My Old Man Read online

Jonah’s body tensed, his hips involuntarily flexing and rocking against Gordon as he played with him almost the way he’d play with a guitar, coaxing exactly what he wanted out of his body, depending on how he placed his fingers and strummed him.

  And this was why he’d ordered Jonah to wear briefs today. He’d hoped for a little playtime now, knowing Jonah would be ready for round two by the time they returned to Doyle and Mal’s place later, and this was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.

  There in plain sight, and yet concealed by the control booth’s shadows and the blanket, Gordon worked Jonah’s cock and balls in his hands, pausing, tugging, stroking, squeezing. He built him up several times just to pause and allow him time to cool off, before doing it again.

  Finally, he nipped the shell of Jonah’s ear. “If you can come without making any noise,” he whispered, “then do it. Otherwise, you’ll stay locked up the rest of the weekend.”

  A ragged exhale softly exploded from Jonah, followed by his entire body tensing and shuddering as hot cum filled Gordon’s hand and squirted through his fingers. Jonah’s body slumped against him as he caught his breath, so sweetly sated that Gordon had to fight the urge to order him to go down on him right then.

  Jonah reached up and back, feeling around behind him, on the small end table next to the sofa. His hand snagged the box of tissues there and he brought it around, under the blanket. Working quickly, he yanked several from the box and helped Gordon clean his hands off, and put himself back together.

  “Cage in your pocket,” Gordon whispered. “Don’t put it back on. Stow it in my bag when it’s safe to do so.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Once they were both reasonably presentable, they climbed out from under the blanket and let themselves out of the booth to hit the bathroom. There, grinning, they both started laughing once the door swung shut behind them and Gordon washed his hands.

  Jonah dumped the handful of used tissues into the garbage. “You’re mean, Master,” he said as he washed his hands.

  “Moi? I’m the one without relief, boy.”

  He caught sight of Jonah’s evil smile in the mirror just before his boy turned and sank to his knees. “Then let me make it up to you, Master.” Before Gord could stop him, Jonah had fished his cock out of his shorts and went down on him.

  “Yes!” Gordon braced one hand on the sink and cupped the back of Jonah’s head with the other. He knew what his boy wanted. So he face-fucked him, hard, deep, fisting his hair and not holding back. Jonah liked it rough sometimes, had once admitted it turned him on knowing he could take whatever Gord dished out.

  By the time Gordon spilled his own load of cum down Jonah’s throat, he knew Jonah was already hard again. He kept Jonah’s nose pressed against his abs, buried in his trimmed pubes, until he finally caught his breath and eased his grip.

  “Good boy,” he hoarsely told him, now stroking Jonah’s head, then patting him. “Let’s get back in there.”

  After they used the restroom they returned to the booth, and this time, Gordon actually felt himself dozing off while they waited for the session to end. They would ride back with Mal, who’d actually driven himself today.

  “Master?”

  Gordon startled awake to Jonah’s sweet smile hovering over him. “Huh?”

  Jonah grinned. “We can pack up and head out now. It’s nearly ten.”

  “Holy shit.” He sat up. “I hope we can sleep late.”

  Mal laughed. “We’re not starting until noon tomorrow, so that’s a yes.”

  Jonah brushed a kiss across Gordon’s lips. “And you can nap in the car,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll be ready to tackle me again at home.”

  “You got that right.”

  They were on the way back to Mal’s, with Jonah riding shotgun at Gordon’s order and Gordon stretched out in the backseat, when he heard Mal speak to him.

  “We have a proposition for you, Gordon.”

  His eyes popped open. “What kind of proposition?”

  “A tour.”

  Now completely confused, Gordon sat up. “Huh?”

  “Long story short, our promoter got us a deal on a two-week block of dates, all US except for the last one, in the UK. Over Christmas.”

  Jonah was looking back at him now. “I already checked. You’ll have the time off from Sorrellson. Please, Master?”

  Gordon was still trying to process Mal’s comment. “You want me to tour with the band?”

  “You still have a month before you need to give us a hard answer, but…yes. A tour. Even if you don’t want to play, you can still travel with us as a spouse.”

  “But if I play, I get paid?”

  “Yeah.” Mal quoted him a number Gordon needed him to repeat.

  “Are you serious?” Gordon asked when he processed that.

  “Dead serious. Jonah hasn’t said yes yet, though. Said something about needing someone’s permission first. Guy sounds like a real buzzkill.” But Mal’s gaze twinkled in the rearview mirror.

  Gordon was still…processing. “We’d both be making that together, or was that each?”

  “That was just you. He’ll actually be making a little more than you.”

  Holy.

  Shit.

  They could buy the property, build their house…and have several years’ worth of savings.

  And he would still teach.

  And Jonah could still work with the band…

  He focused on Jonah. He’d hoped that Christmas that the two of them could put up a tree and stay home and vegetate over the break. To be able to do the things they’d always wished they could do in the past, when they were broke and didn’t have money for luxuries like a Christmas tree.

  “What do you want to do, Jonah?” Gordon finally asked.

  Jonah shook his head. “No, Gord. You tell me.”

  He studied his boy’s gaze, let the silence settle between them for a moment. He thought about the scribbles in his notebook, how he couldn’t compare himself to Rich or Mal or anyone else whose songs he’d covered throughout the years. Was he a decent player? Yeah, but he wasn’t a composer on their level. “I’ve never played crowds like that before.”

  Jonah smiled. “I know, but you’d be great.”

  “He’s right,” Mal said. “I know you would.”

  “You’re biased,” Gordon said.

  “Yeah, but this is kind of my job, dude,” Mal teased. “Seriously, dude to dude, your chops stand up there with the best of them.”

  And still he studied Jonah’s green gaze, deep, shadowy jungle greens tonight in the dim light, nearly jet.

  “I need to get my passport. I don’t have one.”

  “Clark can expedite that for you,” Mal said. “So is that a yes?”

  But he’d seen the way Jonah’s eyebrows had flicked up a little, hopeful.

  His boy had come home to him, married him,

  Was showing him his trust was not misplaced.

  It had to be enough.

  Gordon nodded. “Okay. I guess we’re touring with Portnoy’s Oyster for Christmas.”

  Jonah grinned. “Thank you, Master. I love you!”

  “Love you, too.” He settled back onto the seat and closed his eyes. Then he felt a hand and reached up to hold it, knowing without looking it was Jonah.

  Because he knew his boy’s hand by feel, every bump and ridge and callus, and the smooth warmth of the wedding band he’d placed on his boy’s finger.

  Please don’t let this be a mistake.

  Chapter Seven

  December.

  Gordon’s stomach skittered, nerves jangling and on end as he stood backstage before the show and stared at a video monitor that showed the growing audience.

  “Holy shit,” he muttered. He knew Amalie Arena’s capacity was 20,500 people, and based on what he was seeing, it looked like every seat would be filled tonight.

  Seeing a SOLD OUT placard on a concert ticket website was one thing—gratifying, but deceptive.


  Seeing and hearing those living, breathing people filing into seats in the building formerly known as the Ice Palace, and where the Tampa Bay Lightning played hockey for half the year, was a different matter entirely.

  Humbling, to be sure.

  Terrifying? Oh, fuck yeah.

  Mal walked up and patted his shoulder. “I know telling you to relax will absolutely not help, so I’ll instead tell you to have fun tonight.”

  “That’s a lot of freaking people. I’ve never played a venue this big before.”

  “I know.” Mal grinned. “That’s why we decided to start with a smaller venue, to help warm you up.”

  Gordon’s eyes widened. “Smaller? Seriously? You think this is small?”

  Mal shrugged. “Madison Square Garden holds a couple hundred more. Fenway holds anywhere from thirty-seven to forty-seven thousand, depending on how they configure it. But, dude, Ray Jay holds up to seventy-five thousand. We’re not playing there this time, but we’ll play that early next year, for the Super Bowl. But our last stop of this leg? Wembley? It holds ninety thousand, and we’re sold out there. That’s half again the population of the city of Sarasota.” He grinned. “Like I said—this is a warm-up.”

  Gordon slowly shook his head. “You are a sadist.”

  Mal playfully held a finger to his lips. “Shh. Don’t tell Master, or he might punish me for it.” He patted Gordon on the shoulder again and headed down the hallway toward their green room area.

  There was still nearly an hour before curtain for their warm-up act, and nearly two before they’d take the stage.

  He was still standing there and staring at the monitor when Doyle walked over. “You all right?”

  “Your boy is a sadist, you know that?”

  Doyle snorted. “Let me guess, he reminded you how big Wembley is?”

  Gordon shot him a glare.

  “Look, Wembley is the last stop, and admittedly the biggest venue, by a lot. Most places you play this tour will be in the twenty to thirty thousand range. Keep taking deep breaths, and remember to have fun. That’s all Mal and the band do. They go out there, they play music, they have fun. That’s how they’ve kept from killing each other all these years, and how they’ve kept their concerts fun for them and the fans.”

  “This isn’t just playing in the studio for the band, or playing a gig at the Ca’ d’Zan. This is…this is huge.”

  “If you’re worried about fucking something up—don’t. You ever see a Jimmy Buffett concert? He screws up all the time and openly laughs about it with the crowd.”

  “Dude, I’m no Jimmy Buffett.”

  “And they don’t expect you to be. This morning, as of when I checked, your video with Jonah had ticked over the two million views mark on YouTube.”

  Gordon thought he was going to be sick. “Holy shit.”

  Down the hallway, he saw Jonah when he stepped out and looked up and down the corridor. When he spotted Gordon, he smiled and walked down to join him and Doyle.

  “Jonah, see if you can calm your Sir down, huh?” Doyle teased in a low voice. “He’s about to panic.”

  Jonah smiled at him, those sweet green eyes of his twinkling with amusement. “Will do.”

  Doyle walked away and left the two of them standing there by the monitor. Jonah reached out a hand. “Do you trust me, Sir?”

  It felt like he could barely draw in a breath, but he nodded.

  “Then take my hand.”

  Gordon sucked in another breath, and reached out. Jonah’s fingers closed around his and he led Gordon through the entrance to the ramp that led to the stage, and then onto the stage itself, where a couple of roadies were making final adjustments to risers and equipment for their opening act. Jonah stood behind Gordon, draping his arms tightly around Gordon as they looked out on the arena.

  “Okay, Master,” Jonah whispered in his ear. “Do you feel me standing right here with you?”

  “Yes.”

  He squeezed him tighter. “Do you understand I’m going to be right here on stage with you? Playing with you? I want you to do nothing but look at me, listen to me. Don’t listen to the monitors, or the crowd, or the band, or anything else. Do you remember that time we played at Siesta Key and the guy bought us Subway sandwiches for dinner?”

  A laugh barked free from Gordon. “Yeah. We were pretty sure he was trying to pick us up for sex, but we played dumb. We played his requests for nearly an hour, and he tipped us twenty bucks, in addition to the sandwiches.”

  “Remember how we thought we were in high cotton because we didn’t have to buy dinner that evening?” Jonah asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Remember how we were basically singing to each other for most of that set?”

  Gordon choked back the prickle of tears wanting to flow over that memory, good tears, this time. “Yeah.”

  Jonah nuzzled the side of his head, his lips pressed to his ear. “Remember how you took me home and fucked my brains out that night while singing Johnny Cash to me, because the guy had us play, what, ten of his songs?”

  Gordon melted against Jonah. “Yeah. I thought you were going to kill me.”

  “You fucking sadist, I loved you even through that.” He nipped Gordon’s ear. “Just play for me, Master. Play with me. If you need to, pop out your IEMs and follow me. I’ll count you in for every song. They’ll put our mics next to each other for our duet. You sit there and watch me and play with me, Master. That’s all you have to do. Play with me, and only me. Like we played on Siesta Key, or like we played on our balcony. Like we play in the studio.”

  He turned in Jonah’s arms. “God, I hope I don’t fuck this up and make you look bad.”

  Jonah’s sweet smile helped soothe Gordon’s nerves. “I was terrified the first time I played a live concert with the band. Big-time. Not because of the crowd, but because I was terrified to let the band down. I didn’t want to reflect badly on them. Now?” He shrugged. “Doyle’s right. Have fun.”

  “How did you know he said that?”

  “Because he probably gave you, verbatim, the same speech he gave me my first night on tour.”

  Gordon took another deep breath. “I can’t promise you I’ll quit teaching at the end of the school year.”

  Jonah nodded. “I know. And that’s okay. I meant it when I said if you ask me to walk away from the band, I will.”

  “I don’t want to do that to you.”

  “This is a short tour, Master. Two weeks, and home again. Just think, we’ll bank more than enough between us to build our dream house and be able to afford to live in it for years. We don’t have to make any decisions about anything else right now.”

  Gordon nodded. “Right.”

  * * * *

  Jonah knew how terrified Gord felt. Probably close to the level of terror he’d felt during his first live appearance with Portnoy’s Oyster. But he also knew that if he could get Gord through the first song of their duet set, he’d settle down. Hell, he suspected after the first couple of group songs that Gord would be okay. Gord wasn’t used to large crowds, and the noise, and the IEMs—all of that.

  But he knew his man. He knew if Gord focused only on him that he’d quickly find his confidence and forget about everyone and everything else except the music.

  Because Gord was a professional.

  Hell, the guy could teach kids. That was a level of patience Jonah wasn’t sure he had, although he envied his guy, watching him with them. Even the way they looked at Jonah with awe when they realized he was on the video with Gordon.

  That had been a new experience for him.

  One of the only things that had bothered him on the previous tour wasn’t just that Gordon hadn’t been there, but that he hadn’t been there with him, onstage playing with him, able to bask in the crowd’s attention with him.

  He hoped the little surprise he’d arranged with Mal and the rest of the band would put Gordon at ease.

  “Come on, Master,” he whispered to Gordon. “Let’s go wa
rm up.”

  He watched as Gordon’s gaze swept the rapidly filling arena before finally letting Jonah take his hand and lead him off the stage. They hadn’t told Gordon that tonight’s concert wasn’t just being filmed, but that footage from tonight was actually going to be used in a documentary about Portnoy’s Oyster. They knew how nervous he was already and didn’t want to add extra pressure. Jonah knew tonight would be the most difficult for Gordon, and he’d come around as they worked their way through the tour.

  Back in their green room area, they worked with Troy and Garth. It was good to have Troy back in the saddle, so to speak. His left wrist was still giving him trouble sometimes, with residual pain, which was why Mal had moved to make Jonah a permanent part of their band. Jonah wouldn’t be earning as much as the other members, obviously, unless he had co-writing credits on a song, but he was happy with that. Just to be attached to such a big-name group was amazing.

  The regular paycheck didn’t hurt, either.

  Even if he never went on another tour with them, once this was finished, they’d have more than enough for their house.

  That was his goal, to provide for Gordon, get him out of that apartment.

  Their own place.

  Once that happened, he could get a job doing something. Maybe even teaching music.

  Who knew? Stranger things had happened.

  At least Gordon would be able to relax now, not need extra jobs and scraping by. He could have a regular job that made him happy.

  When it was time for them to gather in the green room after their opening act finished playing and their roadies were swapping out the stage, Jonah took Gordon’s hand.

  Bonnie clapped her hands together. “Okay, guys. Let’s do this. Gather around.” They all did, standing in a circle and holding hands. Jonah had Gordon on his left and Troy on his right, the band and their core crew who helped them on stage. A camera crew silently filmed them without interrupting.

  “We’ve got a newbie to touring in our midst tonight,” Bonnie said. “Welcome, Gordon. Most of you already know him. He’s joining us for this short run. This is part of our pre-show ritual, every show.” She took a deep breath. “Fun, friends, and family. Let’s have a good time and put on a good show. Smiles, boys. Smiles. We’re lucky to be alive.”