At least, Aaron hoped he was ready. They had never been out of the United States before, so to fly halfway across the world was a bit daunting, for sure. What were British crowds like, he had to wonder? And, for that matter, what would Parisian crowds be like? Berlin? Rome? Tokyo?
“Break a leg,” Brad told them all before the show, and Aaron thought that Brad’s eyes lingered just a little bit longer on him than they did on anyone else. God, when was he going to get the older man alone? He felt like his body ached for Brad, a craving, a hunger, that only Brad could fill, and Aaron looked back at him until Brad finally turned away.
In the end, that energy that Brad gave Aaron, that unfulfilled desire, gave his performance an edge that he couldn’t have expected. There was a sort of desperation to his movements, and the cheers of the crowd lifted Aaron up further.
Had he really been worried about what these people would be like? They were incredible, a wave of sound, of adoration, that added something entirely new to the band’s performance. They had never sounded or danced better, and by the end of it, Aaron’s legs were shaking as he wobbled his way offstage after their third encore.
He had thrown himself into the performance far more than he usually did, and that was saying something. Looking around at the flushed, happy faces of the other Lost Boys, he could see that they were the same, grinning at each other, slinging their arms around each other, a warm, friendly fraternity that Aaron, somehow, belonged to.
Despite all of his best efforts to stay apart, these men had brought him in, and there were arms around his shoulders, comments about how good his dancing had been, and Aaron felt his own lips stretch into a smile that he didn’t usually allow to happen.
“I’m exhausted,” Lance commented, and Jamie nudged his husband in the side and kissed his cheek briefly.
“Not too exhausted to go out and party, I hope,” Jamie commented, and Lance grinned and shook his head.
“Never,” he murmured, and just like that, it seemed, they were decided. They were going to a party, and Aaron, high on the concert and on the fellowship that he had somehow unaccountably found with these men, even considered going along. Parties weren’t his thing, but it might be fun to extend this all just a little bit longer.
But then he caught sight of Brad, watching from the shadows, the strangest look on his face. It was almost, but not quite, completely blank, smooth and professional. But something in the gleam of the eyes made Aaron wonder about that.
And Brad was staring right at him, no doubt about that this time. That gleam, was it hunger? The same hunger that flooded Aaron’s body, and made him think that he would do anything, say anything if only he could have Brad’s lips and hands and body on him?
“I’m good,” Aaron abruptly said. “Jet-lagged, I think. I’m going to go, uh, reset my biological clock.”
It made him a little sad when he saw the other three men exchange looks with each other, as though they, in some way, had fully expected Aaron to say exactly what he had. Like they had predicted it and weren’t exactly shocked. In fact, Aaron had the idea that it would have shocked them if he had actually gone along with them.
Of course, it was exactly what Aaron had tried to make happen, so it shouldn’t break his heart. If anything, he should be happy that he’d managed to keep that degree of separation. Because when he left the band, it would be better if they weren’t sad about it, and they could just pick up, replace him, and move on.
Gently, he detangled himself from the rest of the men, then walked right past Brad toward the exit. He didn’t look back at him, he didn’t dare to try to signal to him that he was going back to the hotel, but Brad was perceptive. He’d pick it up.
Aaron hoped. God, how he hoped because he had wanted people before, but he’d never felt this soul-deep need, this yearning, this longing. Like something in him, his soul, maybe, was leaning toward Brad, always wanted him near.
