Headliner by A.L. Morrow

Author:A.L. Morrow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: SourGirl Books
Published: 2021-10-27T16:00:00+00:00

Five

Jet

Jet knew the second he saw Skye head toward the piano—which, other than having a bit of beer spilt across the keys, was undamaged by the quake’s wreckage—that the other man had an idea.

He also knew better than to interrupt him.

Back in the day when he and Parker had just gotten together and couldn’t keep their hands off each other, Jet used to let his ex-lover distract him when he was writing music. At the time, the needs of his cock seemed more important than the fleeting inspiration of whatever muse was whispering in his ear. But inevitably, by the time he and Parker were done fucking, any good idea he’d been working on would have been sucked out of him, along with his cum. It took Jet far too long to learn that his cock would always be there, but the muse couldn’t be relied on.

She was an attention-seeking bitch like that.

Now, Jet watched Skye open the piano bench and take out a notebook and pencil before sitting down, and he couldn’t help wondering if he’d have as many Grammy awards as Skye did by now if, once upon a time, he’d listened more to his muse than his dick. It’s not like things worked out all that great for him and Parker in the long run anyway.

Kicking some of the fallen broken glass into a (slightly) neater pile on the floor, he made his way back to the sofa and scooped up his guitar from under the coffee table, where it had slid.

And he listened. He listened as Skye hammered out a few tentative, melancholic notes.

And he watched as Skye, apparently finding them acceptable, jotted something down on the pad he’d placed on top of the piano.

Then, Skye went back to the piano for more, tapping out a few more notes. He added his left hand to the mix, layering in a bit of bass clef to go with the treble. And he hummed something over them all. Something sad and lonely—but beautiful at the same time—like tears put to music.

Jesus, the guy wasn’t kidding about not all love songs being sentimental. He’s channeling some dark shit right here.

Jet could work with dark shit.

Skye glanced over at him, brows raised. “It’s good, right?”

Nodding approvingly, Jet plucked a few complementary notes on his guitar. The amp was trashed at this point—not that there was power for it anyway—so his chords came out soft and strangled, whisper-light. Haunting.

At the piano, Skye’s back went stiff, and he turned abruptly at the sound of Jet playing. His eyes were wide behind his glasses.

“I like that,” he said. “Keep going.”

Finally, they’d found the middle ground they’d failed to earlier. Goldilocks would be so proud.

Feverishly, Skye twisted back on the piano bench, making more notes on his paper. He tried out a few more bars on the piano, anticipating where Jet might go next. It was good. Really good. Depressing as hell, but amazing.

“Yeah—that’s it,” Jet told him, encouraging.

Skye smiled, glancing over at him as he hummed something else over it all.

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