Chapter 13 Alexander #2
“I prefer to get my morning vitamin D in other ways.” He nods at my penis as he takes the cup. “What’s this?” He hesitates, then brings the drink to his mouth and takes a sip. “Jesus.” His face screws up. “This shit could resuscitate the dead.”
“I guess you’re not a coffee drinker?” I lift the duvet to slide in next to him.
“I’m more of a Red Bull guy,” he says, placing the coffee down on the table.
Between all the sex and sleeping, there’s still so much I don’t know about him. There’s so much I want to know.
“Can I ask you some questions?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee.
“About?” He turns on his side to face me. His hazel eyes lock onto mine.
“About you… There’s so much I still don’t know about you. Like, what you do for work?”
“I work for a creative marketing agency.”
“When did you come out of the closet?” I ask, taking another sip.
“I didn’t.” Christopher pauses as I stop mid-sip. “I came out of the cupboard because I,” he pauses for emphasis, “am a snack.” A smirk appears on his face and I snort.
“What’s your body count?” I blurt out the intrusive thought before I can filter myself. Chris answers before I can apologize.
“As in the number of guys I’ve slept with, or the number I’ve put in therapy?” He lifts an eyebrow.
“Oh wow, am I gonna need to find me a therapist?”
“Let’s just say, I’m single-handedly keeping gay therapists in business.” He stretches his hands above his head as he lets out a yawn. “And you?”
My heart skips a beat.
What to do. What to do.
I half the number, then half it again, and it still feels too high, so I half it once more.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” He rests his hand on my arm.
I take the opportunity to pivot the conversation.
“What do you have going on today?” I’m hoping he says nothing so he can spend the day with me.
“I need to do some work later, but apart from a Zoom meeting around seven I’m pretty flexible. You?”
“I’m recording a live album at Abbey Road today.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
“That sounds pretty cool.”
“It is. I’ve always wanted to record there. It’s the holy grail of recording studios. We even get to record in Studio Two, where the Beatles recorded a load of their albums.”
I’m so busy working, moving from one thing to the next, that I rarely get to stop and appreciate the amazing things I’ve achieved or get to do.
If you’d told my fourteen-year-old self he’d be recording at Abbey Road Studios someday, midway through a seven-night sold-out run at the O2 Arena, he’d never have believed you.
But as I’ve gotten older, I realized that while these moments are great, none of them matter unless you can share them with someone.
“Do you want to come with me?” I ask.
The silence goes on a beat too long, and I can feel the ground opening up beneath me. These days it takes a lot for me to be vulnerable, to put myself out there. My cheeks redden.
“I wouldn’t want to get in your way…”
“You wouldn’t be,” I say, almost a little too quickly, cutting him off.
It’s not often that I get rejected, but the feeling is one you never forget. The shame that burns inside the pit of your stomach. The tightening of the heart, like someone squeezing the life from it.
“You sure I won’t be too much of a distraction?” That mischievous look reappears on his face as his hand slides under the covers, between my legs and onto my cock.
“Oh, I’m hoping you will be…” I say, rolling on top of him.
I turn the shower off and hand Christopher a towel, then grab another for myself. I exit and lift my leg onto the bathtub opposite, next to Christopher’s clothes, and start to dry off.
“God, you’re insatiable,” I say. My cock is still throbbing as I turn to face him.
“Must be something you put in that coffee.” His reflection in the mirror winks back at me.
It’s barely been seven hours since we returned to the room last night, and we’ve already fucked on the couch, twice in the bed, and now in the shower. The last time was even hotter than I had imagined and jerked off to the night we met.
He’d pushed me up against the glass door, pinning my hands to either side of my head, and using his right foot to spread my legs wide apart.
After he slid himself inside me, he started pounding away, completely destroying my ass.
My cum splattered all over the glass door while the steam engulfed us.
I’m half tempted to drag him into the suite’s meeting room and let him fuck me on the table, then into the walk-in wardrobe to do it again.
My mouth goes dry as I imagine him pushing me up against the window and down into the bathtub, but I need to conserve at least some energy for the recording and filming later.
My body is craving him, like I crave alcohol, and I can’t get enough.
“What’s this?” Christopher grabs one of the sheets of paper and holds it up, turning to face me.
“It’s nothing,” I say, grabbing it from his hand. I scoop up the other two sheets and tuck them into the pocket of the bathrobe hanging on the door.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” His brows arch.
“It’s just some lyric ideas.” I wave him away and wrap the towel around my waist before reaching for my toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Is it about me?” His eyebrows are still arched. He sets his hands on his hips.
Instantly, I feel a burning sensation in my face. Like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. It’s one thing to stand here naked in front of him. It’s another thing entirely to expose my inner thoughts and feelings.
“It is, isn’t it! Am I your muse, like Marilyn Monroe was to Andy Warhol? Like the skater boy to Avril Lavigne?” He pushes at my shoulder playfully.
I ignore him, trying to swallow down the embarrassment, squeezing toothpaste onto my toothbrush and hitting the On button.
“Well, either way. I don’t mind being your muse,” he says, turning and winking at me. “As long as you don’t tear me a new asshole in your songs, like Taylor Swift does to her boyfriends.”
I press stop on the toothbrush.
Did he say boyfriend?
Shit.
Does he want to make this more serious?
Calm down. He was just joking.
“I think you’re the only one round here tearing assholes,” I say, reaching for my prescription bottle. I take out an Adderall and swallow it down whole.
“By the sound of it, I think you enjoyed me tearing it apart.” He grabs my butt cheek.
“I do. But we probably should get ready if you’re going to join me at the studio today.” My body is really hating me right now for not letting Christopher have his way again.
“Oh, I thought you just rocked up at the lobby at twelve?” Christopher scoops up his clothes and walks out.
There was a time when I could do that. Just wake up five minutes before we need to leave, throw on some clothes, and head out. But ever since It’s You That I Need came out, along with a provocative video of me scantily clad, it’s no longer just fans outside the hotel, but the paparazzi too.
“I wish. But I need to get ready. Styling, hair, and makeup. I use a humidifier to warm up my voice.” I follow him into the bedroom.
“Maybe I should leave you to it,” he says. His face is lowered as he bends over to put on his boxers and jeans. Dejection underlines his words.
“You’ve got some work to do right?” I ask. “Why don’t you head to your room, then meet me downstairs in the lobby at midday. I’ll message Rob and Paul to let them know you’ll be joining us.” I reach for my phone on the bedside table.
He holds out the polo shirt in front of him. Damp patches are still visible on the shoulders and neck. He throws it down on the bed and bends to pick up the T-shirt on the floor.
“Can I borrow this to go back to my room?”
“Keep it. It looks good on you,” I say, laughing.
“Right, I best leave you to it,” he says. Christopher throws the T-shirt on, grabs his polo shirt, and heads over to me. His soft plump lips meet mine before he makes his way out.
“See you downstairs, fanboy.” I say, and wink as he heads to the door.
“Just don’t go writing any more songs about me,” he laughs back.
“Someone’s in a good mood this morning!” Erica matches my smile in the vanity mirror as she applies more cream under my eyes to hide the heavy-set bags that look like they’ve been tattooed there the last couple of months. The Veronica’s Untouched is playing out from the mini speaker behind us.
“I am. I’m feeling really inspired and happy this morning. I haven’t felt like this in, well…” Another pang of guilt hits my chest, but I push it down.
“That’s great, Alex. You deserve to be happy.” She squeezes my shoulder lightly.
I’m almost ready to go, having already done my vocal warm-ups. Laurie pulls together a cool rock outfit for me to wear: ripped black jeans, a white T-shirt, and a black leather jacket.
“Everyone ready?” Paul asks, entering the room. Rob is a shadow behind him.
“Yep.” Erica removes the brush, allowing me to put my black Ray Bans on.
“Paul, can I get a quick word before we go?” I lift myself out of the chair.
I want to ask him about including the song I wrote in today’s recording.
He hadn’t responded to my email earlier, no doubt writing it off as another one of my ideas that he doesn’t want to entertain.
Sometimes his delaying tactics work and I give up.
But this time I’m certain that I want to do this.
“Sure, what’s up?” Paul turns away from the door and sits down in an armchair, placing his iPad down on the table. He runs his hands down his black trousers and pulls up his striped socks, then motions for me to sit down and join him.
“Did you get the song I sent through earlier? I really want to record it today for the live album.” I plop down in the armchair opposite. My expression is safely hidden behind the sunglasses as Paul leans forward to scrutinize me.
“Sorry, I’ve been slammed this morning. When did you send it?” Paul reaches for his iPad, opening it up, and scrolls through his inbox.
“Here, let me play you the voice memo I made earlier.” I pull out my phone, reconnect it to the Bluetooth speaker, and press play.
Paul does his usual. He leans back, eyes closed, and folds his arms as the song plays out.
My leg taps, not to the melody, but in nervous anticipation of his feedback.
His praise, like all praise, is another one of my addictions.
The problem is that the more I get of it, the more I need just to stay even.
His eyes open as the voice memo ends.
“That’s a great melody and hook you have there.” He rubs his hands together and, grabbing his iPad, gets up from the armchair.
Warmth spreads in my chest, like warm honey over toast.
Thank God, he likes it. Now for the difficult part.
I take a deep inhale and get up.
“So… we can record it today at Abbey Road,” I say, more as a statement than a question.
Before he opens his mouth, the look on his face tells me what I already assumed.
“We don’t have enough time, Alex. Plus, the band doesn’t know the parts. And that’s a raw demo.”
I let out a sigh, but I’m prepared for his push back. I’ve already done my homework.
“Freddy’s already got the track, and I’ve discussed the arrangement with him. He’s working on it as we speak.” Paul starts to speak, but I raise my hand to stop him. “Plus, Morgan Wallen did it for his own live album from Abbey Road, with that song Lies, Lies, Lies.”
Paul’s stare burns right through me.
It’s like pistols at dawn.
But this time, I’m not going down without a fight.