Dax prowled the length of the stage, his movements lithe and graceful, reminding Jordan irresistibly of some big cat. A predator, at home in his natural environment. He paused, planted a foot on one of the monitors, and looked out over the crowd. They pumped their fists in the air, and banged their heads in time to the beat. In the mosh pit, a couple of dozen lads pushed and jostled, slamming their bodies into one another.

The interior of the club smelled of sweat and stale beer. Jordan had almost forgotten what it was like to play such a small, intimate venue. For the past six months, Code Black had toured the world, filling out the biggest concert halls and performing at outdoor festivals in Sweden, Germany, the Netherlands and the UK. Finally, they’d reached the last night of the tour―a special homecoming gig in the place where it had all begun. The Riot Lounge on Sunset Strip, their spiritual home.

Jordan plucked a steady rhythm on his bass, keeping time with Lenny on the drums. Dax’s fingers were a blur on the fret board, the solo spiraling up, faster and faster. They’d saved “Take You Down” for the encore, as they always did. The song never failed to take the roof off, and it gave Dax one final chance to show off his virtuosity on the guitar.

The spotlights bathed Dax in shades of red and blue, casting shadows on his angular features and shirtless, muscular body. Jordan had heard the story of the old blues guitarist who claimed he’d sold his soul to the devil in return for his musical prowess. He figured Dax must have done a similar deal, except he’d managed to get Old Nick to throw in a perfect six-pack and the face of a fallen angel at the same time.

A bead of sweat trickled along Dax’s spine, heading for the waistband of his tight leather pants. Jordan imagined licking it up, tasting the salt and musk of Dax’s skin. He pictured himself undoing Dax’s pants, letting them slide to the floor so he could work his tongue lower, into the crease of Dax’s firm butt cheeks and down to the tight, forbidden hole between them…

Lost in his fantasy of tonguing the guitarist’s ass, it took him a moment to realize the solo had ended. Jordan had missed his cue to resume singing. It didn’t matter, not really―the crowd was belting out the song’s chorus for him, but Dax would have noticed his slip-up. He always did.

Regaining his composure, Jordan hollered into the microphone, “That’s it, Hollywood, sing for me. I wanna hear you!” They did as he asked, and he took his hands off the bass so he could conduct them. Corny, he knew, but the fans loved it. When the chorus came round for a second time, he took over the singing duties.

“I will take you down

“To a dark and secret place

“Reveal the face

“I hide behind this mask…”

As Lenny pounded on the bass drum and Dax struck the ringing chords that brought the song to its end, Jordan allowed himself a small smile. You know, I think I might just have gotten away with it.

The crowd whooped and cheered. Some of them raised their cell phones like lighted torches, saluting the band. Lenny came out from behind the drums and the three of them linked arms. They bowed to the fans a couple of times, then they were gone, Dax propping his guitar against one of the amps to send feedback ringing through the small club.

Thank you and goodnight, Los Angeles…

“Man, I am buzzing.” Lenny slapped Jordan on the back as they headed for the dressing room, full of his usual easy bonhomie. “Who wants to par-tay tonight?”

“Don’t you have a woman to get home to?” Jordan asked. In other circumstances, Lenny’s wife, Sara, would have been watching the concert from the backstage area. But she was due to give birth in the next few days and the doctor had told her to stay home and rest.

“Well, sure,” Lenny admitted, “but there’s time for a brewski or two before I go, right? I mean, we deserve it, man. We brought the house down.”

“Yeah, we were okay.” That was Dax, who’d been silent until now.

“What do you mean―okay?” Lenny sounded genuinely baffled. “We were way better than that. They were going crazy for us out there. We rocked. We shredded.”

“You might have.” Dax leaned against the wall of the narrow passageway that led to the dressing room, arms folded. He regarded Jordan, his gaze hooded. “Shame we can’t say the same for Mr. Fuck-up here.”

“Dax…” Lenny must have heard the low, threatening tone in Dax’s comment. Like Jordan, he would know all too well what that meant. “Just leave it, why don’t you?”

“I’d love to, but Jordan makes it so hard for me. Lately, it’s like he doesn’t even have his mind on the band anymore.”

It was a lie, and they all knew it, but when Dax was in this kind of mood he’d say whatever it took to get a rise out of Jordan. Jordan bit his lip, doing his best not to respond.

“Come on, let’s go crack open those beers.” Lenny had fallen into his usual role of peacemaker, but Dax wasn’t listening to him.

“I saw you talking to Raymond Berry before the gig, Jordan. You wanna share any of that conversation with us?”

“Ray and I go back a long way. I was just saying hi.” Berry had been a face on the LA rock scene for the best part of two decades. He’d given Jordan his first break in the industry, recruiting him to a band he’d been managing at the time.

“Yeah?” Dax furrowed his brow. “Well, I heard this rumor that Razorback is gonna be looking for a new lead singer very soon. Seems like Vincent Layne’s overdue another spell in rehab. That what Ray was doing? Sounding you out about joining Razorback?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Jordan tried to walk on down the passageway, to put some space between himself and Dax’s ridiculous accusations. Dax shot out an arm to grab Jordan by the shoulder. He pinned Jordan up against the wall.

“If you want out, you only have to say…” Dax’s body pressed tight against Jordan. Their faces were only inches apart, so close Jordan could smell the clove breath freshener Dax favored. Jordan’s heart beat fast, and despite everything, he was getting an erection. The tension in the room was thicker than the fug the smoke machines in the club had been pumping out before Code Black’s set.

“Let me go, all right? I don’t need to justify myself to you.” Jordan pushed at Dax’s broad chest, attempting to free himself. Dax raised a hand, and Jordan mentally prepared himself for a slap. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d had a stand-up fight over nothing. He recalled a gig they’d played at some soulless arena in Rotterdam. He and Dax had lost their tempers with each other and ended up brawling on the floor in front of the entire audience. No one seemed to regard this as unusual behavior. Put Jordan Reeves and Dax Carter together for any length of time and it was like pouring water on a grease fire. It only caused things to burn hotter. The simmering conflict between them had helped Code Black become one of the biggest bands in the world. As Lenny always said, “You can’t work with each other and you can’t work without each other.”

But it wasn’t simply Jordan’s creative juices that Dax set flowing. Jordan didn’t think he’d ever wanted any man as much as he wanted Dax. His looks, his arrogant swagger, even the way he smelled… Dax drove Jordan wild, but if he knew the effect he had on his bandmate―and how could he not, considering all the time they spent in each other’s company?―he’d never once acknowledged it.

“Dax Carter?” A woman’s voice, coming from behind Dax, caused all heads to turn in her direction.

Jordan recognized her as one of Dax’s on-off girlfriends, though he couldn’t recall her name. Lily? Linda? Dax always seemed to have at least a couple of women on the go at any time, even though he’d never, to Jordan’s knowledge, been in anything approaching a serious relationship.

“Hey, Lianne…” Instantly, Dax’s air of menace faded and he was all charm. He loosed his grip on Jordan’s shoulder joint and stepped away so he could enfold the pretty blonde in a hug. “Long time no see.”

“You were amazing tonight,” Lianne gushed, linking her arm in Dax’s as they headed for the dressing room. Watching them walk away, Jordan wondered yet again why Dax couldn’t be honest about what he wanted from life. When their bodies had ground together just now, Jordan wasn’t the only one who’d been hard. There was more of love than hate in his relationship with Dax, but Dax would never admit it. Whereas Jordan was completely comfortable with his sexuality, Dax was deep in denial. Jordan didn’t see the shame in being bisexual, but obviously Dax did, or he’d have come out and admitted it long before now.

“So, you wanna grab that beer?” Lenny asked. Until he spoke, Jordan had almost forgotten his friend and bandmate was still there.

Jordan shook his head. “I’m not really in the mood. But you have a good time, okay, and give my love to Sara. I hope it all goes well with the baby. Tell her if it’s a boy, to call it anything but Dax.”

Though he made sure to slip out of the Riot Lounge’s back entrance, avoiding the bustle of Sunset Strip, there were still a dozen or so fans hanging around, waiting for an autograph or a friendly word. Jordan posed for selfies, signed T-shirts, CD sleeves and even the forearm of a young man who swore he’d have his name tattooed there. At last, he was able to jump into a cab and head for the apartment he hadn’t seen in months.

* * * *

The air in the apartment smelled stale and the red light blinked on his answering machine. He’d listen to his messages later. For now, he just wanted to have a shower and wash all the sweat and grime of the day from his skin.

Man, it feels good to be home…

He’d had the cab driver drop him outside the corner store so he could grab milk, bread and a salad from the self-serve counter. There was nothing worse than coming back to an empty refrigerator. Despite what he’d told Lenny, he craved a cold beer, and he’d treated himself to a six-pack of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. Drinking alone wasn’t as much fun as drinking with the guys, but he wasn’t in the mood to stick around and watch Dax get into a public display of affection with Lianne.

Jordan took the cap off one of the bottles, then poured the beer into a glass. He took a long drink, slaking his thirst. Clutching the glass, he wandered through to the bathroom.

He stripped while he waited for the shower spray to heat up, letting his clothes lie where they dropped. Adding ‘do the laundry’ to his mental list of chores, Jordan stepped into the shower stall. As he lathered up his body, his mind drifted, almost of its own volition, to the moment when Dax had pushed him up against the wall in the club. He saw again the fire that burned in Dax’s eyes and felt the thick length of Dax’s hard-on pressing against his own through those tight leather pants.

Dropping a hand to his crotch, Jordan then took hold of his stiffening cock. He closed his eyes and let the scene play out the way he wished it had.

“Get on your knees,” Dax snarled. His tone made it clear he didn’t expect Jordan to argue.

“You can’t make me,” Jordan replied, his cock pulsing in a strong, steady rhythm. He breathed in the scent of fresh sweat and cloves, the combination unique to Dax, and stared back with defiance. It seemed time stood still as he waited for the guitarist to make his next move.

“I can, and I will.” Dax grabbed Jordan’s dick through his jeans, squeezing just hard enough to have the breath hissing from between Jordan’s teeth. “You’ve got it bad for me, haven’t you? And that’s why you’ll do whatever I say. Now, I want you down on the floor.”

“Yes, sir.” Obediently, Jordan sank to his knees. In this position, his face was level with Dax’s crotch. The black leather pants had molded tight around Dax’s erection, which seemed almost impossibly big. Now the smell of warm animal hide added to the mix, and Jordan’s head swam with giddy delight.

“Unzip me,” Dax ordered.

Jordan did as instructed, his hand trembling as he eased down the zipper. Dax had no underwear on, and it was the work of seconds for Jordan to reach inside and wrap his fingers around the hot, smooth shaft. He brought it out, rubbing it against each of his lightly stubbled cheeks in turn, then over his lips.

“Is that good?” he murmured. “Do you like that?”

“Less talking, more sucking,” came the response. A delicious thrill shivered through Jordan at being addressed in this way, as if he existed only to be used by Dax. It felt right to be here, down on his knees in this dingy, dusty passageway, about to take his bandmate’s cock in his mouth. His own dick ached, and he fought the urge to rub it through his jeans. He might be allowed his own pleasure once Dax had his, but that wasn’t guaranteed by any means.

He opened his mouth, swallowing Dax’s fat, juicy helmet. Dax let out a little moan as Jordan set about licking up the silky strands of pre-cum before taking Dax farther into his mouth. He did his best to relax his muscles, trying not to gag. This cock was bigger than any he’d ever sucked, and his eyes teared up as Dax pushed forward, filling Jordan’s throat.

Jordan looked up, breathing slowly and steadily through his nose. Dax had closed his eyes, and he strummed his left nipple, the one with a silver barbell threaded through it, with his thumb. He seemed totally indifferent to whether Jordan was getting off, but that was how Jordan wanted it. Dax was the Master, Jordan the slave. And the Master came first, in everything.

“Use your teeth,” Dax commanded. Jordan let the fat length slip out of his throat’s tight grip so he could obey. He raked his teeth lightly from base to tip, letting Dax’s groans and soft intakes of breath guide him. He reached behind Dax to grip his Master’s ass through his pants. He nuzzled into Dax’s pubic curls, where the scent of musk was strongest.

“Oh, God, yes…” Dax pushed himself deep into Jordan’s mouth once more. He gripped a fistful of Jordan’s long, ash-blond hair so he could hold Jordan’s head steady. He thrust, fucking Jordan’s mouth without mercy, while Jordan clung on to Dax’s butt cheeks. Jordan’s saliva drooled down the length of Dax’s cock and he shut his eyes tight, letting Dax use him however he wished.

In moments, the first hot jet of cum hit the back of Jordan’s throat. He swallowed it down, relishing the salty tang on his taste buds. Another mouthful followed, and another, then Dax was done. He sagged back against the wall, breathing hard as he began to soften between Jordan’s lips.

“Finish yourself off,” he ordered.

Jordan needed no more encouragement. He undid his fly then took himself in hand. As Dax looked down on him, he rubbed his fist along his shaft, the movements rough and urgent. He murmured to himself, “Gonna come for you, Sir. Gonna come from you,” in the moment before his orgasm thundered through him. Cum spurted from the tip of his cock, arching into the air before landing on the black-painted floorboards. He slumped forward, falling onto his hands and knees at Dax’s feet in a posture of supplication.

When he dared to raise his gaze, Dax was looking down at him, his expression somewhere between a smile and a sneer. The sight made Jordan get hard all over again.

“Oh, wow…” Jordan gripped his cock tight by the base, milking out the last of his cum. He pressed his back to the tiled wall of the shower stall, letting the water beat down on his tired body. His orgasm had been explosive, but it had left a void within him. A void he knew would only be filled if Dax ever decided to dominate him for real.