by
Harper, lead singer of glam rock sensation The Rade, knows his face, his body, and his voice are beautiful---so what if he secretly suspects he's an unlovable mess? He and his bandmates escaped a tortured existence in Fairyland years ago, and now they use their glamour and style to delight mortals instead of enthralling them. They love what they do, so when another band starts talking trash on their authenticity, Harper has to clap back.
Beck O'Leary, lead singer of hard rock outfit Fireborn, has three platinum albums and the perfect life, and he's miserable. His bandmates are a joke, his family is held together with emotional duct tape, and his writing is, for the first time in his life, uninspired. He starts trash talking The Rade out of a petty grudge, but then keeps doing it for the thrill he gets from Harper's livestreamed reactions. And hates himself for both.
When the two front men finally meet, they can’t deny their physical attraction. Sparks fly after a charity football game, but fan gossip takes a dark turn. Between Beck's disintegrating life and Harper's secret Fae existence, there's a lot to handle if they want to hang onto the magic they've found in each other. Or maybe two lead singers in one relationship is just too much?
Publisher: JMS Books, LLC
Editors:
Genres:
Pairings: M-M
Heat Level: 5
Romantic Content: 5
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Bisexual, Pansexual
Tropes: Coming Out / Closeted, Coming Out Later in Life, Cultural Differences, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone is Queer, Find Love and Come Out, First Time, Most Mindblowing Sex Ever, Smartass Twinks
Series Type: Continuous / Same Characters
“All alone at the party, O’Leary?” Harper asked sweetly, coming closer.
O’Leary stood but his gaze dropped again, seemingly to the space between the hem of Harper’s tight shorts and the tops of his thigh highs, where the lacy pink garter belt featured prominently. “I’m more of a people watcher at a party.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Harper hummed, holding out the second glass. “I brought you a drink.”
O’Leary accepted, his warm fingers brushing Harper’s champagne-chilled ones. He didn’t yank them away quickly or react at all, even. Interesting. “Is it poisoned?” he asked.
“Now why would I do that?” Harper kept it all as disgustingly sweet as he could.
Cameras began clicking all around them as people realized what was happening in the dark corner. Harper chuckled and winked at O’Leary.
O’Leary’s smile reached his eyes, finally, and he said, “Thanks for the ticket. Good show.”
READ MOREInteresting energy from him, considering the amount of shit he’d talked on Harper and The Rade recently. It was encouraging—if Fireborn was taking it in the spirit of fun, too, this could end up being a real trip. “Was it?”
“Yeah.” O’Leary raised the glass to his lips for a sip. “A little like going to the circus.”
Surprised, Harper burst out laughing. “That’s funny, coming from a professional clown.”
O’Leary’s eyes crinkled at the corners, twinkling. “Did you come over here to talk shit in front of cameras? Because I’m not really interested.” But those eyes said he was very interested. In all sorts of things.
Harper made a mock sympathetic face and sipped his drink. “Not really interested if I’m here to defend myself? Just when you’re alone with the cameras?”
Snap, snap, snap. Several of the fans were recording the interaction, though they weren’t close enough to get sound. The body language would tell the story well enough, though.
“Defend yourself? From me?” O’Leary flattened his free hand to his chest. “I’m selling your album for you, here.”
“Our album doesn’t need your help.” Harper moved closer, too close.
It worked; O’Leary took a step backward.
Harper leaned forward, heart hammering in his ears, then reached out, using his free hand to nudge O’Leary’s shoulder back. A gentle but firm push.
It could go either way. The anticipation was exquisite. No script, just two strangers, performing for their fans.
O’Leary sat back down.
Delighted, Harper leaned over him and said, into his ear, “Can I sit in your lap?”
“What?” O’Leary’s breath caught. It was small, barely there, so a human never would’ve noticed.
But Harper wasn’t human. And oh, he noticed. “No shade if you don’t want me to. But you’ve been fun to play off so far, and I thought you might want to drive them even wilder.”
Blinking, O’Leary leaned back just enough to catch Harper’s gaze again. A slow, understanding smile crept onto his face again. He nodded.
As much as Harper was enjoying giving the cameras and eyeballs on them a great view of his ass like this, he was even more eager to put it in O’Leary’s lap—for multiple reasons. The game was happening on at least two levels now, if not three, and Harper was here for it. He swung his legs over the arm of the chair, crossing them at the knee to display them in all their glory, and threw his free arm around O’Leary’s neck.
O’Leary’s hand pressed into his back, as if to support him there without anyone seeing. He smelled of tobacco and spice. Mortals had such sweet scents, sometimes. Harper resisted the slightly buzzed urge to lean into his neck and breathe him in deeply, but only just. The cameras were going wild; the chatter was focused on them. They had center stage, which was where they both shone.
O’Leary held Harper’s gaze as he raised his glass to him. “Fuck you, Harper Smith—if that’s really your name.”
Harper chuckled. You’ll be the last person to learn my true name, boy. He raised his glass in reply, saying, “And you, Beck O’Leary. Sideways.” He leaned in as if to kiss his cheek, but stopped by his ear to whisper, “Thanks for coming. This is fun.”
A moment’s hesitation, barely there, before O’Leary whispered, “It was mesmerizing, if you want the truth.”
Harper flushed with pride. “I did. Thank you.”
COLLAPSE
