Grace Note

by Jane Davitt



def. A musical note, especially an appoggiatura, that is added as an embellishment, and is printed in small type and not counted in rhythm.


Bryan doesn't touch him with anything but a look, his eyes burning like spotlights, dazzling and clear. Will follows him off the stage, the tickle of sawdust clogging his throat, and they're kissing in the first dark corner they come to, shielded from sight by a flat from an ancient production of Chekov's The Cherry Orchard.

No one's ever kissed him with this much hunger, this much greed. It's long moments before he realizes that he's kissing Bryan back with a matching intensity.

"Fuck, fuck," Bryan moans into Will's mouth, the words perfectly enunciated, the final 'k' accompanied by a lick from Bryan's tongue that sends shivers over Will, the kind he associates with first nights and throwing up. "So good, did you hear us? Did you? In tune, on cue, perfect, we were fucking perfect together --"

He drives his hand down inside Will's pants, achieving his objective only because Will sucks in his stomach hard enough to make it concave, an unearned silhouette (he's been living on frozen dinners, coffee and donuts for weeks now). Bryan's fingers crook and curl and Will's cock, that's been a hard, demanding scream from the first strummed note from the guitar, groans out a low G, a reverberating howl. Or maybe that's coming from his throat. Kind of hard to tell.

He arches up into Bryan's touch and gives something back, his hands fumbling, busy. No way either of them will kneel even if Will's craving the wet, soft wrap of Bryan's mouth around his dick, arid, parched. Understudies kneel, bit part players suck and lick and swallow humbly, grateful for the chance to get some stardust sprinkled on them from above.

The two of them are stars after that performance.

So they bump and grind, a burlesque dance in the grimy, dusty corner, each holding a cock so subtly different from their own, and stare, glitter-eyed at each other, daring the other to break first, to come, to spill, sticky, hot, onto bared, waiting skin.

This isn't sex or a betrayal of significant others. It's just part of the music, a soaring note, a crescendo. The song had been good, but what star doesn't come back for an encore?

This is theirs, and the roar in Will's ears sounds like applause if he listens just right.


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