Page 62 of Filthy Rock Stars

SHADOW

It’s not until night falls that I finally hear Nico’s music.

We’re lounging on the couches, both in our underwear, dried cum streaked across my chest. Bedding is strewn across the room, half-eaten room service scattered on the tables, and one of his socks has somehow ended up dangling from an overhead light.

He spent the day in my arms, but when I hear his music, I feel like I finally know all of him. Nico sways and plays his keytar, a gorgeous song about the complications of human-alien relationships rolling out.

He has the voice of an angel, and his delicate fingers draw a melody of subtle complexity from the keys. No wonder he gets me acting all sentimental and goofy. Everything about him is gorgeous.

“Fucking hell!” I groan when he’s done. “Nico, you’re amazing! That voice!”

He grins, his cheeks round. “You really think so?”

“I don’t know if I want to kiss you or demand you play another song.”

“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” he says, and I pull him to me as we both laugh.

Nico takes the keytar off, and when I drag him to the couch, he rolls on top of me. We kiss, tongues tangled, and his scent heats through me.

“You wrote an entire album like that?”

“I did,” he admits, a little shy.

“You should record it. Release it.”

“That was never my plan. I always thought it was something I was doing for me. I don’t think most people would care about a weird space opera.”

“It’s unique,” I tell him. “And beautiful. Like you.”

He presses his forehead to mine. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

I’m not used to this. Acting sweet and kind with him is nice. It soothes something inside of me. But it makes me uneasy, too, like I’m on unfamiliar ground. I don’t have any models for how to act.

Am I even doing this right? Maybe I’m being too sweet, and he’ll think I’m faking it.

Nico pushes himself up, facing me, and I roll to the side a little to accommodate him.

“You’re one of the most brilliant rock guitarists working today,” he says like it’s a fact, although I don’t know if a few magazine lists declaring as much make it real. “I know that you don’t love the direction your band has gone, but wouldn’t you miss playing music if you quit?”

“Miss it?”

“When you told me about the threats your band made. It didn’t seem like losing your music career would freak you out that much. It’s mainly about the money now? And the interpersonal stuff?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Shit. It does kind of look that way, doesn’t it?” I shake my head. “I love music. I could be the last man left in a zombie apocalypse, and I’d still play my guitar every day. And I love playing for our fans. Especially the old stuff. It tickles my balls to hit those chords and listen to a stadium full of rockers lose their collective shit.” I shrug. “It’s just…the good stuff is a sliver these days, and the bullshit takes up all my time.”

Nico frowns.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s just a little sad. You’re a musician, but you don’t get to do what you love.”

I sit up. “No one is stopping me from making the music I want,” I point out. “I just haven’t in a long time. And this isn’t all about the money to me. I’m not one of those assholes who only cares about cash and fame.”

“You do care about the music,” Nico says with a short nod. “You’ve just been stuck.”

“Maybe.” I think about it, feeling like I need an excuse for the way I’ve been. “I’d tell you to be careful. Make sure you don’t end up like this. But with your band, I don’t think that’s a risk. They seem to have their heads on straight.”

Nico nods. “Yeah, they are pretty great.” He glances out the window, looking at the dark city. “What do you think Adrian and Elle will do, if they come for us?”

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