Set the Night to Music, page 1
Set the night to Music
Lourdes Skye
Twisted Beauty Presents
Set the night to Music
Copyright 2017 by Lourdes Skye
Cover Art by Lourdes Skye
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Author’s Note: This is purely a work of fiction and many places, names, have been induced to fit the storyline. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used factiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locals is entirely coincidental. Some events and places have been fictitiously altered to fit the storyline.
Warning: Male on male sexual content.
We’ll find a rhythm all our own
Melt into it nice and slow
Love ourselves away from here
Your heart beating next to mine
Perfect love in perfect time
Watch the world, just disappear
This moment is ours to take
And with the love we make
We could
Set the night to Music
We could
Set the night to Music
Do what we want to do
It’ll only take me and you
to, Set the night to Music
Set the night to Music
Roberta Flack & Maxi Priest
Cast of Characters
Klare (KC) Carsten
Ryan Priest
Jorge Drummon
Marty Saybrook
Linc Tyler
Shaw
Braedn Carey
Killian Nemo
Dr. Chau
Lane Michaels
1
The annual Rainbow Jamboree was scheduled for a week from today, in Buckhead Georgia. Klare Carsten or KC to his fans, sat on the chaise chair in the great room of his Manhattan penthouse.
He was currently engrossed in a game of Candy Crush on his iPhone as his manager, Jorge Drummon, ranted.
“KC, I don’t see why you have to stop recording, mid-album, to haul ass to Atlanta.”
“I told you months ago that I was doing this concert. It’s for a good cause.”
“I understand your need to help the gays of the world but no one says you have to commit career suicide to do it.”
Klare rolled his eyes dramatically, there goes Jorge being all over-dramatic.
“Jorge—this is something you don’t understand. The Rainbow Jamboree is to support many factions of the LGBT community. The world’s main focus is on that dude that was elected, who’s divorcing whom and if Negan is going to get his comeuppance on The Walking Dead, while massacres such as that of Club Pulse in Florida are still continuing. There’s a high number of homeless LBGT kids, a high number of gay rent boys who are murdered and found lying in ditches or floating in rivers and let’s not talk about the increase in young males that are rumored to have been trafficked, here in our very city. There’s not enough outreaches and places whereas these kids can turn to for help.”
Jorge Drummon sighed.
He knew this was a sore subject for the young singer. He also knew how the wheels spun in the entertainment world. You were only as good as your last album. And if the time between album releases was too far apart, your fans would turn on you for the latest hot thing. KC was lucky in the fact that he had a solid fan-base from his YouTube channel. Lucky for him, when he’d been a resident at Brown’s Boys Home, he’d been able to set up the channel and display his music.
But something happened there.
Something that caused the young singer to nearly end his life with an undiagnosed eating disorder.
When Rush Records discovered KC and wanted to present him with a record deal, Jorge Drummon had arrived right in the nick-of-time and rescued him from the hospital and the reality of having to return to the group home.
That had been over three years ago today.
KC never revealed to anyone what had driven him to stop eating to the point that food had little appeal to him. Naturally thin, no one picked up what was happening until he fainted dead away at school one day.
Klare wasn’t one to discuss those dark days.
And Jorge didn’t push.
He’d taken it upon himself to get the boy healthy again. That included him eating three squares a day.
Jorge also kept him from the seedier side of the business, booze and drugs. Very rarely did he let the boy out of his sight.
And now he wanted to go to Atlanta.
Alone.
Jorge couldn’t leave New York right now and neither should Klare. They were in the middle of finishing a much talked about album. They’d already put out the single, Perfect Disaster, which was number one on the billboard. Bieber was putting out his new album in two weeks. There were rumors of One Direction returning. Now just wasn’t the time for a Houdini act.
“Can’t you just cut this event a check?”
Klare’s gaze snapped up from his phone.
“I’m going, Jorge. I’ve already committed to it and already have my stage time selected.”
Jorge sighed.
“Will you at least reconsider?”
Klare didn’t respond.
Priest reached out, his fingers mindlessly searching for the bottle he knew to be on the nightstand. Tossing the bare leg from his torso, he groaned as he sat up, bottle in hand.
Peeling the condom off his deflated cock, he tossed it into the nearby garbage can. His buzz was nearly nonexistent at this time of day.
Taking a swallow of the warm beer, he leaned his head back against the high-back leather headboard. His gaze settling on the sleeping woman beside him.
This shit was getting old.
A loud knock at the door had Priest climbing from the bed.
“Yeah, what do you want?” he demanded hotly as he swung the door open.
Marty Saybrook, Beautyful Nyghtmare’s manager/chaperon, stood at the door looking less than impressed.
“You do realize what time it is, don’t you?”
“The time after night,” Priest groaned sarcastically.
“Hardy-har-har, you’ve missed your calling. It’s 9:45am. You have an interview at 11:30. Get your ass in the shower and get dressed.”
“Mm—,” moaning emanated from the bed.
Two sets of eyes turned to the woman sprawled out on the mattress like a Playboy centerfold.
With an almost amused glower, Marty nodded to the woman. “I’ll take care of this. You go hit the shower.”
Scratching an exposed ass cheek, Priest sauntered towards the bathroom.
“Alright honey,” Marty stated casually as he pulled out his wallet. “Here you go. Catch a cab, you’re done here.”
Snatching the money out of his hand, the woman grabbed her dress off the floor and shimmed into it. Standing in the center of the room, her eyes scanned the room slowly.
“Uh—doll, the door is that way. Do I need to get security to escort you down?”
With a nasty snarl, she rolled her eyes at Marty and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
Marty ambled to the closet. Throwing the double doors open, he took inventory of the clothes that were present. He doubted Johnny Walker, Captain Morgan or Jim Beam would’ve taken out Priest’s clothes while he was...otherwise entertained.
After some consideration, he laid out a pair of black APO jeans, an APO white t-shirt and a black and grey Hugo Boss snakeskin blazer with matching boots.
A few moments later Priest sauntered from the bathroom, the towel low on his hips.
“Here, drink this,” Marty practically shoved a cup of hot coffee into his hand.
“Damn Marty. Perhaps I should marry you. You fetch my coffee, pick out my clothes.”
“Cute. Like I’d marry your ass if I were gay. You’re lifted more than you’re sober. Please tell me that you rubbered-up with Barbie there.”
“Yeah Marty, I did.”
“Good. Now get dressed. Meet me downstairs in twenty. The boys are already prepared and in the bus.”
“Calm down Marty. I’ll be there.”
“Oh and I meant to mention. I got a call from a Josh Black. He said that you agreed to do a solo at the Rainbow Jamboree in Atlanta next week.”
“Yes. I told him I’ll do the show. I’ll be on the first flight back after the show.”
Marty sighed. “You’ve barely been sober for the entire tour. The last thing we need is for you to go on a bender and fuck up this tour.”
“Come on Marty. When was the last time I disappeared?”
Marty looked heavenward as he did a mental count. “Uh—I’d say about seven months ago—.”
“Alright fine. I promise I’ll be back on time.”
Fucking rock stars.
2
Klare was aware of Foster sitting two seats behind him. Jorge was adamant that he travel with the head of security. Foster was ex-Marine. Jorge had tried his hardest to get Klare to cancel this show but no matter how much he persisted, Klare would not yield.
The concert was to be held at the famous Piedmont Park in Atlanta Georgia. Klare checked into The W hotel downtown Atlanta. Several well-known stars were in town for the event and had checked into the hotel as well.
Klare checked into Penthouse 5 five hours before the event was to begin.
Klare took a nice hot shower and shampooed his hair with Oribe Gold Lust. Upon finishing, he dressed in a pair of white skinny leather jeans and a fitting black tank top with black vegan boots. His long luxurious sun-blond hair was full and radiant. It was like a halo surrounding an angel.
Foster knocked on the door two hours before the concert was to begin. Gathering everything he’d need back stage and on stage, Klare followed the beefy security guard to the private elevator and down to the black Escalade awaiting them.
Traffic around the city was at its normal busy flow. Klare loved Atlanta. It reminded him so much of New York City at night with the beautiful skyline of its downtown nightlife.
Staring out of the darkened windows, Klare took in the multitude of lights and pedestrians walking the streets. He wondered how many would be attending the event.
The SUV pulled up into the private entrance of the park that was blocked off for all of the participating acts of the night. Security was as thick as a healthy Ozone layer.
As he was led to his dressing trailer, Klare looked around at all the musicians here to perform. He was in awe of the many acts from different genres here to support such a great cause.
Adam Levine gave him a head nod as he passed the sexy lead singer of Maroon 5 en-route to his dressing quarters.
Ariana Grande, Ed Sheeran and Marianas Trench were some of the great acts performing tonight. He was scheduled to go on after Adele. Right now, Ed Sheeran was on stage. And from the roar of the crowd, he was doing the damn thing.
A commotion outside of his trailer, had Klare rushing to the door and throwing it open.
Nosey much.
Yeah.
At first he couldn’t see anything more than an excited crowd. But as they thinned out, a mass of long rich dark hair became visible. Klare actually inhaled as first sight of Rion Priest, lead singer of Beautyful Nyghtmare. His presence was simply magnetic. Clad in a pair of fitting white leather pants, black boots and his signature black leather trench coat, the man expelled sexiness. It flowed from his very pores. The man’s chest was gloriously bare and exposed. As he walked down the back area where the trailers were aligned, his full semi-wavy long hair flowed around his shoulders and back. His swagger was so much so that it demanded respect and a second glance.
People backstage parted as the band sauntered forward.
Klare stood in the doorway, eyeing the rock god.
Even from this distance he could make out every ridge and contoured line of his perfectly sculpted chest and abs. Rumor had it that the lead singer drank and partied quite a lot. From his physique, those rumors were just that. Rumors.
The band all but disappeared into their trailer when suddenly Priest, as he was known to his fans, turned his head in Klare’s direction.
For a full moment chestnut brown eyes bore into electric blue ones.
The very air in Klare’s chest stilled at the invisible contact.
And then he was gone.
Slowly Klare closed the door, retreating inside his trailer.
Wow—just wow,
A sharp knock at the door brought him out of his man-dream.
“KC, you’re up next!”
“Yeah—okay. I’m ready.” Grabbing his favorite guitar, Klare took one last look in the mirror before taking his exit.
As with any performance, Klare experienced a fluttering of nerves in his stomach. However, no sooner he stepped on stage and received a thunderous applause and welcome, those nerves faded into adrenaline. His slender fingers begin to stroke the guitar chords before his rich tenor/soprano voice begin to belt out the lyrics to his hit song, You & I.
The audience went completely wild as he sang the ending of the song acapella.
“Kid can sing,” someone on the sideline near the back curtain where the artists congregated, voiced.
“Yeah…he can. Hey, did you hear that Jewels Sinora and Mick Savage are no shows? They were supposed to sing the closing song, a collaboration from Maxi Priest and Roberta Flack.”
“Aw shit. I sure hope they don’t ask me to stand in. Don’t think I know the words and I don’t do good with last minute shit thrown at me.”
“I feel you on that.”
The two musicians continued to talk as KC ended his act, took a bow and exit the stage. During his walk back to his dressing room, he nearly ran into none other than Rion Priest.
“Uh—sorry. I-I wasn’t looking.” Klare stood mouth-wide-open as he stared at the Adonis before him. God, his brown eyes actually had specks of gold in them.
Fucking mesmerizing.
He smiled and Klare’s mouth literally watered.
“It’s cool. Just watch your steps so you don’t hurt yourself.”
“Y-Yeah. I will.”
“Caught your show. You rock dude.”
Klare’s tongue was comatose. He simply stood, staring.
Priest smiled before stepping away and heading towards the stage. Klare literally felt his neck and face flush with humiliation. He received a compliment from Rion Priest and stood there staring, muted like a complete dork.
The man must think him mad.
Quickly he made his way to his trailer.
Now behind closed doors, he exhaled.
Look at him up there. They fucking love him. I feared Rock and Roll died with the 80’s big hair bands but guys like these, they keep it alive.”
Marty smiled at the stage manager’s assessment of Beautyful Nyghtmare.
Marty hadn’t been thrilled when Priest decided to deviate while on tour to perform at this non-charted event. They had a schedule to stick to. Priest swore that he would fly down for the day, perform and resume the tour agenda the very next day. Fearing he’d disappear, the band made the conscious decision to accompany him. Now they’d be sure of his whereabouts.
“Hey,” the manager cut into his thoughts. “I got a bit of a situation. I’m out of two performers. Your boy and that KC kid seem to set the stage on fire. Do you think they can be persuaded to do an emergency duet? If we end this thing right, we’ll be sure to get the acknowledgement we’re seeking. With those two, we’ll end strong.”
“I’ll take it to Priest. I’ll get back to you in just a few minutes.” Marty followed the band as they exited the stage, en-route to their trailer.
“Priest, let me speak to you a minute,” Marty grabbed his arm. A thin sheen of sweat glistened across the rocker’s bare chest.
“What’s up?”
Marty went on to tell him about the duet. He even threw in the fact that Priest had been the one who wanted to help the LGBT community to begin with.
“Yeah…I’ll do it. Get me a copy of the lyrics and a sit down with KC. We need a little practice time together or else we’ll make asses of ourselves.”
“You got it. As for the lyrics, I pulled them up on Google and sent them to your phone. Since he’s a single performer, I think it best if that sit down takes place in his trailer.”
“Yeah, you might be right. Well, no time like the present. Let’s get it done.”
3
Thirty minutes later found Priest in KC’S trailer. The rocker long since shucked his leather coat and was now bare-chested with naught but those sinfully tight leather pants on and his boots.
And oh those pants—displaying his hefty junk as they were, left nothing to the imagination.
To say that KC was shocked when he answered the knock, only to discover Priest on the other side on his door, was an understatement.
