Fawn on the Moon

Chapter 2-4

Gerry hummed along to the music, even though his heart was beating fast enough to make him feel dizzy. A walk of the perimeter, doing everything possible to avoid anyone and everything, had left him breathless and entranced, even though it had only taken a matter of minutes. When he’d reached the spot where he’d started, he’d walked it again. And then part way around yet again.

On the last walk around, he’d had to stop to accept a glass of champagne, handed to him by a smiling redhead who’d reached out and snagged his sleeve as he’d gone by. When he’d thanked her, she’d laughed and called him adorable. He remained there, sipping and watching and humming, with his back against the side of a motor home, while trailing smoke softened his mind and the bubbles of his second glass of champagne tickled his nose.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and Gerry swiveled his head to his left. He felt strangely buoyant, as though shifting too quickly might cause whatever he was moving to bounce right off his body and keep going, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was surprisingly relaxing. He felt like a sloth—completely at ease and one hundred percent comfortable with his need to slow the f**k down. He focused on the sway that had drawn his eyes—a swatch of gauzy white sheers settling into place—and just as he was about to slide his gaze away, something from beyond the drapery caught light and sent it back to Gerry. It was fast, minute, just a simple flash of brilliance that made it seem as though the window had winked at him. It was enough to make Gerry lower his one propped leg back to the ground and push away from the vehicle, though. His mind offered him a picture of the glittering sphere that had hung from Maxx’s ear on stage, and he imagined a face in the window with that very gem dangling beside it. Was it possible? Could Mark be in the motor home? Watching, perhaps, or involved in a private party that the rest of them were not quite special enough to be invited to?

Reasoning told him he should not move toward the vehicle. There would be security, or friends, or important people who could do very nasty things to unimportant people. Still…Gerry stepped closer with his gaze glued to the window…If Mark was in there, Gerry would hate himself forever if he didn’t at least try.

“Here, doll.”

Gerry spun around, already feeling guilty, and stared wide-eyed at the red-headed girl that had been feeding him drinks. She handed him another full glass. “Take this.” She winked and answered his stunned expression with a grin. “Trust me.”

With trembling fingers, Gerry reached for the champagne. It took all his concentration to keep both his own glass and the new one steady. He walked carefully to the door, stopped, and frantically considered the right way to keep hold of both drinks and manage the handle.

“I’ve got it for you, mate,” said a voice to Gerry’s right, and while Gerry blinked up at a tall, slim, dark-skinned man with shocking blond hair, the man reached for the handle and yanked the flimsy door open. “It’s about time someone drags his arse out of there.”

Gerry prayed the thudding in his chest wouldn’t give him away. He nodded his thanks and stepped up and into the motor home before anyone caught on that inside was the last place Gerry was supposed to be. Directly to his left sat a table that was littered with bottles and empty glasses. A pile of buds that Gerry had to assume was weed sat on a tea saucer with an open bag of potato chips beside it. To the right of the table was a long couch and Gerry choked on a stuck breath when he saw Maxx’s white and gold bodysuit flung on it. The air inside the vehicle was warm and damp, as though someone had just stepped out of a shower, and once Gerry got past the cloying scent of the weed, it actually smelled pretty damn nice. A pair of knee-high platform boots had been tossed or kicked into the corner, and for a long moment Gerry considered getting down on the floor just to run his fingers over the fabric. “That for me?”

Gerry lifted his eyes. He froze. He’d know the voice anywhere. But the eyes. Oh, God…the eyes. Mark had scrubbed off the makeup and the glitter, and Mark looked so strangely normal that Gerry was sure he was going to die from appreciation of the view. Mark’s chest was bare, but he’d forced his lower half into a pair of blue velour pants that flared out at the knee. He wore no jewelry, no makeup, and his blond hair was shorter than Gerry would have expected it to be. It was, however, a beautiful mess that had yet to see a brush or a comb.

Mark put out his hand and wiggled his fingers. “Give it here, then.”

“I…” Gerry couldn’t seem to make his arm work. “You…”

A small grin tweaked the edges of Mark’s lips. “Who are you?”

“Mr. Phine invited me,” Gerry blurted out. “I was watching. The show. And then it was over. And he said I could come back—”

“Did he tell you to come in here?” Mark stepped forward and reached for one of the glasses.

Gerry couldn’t make himself lie. “No.”

Mark took a sip, nodded his appreciation to the beverage, then crossed one arm over his chest and used it to prop his other elbow. “Well, then,” his voice dropped an octave and his expression intensified. “Why are you here?”

“A fan…” Gerry meant it to sound strong, but it came out more flustered than anything else. “I’m a huge fan.” He stuck out his free hand. “Gerry Faun.”

“A brave one, apparently,” Mark said, ignoring Gerry’s hand and draining his glass. “Mr. Fawn.” He stepped closer and peered into Gerry’s eyes. “And yet those eyes tell me you’re far truer to your name than you appear to be. Timid. Nervous. A little, spotted, baby deer.”

Mark’s accent lilted over every syllable, and Gerry couldn’t stop himself from studying the movement of Mark’s lips: the way they parted and the way they met again, the soft pucker and slight sneer. “Not ‘fawn’,” Gerry corrected, swallowing hard and lowering his eyes. “Faun, with a U.”

“No.” Mark shook his head and set his empty glass down. He reached for Gerry’s and set it beside his own. “Fawn. With a W. Because that is you, Fawn. With those doe eyes and those long legs.” Mark set a wrist on Gerry’s shoulder and Gerry was sure he was going to collapse from the weight. “I like it. Very natural. Would you say that you’re natural, Fawn?”

Gerry wasn’t sure how to answer. And he was terrified of making a mistake. “I don’t know?”

“Well, then, by all means,” Mark’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “We should find out.”

The breath Gerry had been holding rushed out of his mouth. He lowered his eyes and watched Mark’s lips curl into a wider smile. “We should?”

Mark moved closer, slid his arm over Gerry’s shoulder and around Gerry’s neck. He rested his lips against Gerry’s ear. “Not like that. Not with a bleeding question mark on the end of it.”

When Mark’s tongue slipped up the shell of his ear, Gerry thought his mind was going to blow apart. “Like this,” Mark said. His voice rumbled into Gerry’s ear, low, sensual, and intentionally firm. “We should.”

The concept of refusing never came to mind. “We should,” Gerry repeated.