Imperfect Harmony (12 page)

“That’s okay. I just got the chicken out to rest. I’ll put the veg on now you’re here.”

“Need help with anything?”

“No, it’s all done.”

“Yeah, you get to wash up, you lazy bastard,” his brother, Max, said from the table where he was laying out knives, forks, and place mats. “I peeled, like, a million potatoes and carrots earlier.”

“What a hard life. My heart bleeds.”

Max grinned. “I’ll take the peeling over the washing-up any day. Where have you been, anyway?”

“None of your business,” Rhys said automatically.

He and Max made a point of being barely civil with each other. It was a matter of sibling pride to refuse to answer even the most reasonable of questions, though they didn’t actually get on too badly these days.

“Ooh, mysterious. Have you got a secret boyfriend we don’t know about?”

“Fuck off!” Rhys bristled. Max had hit a little close to the mark with his teasing. Not that John was a boyfriend—yet. But he was something, and definitely not something he wanted to discuss with his seventeen-year-old nosy wanker of a brother.

“Rhys,” his mum said in warning.

“Sorry, Mum.” Instead he settled for glaring at Max, who grinned innocently. “I was working through some songs for Beech House with someone from my choir. He’s a pianist and yesterday he performed with me there. It went well, and he’s up for doing more.”

Rhys found himself thinking about what else John was up for more of, and flushed. Thankfully his mum and Max didn’t notice.

“Oh, that’s good,” she said. “It must be nice for you to have someone else to work with. I guess you’ve got more scope with another voice and a second instrument. Is he good?”

“He’s really good. And yeah, I think we’re going to be a great team.”

Rhys didn’t hear anything from John before Tuesday—not that he’d particularly expected to. John had his phone number from when Rhys had texted him the address of Beech House, but Rhys figured John might be too shy to use it. Maybe it was a generation thing too. People in their forties seemed less welded to their phones than Rhys’s age group.

Finally, Rhys caved on Tuesday morning and sent a text to John at around eleven thirty.

Just checking we’re still on for this evening?

He felt paranoid when he didn’t get a quick response. Maybe John was having second thoughts—not about the music part, but about the sex part.

Rhys tried to go back to the arrangement for “I Can See Clearly Now” that he was working on for the choir, but he couldn’t focus. The harmonies were tricky and no matter how many times he listened to the original track, they eluded him. It was like trying to hold water in his cupped hands. In the end he put his earbuds in, put the song on repeat on his phone, lay on his bed, and closed his eyes. Maybe if he listened to the track enough times, he would absorb the harmonies by some kind of aural osmosis.

When the text alert cut through the music, Rhys snapped his eyes open; his heart beat hard.
Finally
. That had been one of the longest hours of his life.

Yes
was all the first message said.

Another followed immediately after.
Sorry I didn’t reply sooner. The kids aren’t allowed to use their phones in class, so neither am I
.

Rhys immediately felt stupid about being paranoid. Of course, John was a teacher.

Oops, sorry. I hope you had it on silent.

Yes, but the vibration made me jump, which gave me away
.

Rhys chuckled.
You don’t get many texts, then?

Not usually, no.

Not ready for the exchange to end, Rhys lay back again, pondering how to respond.

John beat him to it.
I’m looking forward to seeing you
.

His honesty made Rhys smile. He liked how straightforward John was.
Me too
, he replied, then added,
I’m also looking forward to practising… things
. Rhys might as well be as upfront as John.

There was a short pause, and then
Just to be clear. You’re not talking about music are you?

Nope,
Rhys sent back with a smiley face.

Phew. But as I’m in the school dinner queue wearing suit trousers with my shirt tucked in, I need to stop this conversation now
.

Rhys snorted at the thought of poor John getting hot and bothered in public, and then he started to get a little hot and bothered himself as he imagined John’s cock growing hard. Rhys had barely even touched it during their last encounter; he’d only felt it through John’s clothes—it had felt pretty impressive—and then later against his stomach after he’d come. That was all. There were a lot of things they needed to work on tonight, and Rhys was imagining some of them right now.

Okay, see you later
, Rhys replied, unbuttoning his jeans with his free hand. He was half-hard already, and his work could wait for five minutes.

Being self-employed was awesome.

It was raining when it was time to leave for John’s. Rhys knew his mum would let him borrow her car if he asked, but then he’d have to get it back to her for the morning. John had made no indication that Rhys would be welcome to stay over, but Rhys wanted to keep his options open just in case. He put on his waterproof trousers and jacket and hesitated, trying to decide between his helmet and a hat. Then he remembered John’s frown of concern when Rhys had cycled without one after their first gig at Beech House, so he put the helmet on. At least it wasn’t particularly cold for January.

Cycling with a guitar strapped to your back wasn’t exactly comfortable, but Rhys was used to it, and John’s house was only about five minutes away if he cycled fast. It would have taken twenty minutes or so to walk.

When he arrived on John’s doorstep, Rhys was breathless, hot inside his waterproofs, and his heart was thumping hard—only partly from the exercise. “Hi,” he said when John opened the door.

“Oh my God, you cycled in this?”

“Yeah, it’s vile. Sorry. I’m going to drip all over your floor.”

“It doesn’t matter. Come in.”

Rhys shrugged the guitar off his back and then took off his waterproofs and wet shoes.

“Here, let me.” John took Rhys’s coat and waterproof trousers, and hung them up on the coat hooks by the front door.

Rhys unfastened his helmet and passed that to John to hang up too. He ran his hand through his hair; luckily there wasn’t much of it to hold water, but his fringe was dripping on his face.

“Go and dry off a bit. The bathroom’s directly opposite the top of the stairs. I’ll go and put the kettle on, unless you’d prefer something stronger? I’ve got beer or wine?”

“No, a cup of tea would be perfect, thanks.” Rhys was cooling down fast now he’d taken off his layers.

“How do you take it?”

“White, no sugar.”

After he’d dried off his hair a little and mopped up the water that had trickled down his neck, Rhys went back downstairs. He followed the sound of the kettle to the kitchen. “All dry now.” He leaned against the counter near John. “Well… dry-ish.”

John looked up from where he was pouring water into a teapot. “Good.” When he’d finished pouring, he moved to stand in front of Rhys. “So, how are you?”

John was close enough to touch, so Rhys took that as an invitation. He put his fingers through the belt loop of John’s jeans and tugged him nearer. “I’m good, thanks,” he said softly. “You?”

John moved closer still. With Rhys leaning back, his legs spread a little, John towered over him. Rhys liked it. He looked up at John from under his lashes and licked his lips.
Go on, kiss me. You know you want to
.

Rhys didn’t want to make the first move. For all his physical size, John gave him the impression of a nervous animal that might bolt if he made a wrong move.

John caught one of the blue strands of Rhys’s hair between his fingers. “I like this colour.” His gaze pinned Rhys with its sweet intensity. “It brings out your eyes.”

Finally he leaned down and kissed Rhys softly. Rhys kissed him back, relief and warmth rushing through him in a happy surge. John’s lips on his already felt so right. The kiss made Rhys get hard, but with no sense of urgency about it. So when John pulled away and said, “That tea’ll be ready,” Rhys didn’t mind. They had all evening.

“Music time?” John suggested when he’d poured out two mugs of tea.

“Yeah.” Rhys had a feeling that if they skipped to the other part of the evening, they might never get back to the music practice, and they could do with polishing up some of the songs for Saturday.

In the music room, Rhys was pleased to see John reach for his violin with no hesitation.

“Can we start with ‘Danny Boy’?” John asked. “We never got around to putting the violin and guitar together last time, and I have some ideas for a low harmony part in the vocals too.”

“Of course. That sounds great.”

It was.

Their voices blended beautifully and the haunting tones of the violin were perfect for the instrumental parts over the acoustic guitar. They experimented a little until they were happy with it, and then played and sang the whole thing through.

“Perfect,” Rhys said when they’d finished. “That’ll go down a treat with the residents. They love those old favourites, and the violin part really makes it.”

John smiled. “It’s good to be playing again.”

He looked so pleased and proud it made Rhys want to kiss him. But there would be plenty of time for kissing later. “What do you want to do next?”

They tried a guitar and violin version of a couple more songs. Then they worked on a few of the pop songs that didn’t need the violin. They messed around with the vocal harmonies a little and perfected them.

Later, John switched to the piano for the ones that worked better with that accompaniment. Again, they ironed out the vocal harmonies and had some fun experimenting with what worked and what didn’t. They finished with “You Make Me Feel So Young.” John had practised it the day before, so he was confident with the piano part and was able to sing as well as play. Rhys split off on the harmonies this time and they hammed it up, enjoying the sweet, cheesy lyrics and emulating the singing style of the era.

When they finished, John was smiling. “That was fun,” he said.

Rhys grinned back and something flowed between them, warm and happy, making Rhys’s heart lift. Impulsively he put a hand on John’s shoulder and leaned down to kiss him. What Rhys had intended to be a quick kiss turned into something a little longer. John captured Rhys’s face with both hands when he tried to pull away, so Rhys squeezed himself between John and the piano and straddled his lap. Sitting like this, Rhys could feel it as John grew hard under his arse. Rhys was getting hard too. John’s kisses stole his breath. It felt so good to rediscover this side of himself.

Rhys threaded his fingers into John’s hair and moved his lips away from John’s mouth, kissing his bearded cheek and jaw, seeking out the soft, smooth skin on his neck.

John shivered as Rhys licked him there, and his thighs flexed as he tried to buck up against Rhys. “You make
me
feel so young,” he murmured. “Like a horny teenager with no self-control.”

Rhys chuckled. “I’m glad I make you feel like that.”

John tightened his grip on Rhys’s hips, pulling him down against the hardness in his lap. “Shall we take this upstairs?”

“Yes.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

They undressed each other between kisses until the floor was littered with clothes. John sat on the edge of the bed and Rhys stood between his parted thighs looking down at him. John’s dark eyes were full of heat and intensity that made Rhys’s cock jerk. John grinned and took it in his hand, stroking slowly and making Rhys bite his lip.

“Can I suck you again?” John asked.

“If you insist.” Rhys tried to tease, but it was spoilt when his voice came out tight and strained. And when John leaned forward to take him into the wet heat of his mouth, Rhys couldn’t hold back a groan. His balls felt heavy with the need to come already. There definitely weren’t going to be any performance issues today. Being with John felt natural and right; any nervousness on Rhys’s part was long gone. John seemed comfortable too.

John sucked Rhys expertly. Rhys didn’t try to hold back his responses and John paid attention, noticing when he did something that made Rhys gasp or that made his knees wobble, and then doing it again. When Rhys felt his balls draw up, the coil of orgasm tight and almost inevitable, he stopped him. “I don’t want to come yet.”

John released him; a string of pre-come linked them until John wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The cool air of the room hit Rhys’s sensitive skin. The head of his cock was shiny and wet like John’s lips. Rhys looked down and saw John was rock hard, and the tip of his cock was wet and leaking.

Rhys dropped to his knees as saliva pooled in his mouth. “Can I?” He looked up at John, waiting for him to give the go-ahead. John nodded.

Rhys paused to admire John’s cock for a moment. It was lovely: uncut, average length, but thick and perfectly straight. If there were beauty contests for dicks, John’s would surely be a contender. Rhys licked it first, making it bob with anticipation, before parting his lips and sucking. The weight and thickness felt amazing on his tongue and the musky taste sent Rhys’s own arousal spiralling higher as a burst of pre-come flooded his mouth. He made a sound of appreciation and John groaned too, putting his hands on Rhys’s head. He didn’t try to guide Rhys’s movements but caressed him lightly with his fingertips, breathing hard.

Rhys took him deeper with each slide of his lips, testing to see whether he could take him all. He gagged. Maybe not, then, but that didn’t stop him trying. He went for it again, opening up his throat and trying to control the reflex. He gagged again.

“Rhys, Jesus,” John muttered, his hands tightening on Rhys’s head.

After a few more attempts, Rhys gave up going so deep and focused on the top couple of inches, using his tongue as well as his lips until John pulled his head away with a hoarse “Stop!”