Number One Fan. Narrelle M Harris
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what if we’re not famous? We’re alive. We’re here. We’re still making music. We still have fans, even. Intense, slightly unsettling fans.’
Milo huffed a laugh. ‘They’re all right. It’s only people we know who try to kill us.’ The laughter hovered on that threshold of broken, before Milo turned in Frank’s arms and kissed him fiercely. He crowded Frank up against the wall behind them, held his face, kissed and kissed him. Frank, arms around Milo’s waist, willingly let Milo set the pace.
Milo’s frantic kisses slowly softened, deepened. He licked at Frank’s lower lip, at the tip and edge of Frank’s tongue, while Frank responded with soft grunts of pleasure. Milo drew away in stages, ending in the simple press of his lips on Frank’s, before surging closer again, desire building where their mouths and bodies met.
Milo slotted his thigh between Frank’s legs and they ground slow and sweet against each other. Milo breathed hot against Frank’s throat, then sucked hard at the skin before licking to soothe the flush of red. Frank, head tilted back, whispered, ‘Don’t stop.’
Milo sucked on Frank’s lower lip, smeared kisses across his cheek, bit gently at his ear, in between unbuttoning Frank’s shirt. Frank, pliant, held onto Milo’s waist, rubbing his thumbs against the skin of his boy’s hips, gasping when Milo tweaked his budded nipples.
‘I could have you right here on the balcony,’ Milo murmured, before suckling another rosy bloom onto Frank’s chest. He admired the effect, brushing over it with his thumb.
‘You could,’ Frank agreed breathlessly, admiring in his turn the difference in their skin tones, Milo's sun-kissed olive skin against his own paler chest. He could feel the calluses on Milo's fingertips as Milo brushed them over Frank's deliciously gooseprickling body.
‘I’m not giving the world a show,’ Milo replied gruffly. ‘I’m keeping you all to myself.’
‘Yes.’
In the bedroom, they stripped and Milo took his Geelong scarf from its hook. He pushed Frank onto the bed, straddled his thighs to pin him down. He kissed Frank’s mouth, his shoulders, his chest. Nipped the skin, not hard, then kissed again. He tied Frank’s wrists in the scarf, and tied the scarf to the headboard.
Frank could have escaped the bonds in a moment, but all he did was stretch and arch and surrender, while Milo teased and kissed and explored. Licked and suckled and mouthed and sucked. Caressed and rubbed. Kissed. Lifted. Pressed close and rolled his hips as Frank pushed up to meet him.
Sometimes, this was exactly what they needed. For Milo to take complete control; for Frank to at last relinquish it. They came in panting breaths and shuddering sighs of pleasure, release, relief.
Afterwards, Milo left Frank tied to the headboard while he cleaned them up with wipes, dotting kisses over Frank’s face and chest as he did; over his thighs and calves.
Frank, eyes closed, squirmed and laughed. ‘Tickles.’
Milo kissed his bicep. ‘I should take a photo of you like this.’
‘Add it to your collection.’
‘You’re the one who wrote the song about dick pics.’
Frank only grinned unrepentantly. Milo loosened the scarf at last and snuggled in close before pulling up the blankets.
‘Do you know what would make this house perfect?’ asked Milo, his face tucked against Frank’s throat.
Frank wrapped his arm around Milo. ‘A herb garden?’
‘We should get a cat,’ said Milo.
Chapter Four
The morning sun bled in through the uncurtained window and fell in a muted glow across the bed. Frank mumbled a complaint and burrowed into the pillow on the other side of the mattress, then woke at the absence of a warm body to cuddle into. He clutched at the cold pillow and tried to go back to sleep. He could hear Milo singing downstairs.
There are 132
Reasons why I’m not over you
Toast popped. The fridge opened and shut.
I keep an account of every one
But still, we are absolutely done.
‘You coming down, Bear?’ Milo shouted up the stairs.
‘G’waaaaaaaaaaay,’ Frank grumbled muzzily.
‘Coffee’s on!’
Frank dragged himself out of bed and pulled on a dressing gown while Milo sang on. He padded into the kitchen just as Milo reached the hook.
You’re a monster in a man suit.
Milo grinned at Frank. ‘That song’s going to be a hit for Gabey. The album is going to make her name. And yours.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Come over here with your morning breath and gimme a kiss, my grumpy Bear.’
When Frank only blinked sleepily, Milo pushed a cup of coffee into his hands. Frank sipped gratefully.
‘Coffee breath kiss, then?’ Milo suggested hopefully. Frank tilted up his face and puckered his lips. Milo dropped a peck on his mouth.
Frank sipped more coffee and his brain cells began to stir. ‘Why in the name of everything holy did I have to fall in love with a morning person?’
‘So someone could make you coffee for the only two hours of the day when you don’t function as the most organised man in the southern hemisphere.’
Milo went back into the kitchen and Frank followed automatically behind. He leaned against the island bench, sipping espresso, while Milo stirred nuts and honey into some yoghurt.
‘You wearing anything under that robe?’ Milo asked, putting the yoghurt and a spoon on the bench for Frank.
‘Nope.’
‘Good man.’ Milo slid a hand up Frank’s thigh, patted his backside, gave Frank another kiss then turned to the fridge to fetch milk for his own coffee. He was singing a different song now.
You’re sending me a message
Are you telling me you love me
And sending me a selfie full of skin tones?
Frank, grinning, sipped again, then swapped coffee cup for yoghurt.
The dick pic song. Their old label would never have let them release that one. Hell, none of their songs since Ain’t Love Grand had been in the image Parrot Records wanted to project of Duo Ex Machina. Milo had thrown a spanner in those particular works by outing them on national television, even before his breakdown. Their history was one of the reasons Frank had been so keen to work with Gabey when she’d asked. She was shaking off an ill-fitting image as well. Nobody who’d written songs like 132 Reasons and Shotgun Breakup was ever going to wear the sugar-coated songbird sweetheart mantle for very long.
In the kitchen, Frank’s very own songbird sweetheart – dressed in running shoes, bum-hugging track pants and a loose T-shirt – was pouring a tall glass of orange juice, humming, and generally being devastatingly gorgeous, relaxed and happy, yesterday’s anxieties banished by the new day.
‘You’re meeting Gabey at the Toff today, aren’t you?’ Milo asked.
Frank swallowed a mouthful of breakfast yoghurt. ‘At eleven. Gabey hasn’t sung there before so I want to show her around before Thursday. Check out the set-up.’
‘Perfect. I’ll drop into Hardware Lane and do some admin. Tessa wants to set up an in-kind donation side of the Foundation for instruments, since the Mildura thing went so well.’
Frank’s expression must have betrayed concern. Milo halted in front of him. ‘I’m good, babe. Even when I take the stairs. Keeps my arse tight, yeah?’ A lascivious grin.