Read Beneath the Stain - Part 5 for Free Online Page A

in a shower of sparks.
    And a microphone stand that gave up the ghost about the same time, pissing Mackey off so much that he grinned at the crowd and kicked it off the stage, just like a misbehaving cat.
    Trav couldn’t even blame him. And the crowd?
    Apparently ate that shit up with a spoon.
    The final chord sizzled through the air, and the crowd screamed raw freedom until the sound was palpable, inescapable, a real live entity like a tentacle monster, wrapping around every body in the place.
    The band ran off the stage in a spatter of sweat and cheering from the band and tech crew ready to take their place, and Trav closed his eyes, letting some of the tension that had ridden him for the past two hours wash out.
    “Are you sleeping?” Mackey called, and Trav opened his eyes, shook his head, and grinned.
    “Recovering,” he said, and Mackey started trotting across the backstage bay. Trav got himself ready, because Mackey wasn’t going to stop, any fool could see it. It was Trav’s job to catch him—always had been.
    “Recovering?” Mackey bitched, launching himself in the air and landing in Trav’s arms, wrapping his legs around his hips.
    “Oolf!” But he really didn’t weigh anything, and Trav closed his eyes and convulsed his arms around the solidness he did feel.
    “Recovering?” Mackey nagged. “You ain’t even begun….”
    Trav took his mouth this time, tasting salt and lactic acid, but Trav didn’t care. Dirty, sweaty, salty, Mackey James Sanders, and Trav couldn’t taste him enough. The equipment and the roadies and the band and even the screaming of the crowd all disappeared, lost in the clash of teeth and tongue, the bitterness of Mackey’s running makeup, the hot, moist feel of Mackey body under Trav’s palms.
    Mackey groaned in his arms and pressed forward, as erect and probably as hard and aching as Trav was, and Trav had the presence of mind to pull back. They were not having sex here in the loading bay of the Coliseum—
    “Greenroom,” Mackey moaned into Trav’s mouth. He shoved Trav’s chest and hopped down, then grabbed Trav’s hand and hauled him past the band who were busy clapping each other on the back, past the other bands getting high in the waiting area, through a maze of hallways, and to the dressing rooms behind the stage. Without pausing, he spotted the room he needed, dragged Trav in, and shut and locked the door.
    The face he turned to Trav was grim and triumphant, and Trav didn’t have a chance to do anything but stare at him, stunned, as Mackey closed in, reached up, and pulled Trav down for another kiss.
    Mackey moved to his jaw, bit hard, pulled on his earlobe, and Trav tried hard to be in control of the situation.
    “I’m not—” Oh God, Mackey just shoved his hand down the front of Trav’s slacks and grabbed and squeezed. “I won’t—” Mackey used his other hand to lift Trav’s T-shirt up under his jacket, clamped his mouth over Trav’s nipple, and pulled, biting delicately as he did it.
    Trav whimpered.
    “I won’t fuck you here,” he growled.
    Mackey pulled up from his nipple and grinned. “But I’ll blow you, and that’s all I want.”
    There was a pillow on one of the folding chairs by the makeup counter, and Mackey reached for it and threw it on the ground. He shoved Trav’s pants down, underwear too, and took little bites of skin and suckles of Trav’s sweat as he sank to his knees at Trav’s feet.
    Trav heard some rustling and looked down to see that Mackey had shoved his own skintight, cock-cinching jeans down and he was mostly naked himself as he looked at Trav’s cock, bobbing at a ninety-degree angle and slapping him lightly on the face.
    Mackey grinned, all evil, taking it in his hand and slapping his cheeks and his chin a little harder. “You beat off this week?” he asked.
    Trav whimpered. “In the dark,” he admitted hoarsely. “When we texted.”
    Mackey smiled, pure, sweet gratitude, then opened his mouth and took