s back, stroking the valley of his spine, pushing his thumb into the dip between his buttocks under the belt. He thought about DJ on his knees in this tiny space, and feeding his cock between the talented lips. But it wasn’t time for that.
Instead, he backed off enough to grip DJ’s arm and turn him toward the wall. “Palms flat, arms out to the side.”
He put his teeth to the back of his neck and ran his hands down DJ’s sides and strong arms, learning him. When he cupped his ass in both hands and squeezed, hard, he earned a gasp and brought him up to his toes. “The mark I left on your ass. Did you like looking at it?”
“Only the first thousand times.”
Roy pressed himself against the lower curve of that narrow, marked ass. DJ suppressed a moan.
“How long’s it been since a man had you?”
“A while.” DJ tilted his head down, lashes fanning his cheeks. “The last one…he just wanted me to blow him.”
From the murky emotions in DJ’s voice, Roy deduced he was talking about the experience with the other Dom.
His grip tightened on him. “Whatever happens with us, Dory, I can promise you one thing. If ever I put you on your knees to suck my cock, it will be an act of service that feels good to you. Something you want to give, not something I’m taking.
The motive behind me taking control always, always prioritizes what my submissive needs.
A good Master learns what that is, uncolored by his own bullshit. ”
He would cherish his submission, explore it with him. Find pleasure in it together. He slid an arm around DJ’s waist and pressed himself fully against him. Chest, erection, thighs.
“I will never, ever, treat you as less than myself.”