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."
