Guilty Rhythm

Author's Note: Thank you for the very sweet comments. Honestly, because this story was rated low (comparatively speaking in the category) I thought the literotica audience just wasn't feeling it, so I wasn't planning on uploading anymore of this here. But the commenters, whoever you are, you made me feel a little less discouraged, so thank you for that.

This story currently has 16 completed chapters, 2 completed acts and is an ongoing WIP. It's not super sex heavy, but there are a number of in depth explicit scenes. This is primarily a drama with erotic and thriller elements integral to the plot.

03

Christ.

Maybe it was weddings. Weddings made people fucking crazy. All the emotions swirling around, all the pressure, all the god damn gardenias--that had to be it. That had to be what made him believe, even for those few brief seconds, that it was in any way okay to spread his legs and invite Hadi in.

Avery stumbled a little as he made his way through the crowd of smiling faces, most of them half drunk, all clapping and cheering for him. But no one cheered louder than Yasser and Dad from where they stood by the stage with Mr. Nahhas silently looming nearby.

Avery opted not to look in that direction at all.

He stomped his way up the stage steps, out of the shadows of the dance floor and into the pooling spotlight. The first one to greet him was Greta, the lead singer of the band, to which he smiled politely, returned her quick hug and a muttered meaningless compliment, before he swept his swimming gaze over the sea of familiar faces.

"Wow." He muttered close enough for the mic to pick up.

A shadow came to the edge of the stage, and it took him a stunned moment to recognize dad's tie-dye sleeve and outstretched arm offer him a paper cup of steaming coffee. Not exactly the best drink for someone about to sing, but he accepted it with a quick smile and moved up to the mic. Gave it a little re-adjust for his height and his preference for being way too up close and personal.

"Good evening all you gorgeous mother fuckers. I am Avery Flint, brother of the bride. I also happen to be a lounge singer, and I'm most definitely not getting paid for this, so if I mess up a few notes, it's on purpose."

Polite chuckles rolled through the crowd.

Avery gave his coffee a sniff and a small sip before making a face and setting it aside. "Yuck. Tastes like sobriety. Thank you, daddy."

"You're welcome," dad loudly said back, with a playfully chiding tone and an easy-going grin.

Avery washed his gaze over the crowd again. He clutched the shaft of the mic, with a brief pause as a silly thought struck him that the weight of it almost felt as good in his palm as those cocks had. But he brushed the thought off quickly and popped it out of the stand.

"Look at you," he purred to the people. "Really tapped out the DNA lottery with this wedding, didn't we? Two families becoming one, looking so damn good while we do it..." He made a show of soaking in the sights. "I've never seen so many beautiful smiles in one place, and I've performed at Orthodontry conventions. It's honestly kind of a turn on."

A wolf whistle pierced the air that could only have come from Doug. And he rewarded it with a wink at the shadows.

"But you sure as fuck can't dance, can you?" He glanced over at where his mother stood, arms crossed, pretty face hardened with pure, unadulterated hate, and her two far more friendly sisters at her side. A grin tugged at his lips and he pointed in their direction just to enjoy the flash of warning and panic in his mother's eyes. "Except you, Aunt Phyllis, you minx. Out here, making all these whippersnappers look bad."

Even from across the room, the clench in Mom's jaw was clear as day.

"Don't worry. The band has a special little ditty for you later, but for now, for the rest of you, I think"--He strolled the short length of the stage to take in more shadowy faces on the other side--"I'm gonna give it to you

slow and easy

."

Didn't take long for the crowd to take the cue. Eyes darted around, seeking slow dance partners. Whispers rose in volume.

"Go on," he murmured, "check your breath. Find your date, your beau, or just someone warm to sway with, my darlings, while I try not to shatter the wine flutes."

He took a deep breath, made some meaningless gesture at the band behind him, and ignoring their look of confusion, he crooned into the mic, "The barometer's rising..."

At the sudden snap of confusion, alarm, and amusement rippling through the crowd, he barked a laugh, and half of them laughed with him. "No, I'm kidding! I'm kidding. I wouldn't do that to you, mom. Look at her--the moment she thought it was going to be gay, all her blood rushed to her ears. Don't worry, mom. You're still beautiful. And Satan's red always was your colour." He glanced back at the band. "Y'all know any Britney?"

"Don't you fucking dare!" Yasser barked at him.

"Fine." Avery pouted playfully. "You don't deserve Britney anyway..." He glanced at Yasser, but instead, before he could avoid it, he locked with the intense, glinting, lion eyes of Hadi Fucking Nahhas.

His breath hitched just a little. Just a smidge too loud. Loud enough for everyone to hear. His cheeks burned and he averted his gaze far too quick as a flood of heat and need and all the wrong, wanton hungers he'd nearly dove face first in just moments ago in that dressing room all hit him at once. And with an awkward clearing of his throat and an adjustment of the mic in his sweating palms, he took a breath to ground himself.

He glanced at the band, tapped his vinyl-clad thigh for the timing he needed, and muttered at the crowd. "This is 'Back at One'. If you know it, sing along. If I'm going to work for free tonight, so are you beautiful bitches."

─── ◖ ◌ ◗ ───

"You son of a bitch."

Avery barely got the mic back on the stand before the bull that was Yasser rushed the stage. As Yasser enveloped him in a back breaking bear hug so forceful, he lifted him off his feet, Avery's grunt of protest and the sound of air squeezing out of his lungs were amplified by the mic.

Applause broke out. Someone hooted and hollered. Someone else whistled. Yasser buried his face in the crook of Avery's neck and squeezed harder and rocked them back and forth. As much as Avery wanted to squirm his way out, the tickle of Yasser's sniffles and the wet of flowing tears soaking into his hair gave him pause.

"Yas--"

"I didn't think you'd do it." Yasser's voice came muffled and broken. "I know, you've been helping Bonny, but I didn't think you'd actually speak, you know? With how... Much less sing, and..."

His broad athletic shoulders shook through a stifled sob. The applause and hollering of support raged on, now far more for Yasser than for Avery.

"I fucking hate that song," Yasser forced out with a wet, breathy laugh straight into Avery's jaw. "Why am I crying?"

"I don't know," Avery muttered back. He tried to laugh it off, but Yasser's fucking infectious emotion thickened his voice. "But you better stop before you mess up my makeup."

Yasser nodded in agreement. He pressed a long, rough wet kiss to the side of Avery's head, with an emphatic puff of air and a grunt, before he pulled away, and even then he held Avery at arm's length to stare at him with swollen, red eyes.

A pause passed between them, and for a second there, Avery thought Yasser was gonna sob again, but instead, Yasser feigned a serious frown and said like he was breaking bad news, "I don't think Kareem is going to call you."

Avery snorted. He clapped a hand over his mouth as laughter bubbled up.

Yasser's frown cracked into a grin. He laughed along with him and pulled Avery in close for another, much looser hug and gripped and petted the back of Avery's head. "My little arsonist. I keep building them bridges and you keep burning them down. That's fine. I like a challenge." He gave Avery one last kiss on the crown before pulling away entirely and grabbing the mic. "That was my fucking boy! You hear that? You hear them pipes? Where I come from, we call that motherfucking talent, bay-bee!"

"Oh God, would you stop?" Avery gave Yasser's back a light shove, but the guy was solid and didn't budge an inch beyond an indignant glance back at him. "Go back to your bride, asshole."

"Nah, I got the whole rest of my life with her. You, though--for someone so fucking shiny, you sure are a pain in the ass to track." Yasser slung an arm over Avery's shoulders to guide him off the stage. But as they cleared the last step, he turned back to say to the band leader, "Hey, my boy likes George Michael. Play him something, will ya?"

The band leader, who couldn't have been more than twenty years old, lifted her pierced brows. "Who?"

"Are you..." Something between relief and irritation twisted Avery's scoff. "Oh honey." He pointed a finger of warning in her general direction as a laughing Yasser pulled him away like he was an aggressive dog. "When we get back to the club, we are having a tête-à-tête, est-ce que tu fucking comprends, bitch?"

But she just made a mock oblivious face and gestured at her ears like she couldn't hear him, and before he could reply, she was already at the mic, introing the next song.

"All right, all right." Yasser patted a heavy hand down on Avery's head. "Calm down. You got all night to abuse the band, why don't you focus on abusing me for a little while instead? Huh?"

Avery gave him a sharp look, but grudgingly allowed the fucker to lead him past where his dad and dad's girlfriend slow danced together, past where Hadi leaned against a glittering, mirrored pillar with the soft glow of his phone lighting his face. But as they passed, he glanced up and his eyes met Avery's. And the moment they did, a slow, dark smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

Avery swallowed.

With how quick Yasser moved, Avery had to tear his attention away from that man just to avoid tripping over his own feet.

"I ain't seen you anywhere near the buffet," Yasser said.

Avery sent a baffled look up at him. "I ain't seen you near the buffet either."

"Clearly you haven't noticed this hummus stain on my collar, wise guy."

They stopped by the chocolate fountain, and like a child who never learned to keep their hands to themselves, Yasser dipped a finger right in and licked the chocolate off as he settled his gaze on Avery. "Want some?"

Something about the dark edge in his voice made Avery hesitate. "Uh... No?"

"You sure?" Yasser dipped his finger in again.

Avery narrowed his eyes. "At least use the fucking strawberries, you animal."

"Why you acting like you don't wanna lick where I been licking?" Yasser teased in a purr. Then he lunged.

Avery yelped and darted back, but Yasser was quick, and caught him by the waist. Avery shrieked as a chocolatey finger smeared across his lips. His back hit the sneeze guard of the buffet and rattled it loudly. People all around laughed and egged Yasser on. And the moment that finger forced its way past his lips, he bit down.

"Shit!" Yasser recoiled with a hiss. He shook out his hand and sent an admonishing glance back. "You bit me!"

Avery leaned casually against the buffet where he'd been pinned and wiped the chocolate off his lips. "Your fault for tasting so good." He sucked the smudge off his thumb. "You got chocolate anywhere else?"

A pulse of silence passed between them, punctuated by Yasser forcing a tense breath out his nose. His eyes glinted in the glittering lights, until they faltered with a twitch and he glanced quickly away, then back again like he was trying to reset his brain. "You know Doug brags about it."

A whiplash topic change like that took Avery a moment. He lifted his brows and searched the confusing expression on Yasser's face. But failing to read that, he glanced down at himself to make sure he didn't get any chocolate on his lace shirt. "I really don't give a fuck what Doug does."

"Every time." Yasser cleared his throat. He shook his head and wandered over to lean against the buffet with him. "Dumbass used to act like he was earning woke points for being so cool about gay stuff, just by virtue of letting the pretty band boy suck him off after games." He licked his lip tensely as he gazed out at the dance floor. "And tonight, I guess."

Of course he did. As annoying as it was because there was no way Doug didn't understand that Avery didn't want Yasser to know, it was entirely true to the douchebag's whole vibe.

Avery folded his arms through a shrug. "Man. You'd think with a mouth that big, he might've had the decency to reciprocate once in a while."

Yasser's face darkened with a scowl. "You could have told me, you know? You never fucking told me. Always keeping secrets like I don't know who you are? Like I wouldn't accept you? You really have so little fucking respect for me that I gotta go to Doug for the truth?"

A pulse of white-hot frustration surged up Avery's spine. His eyes hardened. He pushed away from the sneeze guard with a sneer and a growing, bitter taste in his mouth that made his gut roil and his fingers clench into fists.

Because fuck that.

Fuck that, coming from his prick best friend since fucking childhood who snuck around behind his back banging his sister for years. Who didn't fucking tell him about it until the fucking engagement party.

Yasser moved with him, squaring up his shoulders like he was bracing for Avery to lash out.

But that was still a wedding, and he didn't have the energy to rise to the bait. Instead, he stormed right by Yasser with a simple, "Enjoy your new life."

"Ave," Yasser growled after him. He tried to grab at Avery, but missed as Avery sidestepped out of the way and kept going. "Avery! Why are you being such a fucking bitch? You're acting like your mother!"

"Yasser," came Hadi's deep, sharp correction. "Enough."

"I'm not doing anything! I'm just saying I would have fucking appreciated to hear from my boy that he was passing blowies out to my friends behind my back!" Yasser's shouts boomed clear over the music, "How many did you fuck, Ave? Half the team? The whole fucking team? How many of my friends cocks have you had in your mouth that I don't even know about? Huh?"

Avery didn't look back, even as rushed, angry voices tried to talk Yasser down. Bonny's voice, Hadi's voice, Doug's voice. Hell, even sounded like dad was in on it, but he didn't look because if he looked in those eyes and saw the hate he felt in that voice, it would break him.

It would sear itself into every single memory he kept of that night.

"Ave!" Yasser continued to rage as the crowd struggled to rein the brute in. "Fine! Leave, you fucking pussy! I hate to break it to you, but your son's a whore, Mr. Flint."

"Hey Ave," a hand caught him gently by the arm.

He'd been so out of it, he hadn't even noticed he was walking right by Tiff. Her face screwed up with sympathy. God knew she could relate. He'd witnessed her toxic friend group publicly turning on her more than once at college like a pack of coyotes tearing into a plucked chicken.

"He's been snorting all kinds of shit tonight," Tiff whispered. "I promise you, he doesn't mean a word."

Avery forced a quick, reassuring smile, but he didn't know how convincing it was while he simultaneously shrugged off her gentle touch. "Honey, I'm fine. He ain't telling anyone anything they don't know."

─── ◖ ◌ ◗ ───

Sleep would provide no reprieve that night, it seemed.

Hadn't closed his eyes two damn minutes before his brain launched into self-destruct calisthenics about everything that had happened, and all the things he wanted to say to Yasser, all the things he wanted to say and feel about his mother, all the broken bits of his jigsaw puzzle soul he wanted to fit back together...

He sat up and swung his legs down the edge of the hotel bed. The wanton sounds of someone grunting and a bed thumping emanated through the walls with some shitty soulless R&B.

At least someone was having fun.

His phone screen glowed to life as he plucked it off the end table. Gave the lock screen a gander, but there wasn't a single new message. Nothing from Yasser begging his forgiveness, nothing from his family checking in on him. Just pure, radio silence save for a couple unread messages from his favourite hookup app.

His gaze flicked across at the mirror that reflected his hunched, moody form. His platinum quiff lie half flattened to his head, and half pure chaos, and the only thing he had on was black boxerbriefs.

From the looks of him, maybe his eyes had been closed a little more than two minutes. More like an hour, maybe, since according to his phone, it was nearing one in the morning.

Checking the hook-up DMs would get him worked up. Would mean giving up on sleep, at least for a few hours. Would mean having to re-do all the undoing he did of his whole appearing like a put-together adult human.

He glanced at his lockscreen notifs. Then back at the wrinkled sheets and the indented pillow where he had been lying only a few seconds ago... Then back at the lockscreen.

"Fuck it. I could eat."

─── ◖ ◌ ◗ ───

The valley Bonny and Yasser picked for the wedding had a lot going for it: safety for one. Not a whole lot of crime in rich-ass-hipster-ville USA. It had sprawling orchards, wine tours, gorgeous sights, especially along the river. And Avery's particular favourite was the over-priced gourmet bakery that sat right next to a craft brewery, and he had every intention of talking daddy into spending a day and a small fortune with him in both sometime soon.

What it didn't have, however, was much of a nightlife.

Just one goddamn bar that closed way too early, and the 24 hour diner at the truckstop.

It was no surprise to Avery when he strolled through that rickety diner door, that instead of the quiet atmosphere the place likely normally had at that time of night, noise greeted him. The noise of half a dozen obnoxious cityfolk still riding high on wedding day fumes.

A couple of the bridesmaids and other wedding guests crowded around a 4 seater table with the help of a bunch of extra chairs swiped from their neighbours. All in there tight, leaning over the maid of honour to watch the screen of her phone.

The group of guys--mostly consisting of Yasser's teammates--occupying the other side of the diner were at least more spread out, literally. Legs, arms, and all. For five guys, they took up two booths with their feet up on the upholstery and tables. Their animated conversations manspread their vibes to all the surrounding tables too.

A few pairs of eyes darted his way when Avery strolled on over to the counter. No one bothered to greet him, and judging by some of their faces, if they were to open their mouths, it'd be to echo the sentiments of Yasser's melt down.

The man on the other side of the counter paused the thorough-wipe-down he was giving a display window to acknowledge Avery. Then the acknowledgment quickly became an arched brow and a slow once-over, from Avery's arms peppered with colourful tattoos, to the blasphemous graphic tee covered in strategically sexy rips, and the tight-as-fuck blue vinyl pants.

The guy stood up straight and offered a goofy smile. "Ah. You must be Avery."

Avery answered with a performative wince. "Oh no. They've been talking about me."

"Sure. Talking, texting, shouting, singing. Couple of those jocks gave me five bucks to spit in your food if you 'dared show your face'."

"Five whole bucks just to threaten me with a good time? Gee." Avery idly snatched a straw out of a dispenser and nodded, more with his eyes and chin than anything, over at the glass door fridge behind the guy. "I'll take a Dr. Pepper. Factory-sealed, thanks."