Chapter 12 #3
“You’re the best!” he exclaims, tilting my head up to smack a kiss to my lips.
Even though it’s quick, it’s enough to have my head spinning.
“I’m gon’ go practice! And decide what I wanna play.
This is so excitin’!” He bounces out the door of the ship to go find his guitar.
When he’s gone, I find myself smiling. His exuberance is so contagious, I can’t help but be caught up in it.
“You liiike him,” Stells teases, taunting me by drawing out each word. My smile is gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Do not,” I huff, ignoring the way I sound like a petulant child. “You’ve seen him. It’s nearly impossible to be upset around him.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Captain.”
I shift in my seat, attempting to get comfortable.
For being the VIP section, this circular booth really isn’t luxurious at all.
If I were the one running this place, the backrests would be far more plush.
Unfortunately for us all, I’m not the one in charge.
The one who is sits his slimy body next to me, politely pretending like he doesn’t notice me squirming.
Good. I’d rather not have to make up an excuse for my restlessness.
It’s definitely not because I haven’t seen Banjo in several hours.
Actually, I haven’t seen him much all day.
At breakfast he told me he wanted the songs for tonight to be a surprise, so he kept to the guest room while I spent the day working out some of the kinks on my ship.
I would have much preferred working out Banjo’s kinks instead, but alas.
There’s always tonight. And tomorrow. And the next day.
The thought makes my heart beat quicken with anticipation.
“They’ll be out soon,” the Despot says, no doubt hearing the increase in my heart rate. “My Oliver told me that Banjo will be the first performer this evening.”
I nod and glance around the bar, aptly named the Bucket.
Or at least, that’s what I assume the name is.
There’s no sign, just a rusty bucket hanging above the door.
The place is packed with otherworlders of all different varieties.
Coexisting together like this isn’t something you see in many places outside Qauvela.
Sure, it’s a veneer, but everyone gets along for the most part. It’s more than can be said for most planets.
I sit up straighter when Oliver comes to the microphone.
“Good evening, everyone!” he says, immediately wincing at his loud voice and the high-pitched screech from the mic.
He pulls back a fraction before speaking again, this time managing to avoid the unpleasant feedback.
“Thanks for joining us tonight. We’ve got a really great line up, including one brand new human artist!
So go ahead and turn off those translators. ”
There’s a cacophony of beeping as translators across the room are powered down.
It’s standard procedure for events like this that are catered toward multiple species.
The translator doesn’t do pitch or rhythm, so it’s basically useless when it comes to music that involves any sort of lyrics.
I reach up to turn mine off, though I leave my connection to Stells on.
If she misses this, I’ll never hear the end of it.
Oliver says a few more words, one of which I recognize as Banjo’s name, before motioning to the side of the stage. He leads a smattering of applause as Banjo steps into the limelight. I’m too shocked to clap along with them.
Banjo is wearing a pair of matte black pants that are so tight, I swear I can see the outline of the extra guitar pick in his front pocket.
On top of it is a black corset vest with a subtle velvet floral design, also in black.
If he hadn’t told me he’d gone shopping with Oliver, I’d think it came right out of my wardrobe.
There’s a problem, though. He isn’t wearing anything underneath the corset vest. His pale skin glimmers under the spotlight.
His biceps flex as he adjusts his guitar.
And to top it all off, he’s wearing a black collar.
The collar that I gave him. The gemstones in it glitter as he steps up to the microphone.
Stars, I have good taste. It looks beautiful on him.
I barely even notice when Oliver slides into the booth at the Despot’s other side.
Banjo runs a hand through his tousled golden curls before positioning his fingers on the strings and starting to sing.
It’s jarring, hearing his voice without the overlay of the translator.
Does he always sound like that? I swear it’s far deeper than I remembered.
He strums the first few notes, and Oliver squeals, turning his head to say something to the Despot, who has no need for a translator. He rumbles something back that I don’t care to catch. My full attention is on Banjo as he sings.
It’s clear from the start that he’s a natural performer.
The song is upbeat and bright to match his personality.
He’s enjoying himself immensely, judging by the way he’s grinning.
His singing voice is lovely, if strange.
Strange to me, at least, but not in a bad way.
I wish I knew what he was singing, especially when he finds me in the crowd and locks his gaze on mine.
“According to the human internet—” Stells chimes in just loud enough for me to hear without drowning out the music. “In this song, he’s implying he won’t stop pleasuring you sexually until you’ve reached a fulfilling completion.”
I’m unable to stop my face from heating. Banjo had glanced away from me to engage with the crowd, but as he reaches the chorus again, he catches my eye and winks at me. Now blood isn’t rushing only to my face
“That can’t be true,” I mutter just low enough for Stells to hear. She hums in response.
“If you don’t believe me, turn on your translator.”
I quickly click it back on, though Banjo is wrapping up the song. I only manage to catch the last line. Luckily it seems to be spoken, so the translator doesn’t completely ruin the musicality of it.
“I get the job done. Yes, sir, yes, I do. You’re welcome.” The final strum echoes through the room, and the applause is much louder this time. It should be. Banjo deserves it.
I’m starting to think he deserves everything.