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Musical Ride
"This stuff is shit." Steve shook his head in disgust as he shut off the tape machine. "My God. His reputation suggested that he could do a LOT better than that."
Pete exhaled slowly through his teeth, which had been clenched for the last five minutes of the session playback. He then turned his head slowly, deliberately, until his angry gaze impaled the pale young man who had been leaning against the booth wall, hugging his arms nervously.
"I thought your FRIEND came highly recommended," the singer said, each word drawn out for effect. "I thought you said that Elton John, Madonna, and Massive Ego couldn't live without him. And all along I thought it was because he was such a genius at remixing. You should have said that his music was nauseating enough to let them keep their girlish figures."
"Mr. Burns, Mr. Coy..." Pete Waterman Jr. raised a placating palm to each, "I don't know what's with Jeff. I'll talk to him."
"I'd appreciate that." Steve's expression softened into a puzzled frown. "I don't get it. Every other project he has worked on has turned out bloody amazing."
"So you're implying that WE'RE to blame?" Pete flashed his rage on his bandmate and one-time lover. "Saying that he's working with inferior product?"
"No, no, no." Steve's swivel chair squeaked as the drummer/manager leaned forward and squeezed Pete's tattooed wrist reassuringly. "Of course not. We all know that Jeff's having an off day."
"More like a week. We've been at this since Saturday."
Pete Waterman Jr paused. "I think I might know what his problem is, stupid as it might sound."
"Well, tell us!!" Pete wrung his hands in exasperation, his black press-ons nearly scraping the ancient wall paint. "We've invested a lot of time and money on this wanker."
"He broke up with his significant other just before you contracted him to work on this remix project. They were together five years. He was really depressed about it at first, so much that I wondered about his ability to work before he dealt with his feelings. But he assured me that he could handle it." Waterman Jr shook his head ruefully. "I should have known. What's the old equation? When you break up with someone, count the number of years you were with them, and you need the same number of months to get over it."
"We don't have five months." Pete's tone forbade arguement. He stood up, leather coat draped over his arm, and said, "We're leaving for the day, there's nothing more to be done here. Talk to Mr. Heartbreak and tell him he'll have a broken neck to match if he botches this project for us."
Once again Steve jumped in to do damage control."Look, Waterman. Just have a word with him, OK? If necessary, take him out, get him drunk, buy him a woman or something."
Waterman Jr nodded and watched the two musicians leave the control room. When he thought they were out of earshot, he muttered, "He's not into women, unfortunately, guys."
With that, he sighed and started packing up, failing to see Steve's shadow behind the door.
* * * * *
3:00 am.
Jeff Billings sat there in the deserted control room, staring blankly at all the buttons, knobs, and screens as if seeing them for the first time. He'd been unable to sleep, and hoped that coming in to the studio, a place where the memories of Paul were less pervasive, would kill two birds with one stone: allow him peace of mind and a chance to rework the hideous "Spin Me" demo he'd completed that afternoon. No chance. His mind was restless, his body tense. He even had a partial erection, left over from five seconds spent passing a man wearing Paul's favorite cologne.
His blunt fingers ran over his zipper: he wondered if he should self-indulge. After a couple of seconds he decided against it. He thought he'd heard the cleaning lady upstairs when he let himself into the building, and besides, wanking only lessened the physical edge. The emotional edge required a pair of strong masculine arms, the manly scent of aftershave and faint sweat, and a suggestive words whispered in a deep, seductive voice.
Footsteps echoed in the dim hallway outside. Jeff sat up straight and called out, "I can step out if you need to clean in here right now."
"Do I look like I go through life with a feather duster, mate?"
"Steve!" Jeff spun about in his swivel chair so quickly that he banged his knee. Ignoring the pain, he continued, "What are you doing here this time of night? Is there something wrong?"
Steve leaned one broad shoulder, tightly muscled from years of drumming, against the doorway. He was an exotic, predatory sight in a black "Let It Rock" muscle shirt, leather jeans, and boots.
"I hope not, Jeff," he said.
The engineer lowered his eyes. Steve's gaze was too piercing to meet. "I know what you're going to say. And I plan on doing something about it. In fact, that's why I'm here."
"Me too." Steve walked into the room and settled into the chair opposite the younger man. His Drakkar cologne tingled in Jeff's fevered nostrils. "Look, mate, word is that you are going through some serious personal shit right now. I understand. I don't hold it against you. But you have to do something about it. We're really relying on you for this project. I thought you were the man for the job, and for that matter, I still do. But you have to get your shit together."
"I know."
"And I want to help you."
"I'd appreciate the help." Jeff stood up. "I know you have mixing experience, maybe you could-"
Steve gave a carefully concealed sigh, then reached out and caught the engineer's wrist. While the young man recoiled in surprise, he went on, "We both know what it's going to take to help you bring your work back up to standard."
Jeff's lids fluttered nervously. His erection sprang back to life at the same time. "I don't know what you mean."
Steve allowed himself a small smile, all the while retaining his grip on the now-quivering wrist. "Oh, yes, you do. That's why you haven't made a break for the door to take care of THAT-" his dark eyes glanced downward "-in private."
Jeff, speechless, excited, and about to faint from the impact of both sensations, unconsciously drew back. Ignoring his shaking head, Steve stood to his full height, pulled the younger man closer, and bent his head to kiss him roughly. His aggressive lips and probing tongue met no resistance. Jeff moaned deep in his throat and felt his knees buckle: only Steve's strong grip on his upper arms kept him upright.
Steve pressed his advantage, pulling Jeff into a full-body embrace. He could already feel the youthful erection poking into his hip. Jeff was now returning the kiss with an equal passion, making Steve feel as guilty as he was aroused. He'd promised Pete that this fuck was for business purposes only. His own rising excitement signaled the broken vow.
Steve moved forward until Jeff's butt banged against the mixing board, making him stumble. Scarcely had the engineer re-oriented himself before the older man's hands slid down past his belt, under his shirt, and seized his tight ass with firm, blunt fingers. Jeff gasped into Steve's greedy mouth as he was pressed urgently against the drummer's own swelling bulge. He shuddered, felt the wet patch in his jeans spread, and moaned, "Oh, my God, I can't believe we're doing this..."
"You think too much." Steve dug his fingers deeper into the tight ass muscles, then lifted him onto the edge of the mixing board in one effortless move. Keeping one hand in Jeff's trousers, he reached up to pull off Jeff's glasses and place them on the sideboard. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the condom box and lube that he had brought. Jeff swallowed slowly and his eyes remained fixed on them. His heart was galloping madly and the press of his hard cock against his zipper was becoming painful.
Steve placed a soft kiss over a spot on the engineer's neck where a pulse repeatedly jumped. Jeff's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so overwhelmed, so confused... so turned on. After murmuring, "Relax, mate, you know you want this," Steve released him, stepped back into the middle of the room, and stripped silently, efficiently. Jeff's eyes roamed over his strong, well-muscled body with undisguised admiration. Steve's physique was a marvel: unlike Pete, he scorned gyms and spent more time in front of a mixing board or TV set than a fitness instructor. He scoffed down one pizza after another during late night recording sessions, and enjoyed a beer binge like the next man. Physically, he showed no sign whatsoever of any of these vices.
When the young engineer's eyes took in Steve's fully erect cock, primed and ready for action, the admiration took on a strong nervous edge. At the risk of sounding like a descriptive clich�, the damned thing was huge. Porn star size: he'd heard rumors that Steve had had film offers. Trying to laugh off his growing anxiety, he said, "Shouldn't I make sure my health insurance is up to date before you come near me with that?"
Steve only smiled briefly before approaching. "Take off your clothes, Billings," he said.
"I-"
Steve didn't let him finish. The drummer hauled him off the edge of the board, turned him around, and bent him over the panel. "Enough talk," he said. "But if you want me to stop, you have to say so now. Or shut the fuck up."
Jeff opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't. He was dizzy, his head felt light, and the tight feeling of his trousers restraining his erection was now unbearable. He reached down, undid his zipper with shaking fingers, and tugged the jeans down over his pale ass. Steve, enjoying the obvious show of need, planted a warm palm on one nervous cheek.
"Don't worry, Jeff. We'll both enjoy this."
Steve reached for the bottle of lubricant. He poured a slow trickle onto his hand, then trailed a finger up and down Jeff's asscleft. The young engineer moaned deep into his forearm and thrust back, silently begging for something more invasive. Smiling in silent triumph, Steve then pushed a single finger in, starting a thrusting movement.
"Oh, God...."
"I told you that you'd enjoy it." Steve spoke as if he hadn't expected any other response. He'd had too much experience seducing both men and women to have any less than complete confidence in his abilities.
"Oh, my God... please...." Jeff begged, pushing back against the finger. After another minute, Steve poured some extra lube downwards, and a second finger pressed into Jeff's tight opening. He began to separate the fingers, gently helping the tight ring of muscle to relax. Jeff was squirming, trying to get the fingers deeper while he rubbed his dripping cock against the rounded edge of the mixing board. When Steve decided that he was loose enough, he worked a condom on, poured some lubricant onto his erection, then pulled the fingers out and replaced them with his cock. It was done so quickly that his young partner's body had no time to register pain, just a sudden elevation of pleasure.
Jeff screamed, not caring if there was a union of cleaning ladies roaming the building, and orgasmed hard: his thick white jizz was all over the sideboard and floor before Steve had sunk into him all the way. The drummer gripped his slender hips, enjoying the feel of his internal spasms gripping his cock. Careful not to explode himself, he started to thrust, reaching down to close his fingers over Jeff's slick and softening cock. Jeff cried out, and his cock started to fill again. Grinning wickedly, Steve angled his thrusts to aim for the prostate, combining that move with a handjob that had the engineer struggling and crying out again. It wasn't long before Jeff was shooting again, and this time Steve let himself go too: the contacting ass muscles drew an orgasm out of him that made him shout, throw his shoulders forward, and fall heavily against his partner's sweaty back.
They laid there for a number of minutes, reveling in the post-fuck afterglow. The room was heavy with the scent of sweat and semen. Then Jeff said throatily, "I think we'd better get to work now."
"Sure you're up for it?" Steve brushed a kiss against the back of his neck as he gently withdrew from him.
"For the first time in days, I know I am."
* * * * *
The resulting mix was a resounding success. Critics and fans alike agreed that "Spin Me 2003" had a production style unlike any of its predecessors.
"Wild, uncontrolled," Rolling Stone wrote.
"Recorded heat," Attitude Magazine enthused.
In their respective offices and lives, Steve Coy and Jeff Billings read these reviews and only smiled. The secret ingredient would remain theirs.
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