Beneath the Stain - Part 5 Read Online Free PDF Page B

chance to beat off and get rid of his hard-on, not necessarily in that order.
    Deb shrugged. “Hey, I think they can pull it off. Have you seen your guy in action?”
    “In videos, yes,” Trav admitted.
    Debra tucked a bit of silver-gray hair behind her ear. “I think he’s gonna shock the hell out of us both,” she admitted.
    Trav shook his head, slid his jacket on over his cotton undershirt, and followed her to the back bay, where they could watch the band from the side of the stage without being seen.
    The stage was set up, and even from there, Trav could see the equipment inadequacies Deb had talked about. Heath, you got off easy , he thought, but his phone was dead, so he kept the thought to himself.
    It felt like seconds. In a heartbeat, every light in the fucking Coliseum was up, including the blinding ones in the ceiling that revealed every pore in the face of the person next to you. He heard some murmurs of confusion—SOP for most festivals was that the lights went low between performances, and then a few lights came up on the stage when the band was ready to go.
    But not this time. The lights went high, the audience stopped and looked at the stage for a cue, and Mackey stepped forward.
    “Yo!” he called without preliminaries. “You ready for Outbreak Monkey? Are you ready to scream ?”
    A heartbeat of stunned silence followed, and then a pulse of the crowd screaming as the band launched, full throttle, into “Tattoo”—and the audience lost their fucking minds.
    “Oh my God,” Trav breathed, his whole body thrumming, high, sexed, with the music that came up from the soles of his shoes. Mackey was up there dancing, singing, flirting with his bandmates, flirting with the crowd, and the full, undivided, slavering attention of twenty thousand people quivered in the palm of his hand, and he song-fucked them for all they were worth.
    He gave back what he got and brought them higher, higher, surging emotionally until they lost themselves in the electrically charged ecstatic surf of screaming metal climax.
    Trav got hard again just looking at him.
    The song thundered to its finale, leaving Trav reeling, trying to stay upright in the dark after seeing his lover bring off an audience of thousands. And Mackey wasn’t through with him yet.
    The crowd roared and the band bowed, and the lights went dim just that fast, with a spotlight left on every band member, with only a few glowing spots on the floor so the tech crew could move.
    Mackey took the microphone. “You guys sound pumped,” he said, that fuck-off-and-love-me smile sexing the crowd. When the roar faded, he pulled the mic from the stand and swaggered around the stage, skillfully dodging the techs winding the cables at his feet. “I’m pumped to be here tonight,” he said, and then he waggled his eyebrows and did suggestive things to the mic. “Not as pumped as I was to get out of rehab….”
    The crowd’s approval reached some new decibel levels, and he grinned at them, got their attention, and moved on with his story.
    “Yeah… seriously. At rehab, there wasn’t nothin’ to do, all day, and all night”—his voice rose and fell rhythmically—“but stroke”—he grinned—“my self-esteem.” A sprinkle of laughter followed. “But see—I was already good at stroking my, erm, self-esteem.” He squatted on the edge of the stage conspiratorially. “See, my mom… she had four boys. Four. And three of us were all teenagers at once. Man, poor woman.” He stood up and shook his head in sympathy. “She made us all wash our own sheets. I’m sure you can guess why.”
    Kell spoke up, and Trav wasn’t sure if it was preplanned or not. “Aw, Mackey!”
    Mackey looked at the crowd and nodded, eyebrows raised suggestively. “Oh yeah,” he said to the audience’s unspoken question. “And see, Mama wasn’t no fool. There we were, raising hell one day, our little brother running around in circles, and there, knocking at our door, was the