Page 45 of Resist

“I wonder why it was locked.” Po sighs as he climbs up and inside, spotting us.

“Hey, you’re here!” Po says as he heads over and sits down opposite us. “I just wanted to run through any issues you might be having. Are you okay, Ry? Your lips are really swollen.”

“Oh, I tried a new gloss,” he rasps, his voice hoarse.

“Shit, are you losing your voice?” Po darts over to the small kitchen and starts making him some warm tea as I smile. Strike and Dash are panting, and they look relieved as they lean into each other, undoubtedly worried we were about to get caught. Po sets the mug before Ry, who’s blushing hard. “Drink this and go rest. We need you in good shape for tonight.”

“Yes, Ry, make sure to rest,” I say as I focus on my scribbles, but I can’t hide my smile.

“All of you, rest before tonight’s show. I know you normally hang with the others, but you look tired. I want happy, refreshed faces later. The tour is just beginning, so don’t get sick on me yet,” Po warns as he points between us. “I’ll order you all some food. Rest. That’s an order.” He leaves, and Strike dramatically flops to the floor where Ry was kneeling.

“That was fucking close,” he grouses. “I was so stressed.”

“Tell me about it,” Dash agrees. “You two need to behave.”

“Us two? We didn’t do anything,” I reply innocently.

“Sure you didn’t.” Strike groans.

“Okay, we did something right where you’re lying,” I tease, and he yelps as he rolls to his feet while Dash just watches curiously. He turns his head, moving his hands, and Strike sighs.

“What are you doing?” he mutters.

“Trying to figure out the position,” he admits as he scratches his head. “Were his legs open like this—” I smack him with the pen, and he whines.

“You really are a perv,” I mutter as I turn to Ry. “Drink your tea.”

Nodding, he sips it as I smile.

TWENTY-ONE

Tonight’s performance is just like any other, or so I tell myself. It doesn’t matter that Fox and I are officially dating. It doesn’t change anything . . . . Okay, it changes everything. I’m more nervous, as if everyone who is watching will know we fucked just by looking at us. It means I’m stiff for the first song, and he must notice because during the second, he breaks the routine and heads over, leaning into me, and when the drum solo begins, he whispers in my ear.

“Relax.” He smacks my ass as he dances away, and it does the trick. I get into it in the third song, having fun once more, dancing and playing with the crowd. This is for them as much as it’s for us. They came to see us and Dead Ringers, but we need to give every show our all.

Even if my throat aches like a son of a bitch, the show must go on.

By the fourth song, I’ve decided I no longer give a fuck, and I let go and do what I normally do. No one can prove we’re together anyway. Besides, we always flirt and dance. I make my way across the stage to Fox and kneel, then I run my hand up his thigh as I come in on my notes. Looking at the crowd, I slide my hand higher until I grip his cock, and then I wag my fingerat the crowd as I get to my feet, dragging my mouth up his leg when the chorus breaks. Darting my tongue out, I drag it along his exposed abs, and the crowd goes wild.

I turn as I lift my mic and start to sing again. Dancing over to Strike, I lean into him as he grins at me, and when the drums kick in, I move to the front of the stage, throwing my arm out as I hit the high note.

I feel him before he touches me. His warmth radiates against my back. Since he’s not playing, he slides his hand between my legs and up, gripping my dick for the world to see, his head in the crook of my neck as I lean back and sing. My cock grows hard under his touch, but then he slowly pulls away and swings his guitar around, walking to the edge of the stage. My eyes track him as he leans into the audience as he plays.

He’s magnificent. I can’t take my eyes off him and neither can the crowd. They scream his name, fighting to get closer, and I want to laugh at how easily I could touch him, so when the song is over and he grabs a drink, I lean into my mic.

“I see y’all thirsty barricaders reaching for him.” I wag my finger as they scream louder. “Sorry, he’s mine. No touching. Only I can.”

“Ryker, let me marry Fox!” someone yells, and I cup my ear so they shout louder.

“Ah.” Turning, I glance at Fox. “No, sorry. What do you say?”

Fox laughs as he strides over, sliding his arm around my shoulders as he leans into my mic so his face is next to me. “Sorry, but Ry is possessive.” He winks at the crowd.

“Fox, Fox, Fox!” they chant, and he waits, trying to distinguish their voices. When he can’t, he heads over to the edge and crouches. “Slow down, what are you saying?” he asks as Strike and Dash take a little break.

I head over and lean against his shoulder as I listen. He wraps his arm around me, anchoring me without even looking,and I wink as they react. His hand strokes my leather pants, and they go wild. “Oh, I can hear you now. No, sorry. Ryker is mine, so you need to behave. You can look, but you can’t touch. Isn’t that right, my boy?” He glances up at me, and my eyes widen at the endearment, but satisfaction fills me with him claiming me so openly.

“That’s right, so how about we give them another show? Are you ready to swear to our gods? Are you ready . . . to go to church?” I shout into the mic, and the crowd goes wild.

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