Serendipity

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Cover Artist: Reese Dante
Editor: Alison Todd

Serendipity © 2010 Mallory Path
ISBN # 978-1-920468-10-1
All rights reserved.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be
reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
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express written permission. All characters and events in this book are
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PUBLISHER
SILVER PUBLISHING

http://www.silverpublishing.info

SERENDIPITY

by Mallory Path

Jake sighed and shifted his weight to the other foot

as the woman behind the counter tried to figure out how to

work the cappuccino machine. He didn't need anything as

fancy as cappuccino. All he wanted was a simple cup of hot

chocolate, no whipped cream. Straight-up, as his uncle

liked to say. The woman seemed to be consulting a manual

now. He could see two other employees lurking in the back

room, and there was one out on the sidewalk trying to

entice people inside with coupons offering ten percent

discounts on frothy beverages. The only person who

seemed to be working on providing the promised

beverages, however, was the new girl who didn't know how

to operate the machine. Jake suppressed another sigh.

"Oh, right." Sarcasm was evident in the

unmistakably British accent as the person behind Jake

quoted, "'This place'll be quick'."

"Shut it," a second voice, also British, said. "I'll tell

everyone it was my fault, right?"

The first speaker made a noncommittal sound. After

a pause, he said, "Perhaps we ought to skip it. We're late as

it is."

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"Well, if we're already late another couple of

minutes won't kill anyone, will it now?"

"It's rude to be late for sound check."

The last word nearly made Jake turn around. Of

course there were plenty of clubs in Lincoln, and the

chance that it was the same sound check he was interested

in was small, but still, a chance was a chance. And those

accents . . .

So he rubbed the back of his neck as he turned his

head, pretending that he was stretching. Out of the corner

of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the speakers behind him

just as the English accent was saying, "Since when do you

care about punctuality?" It was only a glimpse, but in

combination with the accents it was enough to make Jake's

heart stutter.

He was witnessing a legendary fight between Russ

London and Evan Wilde.

Well, not a fight. They still argued, Jake had read,

but they didn't have the knock-down-drag-out brawls they

used to get into when they had their first band together,

when they were Jake's age. No, this wasn't the kind of fight

that got Russ kicked out of Irritating Coworkers -- only to

end up singing for a couple of years with the greatest heavy

metal band in the world, then and ever: Industrial Revo.

Now Russ had his own band again, reunited with

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Evan. And they were just short of arguing, at this very

moment, right behind Jake.

Jake waited a beat. Then he turned to face the lead

singer and the lead guitarist of The Russ London Band, and

said as casually as he could manage, "Hey, if you guys are

in a hurry, you can cut in front of me."

"Yeah?" Russ London (Russ London!) cocked an

eyebrow. Evan (Wilde!) was already nodding his thanks.

"Yeah," Jake said. "I'm not in a hurry."

Russ smiled, and Jake got so lost in it he nearly

missed Russ's, "Ta, mate." He stepped back to make room

for them, and stood there biting his lip for a moment to

control his mouth. This was almost too good to be true, but

he was definitely standing in a Lincoln, Nebraska

coffeehouse with Russ London. Well, not with him, but

next to him at least. He'd probably never have another

chance like this. So he let his lip unfurl from between his

teeth and moved in a step.

"I'm sorry," he said as they turned to him, "I don't

want to bother you, but you're Russ London, aren't you?"

Jake hardly waited for Russ to nod before he went on, "I'm

a really big fan. I just wanted to tell you I love your stuff.

Closing Your Eyes and Holding Your Breath kicks ass."

"Right on, thanks," Russ said, and Jake couldn't

help returning the grin. "You coming to the gig tonight?"

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"Oh yeah," Jake nodded enthusiastically. "I

wouldn't miss it!"

"All right, mate, I'll see you there." Russ said before

turning to place his order. Coffee, black, Jake echoed

internally. Don't leave room for cream at the top. He likes

it strong and sweet. Jake watched Russ take his cup over to

the other counter and pick up three white packets. Real

sugar. Leaning on the counter to place his own order, Jake

glanced over as Russ tore open the first packet of sugar

with his teeth.

"Sir?" the counter girl repeated. "What can I get

you?"

Jake turned his attention to her and hesitated.

"Coffee," he said. "Regular. To go." He was fishing for the

change in his pocket when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Just wanted to thank you again," Russ London said

to him.

Before Jake could think of a good response, he

heard himself say, "As long as you keep making the music

you make, I'm happy to do anything for you." Immediately,

he groaned inwardly. Oh please, tell me I did not say that

out loud! But he knew he had.

Russ just said, "Oh, right. Well, thanks," and smiled

once more.

"Russ!" Evan called, standing outside the door he

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was holding open, coffee cup tilted at a dangerous angle as

he tapped his blue fingernails against the face of his watch.

"Keep your knickers on!" Russ shouted back.

Jake watched them go before turning to wait for the

coffee he really didn't want, shoulders sagging slightly.

Maybe if he added a lot of sugar, and milk, and more sugar.

He couldn't believe he had blown it, his one chance to talk

to Russ London, by saying something as stupid as that.

He was watching the counter girl trying to separate

a paper cup from the rest of the stack when, to his surprise,

he heard Russ London's voice again: "Oy, what's your

name?"

Jake turned at once. "Uh." He struggled to

remember, chagrined to feel himself blushing. "It's Jake."

"Jake?" Russ repeated. "Right, Jake -- you're on the

list for tonight." He flashed another grin and let Evan pull

him away by the arm.

The liquid in Jake's cup was half gone before he

realized he'd been drinking coffee with a smile on his face.

* * *

Jake shoved his hands in his front pockets and

looked around idly at the crowd waiting to get in. The show

was sold out, the line long and littered with Industrial Revo

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shirts. Looking at them, Jake was suddenly very glad he

hadn't been wearing his when he had met Russ and Evan.

As it was he felt pretty bad about the way he'd talked to

Russ but practically ignored Evan; he was here for the

whole band, after all. For the music. Not only was this not

Industrial Revo, but The Russ London Band wasn't even in

the same genre. They were 'alternative'.

Like a lot of the gathered crowd, a part of Jake still

loved Industrial Revo, even though they were on the way

down. Some of the hardcore fans said the decline began

when Maz Davenport left and Russ took his place, but Jake

thought the Russ London years were the best. Russ was his

favorite because it had been Russ onstage when Jake had

gone to his very first concert. So when he heard The Russ

London Band was playing in Lincoln he had to come.

And here he was, just like he'd planned. Sort of.

Originally, he'd intended to get to the club early enough for

sound check and maybe even catch the guys coming out,

but after his coffee shop encounter he'd thought it would be

cooler to come just for the show. He didn't want to seem

like a groupie -- like more of a groupie. So he'd arrived

about a half hour before the doors were scheduled to open,

and now found himself far back in the line with no hope of

getting a good position inside. Of course, he was tall

enough he should be able to see from wherever he was;

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he'd just really wanted to be up close.

Jake leaned out of line and looked at the front. A

guy with a clipboard was seated on a bar stool against the

open club door. He looked kind of like Leon from Resident

Evil. A young woman went up and said something to Leon,

who looked down at the clipboard and then nodded, letting

her in as he made a notation.

The guest list. Jake wondered if Russ really had put

him on it. He watched more people go up; some were

waved through while others were turned away. He kept

watching for a few more minutes, reluctant to make a fool

of himself, and not sure if he really wanted to know

whether or not Russ had put his name on the list like he'd

said he would.

No pain, no gain, right? Jake took a deep breath and

finally stepped out of line. His fingers curled around the

fake ID in his pocket; he hadn't used it yet and desperately

hoped it would pass scrutiny in the big city. He stepped up

to the guy -- who looked even more like Leon up close --

and waited, hands still deep in his pockets.

Glancing up, Leon gave him an evaluative once-

over. "You on the list?"

Jake nodded.

"Which list?" When Jake looked blank, Leon said,

"Which band?"

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"Um, Russ London. The Russ London Band." Jake

wished he felt more assured. Leon's fingers deftly turned

back to the top page. When Leon gave him an expectant

look, he said, "Oh, uh -- Brown. Jake Brown."

Leon scanned the list, and Jake felt his stomach sink

when he flipped to the second page. He didn't feel too

surprised when the guy looked up again and said, "Nope,

sorry. Back of the line, pal."

Jake just nodded, trying not to feel like an asshole

as he started to move away. Then something came to him

and turned back hesitantly. "Excuse me, could you look

under just 'Jake'?"

With an annoyed glance, Leon humored him. This

time he made a mark on the page and nodded to Jake.

When Jake just stood there, Leon pointed through the door

and said, "Go ahead."

Jake tried to suppress his grin as he stepped inside

and walked down the short hall; he knew his smile made

him look younger and he was so close now . . .

"Comp!" Leon bellowed to the guy at the end of the

hall, who nodded as Jake approached.

When Jake came to a stop and started reaching for

his ID, the guy said, "No charge, man. You're on the list,

right?" Jake nodded and the guy held out the rubber stamp.

Jake thought he blew it by hesitating, but the guy just

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stamped him and said, "Have a good time."

There were a couple dozen people standing around

casually. No one was at the front, and Jake figured they

were all friends of one of the bands and didn't feel the need

to crowd the stage. Self-consciously he moved over to the

side where he would be less conspicuous and wouldn't

block anyone's view.

When the waitress came around he went ahead and

ordered himself a Sam Adams. He nursed his beer as the

club slowly filled up, and politely turned his attention to the

opening band when they came on about an hour later.

Although some of the people in the front swayed along to

the music and most people at least made an effort to clap at

the end of the songs, there was a lot of chatting in the

crowd. It was clear everyone was here for Russ.

After the opening band left the stage there was a

gradual shift in the audience as people began to move in

closer with a casual ease. A waitress wove her way through

the crowd again and Jake got a second beer, promising

himself this would be the last one. Not that he thought there

was any danger of getting drunk, but he wanted to be

completely alert for the show, not to mention the walk

home afterwards.

Abruptly, the lights went down again and the club

music cut out. Jake could feel the change in the air,

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everything and everybody turned up a level as the band

came onto the stage one by one. Bobby Matthews was first

out; taking his place behind the drum set before offering a

shy glance out at the crowd. Eli Gibson slid into place

behind the keyboards, and when Janey Lloyd came out

flashing a peace sign at the crowd Jake was really happy to

hear her get her fair share of cheers, even from the girls in

the audience. She turned to grin at the keyboardist as she

thumbed a chord on her bass, and Jake thought he saw a

smile lift the corners of Eli's mouth, but it was gone before

he could be sure. He'd heard they were dating, although

both denied it publicly. Jake hoped it was true, anyhow;

they were even cuter in person.

When Evan poked his head out the excitement in

the club ratcheted up another notch. He spun a twirling

salute as he bent to pick up his guitar, and as he

straightened he winked at someone in the audience --

maybe no one in particular or maybe everyone in general.

The stage went dark. The notes of the first song

rolled out of the darkness -- and then lights illuminated the

stage, and Russ was there, and the crowd exploded.

At least the girls at the front did, squealing over

Russ and reaching out like it was an Industrial Revo show.

Some of them looked like they were close to thirty, or

maybe even past it, yet they were still acting like teenagers.

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Jake sort of wished they'd shut up because he really wanted

to listen to the music, especially the new stuff he hadn't

heard before -- but he couldn't really blame them.

Especially not with Russ flirting right back at them. Jake

shifted a little closer to the wall.

The band was on tonight: playing the music

perfectly, playing the crowd perfectly. Especially Russ. His

voice soared through the songs, and he was so fucking

charismatic; each smile winning everyone over a little

more, making everyone feel his smile was just for them.

And they loved him. Every single person in the room loved

Russ London. They loved the way he sang and moved and

bent down periodically to grab his beer bottle, taking a long

pull from it -- and then Jake realized Russ had drained it.

He looked around for the waitress but couldn't see her, so

he left his spot and made his way back to the bar for

another Sam Adams.

It was the middle of the next song before he was

able to elbow his way up to the front. He couldn't get right

up to the stage because the squealing girls weren't budging

at all, so Jake waited for Russ to turn in his direction and

then leaned over them, bottle extended. Russ came over to

accept it, mouthing his thanks with a smile -- but there was

no special recognition.

Jake tried not to feel bad about it as he pushed his

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way back over to the wall. As he leaned against it he told

himself there was nothing to feel bad about, anyhow. Who

cares if Russ London didn't remember him? He was here,

even though he'd had to go against his uncle, sneak out and

hitch to Lincoln. Even though he expected to catch hell

when he got home, he was here, at a Russ London gig, and

it was all worth it. He grinned and let the music wash over

him.

* * *

When the show was over, after the crowd had

demanded and received its encore, Jake left the club still

grinning. He saw some of the girls going down an alleyway

and followed them to the back entrance of the club.

Surprisingly they only had to wait a few minutes before the

band came out. Russ was surrounded at once by girls

asking for autographs and, no doubt, making offers in

return. Jake hung back; somehow, he didn't want to ask for

an autograph. It would be too anti-climactic or something.

He already felt he was dampening the experience just by

standing there, so he turned around and headed for the

alleyway that would take him back to the street, the street

that would take him back home --

"Jake!" Russ London's voice stopped him. He

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turned back and Russ stepped through the girls, face tilting

up to make eye contact. "It's Jake, yeah?"

Jake's heart stopped beating for a moment, and

nearly forgot to start again as he looked at Russ looking at

him. "Yeah," he said at last.

"You need to be somewhere?" Russ asked. "'Cause

if you're not doing anything," he grinned, shoulders rising

in a slight, casual shrug, "why don't you hang with us? I

owe you a drink, after all."

Jake couldn't stop grinning. "Sure!" He didn't know

whether he was more excited because Russ had noticed the

drink Jake handed him during the set, or because of the

invitation itself.

As he followed Russ through the dwindling throng

of fans, Jake couldn't help feeling the glances -- some

jealous, some merely curious -- the girls were casting in his

direction. Hands shoved in his pockets with what he hoped

was nonchalance, he watched Russ sign the last few

autographs and endure a small explosion of flashbulbs.

Then he was following Russ again, this time onto

the tour bus.

The rest of the band was there and as Russ

introduced Jake, Evan gave him a nod of recognition and

tossed Jake a beer. Jake sat down in a corner and looked

around, admiring the bus. It was a real tour bus with sofas,

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a bar, a TV, and everything. He wondered if Russ's new

record company had sprung for it or Russ was paying for it

himself. It seemed like the kind of thing Russ would do for

his friends.

He looked up when Russ came over and balanced

on the arm of the sofa next to him. "All right?"

"Yeah," Jake said, raising his beer in a kind of

salute. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no worries. Thanks for coming tonight."

Russ smiled and indicated the sofa with his own beer,

motioning for Jake to slide over. "You're a local?"

"Yeah -- uh, no," Jake said, shifting sideways so he

was fully facing Russ. "I'm from Pleasant Dale. It's about

twenty miles west of here."

"And what do you do in Pleasant Dale?"

"My family has a farm." Jake groaned inwardly,

wishing he'd had a more interesting story prepared. He just

hadn't anticipated getting into a conversation about himself

with Russ London.

But Russ just said, "So you're a farmboy, huh?

Nice. Corn, yeah? Nebraska grows a lot of corn?"

"Yeah," Jake couldn't help but grin at the way Russ

was trying to make him feel comfortable, leaning forward

as if sincerely interested in what Jake had to say. It was

very convincing, and even though a part of Jake knew it

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was ridiculous to think that a rock star could be interested

in the life of a farmboy, he couldn't help but feel welcome.

So he started to trade stories with Russ about the more

hilarious points of growing up in the country, versus

growing up in the city. At least, it was hilarious to Jake,

and to Russ, who kept slapping Jake's knee or throwing an

arm around his shoulder as he laughed at all the punch

lines. But apparently it was less funny to the rest of the

band, who got up and wandered off one by one. Before

Jake realized it, it was just Russ and him, talking and

drinking on the bus.

Alone with Russ London on the tour bus. Alone and

-- no, not quite drunk -- but alone and tipsy with Russ

London on the tour bus. Jake had to suppress the urge to do

something horrifying, like giggle. Or worse, sigh. Like

when Russ let his arm slide off Jake's shoulders slowly; it

felt like Russ's fingers were lingering across his back.

Wishful thinking, Brown.

Russ got up and returned with another couple of

beers, holding one out to Jake as he took a pull on his own.

Eyebrow and mouth cocked in a grin, he teased, "You sure

this is legal?"

Unprepared for the question, Jake hesitated -- and in

that hesitation, knew he was lost.

Still holding out the beer, grin fading to concern,

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Russ said, "Please tell me you're twenty-one."

Those few moments were enough for Jake to

recover. "I will be in a month." As Russ quirked his mouth

and then relaxed into a smile, Jake added internally, and

two years.

Before the lull could turn awkward, Russ asked,

"Have you heard the new songs yet?"

Feeling a little guilty, Jake admitted, "Just the ones

from tonight."

"Right then." Russ disappeared, only to return with

an unwrapped CD. "Here you are." He grinned at Jake's

enthusiastic thanks, and asked what he thought of the ones

he heard tonight.

"Oh, I liked them! I mean, I like everything you do.

All your songs, I mean. I have to say that 'Serendipity' is

still my favorite, though."

"That's a good one," Russ said, tapping out a

cigarette. He held out the pack in offer, but Jake shook his

head. "You mind if I do?"

"No, that's fine." Jake smiled as he added in light-

hearted confidentiality, "You know, I used to think the

lyrics, 'Light up a fag, stick it 'twixt my lips' -- I thought it

was a gay thing. Like a gay love song. A blowjob

metaphor? 'Cause 'fag' means that here -- gay. I felt really

dumb when I found out it's a cigarette in England!"

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He laughed -- but then, realizing that Russ hadn't

joined him, hadn't in fact said anything, Jake looked down

at the bottle he was clutching. He must've gotten it all

wrong -- the rumors, the stray touches and glances tonight,

the invitation onto the bus -- none of it meant a thing. Still

staring at his beer, Jake took a long pull, as if there were a

way out at the bottom of the bottle.

"You know," Russ said quietly, grinding out his

cigarette, "the first time I fucked a guy, I was so wasted I

couldn't remember it, let alone appreciate it."

Still fixated on the bottle, Jake didn't know what to

make of that. Was Russ just saying that to be nice? Was

Russ messing with him? Jake moved to raise the bottle to

his lips again, but just then Russ leaned over and placed a

hand over Jake's, arresting his movement. He tilted his

head, trying to catch Jake's eye, and moved his other hand

to Jake's neck. When Jake turned and opened his mouth to

ask what Russ was doing, his words were swallowed as

Russ's lips pressed to his own, Russ's tongue sliding into

his mouth.

Jake melted into the kiss. As his bones dissolved he

felt the bottle slide from his grasp and bounce off his foot,

pulling him out of embrace as the contents spilled across

the floor. "Oh!" he breathed apologetically, leaning down

to pick it up. But Russ brought his attention back with a

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tug, drawing Jake to him. Their lips met again and Jake

readily gave himself back over to the kissing. They fell into

an entangled, horizontal position, kissing themselves nearly

breathless, bodies moving against each other as they shifted

to give each other access, hands slipping beneath shirts to

slide along smooth, taut flesh.

Their shirts slid up with the friction and soon they

were skin to skin; Jake trembling and eager, Russ pressing

into him like he loved the feel of that shivering body

against him. As Jake's hand moved up Russ's torso he felt a

raised line. Heartbeat caught in his throat, Jake opened his

eyes and shifted to look: yes, his fingers were brushing the

fabled scar Evan Wilde had given Russ London during the

most notorious fight of their youth. He rubbed his thumb

back and forth across it, tracing the length with the tip of

his forefinger.

The sound that came from Russ, something between

a moan and a chuckle, gave Jake a start. Coming back to

the moment, Jake apologized, and then confessed, "I

always wanted to touch it."

Softly, Russ replied, "You can touch whatever you

want, mate."

Jake shifted down on the sofa, bending his head to

take an erect nipple between his teeth, nipping and lapping

at it. He was rewarded by Russ's soft intake of breath,

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fingers tangling in his hair appreciatively. Jake knew what

was expected of him and began to work his way down

Russ's body; his hands reaching the waistband and

smoothly undoing the button fly. He sat up to tug both

jeans and boxers down past Russ's hips, unconsciously

biting his lip as Russ's cock sprang free. Already ragged

breath going even more uneven, Jake swallowed. He was

afraid that if he backed off now, Russ would end the night.

So Jake took a deep breath, licked his lips, and bent his

head once more.

But a touch stopped him. With a smile Russ pushed

Jake back and settled next to him, one leg draped over Jake

as Russ kissed him again. When Russ moved his mouth to

Jake's ear, nipping and tonguing it, Jake squirmed against

him, and then dared to wrap his arms around Russ, lips

seeking Russ's again. The kissing went on and on, until, in

a pause for breath, Russ murmured "Fuck me, Jake."

Jake pulled away, head spinning with alcohol and

the words. "What?"

Russ kissed him again. "You can fuck me if you

want to. Do you want to?"

Blushing, Jake felt lost for words. This, what was

happening to him now, far surpassed anything he thought

could happen. When he'd started jerking off -- first to the

music, and then to pictures of Russ -- when he'd begun to

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develop his own fantasies, playing them out in his head

while he masturbated; even when he came here to Lincoln,

he never really thought he'd be doing this, making out with

Russ London. And now, what Russ was offering him --

well, even in his wildest fantasies, some of which got pretty

wild, it was always Russ fucking him. He'd even practiced,

trying to loosen himself up for Russ, to get used to having

something up his ass, sticking his own fingers inside

himself while stroking off. Once he'd even tried a hot dog,

but that hadn't worked too well.

Russ's offer now was almost too much, something

he'd never allowed himself even in fantasies.

When Jake hesitated Russ moved a little closer,

flush against him. He licked Jake's lips, nudging them apart

with his tongue before withdrawing to breathe the words,

"D'you want me, Jake? Do you wanna be inside me?" And

then, oddly gentle, "Fuck me, please. Come on then, fuck

me."

Even though Jake was sure Russ could feel the

answer pressing against him, Russ repeated his request.

Between each kiss, Russ kept whispering it over and over,

"fuck me, Jake," until Jake was so hard he was afraid he

was going to come -- and finally, when Russ asked yet

again, "Do you want to fuck me?", Jake managed to gasp,

"yes."

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Russ stood. He pulled something out of his pocket

before shimmying out of the rest of the clothing, taking off

everything but the thin chain he wore around his neck,

grinning as Jake followed his lead. When they were naked

Russ pulled Jake into an embrace, taking a backwards step

so they were up against the wall. "There's something about

the slow-screw-against-the-wall, or even the fast-and-hard

one, that just simply sends me. Don't you think?"

Unable to think anything at all, Jake leaned in for

another kiss. Russ's mouth welcomed him briefly before

sliding away again to unscrew the cap of a small tube. He

squeezed a glistening dollop onto his fingertips, and then

let his gaze drop. Jake looked down, too; he bit his lip at

the first cold touch, and then his mouth fell open with

inarticulate pleasure as Russ began massaging lubricant

along his cock. His lashes fluttered, but he didn't want to

close his eyes; he didn't want to miss a second of this, oh,

oh fuck, this.

"Maybe I better let you do this yourself."

Jake knew from the grin that Russ was only teasing,

but he took the tube from Russ, anyhow. As he slicked

himself up, he glanced up to find Russ watching him.

Watching his hand, anyhow; watching Jake's cock.

When Jake was slicked up Russ wrapped himself in

one of Jake's arms and turned around, legs spread apart,

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one palm flat against the wall to brace himself. Russ's other

hand came back behind him and Jake watched in

fascination as Russ fingered himself open. His breath

caught when Russ took Jake's cock and rubbed the tip

along his crack, arching back in invitation. Jake let out his

breath as he positioned himself properly -- and then with a

push, Jake was inside him.

He was inside Russ London. His cockhead, the cock

of Jake Henry Brown was in Russ London's ass.

A whimper escaped Jake.

"All right there?"

Jake opened his eyes to find Russ looking at him

over his shoulder. "Yeah, I." He swallowed hard. "I'm just,

it's . . ."

"Hey, it's okay." Russ twisted without letting Jake

slip out of him. "Come here." When Jake leaned in, Russ

kissed him. "I'm not Russ London, right? I'm just a guy."

He kissed Jake again, his tongue lingering along the upper

curve of Jake's mouth. "I'm just a guy who thinks you're

dead sexy, and wants to feel your cock moving inside him."

The words settled warm in Jake's belly, thick and hot in his

cock. This time Russ drew Jake's tongue into his mouth

when they kissed. "You want that, too?" Russ's tongue

flicked languidly behind Jake's teeth. "Or d'you want to

stop here?"

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"Yeah," Jake breathed in the wake of the next kiss.

"I mean, no, I don't want to stop. I want." He blinked, then

held steady in Russ's gaze. "I want to fuck you."

Russ smiled. "Come on, then." His fingers splayed

as he braced himself against the wall once more.

This time when Russ pushed back, Jake pushed in.

All the way in. The fit was snugger than his own fist ever

was, and the heat was radiating through him -- or maybe

Jake was blushing again. He didn't have time to think about

it, though, because Russ was moving, and Jake found

himself moving with Russ.

"Ah, that's nice," Russ encouraged when Jake rolled

his hips to pull out and push back in; "'S fucking

marvelous," he murmured as Jake found a rhythm.

"Fuckin', ah, fuck yeah--" With Jake's thrusts Russ moaned

and arched, his hands curling as his fingertips dug into the

wall.

When one of Russ's hands left the wall and his

shoulder hitched, Jake realized he was going for his own

cock and felt a wave of guilt in the midst of his pleasure; he

couldn't believe he had neglected the reach-around! He

reached for Russ's cock then, intending to take over. But

again he hesitated, then settled for wrapping his hand over

Russ's and stroking with him. He continued to pound into

Russ, who was now tightening around him, a rhythmic

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milking that soon brought Jake to the brink of orgasm --

and then tipped him over, his release accompanied by

guttural moans: his own, maybe Russ's too. It took just a

few more strokes before Russ shuddered and Jake felt his

come spill over their entwined fingers.

They were still against the wall. Plastered to his

back, Jake slipped out of Russ and drew away, leaving

Russ leaning against the wall for an extra moment while he

went to the sofa to catch his breath. With a furtive glance at

Russ, Jake picked up his discarded clothing and began to

dress. Now that he'd had his fuck Russ would surely kick

him out. Jake wanted to play it cool, like he'd done this

before.

As he got up for his shoes, which he'd kicked off

half-way across the bus, Russ came over suddenly and

kissed him again, pushing him back down on the sofa

gently and straddling him. "And where are you off to in

such a hurry?"

"I, uh -- I sort of thought you'd want me to leave."

Still naked, Russ sat astride the clothed Jake and

shook his head. "I'm not done with you yet," he murmured,

gazing into Jake's eyes.

Jake's moistened his lips and asked, with only the

slightest hitch in his voice, "Do you, want me to go down

on you?"

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Leaning forward and kissing him, Russ slid to the

side and pushed Jake back to lie next to him: "I want you to

do whatever you want." One leg draped over Jake, Russ

propped himself on an elbow as he caressed Jake's face, his

body. Jake was hard again immediately. He knew he should

let Russ have a turn, but before he could say anything Russ

offered in a low voice, "You want to fuck me again?"

With a shy smile, Jake nodded and felt the heat in

his face. He wondered if Russ could see the blushing in the

dark.

Russ only smiled in turn. "Okay then." As Russ

slathered more lube on Jake's cock, Jake thought it was

probably only his imagination fueled by wishful thinking

that Russ's fingers were lingering. Then Russ said, "You're

beautiful, do you know that?"

Flushing, Jake dropped his eyes and gave a slight

shake of his head; he didn't mean to speak, but the low

words that tumbled from his mouth sounded suspiciously

like, "You're the one who's beautiful."

Russ didn't say anything as he settled himself on his

back, gesturing an invitation for Jake to come to him. Jake

crawled up between Russ's legs, not sure how to proceed

with Russ facing him. Russ pulled him down for a kiss,

then shifted to hook the back of each knee over Jake's

shoulders in turn before helping Jake enter him. This time

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there was no hesitation, no searching for rhythm; Jake

fucked Russ like he was born to do it.

Afterwards, neither of them moved, neither spoke.

When at last Russ's legs unwound, Jake shifted to the side,

his head still resting on Russ's chest. As Russ stroked his

hair, his other arm around Jake's back, a contented

humming vibrated from him -- and Jake realized Russ

London liked to cuddle. The revelation made Jake

ridiculously happy, even though he knew he'd never be able

to tell anyone.

Then there was a light rap on the window. Russ

grinned wistfully. "That's Evan telling me we need to hit

the road soon."

They dressed wordlessly and went to the front of

the bus together. Russ kissed him again and asked, "Will

you be okay? Do you need us to drop you off anywhere?"

Twenty-one miles was nothing; not after this. Jake

smiled. "No, I'm good."

"All right then," Russ nodded, and opened the door

to the outside world. Jake felt sheepish as he emerged, but

no one laughed or made any comments, although Evan did

give him a wink. The others just smiled, and both Janey

and Bobby wished him a good night.

Russ walked Jake a little ways away from the bus,

stopping when they came to the edge of the parking lot.

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"So, I guess this is goodbye."

Words didn't seem adequate, so Jake just nodded.

He turned to go, when he heard Russ say his name again.

Turning back, he watched Russ pull his necklace off

overhead. "I want you to have this," he said, pressing it into

Jake's hand. Jake looked down and for the first time noticed

that it wasn't just a chain; they were dog tags. He looked at

Russ questioningly. "They were my great-granddad's. He

was a Jedburgh in World War II."

"Wow," Jake said softly, looking at the tags again.

Then he returned his gaze to Russ's face and held out the

chain. "I can't take this."

"No, please," Russ said, "I want you to have it. I

think--" An uncharacteristic hesitation overtook him for a

moment. "I think he would have wanted you to have them,

too. He served with a Yank named Brown. I don't suppose -

- well, no. It's a common enough name, innit, Brown."

"I guess so." Jake decided he'd ask his uncle about

his own great-grandfather, anyhow. For now though, he

just smiled and said, "Thanks."

Russ nodded. "See ya, then."

"See you."

Russ was smiling when he turned and headed back

to the bus. Clutching the gift, Jake rounded the corner to

where he'd hidden his backpack before the gig. It was still

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there. He shouldered it and waited in the shadows just to

watch Russ get on the tour bus, to watch the bus disappear

into the night.

He stood still for another moment after the bus was

gone from sight. Jake didn't feel tired. In fact, he was

feeling awake and alive. There was plenty of time to get

back to Pleasant Dale. Maybe he'd just walk it.

He draped the chain around his neck and started off

in the opposite direction the bus had gone in. Russ was

seeing the whole world in his tour bus. There was a whole

huge world to see beyond Pleasant Dale! Jake probably

would never be a rock star, but he'd sure like to see the

world.

As he felt the metal tags against his skin, he thought

maybe he'd join the armed services some day, and see the

whole world himself. The whole wide world.

~ The End ~

About the Author

A dedicated daydreamer, over-educated underachiever, and

occasional adventurer born in Manhattan, Mallory Path has

eaten snow from the top of a glacier in New Zealand, been

mistaken for a prostitute at King's Cross in London, and

fallen into a canal in Amsterdam. These days, Mal has

settled restlessly into life across the bay from San

Francisco, where she passes the time playing with her

dwarf hamsters and planning trips around the world she no

longer can afford. A reformed compulsive liar, Mal

promises only one of the things in this bio is a fabrication.