Robbie's point of view
“Claire will go with you,” Tom said, seated in my living room, tapping away at his laptop, almost certainly typing emails about me. I’d called him that morning to tell him I’d decided to leave.
“Your flight’s tomorrow evening. That gives you time to pack,” he added.
I was slumped comfortably in an armchair, absentmindedly picking out a melody I’d just come up with on one of our bass guitars. Dylan, who’d been hanging out with me all afternoon, was scrolling through something on his phone.
“Tom, I don’t need a frigging babysitter,” I said.
“Claire’s coming with you,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And Michael, of course. I just want to make sure you go where you’re supposed to go. She won’t be at your beck and call, but I want someone in L.A. while you’re there, and she’s more than happy to come.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Fine,” I said.
I knew neither of them would be hovering over me anyway. I needed Michael. He was one of our bodyguards, and I felt a lot safer with him around, even if I wasn’t recognized as much in the States. He wasn’t the puppy-dog type either, he’d only tag along if I asked. As for Claire, one of our publicists, knowing her, she’d probably agreed just for the excuse to see her L.A. acquaintances and enjoy herself while getting paid.
“You know you can call me anytime,” Tom said. “Day or night.”
“Why would he need to call you?” Dylan asked.
“I don’t know,” Tom replied. “I’m just saying… he can.”
“Well, considering the time difference,” Dylan said with a laugh, “yeah, call Tom, dude.”
Tom chuckled, closed his laptop, and stood. “Alright, chaps. Have a nice evening. Claire should be here tomorrow after lunch, so please be ready. And don’t go out tonight,” he added, fixing me with a look.
“Like he’s gonna let me,” I said, pointing at Dylan.
“Just dinner and a movie,” Dylan replied.
“I’m a fantastic third wheel,” I grinned.Haut du formulaire
Bas du formulaire
----
After Tom left, Dylan suggested we play some 2K18 at his place before his girlfriend, Alicia, got back. Since I didn’t feel like packing - or thinking - I agreed.
We were halfway to the door when he stopped.
“That thing you were playing earlier, what was it?”
I glanced back. “You liked it?”
“Yeah,” he said easily. “It sounded good. I’m glad you’re writing again,” he winked.
I smiled, "yeah, it might become a song. It’s been looping in my head. I don’t know what it wants to be yet.”
“Did you record it?”
I shook my head. “It changes every time I play it.”
“Then let’s trap it before it escapes.”
I hesitated.
Dylan’s hands settled on my shoulders and he gently turned me around. “Two minutes in the studio,” he said. “Just so you don’t forget it. And if you can’t finish it… Mark will.”
I nodded, and we walked toward the studio instead of his place.
Everyone seemed convinced that Mark and I were fine. Dylan, especially. He kept offering explanations like they were facts. Mark was annoyed about the band, about me pulling away, about the coke. He’d gone to New York to finish editing the album. He wanted me in L.A. while he was there. Space would help.
I wanted to believe him. I really did.
But I knew there was more to it than that. Mark wasn’t just away for work. He wasn’t on some temporary detour that would end with him walking back through the door, unchanged.
I couldn’t take comfort in the idea that everything was fine between us, that this was just a phase we’d ride out. I was painfully aware that the strength of our relationship was being tested, and that the past few months had given it every reason to fail.
He wasn’t coming back because he needed time away from me - and he needed time away because, after almost ten years together, he had started questioning the strength of my feelings for him. Maybe even his own.
I had no doubt that he loved me. What he didn’t love was the person I had begun to turn into. And I couldn’t blame him, I didn’t love that version of myself either. By going out too much without him, by failing to give him enough time or attention, by drifting away from the things we had always loved doing together, by not showing him often enough how much he mattered to me, I had hurt him. And he wasn’t willing to accept that kind of hurt.
I think he felt like he was slowly losing me. And the truth I was finally forced to admit was that I didn't know where we stood and that scared and frustrated me just as much as it did him.
Because of his parents, he had always struggled with trust. Love was never something he’d learned to take for granted. The people who were supposed to love him unconditionally never really had. So my love had mattered to him more than I’d allowed myself to realize. He needed to know he didn’t have to doubt it. That I would always be there. That I would take care of him. Want him. Adore him. Maybe even worship him.
And I did.
I loved making him feel wanted and desired. And I loved letting him take control, because I needed him to, and not just sexually, but emotionally too. I knew, deep down, that this was something I couldn’t afford to fuck up in our relationship.
The first week without him was awful. I was sad, worried, bored out of my mind, and I missed him like crazy. I wasn’t used to being alone. Not really alone. Not in our apartment. When I was home, he was always there too.
We never got bored together. There was always something, or someone, to talk about, to laugh at, to joke about. There was always something to do, and whatever it was, it’d often lead to sex.
I’d hoped that apologizing would be enough. That I could convince him to come home. But he was stubborn. And he had the upper hand. In New York, he was busy. Working on the songs we’d recorded could swallow entire days, and he could make me suffer for over a month if he wanted to, longer still if he decided to go to France.
When I got back to London, Dylan decided to keep me under constant supervision. He and Alicia wanted to see me every day. It annoyed me a little, but I knew why they were doing it, so I let it slide.
Then my parents showed up, which meant more talking, more explaining, and more crying into my mum’s shoulder. They stayed for a week, made me promise I’d go to L.A., and then left.
And suddenly, there was nothing.
Jordan and Damon weren’t coming back. Dylan had decided to channel his sixty-year-old father, apparently in a deliberate attempt to make me desperate enough to leave.
For a few days, the only thing I could bring myself to do was meet up with a handful of close friends, anything to stave off the crushing boredom. The LGBT community in London was incredible, and we had a tight circle, people I could casually hang out with or disappear with to private parties. London felt like home now. Truly. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
Mark and I had talked about buying a place in the Turks and Caicos, a getaway, somewhere to breathe. For a moment, I considered going there to recharge, now that I no longer had responsibilities toward the band. But if I was being honest with myself, there was only one place I should have been considering.
L.A.
And L.A. meant therapists. Conversations. Digging things up I’d rather leave buried. The idea of it all felt daunting, overwhelming. More than anything, I wasn’t ready to admit, to anyone, least of all myself, that I actually needed to go.
-----
After spending the evening with Dylan and Alicia, I went back to the apartment to pack. The moment I stepped into the walk-in closet, it was impossible not to think of Mark. Everything in the apartment made me think of him, but the closet most of all.
I couldn’t really tell his clothes from mine. It hardly mattered, most of them were ours. Some he liked better than I did, some fit him better than they fit me, and vice versa. We could pull off just about any look, though over time we’d given the band a distinct style of its own. Shoes were the only thing we didn’t share. We didn’t have the same taste in footwear, or the same size.
As much as I loved traveling, I hated packing just as much. We lived out of suitcases so often that the constant cycle of packing and unpacking had become exhausting. Mark had always been better at it than I was, more methodical, more organized. That was just how his mind worked, in everything he did.
We owned so many clothes that choosing what to take felt almost pointless. I grabbed a few things at random and decided I’d buy whatever else I needed in L.A. if it came to that.
Once I was done, I stripped off my shirt and jeans and pulled back the covers. Before getting into bed, I stopped in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom and really looked at myself.
I hadn’t taken very good care of my body over the past few months. It felt like I’d been punishing it - neglecting it, at the very least. I hadn’t exercised much, but I hadn’t gained weight either. If anything, I’d lost some, mostly muscle. My frame was leaner now, though my muscles were still defined. I’d let my chest hair grow out a little, evenly spread, light but unmistakably masculine. I liked it.
I knew Mark would have liked it too.
I liked to think I had strong singing and performing abilities, but I wasn’t foolish enough to believe my face and body had nothing to do with my popularity. My nose was straight and well-structured, my lips full. My jaw was strong yet somehow delicate. And my eyes, piercing green, as people often told me, were undeniably part of my appeal.
I liked the way I looked. Apparently, most other people did too. There was something about me that drew people in, though it was hard to notice it in myself. I wasn’t insecure about my body; I had no reason to be. But there were moments when I doubted whether I could live up to the person everyone expected me to be, on stage, in interviews, in the media.
I found myself thinking about fame again, about the invisible wall that seemed to block me from moving forward. How had I gotten here? I wasn’t sure. I knew how incredible my life was, how lucky I was. I didn’t want to complain or moan. I was painfully aware of the millions who would have given anything to be in my place - successful, adored, and openly gay.
Being the frontman of the band came with its own kind of pressure. I figured that if I only listened to the positive things people said about me, I could easily spiral into an uncontrollable narcissist. But if I focused only on the negative - like the homophobic abuse that had been creeping into my mind lately - I risked becoming an uncontrollable depressive. The trick, I realized, was trying to stay somewhere in the middle, to just be myself.
Easier said than done.
For a moment, I asked myself what I actually wanted. And the truth? I didn’t know anymore. All I knew was that I didn’t want to lose what I already had. I loved my job, as messy and exhausting as it could be, and I was risking it. I loved Mark more than anyone else in the world, and I was risking him too - for what? Parties? Alcohol? Drugs? Things I knew were just gateways to overthinking, to spiraling into negative thoughts that could hijack my choices and my life.
I had to look after myself. I had to try to enjoy what I had.
So I decided to leave. To break that damn wall once and for all.
----
Twenty-four hours later, Claire came to sit next to me a few minutes after the private jet had taken off.
“Rob, how would you like to do the James Corden Carpool Karaoke while you’re in Los Angeles?” she asked cautiously. “Maybe once you’ve finished the program? I could arrange it. You’ve always said you’d love to do it, and he’s requested you several times.”
“Yeah, that sounds fun… but honestly, Claire, right now, singing in a car with James Corden is the last thing on my mind.”
“I know, but maybe in a few weeks you’ll want to do it, and it has to be arranged in advance.”
I shrugged, not sure I was ready for that kind of thing, not yet anyway.
“Fine. Give it some thought. When do you want to start the program?” she asked. “A few days after you arrive, or right away?”
I sighed and grabbed my headphones.
“Alright, a few days it is!”
I laughed. “Knew you already had the answer.”
“Anything you’d like to do?”
“I don’t know… take me to Disney World?” I joked, laughing. Claire was a Disney enthusiast.
Her eyes went wide, her mouth falling open. “You know that didn’t fall on deaf ears!”
I grinned, and she rubbed my shoulder before returning to her seat.
I pulled out my phone and texted Dylan.
On the plane. You can go back to being 27 again! Enjoy yourself! Thanks for being there for me, mate.
He responded almost instantly.
Thank God! Sorry I was such an annoying dad, but you’ll thank me later. Text me when you land!
Then I texted Jordan, Damon, and Rachel. Jordan was the first to reply.
Glad to hear that. I’m sure you won’t regret it. Just focus on yourself. I got to New York this morning, Mark’s doing fine. We’re heading back to Dublin next week, alright? I’ll keep you posted. Don’t worry about him. I’ll kick Damien’s ass for you if he dares come too close! ;) Enjoy L.A.
I texted back, telling him not to hold back, that I should’ve kicked Damien’s ass myself a long time ago, and, of course, to look after Mark.
I wanted to call Mark so badly while we were still in the air. I almost did, more than once. But I knew how it would go. I’d repeat everything I’d already told him, and we’d end up circling the same conversation again, going nowhere.
All I really wanted was for him to know how sorry I was. How much I loved him. How much I missed him. How desperately I wanted us to be us again.
It wasn’t until after we landed that I finally decided to text him.
Babe, I’m in L.A. I wish you were here with me. I miss you, and I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again. I hope everything goes well in Dublin. Don’t let her hurt you, okay, but please call me if she does. I love you. I always have, and I always will. I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that. I promise I’ll learn from my mistakes ;)
I ended it with the words from our song Fix You, hoping he’d hear them the way I meant them.
We landed in L.A. on a Sunday. Stepping off the plane, the air hit me differently than I expected. Warm, sunlit, loud in a way that made London feel like a distant memory. Everything felt possible here - and terrifying. I had left behind the walls I’d built, the excuses, the routines. And now I had to face myself, my life, and Mark, all at once.
Since I wasn’t exactly eager to start the program, Tom and Claire had arranged for me to begin the following Monday. That gave me a full week to enjoy the West Coast - sun, beach, and a little time to just unwind.
For some reason, I had already received multiple texts from famous acquaintances who had heard through the media that I was in L.A., inviting me over. I turned them all down. I didn’t want to see anyone.
“Michael,” I said to my bodyguard early Tuesday morning, “I think I need a few hours alone. I’m just going to take the car myself and head out, alright?”
“That’s not a good idea,” he said. “You could get yourself into a real situation.”
“I’ll be careful,” I replied, pulling my baseball cap lower over my face and holding out my hand for the keys. “I don’t get recognized as much here. I just want to drive along the coast, be by myself a little. I’ll call you if anything goes wrong and I need rescuing.” I added the last part with a grin.
Michael shrugged and rolled his eyes but retrieved the keys, escorting me to the car and waiting until I was safely out on the street.
Being alone in the car was intensely liberating. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d driven myself anywhere. Either we had a driver, or Mark was behind the wheel because he liked it more than I did. It was another reminder of how different my life was from other people my age.
The car felt almost like it was driving itself. I didn’t know exactly where I was heading, except that the road seemed to be taking me toward San Diego.
Let’s do that, I thought. San Diego it is.
The day unfolded in a haze of sun, ocean air, and small roadside discoveries. I tried to enjoy the simple pleasure of being alone, pretending, if only for a little while, to be a normal twenty-seven-year-old.
--------
On Thursday, the week took an unexpected turn. Claire told me she’d been invited to a dinner party at a friend’s house and asked if I wanted to join her. I agreed.
As the car approached the large mansion, lined with dozens of parked cars, Claire’s excitement waned. “This isn’t exactly the intimate dinner party I imagined,” she murmured.
I shrugged. “The more, the merrier,” I told her.
Our driver opened the door, and we stepped out. Inside, the atmosphere was pleasant, but most of the guests were well into their thirties or forties, and I didn’t exactly feel like I fit in.
Then I noticed a familiar face. Sam Smith was there, he was in L.A. recording his second album with his band, and he was accompanied by two members of his group.
We quickly fell into conversation. Neither of us knew anyone else at the party, so we had plenty to talk about. We’d met a few times before, though I wouldn’t call us friends, more like acquaintances who shared a mutual respect and love for each other’s music. But being musicians, both European, both singers, and both openly gay, we had more than enough in common to make the evening enjoyable.
Sam was a cool guy, fun, sweet, talented. The kind of person you wanted around. He reminded me of Mark in some ways: we could joke about anything, dive into conversations without awkwardness, and just enjoy each other’s company. I knew I wasn’t going to get bored with him.
Dinner flew by. We talked easily about music, fans, concerts, travels, and the business in general. It was probably the most fun I’d had since Mark had left, and for the first time that week, I felt genuinely relaxed.
He’d lost a bunch of weight since starting his career, and it had completely changed him. His face was sharper, his features more defined, and he carried himself with a confidence I hadn’t noticed before.
Honestly, he looked like a different person.
It was impossible not to notice it, the old nervous self-doubt he’d carried before was gone. He seemed more comfortable in his own skin, more sure of who he was, and it showed in everything he did. He was openly gay in the way he spoke and moved and he was owning his identity without a trace of hesitation. I liked that. There was a relaxed energy about him now, which made it easy to talk, easy to laugh, easy to forget the awkwardness of the party around us.
I caught myself glancing at him and joking quietly to myself, and then to Mark in my head, about how this new, leaner version of Sam was dangerously attractive. Mark and I had often joked about having sex with him if we weren’t trying to behave ourselves - a ridiculous, completely impossible scenario, but one that always made us laugh. And, if I was honest, part of me couldn’t help imagining what it would actually be like to have a threesome with Sam. Even thinking about it made me grin and laugh silently, a guilty, teasing reminder of how absurd - and secretly thrilling - these little celebrity fantasies could be. I knew that if Mark had been here, we might’ve seriously considered it.
By the end of the meal, the room was buzzing. People were already a bit tipsy. Sam and I slipped onto a couch, glasses of wine in hand, though neither of us was really drinking, as we watched the party swell around us. The music had started at some point, and the energy of the room had fully shifted.
“Claire suggested I do the Carpool Karaoke with James Corden,” I said, leaning back and smiling.
“Did she?” he exclaimed. “Do it! It’s so much fun. I loved it.”
“Really? I don’t know. I’ve heard people moan about it, say it’s long and terrible.”
“Oh no. Mine was great. Really quick,” he said enthusiastically. “I had such a good laugh with him.”
“Yeah? With the Fifth Harmony girls?”
“Oh my God, yes! It was amazing! I had so much fun that day, I couldn’t believe it! I love those girls so much!”
I watched him and said mischievously, “You know, Jordan, our bass player, he had sex with Lauren.”
He stared at me, wide-eyed. “Nooo!”
“Yeah!” I nodded, trying to look serious. “He totally did.”
Sam laughed and turned to me again. “Wasn’t he dating Taylor Swift at some point?”
“Yeah, he was. But… he could hardly ever see her. And he’s got commitment issues,” I explained with a laugh, sipping my wine. “I think she was just a trophy girlfriend to him.”
“Once he got her, it took the fun out of it?” he asked.
“Probably, yeah. I’m sure he’ll settle down someday. Give it another ten years,” I said.
He sniggered. “He must be spoiled for choice, he’s a beautiful guy.”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “And very straight.”
He laughed and, jokingly, asked, “You mean he’s never wanted to experiment with his gay friends?” He wiggled his eyebrows, and I snorted.
“Jordan?!” I exclaimed. “No! No way!” I laughed. “I mean… actually… he’s always wondering about gay sex, kinda. Mark keeps teasing him about it,” I added with another laugh. “He’s always trying to see how far he’d go and stuff. But to him, it always stops at the guy’s dick. He’s like… ugh, nooo!” I made Jordan’s grossed-out face.
“That’s how I feel about vaginas!” Sam said nonchalantly.
We cracked up and finished our glasses. Then we grew quiet for a moment, watching the party swirl around us.
Finally, he asked point-blank, since I’d avoided the topic all evening, “So… where’s your significant other?”
“In New York,” I admitted. “It’s complicated. We’re taking some time apart right now… a bit of a rough patch, I guess.”
He looked at me and pouted. “That sucks. I’m really sorry. You two always seemed like such a strong, lovely couple. Total… goals, honestly.”
I smiled. “So… no one special in your life right now?” I wasn’t in the mood to get into more about Mark.
“Not right now. Still on the hunt for Mister Right… maybe I’ll get lucky someday.”
“I’m sure you will.”
“And then maybe I’ll start writing happy songs, like you do!” he said with a laugh.
“They’re not all happy,” I said.
“You have some at least. I keep trying to write happy songs, but they always suck.”
We laughed, and after a short moment, Claire came over.
“You guys look so bored,” she said, sitting down next to us. “Not having any fun?”
“Don’t be silly,” Sam said. “We’re just watching the revelry.”
“I’m afraid to admit that a lot of these people make a lot of noise but remain uninteresting,” Claire sighed, glancing back toward the party. “Do you guys want to get outta here?”
“Where do you suggest we go?” I asked.
“Gay club?” Sam exclaimed, looking at me inquisitively. “I know a really good one!”
“Sold!” I said, and Claire chuckled, shaking her head.
-----
Sam and I spotted a limousine parked outside and decided to try to convince the driver to take us to the club. He refused - several times. Convincing him turned out to be hilarious. Claire and Sam had urged a few other people to join in, so soon we were a small, desperate mob of about ten, all begging, entreating, and imploring the driver. He held firm - until paying him a ridiculous amount finally broke him.
We had a couple of drinks during the ride. Sam kept gushing about how glamorous it all felt, how it made him feel like a diva, and I couldn’t help laughing at how easily entertained he was.
When we arrived at the club, Claire and I got out first.
“Okay,” she said, squeezing my arm, “I know I’m a little drunk right now, but am I wrong in saying that Sam spent the entire ride staring at you?”
“I… don’t know,” I admitted, though I’d noticed it.
“He was looking at you like he wants to have you for an all-night dessert,” she teased.
“Claire, I don’t think setting me up with him is really part of your job description,” I said with a laugh.
“Whatever. Just… use a condom,” she shrugged, grinning.
“Come on, I don’t want to have sex with him,” I said, then glanced over at Sam and added jokingly, “Although… if it were possible, I’d totally have sex with his voice.”
Claire giggled, and we stepped inside the club. I couldn’t deny that she wasn’t entirely wrong. Just like at dinner, Sam’s attention was completely on me. He didn’t glance around at the other people or the crowd. It was… flattering, and maybe a little intoxicating.
I had noticed the jaw-dropping stares from a number of guys as we made our way up to the VIP area, but none of them dared approach us. We grabbed another drink and then decided to hit the dance floor. We danced long and hard, losing ourselves in the music, letting the rhythm take over.
Before we even thought about sitting back down, I felt Claire’s hand on my ass. She was slipping something into my back pocket.
“Just in case,” she whispered in my ear with a laugh. “I can see you and Sam are getting all drunk and chummy, and I just want to make sure you boys play safe.”
I slid my hand into my pocket and felt a couple of condoms.
“Are these… party favors they’re giving out?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Claire burst into laughter, kissed me on the cheek, and vanished into the crowd. I couldn’t believe her.
I walked back to Sam and plopped down next to him as he poured himself another drink. He raised his glass in a mock toast before downing it in one gulp. I mirrored him, and then we both turned our heads as Camila Cabello’s new single, “Havana,” blasted through the speakers.
I turned to Sam with a smile, curious to see his reaction. He gasped dramatically and stood up, flipping an imaginary mane of long hair over his shoulder in the most flamboyant way, which made me laugh out loud. The boy definitely loved to party.
“Wanna go dancing again?” he suggested. I couldn’t help thinking that Mark would have reacted just as enthusiastically to the song.
We returned to the dance floor, letting the music move us. At some point, Sam leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear as he murmured, “You could probably have anyone in this club if you wanted.”
I shrugged casually. “Yeah. Probably. But I’m used to turning them down.”
He pressed his left cheek against mine, it felt warm, slightly moist, and a little stubbly. His voice dropped lower as he whispered, “Let me tell you something. When you walked in at dinner, I was awestruck. I’ve always had a crush on you. And when we danced together… I almost came in my pants.”
I couldn’t hide my reaction. I was turned on by this sudden boldness on his part. The guy definitely had different sides to him. The alcohol clearly made him even more horny and more daring. He leaned in just a little closer, his lips brushing my ear again.
“Do you… want to have some fun?” he asked teasingly.
I raised an eyebrow at him, a mix of curiosity and disbelief. What the hell was happening?
“Come on,” he added, grinning, “if I’m gonna act like a slut, I might as well do it right.”
Rationally, I knew I should’ve stopped him. This was crossing a line. This was cheating on Mark, and I didn’t want to do it. And yet, Mark’s face flashed through my mind, along with the few times we’d joked about having sex with Sam. For a brief, dangerous moment, I whispered to myself that maybe Mark wouldn’t be too mad, that maybe we’d even laugh about it.
The alcohol loosened my inhibitions, the ache of missing Mark pressing heavy in my chest. My thoughts tumbled over themselves - guilt, desire, longing - all tangled together. My heart raced, my mind screamed to resist, but my body froze, caught somewhere between what I wanted and what I knew I shouldn’t. And before I could think better of it… I didn’t stop him.
He led me to the back of the club where the bathroom was located. We walked into one of the large stalls, slamming and locking the full-length door behind us. He pushed me against the wall and I could tell the surroundings were really turning him on. He was undoing my belt with a sense of desperation. In seconds he had it open as well as my jeans and dropped to his knees.
"I've always secretly wanted to see you hard," he said with a devilish grin, as he pulled down my jeans in one motion.
I let out a small laugh,
"Have you?"
"I love dicks," he said sensually, "I bet yours is a sight to behold," he smiled up at me, sliding his hand into my underwear, "yeah, very nice!" he whispered as he pulled it out.
It felt good to have my cock free, but it was quickly covered once again, only this time by Sam's mouth. All eight inches of it was covered in one swift movement.
I had to fight the thought - but I couldn’t stop myself from wishing it was Mark instead. So I closed my eyes and imagined it was him and it started to feel so good.
“Oh yeah,” I moaned and the sound seemed to encourage him. He began sucking for all it was worth.
Everything had unfolded so fast, too fast, and I had no fucking idea why I was letting it happen. I only knew it already had. I’d let things go too far, and now, caught between intoxication and desire, I didn’t have the strength, or the clarity to stop it. He pulled his mouth off my cock and started licking it all over. His left hand was playing with my balls while he struggled to undo his own trousers with his right hand.
I pulled him off of my cock and brought him up to a standing position, then guided him into my place against the wall, his back pressed to me. My hands slid down to his waist, pushing his trousers and underwear to his thighs. I was greeted by what looked in the dim light to be a nice round ass.
I started nibbling at his neck and the ear I could reach with my mouth. My left hand was against the wall while my right hand roamed all over his ass. It was covered in a sheen of sweat from our dancing, but it felt good. As I slid my index finger up and down his crack, I saw his right hand reach in front of him to start stroking himself. In the light I couldn't catch a good glimpse of his cock. I was just about to turn him around when I looked down to see my cock, hard and wet, millimeters away from his ass. I suddenly knew what I wanted.
"Can I fuck you Sam?" I asked bluntly.
"Do you have a condom?" he asked, while noticeably increasing the pace on his cock.
"Yeah," I answered.
Sam turned his head to the side, a mild look of apprehension on his face. He then nodded, and leaned his head against the wall, along with both his hands. I brought my fingers to his mouth, which he gladly began to suck on. Once they were really wet, I removed them and lowered them to his ass. I slid my index finger into the crack of his ass and found his hole. It felt tight and wrinkled, with a ring of hair around it. I slipped my index finger inside him and he sighed, slowly pushing back on it.
After sliding my finger back and forth a few times, I pulled it away and reached into my jeans pocket for a condom, tearing the wrapper open. Luckily, it was pre-lubricated, so I slipped it on quickly and got into position. I pushed my cock against his ass, lining up with his hole, and told him to take a deep breath as I eased the head inside. He was incredibly tight, which made me think he didn’t do this often, but he didn’t seem particularly bothered by it.
"Oh fuck, push it all the way in."
I did just that, sliding all the way in until I could feel his ass cheeks against my pubes. I withdrew slightly and then pushed all the way back in, causing him to make a high-pitched sound. My cock felt like it was on fire as I started fucking him. Every time I hit his prostate, he made the same ecstatic groan. We were both still wearing our shirts and sweat was pouring down both of our foreheads. Sam started masturbating himself again, with a pace a bit quicker than my own.
I slid my hands under his shirt and began caressing his chest, feeling the hair covering his torso, which was very different to what I was used to, Mark being tight, very defined and smooth. It was different, but not unpleasant.
And yet, it made me think of Mark. I just couldn’t get him out of my head. I wanted Sam to be him, and I realized I didn’t feel the same urge to explore Sam as I did Mark. Despite having had sex with Mark thousands of times, I still felt the need to devour him - to feel the muscles in his chest, trace every defined line, cup his perfectly smooth, firm ass, run my hands over his abs, caress and kiss his flawless skin. There wasn’t a single part of him I didn’t want to explore fully every time we were together. As I closed my eyes again, I couldn’t stop thinking of him. Sam wasn’t the reason I was so fucking hard.
I kept exploring Sam’s chest. I found his nipples and began twisting them. "Yeah, keep doing that," he told me.
I kinda liked all his suggestions and was happy to oblige. My climax was started to build and I increased the pace with which I fucked him. He began to push back against me with every one of my thrusts and was making all sorts of erratic noises.
I was breathing really hard, placing much if my weight on top of him. Suddenly he yelled out,
"I'm gonna cum, oh God!"
He began to frantically pound his cock. I placed my hand over the hand he was fisting it with and started urging him on,
"Do it! Do it!" I hissed.
Sam let out a long, low, guttural sound, and I knew he was cumming. When I first felt hot liquid pour over my hand, I let go and let my mind drift to Mark, imagining it was his gorgeous cock in my grasp. I knew that thought would push me over the edge and as expected, I lost it, coming hard, my body rearing into him.
It had been like a week since I had cum, and just from jerking off, so I hoped the condom could fit all the jizz pouring into it. Sam's orgasm lasted a really long time, and he continued to shake long after I felt any new liquid spurting. While I felt like I could have stayed inside him longer, once my breathing calmed down a bit, I slowly pulled out of him, causing him to make yet another strange sound.
He slumped his head against the wall while I went over to the toilet and took care of the condom and the cum covering my hand. I then walked back over to him with some paper and helped clean him up. He turned around and looked at me with a hard to read expression. Neither of us apparently knew what to say to the other. I guess we were both a little embarrassed. We both pulled our pants back up and left the stall. We silently washed our hands side by side. In retrospect I'm sure everyone was looking at us with wild curiosity, but I don't remember looking at anyone.
We decided to leave the club and caught a cab. I didn’t even tell Claire I was going, I just texted her from the back seat. The ride to Sam’s hotel was quiet, heavy with things neither of us seemed ready to say.
When we arrived, I turned toward him, opening my mouth, but nothing came. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say.
“Goodnight,” I finally managed.
“Goodnight,” he replied.
He pushed the door open and started to stumble out of the cab. Then he hesitated, and after a beat, slid back into his seat instead of getting out.
“Hold on a minute, if you don’t mind?” he said to the cab driver, who lazily waved him off.
“I think I’ve sobered up a little,” he added with a small laugh.
“What the hell were you thinking, fucking me at the club?” he asked, his eyes locking onto mine.
“What?” I said, confused. “You’re the one who started it,” I said, a little dumbly.
“Yeah, I know… I’m sorry,” he murmured, shaking his head and glancing down. “I realize I shouldn’t have.”
I let out a quiet sigh.
“Hey, don’t worry. I knew what I was doing. And I’m not even that drunk, I can get way more hammered than this,” I said, shrugging.
“Yeah… so can I,” he replied with a small smirk.
“You just made me think of Mark,” I said softly, “and I guess I’m feeling a little… sad and vulnerable right now.”
“Oh my God,” he hissed, leaning closer, “I took advantage of you. I feel awful. I just… wanted to see if I could, I guess.”
“Sam,” I said, putting a hand lightly on his arm, “seriously, don’t worry about it. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was the one who should have said no.”
“I don’t think he’ll be too mad at me,” I added, trying to sound casual. “Honestly, we’d probably just end up laughing about it. Maybe that’s why I didn’t stop you.”
“Really? Why?” he asked.
I giggled, looking at him for a few seconds before admitting, “We’ve joked about doing you a few times.”
“Have you?” he said, surprised. “Am I… on your list of people you’re allowed to sleep with without the other one getting mad?”
I laughed. “Sort of.”
He gasped and leaned back slightly, his grin wide. “I can’t believe this! I actually appeal to someone like you now!”
“Someone like me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, genuinely curious what he meant.
He leaned closer, one hand moving lightly up and down as it brushed against my body. “You’re…” he paused, looking me in the eye, “…beautiful,” he said simply, then added, “…and kind of unapproachable.”
I frowned. “Am I?”
“Well… I used to think you were a lot less approachable than you actually are,” he said.
“Really? I guess I’m just trying to protect myself,” I admitted.
He nodded slowly, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.
"So…," he said, he turned his head toward the door, looked outside the window and then looked at me once again, "you sure he's not gonna get mad?" His voice was worried. "I mean, I don't know what's going on between the two of you, but I don't wanna be the one responsible for you splitting up or anything."
I shrugged,
"Look, I'm not saying that he's not gonna care - but I don't know - Honestly, I'm pretty sure he's just gonna laugh about it," I said to ease his guilt.
He chuckled,
"Ok. Well, you made one my fantasies come true tonight. … Aren't you guys monogamous though?"
"Yeah, we are. I mean… if you don't count the occasional threesome."
His eyes widened. “You guys do that?”
"We did a few times. I can still count them one hand though," I said, not wanting to seem like a total slut.
“I’ve never done that. I don’t know… I’d probably be too jealous.”
“Yeah, but there was never any reason to be jealous. There were no feelings involved, and we didn’t know the guys. We knew we’d never see them again.”
He nodded, giving me his full attention again. It felt like the beginning of a long conversation. He wasn’t even thinking about getting out of the cab anymore.
“The thing with Mark is that… sometimes it’s a bit hard to draw the line.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… we grew up together. We’ve always been best friends. It’s like… we’re still playing together, like when we were kids… except now, we don’t quite play with the same toys,” I said with a small chuckle.
He laughed and seemed to understand. “I used to have a friend like that,” he said softly, “but he wasn’t interested in me.”
“Oh, believe me,” I replied, “back then I had no idea he was either - at least, not in that way.”
“Must be great.”
“It is,” I said honestly. “But I think we’re going to have to work a lot harder on our relationship. Take it more seriously. See, I didn’t use to be jealous.” I paused. “I am now.”
“Why?”
“Because… there’s this guy who’s been after him for a while.”
“Ouch. Who?”
“Someone we worked with on our last album. I know Mark saw him again in New York. I took it pretty hard. I hate the guy. It’s like his entire goal in life is to get between Mark and me, to steal him away. I don’t think anything will actually happen, but… I don’t know. Just thinking about it… it kills me.”
“Aww,” he sighed, his voice gentle, just kind. “Then do something about it. You know what you have with him. I genuinely haven’t ever had that - I really haven’t. It made me bloody envious the last time I saw you two together,” he went on quietly. “All in love and everything. What you have, that’s rare. Really rare. I guess it’s just not my time yet, so I give myself away too easily. But you… you have it, love.”
He shook his head slightly, almost smiling. “I’d give anything to have that with someone.”
Then, more gently than I expected, he asked,
“Wouldn’t you rather be with him than being here right now?”
“I would! But he doesn’t want to be with me right now,” I said.
“Why not? What did you do?” he asked, smirking.
I shrugged. “Too much of this, partying, drinking, going out, not spending enough time with him… and not giving a damn about the band anymore. I just let go.”
“Shit. And here you are, still doing it?” he said, slightly judgmental.
“Well,” I sighed with a light shrug, “I’m stupid.”
There was a pause before he said, “God, I feel for you. I’ve been through this too, you know.”
I watched him as he explained, “When I started working on new songs for my album, I went gay clubbing all the time, drank way too much, just partied hard you know. I really let go. And all the songs I was writing… they were terrible, because I wasn’t writing anything good. I was just… moaning.”
“Why were you doing it?” I asked.
“I think… because I was just sad at the time,” he said with a sigh.
“Yeah? I guess I was doing it because I wanted everything to stop.”
He studied my face. “You mean… the fame?”
“Yeah. And everything that comes with it,” I confirmed.
“Fame is definitely not what you think it’s gonna be. Once you realize that… I know what you’re going through. Believe me, I do. I remember this one night out in London, it got really mental.”
“Sounds familiar,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I had some mad nights…” I admitted.
“Me too,” he said, laughing. “I remember once I puked at the bar because I was so drunk.”
“At the bar?” I chuckled.
“But,” he added, “I did a shot of tequila, and it went down wrong. I just puked in my hand,” he laughed again, miming the action.
I laughed at the image. “I’m sure it was a great night though!”
“Oh, yeah. Great night,” he nodded, still laughing. “I remember it vividly.”
We both laughed, and I exclaimed, “Jeez, you’re worse than me!”
“Am I?” he asked.
“Maybe not,” I admitted. “I puked in the street once, in front of a couple of paparazzi.”
He gasped with a grin.
“They didn’t publish anything,” I told him. “Jordan had to chase them down and force them to erase the pictures.”
“Oh my god!” he burst out laughing. “That must’ve been epic! Do you all party like this in the band?”
“No. Just me and Jordan, really. Mark doesn’t like drinking much. He loves partying, but he’s never going to get properly wasted.”
“That’s good. I need a boyfriend who looks after me and doesn’t drink as much as I do.”
“Yeah, that comes in handy,” I said. “But I rely on him too much to keep me grounded. I know it. He’s getting tired of it. I have to rely more on myself.”
“Yeah? I’m the opposite. I ground myself too much. It can be really bad for my mental health. I’m very hard on myself… because, if I’m honest, I was just trying to have a good time.”
“Yeah, so was I,” I admitted.
“I see why he would be mad at you, though, if he’s not a big fan of drinking.”
“The thing is… Jordan and I did coke a couple times.”
He hissed. “Mmm… bad idea. That’s all you’ve done?”
“Well, we took ecstasy a few times too.”
He nodded, giving me another judgmental look. “Yeah… so, I’d say he has a right to be mad at you.”
“I know. I don’t blame him,” I sighed.
“You see,” he said, “that night in London… I woke up the next day, looked in the mirror, and I was just like…” He stared into space, slowly shaking his head.
“Enough?” I raised my eyebrows.
“Enough!” he repeated, nodding. “Like… what do you love? I love my job so much. I figured I have to grow up. I don’t want to do that to the fans, you know? Seriously… that feeling of canceling shows… it makes me feel sick. I never want to do that.”
“No, we’ve never had to… yet,” I said. Then I thought of Adele, who did. “Oh my god, when Adele cancelled those Wembley shows!”
“Oh my god, yeah,” he huffed, a little sad. “My heart broke. I felt so bad for her. It made me think… okay, I have to look after my voice.”
“Yeah. I really have to take better care of mine too,” I admitted.
“You know just as well as I do how difficult touring and singing live is. It takes so much energy. You have to take care of yourself, rest, and not overdo it. You’ve got a great voice, but you’ve got to protect it. I’ve learned that the hard way, I’ve taken much better care of myself recently.”
“Yeah, it shows,” I said with a small smile, feeling a little lighter talking to him. “I know I’ve been putting too much strain on my voice because I’m so worn out. We have to finish recording our album and then go back on tour… but everything’s on hold for now. I don’t know what’s going to happen. People are waiting for us to announce tour dates, venues are booked… but honestly, we’ve all had enough. Especially me. I don’t know if I have the energy to do it all over again right now.”
He reached out, lightly brushing a hand over mine, a small gesture that somehow made the confession easier. “I get it,” he said softly. “Believe me. You’re not the only one feeling that way. I understand. Everything that's happening to us is so scary in a way when you think about it."
"It really is. And being gay on top of that."
He laughed,
"Right! You know, you're like the only one. We're like literally the only two gay singers our age in the business. And you know what, I feel kinda lonely as a gay man in music sometimes. We should have each other's back."
I let out a small laugh,
"Yeah. That's true. There really isn't enough openly gay men in the music industry."
“Yeah, or women,” he said, suddenly striking a pose, like he was giving a speech. “We need to be strong! We need to be at the front, talking, shouting, so that kids living in the middle of nowhere can hear us, and hopefully be inspired.”
I smiled at his intensity. “That’s really all we’ve been trying to do lately. On our last tour, we’ve made a conscious effort to make a difference, to take things seriously. Traveling the world, meeting amazing people, seeing different aspects of the LGBT community…”
“Yeah, absolutely. Me too,” he said, nodding.
“We figured… we’re in this position, so we need to grow up,” I continued.
“Yeah. Learn more about the LGBT community, understand what’s going on in the world. We’re part of something bigger, but I feel like all I do is talk about myself in my songs. It’s all about me!” he exclaimed, a mix of frustration and passion in his voice.
“Yeah, but being in the position we’re in… it can be so daunting sometimes,” I said quietly.
“Yeah, it is,” he agreed. “But we’re gay. As far as I’m concerned, my music is gay, what I talk about is gay. And I think it’s so important to talk about that right now. I want to make people uncomfortable, because they should be. These are things we need to be addressing, things we should be talking about.” His voice was determined.
I nodded. “I need to be more comfortable in my own skin before I can do that again. It’s so challenging.”
“Yeah, of course. Right now, it’s not about what you can do for others, it’s about what you need to do for yourself,” he said gently. “You probably need to talk to people who can help you make sense of everything that’s happened. You have to let yourself feel the sadness, the negativity, and then come out of it stronger. I know you can.”
He paused, studying me. “The kind of success you’ve had, so young, it’s tough. And yeah, you’re right. Especially when you’re gay, that extra weight is always there. I can understand why you’ve had enough. It’s almost like you’re a solo artist, like me. They’re always after you, aren’t they?”
I sighed. “Yeah, they are. And it’s such a burden. I can’t do anything without being hassled. I don’t know, maybe because I’m gay, I seem to be extra fascinating to them.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he said with a laugh. “Lately, the media seem more interested in who I’ve snogged than in my music.”
“I hate that,” I said. “It’s like they think they’re entitled to every detail of our private lives. As if my love life belongs to them.”
“You need some time away from all this shit,” he said softly.
I looked him straight in the eye.
“That’s what Mark keeps telling me,” I said. “I think I just need a bit of anonymity. I’m way too famous. I used to think it’d be amazing, and then I gradually realized… it isn’t.”
“Yeah,” he said knowingly. “Because wherever you used to be able to go, you can’t anymore.”
“Exactly,” I chuckled. “And I love going out! So that’s a problem. I can’t be invisible anymore. I can’t be small. I can’t disappear. Sometimes I don’t even feel safe. Lately, it’s made me so sad… depressed. I never used to feel like that before, and I hate it.”
“Oh my god, yeah. I totally get that,” he said. “When I feel really down because of fame, I try to embrace it. Watch sad films, listen to sad music… and then I feel better. Music’s my therapy, in a way. I even tried actual therapy, there was a time, just after the Grammys, when I had no idea how to be happy. I was sleeping three, four hours a night, and just… sad. I went to therapy. Had one great session with this woman, but she told me, ‘You don’t need me, you need a hypnotherapist.’ So I did that, and it was amazing. He basically saved me. He explained the adult part of your mind versus the child part, and how my child part was running the show because I was giving it too much attention.”
I listened carefully, absorbing every word. Finally, I said, “I probably do that too.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “You probably do.”
“I know that being famous is so… odd,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “And singing in front of so many people on stage…”
I smiled.
“It’s truly amazing, but some nights… I’m on stage, and I just feel shy… or unsure,” I admitted, pretty sure he could relate.
“Yeah,” he said, nodding, “’cause you’ve got all these people looking at you, and you have to be just as good as what they’re expecting - maybe even better! You don’t want to disappoint.”
“Exactly,” I said. “You’ve got, I don’t know, twenty, fifty thousand people staring at you. It’s terrifying… it’s really weird to be that person. And the worst thing for me when performing is… I never know who I’m gonna get. Whether it’s just me, Rob… or Robbie Myers! And there were some nights during the tour when… he just didn’t turn up, and I had to do it all by myself.” I half-laughed, shaking my head at the memory.
He laughed too.
" “I sound like a lunatic, don’t I? But I’m totally serious,” I said.
“I know you are!” he exclaimed. “I go through exactly the same. So… you were kinda petrified on stage, right?”
“Yeah, totally! ’Cause I didn’t feel confident those nights. I didn’t want to be on stage. But nobody can tell… ’cause it’s kind of an amazing trick I’ve got. Even Mark sometimes can’t tell. I’m like, tonight was a nightmare! And they’re like, are you kidding? You were amazing! And I’m like, yeah, but it was a nightmare. They believe me when I tell them it was difficult, but they can’t see it while I’m performing.”
“Yeah, I totally get that. Sometimes I just don’t feel comfortable on stage, especially if the crowd isn’t very responsive. You don’t get any vibes from them.”
“Exactly. I hate feeling like that up there. Bono helped me a lot with this, he feels exactly the same.”
“I think all performers do,” he said.
“Yeah. He told me I needed strength to go on stage, and he helped me find ways to access that strength within myself. I know it’s there… but there were still nights during the tour when the pressure was really difficult to handle.”
“So… that’s why you decided to go crazy?” he asked with a teasing grin.
“Yeah, I guess,” I chuckled, shaking my head.
He nodded. “So… how did it work out for you?”
I shrugged. “Well… everything did stop.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And you might have lost the love of your life in the process.”
I didn’t reply. He was right.
“You’ve lost yourself in the thrill of it all, haven’t you? Funny enough, that’s the name of my new album.”
“The thrill of it all, huh?” I echoed.
“Yeah. Makes you do stupid things.”
“It sure does.”
“Haven’t you had enough yet?”
I looked at him with a smirk. “Yeah. I kinda have.”
He pursed his lips. “I’ve made a bet with my manager that I’m not going to drink until Christmas Eve.”
I frowned. “Have you? You don’t count tonight as drinking?”
He laughed. “For God’s sake! Tonight was just supposed to be a dinner with a bunch of forty-year-olds, for crying out loud. I’ve gotta keep it under the radar… I don’t even know what happened!”
I shrugged. “I happened! Sorry,” I half-smiled.
“Yeah, it’s partly your fault,” he said, teasing.
“What’s the bet?” I asked, curious.
“If he loses, he has to get a tattoo of my choice,” he said with a smirk.
I laughed. “What are you gonna make him get?”
“I think… ‘Dick Whisperer’ on his lower back!” he joked.
I laughed even harder. “Excellent! I need a bet like that with my manager… But you’ve already lost though.”
“Yeah, you know what? He doesn’t need to know that. I’ll blame it on you,” he whispered conspiratorially.
He studied me for a moment, then asked cautiously, “So… why are you really here in L.A.?”
I took a deep breath. “I came here… to go to that place called ‘Promises’ in Malibu.”
“Right!” he said, pursing his lips. “Therapy? I think it’s a really good idea.”
“Yeah, I dunno,” I shrugged. “I haven’t even walked through the doors yet, but everyone keeps telling me to go. Especially Mark.”
“Really? See, you’ve got people who care about you. That’s a real chance. You’re not alone. That means something.”
I smiled softly.
“I can come with you if you need someone to hold your hand,” he joked, giving me a small, encouraging smile.
I just smiled back. He leaned a little closer and said, “Listen… you go to that place, ‘Promises’. They can really help you understand why you feel the way you do. You’ll be amazed. And when you’re feeling better… then you can start thinking about getting him back.”
I sighed, my thoughts drifting to Mark, a hollow ache in my chest. “I miss him so much. I’m just… so scared of losing him right now. ”
His expression softened, tinged with sadness.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” he said gently. “I don’t know him that well, but it’s obvious he loves you. I can tell. Whatever’s happening right now, it’s just a setback. A small one. I bet he knows exactly what you’re going through, and he just wants you to be okay.”
He smiled faintly. “I’m a massive romantic, you know. What you have with him… my God, I want that. You’re lucky. You have to get him back.”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I do. And… I think you might actually be able to help me.”
“Oh yeah?” He raised an eyebrow. “How? Because so far, I’m pretty sure everything I’ve done tonight has been wildly unhelpful.”
I smiled. “Would you write a song with me?”
“Yeah! Hell yeah!” he exclaimed, instantly lighting up. “Writing with you, that’s a way bigger fantasy than whatever happened in that club.”
I laughed quietly.
“Alright,” he continued, suddenly serious again. “So you go to therapy. You get yourself better. And when you are, when you’re ready, you call me. We’ll write together. If you want to get him back with a love song, I’m your man.” He grinned.
“Alright,” I said, smiling back.
He nodded. “Then you should probably get back to your hotel. You’ve got an early morning. You know, early bird catches the worm.”
We both glanced at the cab driver, who hadn’t moved once during our conversation.
“Is he asleep?” I asked, chuckling.
“Oh my God,” Sam said, leaning forward. “He is asleep.” He poked him lightly. Nothing. “Should we wake him?”
“Well, yeah,” I laughed. “I’d quite like to get back to my hotel.”
“He clearly wants you to stay with me,” Sam joked.
We both cracked up.
“I think our conversation bored him to death,” I joked. “Jeez… when people start falling asleep listening to you moaning, that’s usually a good sign it’s time to do something about it!”
Sam poked the driver a little more until he finally jolted awake, sitting up straight.
“You gonna be okay driving, man?” I asked.
“Yes - yes,” he said quickly, forcing alertness. “I’m fine. Sorry about that.”
“It’s alright,” I said, then turned to Sam, still smiling. “Well… goodnight.”
“I’ll call you in a couple of weeks,” he said.
I nodded.
Before getting out, he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “And let’s just… never talk about that. You know. Ever again.”
I pressed my lips together and shook my head. “As if it never happened.”
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