Page 18 of Naughty Dreams
He'd done a similar version of it at the previous show, with an erotic agility that seemed effortless. But that was before he’d been roofied by his bandmate.
Even though the drug’s effect should be out of his system, Roy was certain it caused DJ’s misstep. The move was complicated, and being even slightly off was all it took for it to go wrong.
DJ was supposed to land in a kneeling position, fist to the ground, and then spring up as if the ground was on fire.
Instead, his leg went out from under him, and he landed hard on the shoulder, but he rolled with it, coming up into the kneeling position so it looked planned. He held there an extra beat, then two. When he lifted his head, he did so slowly, a necessary improvisation. He’d managed to hold onto his mic so he didn’t miss a note, and the strain in his voice became additional emotion. He dragged himself to his feet.
How do I tell you
I love you
How do I tell you
You are crushing my soul
On the other side of the stage, Roy saw Moss mouthshit. Shaun, standing next to Roy, supplied the info he was missing.
“He dislocated his shoulder,” he told Roy. “It’s happened before. Goddamn, that’s got to hurt like hell.”
Steve, Pete and Tal took over, stretching the song out as DJ backed into the fog billowing across the stage.
Roy was already moving with the tech, and met DJ in the wings. DJ’s face was suffused with pain, his teeth clenched. A burly-looking roadie was at his side. “Just pop it back in,” DJ was telling him.
“Man, I don’t know how to do that.”
“I do,” Roy told him. “Move out of the way.”
The roadie obliged with a look of relief. “Do it fast,” DJ managed. “I gotta get back out there.”
“If I do it fast, it could cause damage. And it’ll hurt like a mother later.”
“Not my first rodeo on this shit.” DJ folded forward. They’d been nearly shouting to hear one another, but now his head bumped Roy’s shoulder, his mouth against his ear, breath on his neck. “Damn it, get it done.”
Roy put his hand on the kid’s nape. His nose brushed the sweat-dampened curly hair. “You want it done, you say please.”
He said it right, and got the desired result—a jolt of sexual adrenaline to provide a needed distraction from the pain. DJ raised his gaze to his and offered a surprising gift in return, a stop-the-world-for-a-moment half-smile. Which became touched with mischief as he mouthed a response.
Please, Sir.
Roy felt around the shoulder. DJ was right. If it wasn’t his first time, putting it back in was less likely to cause the damage which made it preferable for dislocations to be handled by medical professionals.
Giving some brief instructions to the roadie, Roy put his hand on DJ’s shoulder and extended the arm slowly to his side. The roadie steadied the sweating musician and then Roy did the extension and popped it back in place.
A cry broke from DJ’s lips that Roy felt in his own bones, but it was short. As soon as Roy put the arm back right, DJ opened his squeezed-shut eyes and gave him a grateful look.
But that wasn’t all.
Grabbing Roy by the suit lapels, he planted a wet, silky kiss on his mouth. Then he switched his wireless mic back on and bounded onto the stage like a goddamn deer.
The roadie gave Roy a thumbs up and an elbow nudge. “Congrats,” he shouted. “You just got what most girls would kill for.”
DJ finished their festival set with all the energy his fans were hoping to get, including the jam with Blue Mod that Tal had suggested. The band had preceded Survival on the performance list. While they were considered punk, they had a tendency t0 blend that genre with heavy metal and bluesy Southern rock like Survival, so they put on a good show together.
Since DJ acted as if he was feeling no pain, Roy figured the crowd’s enthusiasm was carrying him. But backstage, Roy noticed he held his injured arm at a casual but careful position at his side.
Once he, Moss and his bandmates were secure inside the limo, ready to depart, Roy ducked into the front seat with the driver. DJ sat in one of the rear seats, facing the front. Roy could glance over his shoulder and check how he was doing.
“Man, it never gets old,” Steve crowed, high-fiving Pete. “That was epic.”
