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Golden Dog

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Jensen stood on the bus with his fingers wrapped around the edge of an an overhead storage rack, bending forward until his shoulders ached, trying to breathe, trying to shake the nerves that were threatening to screw up an amazing opportunity. Golden Dog, he thought, fucking Golden Dog. It just didn't seem real, that he was standing in Golden Dog's tour bus getting ready to go out on stage when not much more than a day ago he'd been working temp jobs and taking studio gigs when he could get them, struggling to pay his half of the rent on the marginally-not-crappy apartment he was sharing in LA.

Chris was supposed to be the one who scored the awesome gig, touring with Golden Dog, but Chris had to go and break his arm tripping over his guitar case. No way did Jensen have any right to a touring gig with one of the biggest bands of the 90s, but Chris recommended him and they didn't have time to mess around with auditions. He took the phone call at work, ran across town to sign the paperwork, and twelve hours later he was on a plane to North Carolina to meet the band at their next show.

And yeah, okay, the 90s were a long time ago and Golden Dog was playing outdoor festivals and radio station promo events rather than sold-out stadiums, but it was still ten times bigger than anything else Jensen had ever done. Most of the guys in the band weren't original members, but the lead singer was still JD Morgan, and that was all anybody cared about. And if JD Morgan wasn't the same brooding bad-boy he'd been back in 1994 he still had the same bedroom eyes that had seemed to stare deep into Jensen from the cover of Rolling Stone all those years ago.

Back in high school, lonely and horny and deep in the closet, Jensen hadn't needed porn to fuel his fantasies when he had magazine spreads full of JD Morgan sweating on stage, lounging on motorcycles, and posing for the camera. He'd been all long legs, broad shoulders and that signature smoldering gaze, and thinking about him, listening to the deep growl of his voice, had held Jensen together and taken him apart more times than he could count. Jensen had been in college when JD casually mentioned in an interview that, yeah, he didn't discriminate on the basis of gender when it came to lovers. Even though Jensen was out to his friends by then, with broader horizons that included sex with real live guys, the scared teenager inside him had relaxed at that. Just a little.

And now it was 2009 and JD Morgan had gray in his beard and lines by his eyes, and he was still hot enough that just shaking the man's hand had left Jensen half-hard, uncomfortable in his jeans. Jensen's plane had been late, hours late, and Jensen's ride from the airport had taken him straight to the venue where the band's bus was already parked. He'd barely had time to meet everybody, then they sent him into the bus to change and get ready while they hung out with the guys from one of the other bands playing the festival.

Alone in the bus, Jensen felt like he was standing still for the first time since he got the phone call from his agent, and his head was spinning, his chest tight, the panic inside him growing until it was going to bust right out. He was too lost in his head, too focused on the sound of his own breathing and heart beat to notice the sound of the door opening and footsteps behind him. He jumped at the touch of a hand on his back and twisted around to find himself face to face with JD Morgan, their bodies scant inches apart. Being confronted with the six-foot-two, 3-D version of his teenage jerk-off fantasies wasn't exactly a recipe for calm, but anxiety about one man in front of him was more manageable than anxiety about a thousand strangers watching him on stage, and Jensen felt like he could breathe again even if his heart was still pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.

This close, Jensen could see the gray hairs in his beard and the lines next to his eyes, and somehow it all made him hotter than he'd been on any magazine cover. He smelled of cloves and pine with a hint of weed clinging around the edges. "Hey, um, JD, I mean, Mr. Morgan?"

JD shook his head. "Call me Jeff. You're Jensen, right?"

"Yeah." Jensen swallowed hard; his name on Jeff's lips was something he'd imagined too many times and he could only hope his face wasn't as flushed as it felt. "Sorry, I can be ready in a minute."

"Jensen, man, you've gotta relax. We have a little bit of time." He looked Jensen up and down, his gaze slow and lingering but not crude. "I could help you relax if you want."

"I'm not really into smoking up, but thanks anyway." Jensen tried not to visibly cringe, no matter how much he felt like a dork.

"Naw, man. That's not what I meant." Jeff blinked, those bedroom eyes heavier than before, then leaned in and pressed his lips to Jensen's.

Jensen froze, his head spinning with maybe this isn't real, maybe I'm asleep on the plane, maybe I'm still fifteen, maybe-- until Jeff's teeth nipping his bottom lip snapped him back into the present. He relaxed into the kiss and reached out to hold onto Jeff's arm as Jeff's hand cupped the back of his neck and pulled him in closer. Jeff's other hand was between them, his thumb tracing the hard line of Jensen's cock through his jeans.

Jensen gasped and Jeff shifted his head to murmur in Jensen's ear. "You want me to stop?" Jensen shook his head, his cheek brushing against Jeff's beard, and Jeff popped open the button on Jensen's jeans. "You want more?" His voice was deeper now, a threat and a promise, and Jensen nodded. "Say it."

"Please," Jensen said, pushing his hips into Jeff's hand, and he didn't have enough pride to keep the need out of his voice. Jeff pushed Jensen's jeans down lower on his hips then wrapped his long fingers around Jensen's cock, and Jensen was busy cataloging the sensations--the scratch of Jeff's leather bracelets against his belly, the cool metal of his rings. But then Jeff moved, twisting his hand, starting to work Jensen's cock, and there was no room in his head for details.

Jensen was nothing but a body, a form filled with thirty-six hours of tension and fifteen years of fantasy. He was exhausted and thrilled, overwhelmed and overfilled, and before he could even think about holding back his body let go. He came in Jeff's hand, hoping that somebody would hold him up because he wasn't sure where the floor was but he had a feeling it would hurt. His eyes were closed, ragged breaths shuddering through his chest, and he felt strong hands holding on to his arms, something firm under his ass, solid ground.

When he opened his eyes, Jensen saw Jeff standing in front of him with a satisfied smile on his face, wiping off his hand with a t-shirt. Jensen struggled to pull the fragmented bits of his mind together enough to make words. "So, uh, is this how you greet all the new guys?"

Jeff smiled, a little wicked, a little smug, but he didn't answer the question. "You good?" There was a hint of humor in Jeff's voice, but not the level of mockery Jensen thought he deserved for coming faster than a kid on his first date.

"Yeah," Jensen said, and it was true. He was sitting on a mini-fridge with his waistband digging into his ass, but he felt settled and calm, ready to play some fucking music. And that was a good thing because as soon as he could clean up and pull on the manager-approved jeans and t-shirt to replace his own jeans and t-shirt Jensen caught up with the rest of the guys, and before he had time to worry about it they were on stage.

Jensen watched the crowd through their first song, one of Golden Dog's biggest hits, but then he let them fade into the background and focused on the music--and on Jeff. Jensen had never managed to see Golden Dog in concert when they were at their hottest. In high school, his parents wouldn't have let him go to a rock concert on his own, and then in college he was too broke, but this was beyond anything he'd ever imagined. Jeff was an animal on stage, prowling with his guitar clutched to his hips, sweat soaking into his shirts, and when he'd come over to Jensen's side of the stage and lean into him the heat would carry the mingled smells of cologne and sweat. Jensen could almost taste him. He wanted to taste him.

Between sets, Jensen had just enough time to catch his breath and guzzle down some water, then they were back on stage. Jeff's voice came at him from all directions, from the man himself and from the sound system, and the fact that Jensen's voice was joining in on vocals--not singing in the shower or in the car, or quietly to himself in his bedroom at night--felt unreal and hyper-real at the same time.

When the show ended Jensen stumbled off the stage, drunk on exhaustion and adrenaline. He followed the other guys into the bus, but before he could figure out how sleeping arrangements were supposed to work the bus pulled up in front of a hotel. The manager explained that the next day's show was only four hours away on the interstate so they would get the luxury of real rooms. Jensen found a room key in his hand, and when he pushed the door open Jeff was standing inside.

"Oh," Jensen said, feeling stripped of words.

Jeff shrugged, looking strangely sheepish for a man who'd just mesmerized a crowd of strangers. "This is your room, actually. I'll leave if you want, but I thought--"

Jensen shook his head and pulled his jacket and his shirt off in one move. He looked back just long enough to see that the room's door had shut and locked behind him then closed in on Jeff and slid his hands up under Jeff's shirt. He was sweaty, they both were, but Jensen didn't want showers and soapy-tasting skin, and apparently Jeff didn't either. They stripped down in a fumbling dance of hard kisses and bumping elbows, and Jensen was glad he started first so he could watch Jeff's body come into view. The ink on his arms, the sturdy breadth of his chest leading down to slim hips and a cock that Jensen wanted in him.

They tumbled into bed, and Jensen saw that Jeff had come prepared so he crawled up to where he could reach the condoms and lube. He held a condom out to Jeff and Jeff reached out to hold it but didn't take it from Jensen's hand. "I can go either way, if you want?"

Jensen swallowed, found the words. "I want you to fuck me."

"Mmmm, yeah." The words vibrated low in Jeff's throat, and he rolled the condom on himself then took the lube from Jensen's hand. "And you're already on your knees, I like it."

Jensen got himself settled with his knees wider and a pillow under his chest as he sank into the stretch. His muscles were still warm from playing, his skin flushed with a new heat, and he pushed his ass back to meet the too-gentle touch of Jeff's fingers. Jeff held him still, broad hands wrapped around his hips, and set his own pace. It seemed to take forever, an endless tease of long fingers, and if he hadn't come just hours before he wouldn't have been able to make it.

Finally, Jeff bent over Jensen's back and spoke into his ear. "You ready?"

"Been ready," Jensen said, and Jeff laughed as he pulled back, but then Jeff pushed inside him and there was no room for laughter or impatience or anything other than pressure and friction and sweat pooling everywhere skin met skin. Jeff's hand wrapped around Jensen's cock again, but this time it was more. It was Jeff's whole body wrapped around Jensen's, it was motion that carried from the thrust of Jensen's hips to the twist of Jeff's wrist and back through both of their bodies.

"I'm close," Jeff panted. I'm--" He took in a deep breath then focused his energy on Jensen, working his cock, his other hand brushing calloused fingers over Jensen's nipples. Jensen trembled and broke and fell apart in Jeff's hands for the second time, and Jeff held him through it then started moving his hips again, thrusting fast and shallow until he groaned and came, his weight pressing Jensen down to the bed.

Jensen still hadn't figured out how to breathe smoothly again, but his thigh cramped and he pushed up enough to come off his knees then lay flat, facedown under Jeff's warm weight. After a minute, he felt Jeff move enough to pull out and take care of the condom, then he sank back down bring the warmth of covers with him. Jensen didn't know if Jeff would be there when he woke up in the morning; he didn't even know what he wanted. What he did know, as he drifted into sleep, was that the lonely kid inside him--the boy who'd been all wrapped up in hope and fear and want and need--was really, really fucking happy.