Sycopation

Chapter 7

CHAPTER

SEVEN

How they made it through the next two weeks before the tour officially started, Ray wasn’t sure.

He did know, when he climbed onto the bus with Dom, Mish, and Zavier, that he was grateful for the hours they’d be on the road.

No Carl, no practices, just the bus and the tour.

He could crawl into his berth, close the curtain, and ignore the world.

Practicing with Carl breathing down their necks had been hell.

At first, he’d been complimentary after the festival performance, even noting that Ray’s song choices had been decent.

The label was certainly impressed—Carl had imparted that, too.

But after a few days, the jabs returned.

Whenever Ray had the rest of the band work on getting the blend just so, Carl called him lazy. If Ray rested his voice, he was weak.

He wasn’t...at least he didn’t think he was. Maybe he didn’t have the blisters and sore muscles the others had, but he still had been focused the entire time.

Nothing meant more to him than Twisted Wishes—he wished he could make Carl see that and get the man off his back. At least Carl wouldn’t be here on the bus with them. Ray eyed the space they’d inhabit for the next couple of months. Thank god.

Touring would be a break from all of Carl’s noise. At least Ray hoped.

Dom threw his backpack down on one of the couches and flopped next to it. “Home sweet home, or something.”

Mish headed down to the berths and dropped her bag into a lower bunk. “Dibs.”

Zavier stopped in the middle of the aisle, eyes a bit too wide. “Wow.” He sounded surprised. Amazing—something that stopped Zavier Demos in his tracks.

Ray settled onto the couch across from where Dom sat. “I thought you toured in Europe with the symphony?”

Zavier didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat down next to Ray and placed his bag between his feet.

“We did tour in Europe, but not like this.” He glanced around the bus too openly and too honestly.

“We took buses between cities, but they were regular coaches. This is—” He shook his head.

“I knew musicians lived out of their tour buses on the road, but I had no idea.”

Yeah, did take some getting used to. A little kitchen and table.

The berths for sleeping. A lounge in the back.

A bathroom with a shower. All the comforts of home, packed into a vehicle.

The first time Ray’d ever walked onto one of these buses, he’d stared at everything too.

It was luxurious in its own way, until it became your home for weeks on end.

Mish returned and took the seat by the table. “So what was it like in Europe?”

Great. More Zavier stories. Ray pushed himself off the couch and took the upper bunk across from the one Mish had claimed. Not that Zavier told many stories, but Ray was on Zav overload. That voice, those arms, the way his shoulders and back rippled without a shirt.

This tour was going to be hell.

Zavier’s chuckle burned into Ray’s soul, and despite wanting to remain annoyed, he leaned against the berths and listened.

“You have to understand that a symphony is about a hundred musicians, plus instruments, plus a crew, plus support staff, plus press. It’s nothing like what we’re doing.”

Ray couldn’t help himself. “Shit, how do you even move that many people around?”

The bus rumbled beneath them. Oh. They’d be heading out soon. He reclaimed the spot by Dom, because stumbling when the bus lurched forward would be fucking embarrassing, and that was far worse than being turned on by sitting too close to Zavier.

Zavier leaned back against the leather cushions. “Mostly the support staff did the heavy lifting, along with the host cities. We also spent days in one place, and traveled by bus between close locations, and by plane if the city was farther away.”

“So, more like a vacation than living on the road.” Dom adjusted his glasses and looked longingly at the coffeepot. “How much you want to bet that thing’s on the fritz?”

“It was a lot like a vacation.” Zavier rose and headed toward the coffeemaker. Just then, the bus lurched, but goddamn him, he didn’t even break his stride, let alone stumble.

Ray hated that man. He also wanted him.

He closed his eyes as the bus pulled out of the lot onto the road. Truth was, he didn’t hate Zav. He was growing to like the bastard, and he certainly respected his talent and work ethic. No complaints, no issues, just focus and deference as they perfected their songs.

“This isn’t bad coffee.” Zavier’s voice was soft over the ever-present whine of the engine. He held open a bag of some fancy-label grind and sniffed it.

“Coffee’s never bad,” Mish said. “Maker is usually a piece of shit, though.”

“Let’s see.” Zavier set about making a pot. He found a case of water and used the bottled stuff, and soon the pot was gurgling away. “So far, so good.”

Dom rooted in his backpack. “It’s only day one.” He pulled out a book and started reading.

Zavier chuckled. “I have a way with machines.”

“You have a way with everything,” Ray muttered.

No reply, just a knowing twist of the lips, and Zavier reclaimed his seat next to Ray. Mish played with her phone.

Once again, Ray wished Zavier’s eyes weren’t that blue, because he ended up staring into them too long.

“What will you do?” Zavier’s voice curled into Ray’s belly and ignited lust and heat.

If he could, he’d do Zav. Any way he wanted. Such a bad idea. “Probably take a nap.”

Maybe he could jack off quietly. He’d done that before on tour. Pretty sure they’d all masturbated on the bus, even Mish. Something about the energy of touring and the throbbing rumble beneath them.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Dom peered at him over the edge of his glasses. Made him look like the somewhat stuffy bookworm he really was.

Ray’s cheeks heated. Yeah, maybe he was obvious, but he didn’t need his best friend pointing that out.

Zavier raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, you’re the kid, kid.”

“Two years younger than you isn’t that much,” Dom said.

“Not anymore, no,”

“Get off my lawn,” Mish muttered, and they all laughed, even Zavier.

With the tension broken, the bus picking up speed, and the coffee brewing, Ray made good on his words. He crawled into a berth and closed his eyes. He hadn’t planned on sleeping, but his thoughts twisted and jumbled around Zavier’s smile, and then slid into nothingness.

Traveling this way wasn’t bad. Zavier propped his feet up on the leather couch and watched the world go by.

They were heading to Detroit for their next show and would arrive sometime tomorrow.

He wasn’t sure how the whole driver thing worked.

Shifts, he guessed. Like driving across country with friends.

There certainly was more than one driver for the two buses—this one and the crew bus.

The coffeemaker had brewed a perfect pot. Even Dom had been pleased, and so had Ray when he’d emerged from behind the berth curtain, blinking and bleary-eyed, some two hours later.

Looked like someone had actually napped and not just slipped away to get off.

Ray clutched his mug and drank, and Zavier watched him in the reflection of the window. While Ray had been out, Dom had claimed the bunk above Mish, which left the one under Ray for Zavier, and didn’t that do wicked things to his lust.

He closed his eyes and swallowed the snort.

He had more control than this, but Ray was so delightful in so many ways.

Even when Ray was at his most stressed and grumpy, there were these buttons Zavier could push, and did.

Mostly to direct Ray away from the anger eating at him, but Zavier wasn’t entirely altruistic—he got too much of a rush from playing with Ray’s obvious submissive side—but at least he could use his own lust to help.

He studied the scenery and then Ray’s reflection—and caught Ray watching him.

Wasn’t unpleasant, that inspection. A little wonder, a little calculation.

Ray shook himself, and finished his coffee.

When he rose, Zavier readjusted himself on the couch so he could peer across the aisle at him when he settled back with a notebook.

Mish wandered up from the back and scooped Zavier’s legs off the couch. “You’re like a freaking cat, taking up all the space.”

Accurate. He just smiled and sat back, feet firmly on the bus floor.

Dom put away his book, and that was what keyed Zavier in that something was up. “Is this a meeting?”

“Yes,” Ray said.

“More like a ritual.” That from Dom.

Mish rolled her eyes. “Ray’s gonna figure out the playlist for tomorrow night. He likes our input.”

The journal Ray held was worn and scuffed, meaning it probably held all of Twisted Wishes’s song lists. Maybe more besides. A little wash of sparks ran up Zavier’s back. He was part of this band. Playing the festival had been one thing. Rehearsals another. But this...was Ray sharing himself.

Ray slipped the cord off the notebook and flipped through the pages.

From what Zavier spied, some had sparse writing on them, others were packed with text.

The page Ray stopped at already had writing on it.

“I was thinking about a similar list to the festival, though we’ll need to add songs, since we’ll have about thirty more minutes to play. ”

They also had several more tracks from the third album down well enough to perform. And wouldn’t you know, Dom suggested adding two of them to the middle of the show. “We’ll be warmed up, and they’ll be expecting newer stuff about then.”

Ray nodded.

“Encores?” Mish asked.

“I really liked the way ‘Dark Dreams’ and ‘White Hot Midnight’ worked. I say we leave them at the end,” Ray said. Both Dom and Mish nodded and he leveled those whiskey eyes at Zavier. “What about you?”

“I wouldn’t mess with perfection.”

Ray’s whole face darkened, his anger sharpening his words. “I’m being serious here.”

“So am I.” Zavier leaned forward. “They were perfect, Ray.”

As quickly as Ray’s storm came, it lifted and his shoulders relaxed. “You mean that.”

Zavier lifted his head. “Yes.” He spoke it like a command, and it had the same effect on Ray as it would’ve had on any of the subs he’d played with. A flush and a melting, that little hint of subspace.

Ah, hell. He shouldn’t have done that, because now he wanted more.

Ray shook himself. “Okay, so we’ll leave those for the encore.” He wrote something down. “And slot those two songs Dom suggested in the middle.”

They hashed out bits and pieces of the set, moving songs around and mixing their best known with edgier but fun pieces until they had a good list.

Except Ray had a little frown. Mish must have noticed it too, because she tilted her head. “Honey, what’s up?”

“Just—I’m not sure I like ‘Diamond Fever’ as the opening song.”

“Fans loved it,” Dom said.

They had. But that didn’t change Ray’s expression, even though he nodded. “I know. But I think we could do better.”

Both Mish and Dom threw out a few other songs they hadn’t already listed as openers, but Ray just frowned into his journal. “They’re all good options, but...”

Once more, Zavier was staring into Ray’s eyes. Need there and fear, all the things that made Zavier’s mouth water. “Ray, if you could pick any song, which one would you pick to open with?”

“‘Lightning.’” No hesitation. The title bolted out of Ray like a cry of pain. Or pleasure. Beautiful. Both Ray and that song.

Dark and slow at first, ‘Lightning,’ like its namesake, built and rumbled ominously until it crashed up into a frenzy that left them all playing their loudest and fastest. It wasn’t the kind of song anyone used to open a concert.

Then again, why not? So that was exactly what Zavier said. “Why not?”

Ray took a breath and straightened. Mish shrugged, but her smile was splendid. “Yeah, why not?”

Dom seemed taken aback, and not at all his Domino persona. “‘Lightning’? First?”

“Yeah.” Strength radiated from Ray. “Think about it. No one will expect it. We lowballed with ‘Diamond Fever’—it’s an easy song. Let’s do something different and wake ’em up.”

Not that “Diamond Fever” put them to sleep—far from it. But the die-hard fans would go nuts. Hell, Zavier felt a surge of energy thinking about it.

Maybe Dom did too, because he chewed on his thumbnail before a glimpse of Domino slipped out. “Fuck yeah. Let’s do it.”

Ray beamed and wrote in his book. When he was finished, he closed it reverently, then pulled the attached elastic band around it again. “Thanks, guys.”

The bus lumbered on for another hour or so before reaching at a truck stop. They all got out to stretch and mingle with the crew. Ray shared the playlist and that seemed to go over well.

Zavier wandered to the shop, not really needing anything but space. He almost wished he smoked, because that would have given him the excuse he needed to step away and stare at the highway for a while.

He couldn’t get Ray’s hunger out of his head. Or body. Or cock. He needed to, though. Ray was off limits—except that wasn’t true. He pushed and played and watched Ray. What did that say about him?

Zavier swallowed a sigh and scanned the shelves. Everything in the store was either something he didn’t want or they already had on the bus. There was a selection of alcohol, but it seemed cruel to drink when Ray couldn’t.

“There’s beer and wine on the bus.”

Zavier nearly startled. The surge of adrenaline was there, and he caught his breath, but he’d had plenty of practice controlling his reactions. Still. He glanced at Ray. “Really?”

“Yeah. Dom likes this microbrew stuff, so there’s like two cases.

Mish drinks what she calls cheap box white wine, but it’s not that cheap, and it’s damn good.

” His smile slipped. “I wasn’t about to be an asshole to them because Carl’s being one to me.

Touring is hard enough as it is. I’m not taking away their simple pleasures. ”

Nadia still hadn’t contacted Zavier about dirt on Carl. He studied the case. “I don’t drink that much.”

“What do you do for your simple pleasures?”

People. All kinds of people, in all kinds of ways. He shook his head to rid himself of the image of Ray on his knees. “I guess you’ll find out.”

Ray got this incredulous look, and Zavier couldn’t help patting his cheek. Probably shouldn’t have, since it did nothing to quell the heat in his own body and hell did it give Ray a blush you could see from space.

“See you back on the bus.” He left without buying a damn thing and took the long way back—enough time to get his cock settled down.

He had to sleep underneath Ray tonight. That would be hell, but one of Zavier’s own making.