Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(93)

For now, they were living in Doyle’s apartment, because it wasn’t being staked out by paparazzi like Mevi’s condo. Doyle rented, so only the utilities were in his name, making it harder for people to find them. But Tilly had already told them if they needed to, they were welcomed to stay in their condo, where they’d have privacy.

The news about their marriage broke the Wednesday after it happened, even shocking Clark that it took that long. By then, they’d already returned to LA, Mevi had grabbed what he needed from his place, and they’d retreated to Doyle’s apartment.

They’d also already had dinner with Bonnie, Troy, Garth, and Pasch and told them about the wedding, offering their apologies for not inviting them. Fortunately, they’d understood why the need for secrecy.

Bonnie had been the first to step forward to hug Doyle and congratulate them.

Clark was getting increasingly frantic offers daily from media outlets wanting to score “the” interview with the new couple, but Mevi had no interest in giving interviews yet. He already knew what and how he wanted to publicly reveal it, and he was already working on the plan. He wanted to make a video of one of the songs he’d written just for Doyle, featuring them in it.

Not even a fancy video, just handheld, cell footage. Release it online.

Back to their roots.

He didn’t want to have to “explain” or “justify” or any of that bullshit. He didn’t want to answer a bunch of nosy questions that weren’t anyone’s business anyway.

He also knew he’d need to devote a lot of future time toward LGBTQ causes, to make up for the years he stayed in the shadows instead of using his fame to do some good and make a difference.

Including wanting to reshoot a few of their old videos to reframe them in the light he’d originally meant them—love songs from one man to another.

Now, three weeks after their wedding, Mevi knew he had way more material than they’d need for the album—enough for two more albums—but he wanted to record several extra singles for an expanded iTunes edition.

Mevi rarely left the apartment, usually only walking down to the beach early in the morning with Doyle to do tai chi. He didn’t want the press to catch on to their hideout, so he frequently left the beach ahead of Doyle, on the lookout for any paparazzi.

Right now, Doyle was on the phone with a client, sitting at his desk in the corner of their bedroom and just feet away. Even though Mevi’s eyes were closed, he could feel the weight of his Sir’s gaze on him, like a comforting blanket. He knew if he opened his eyes, Doyle’s brown gaze would be focused on him.

Watching.

The band would hit the studio in two weeks. Meanwhile, Doyle still worked despite Mevi trying to wheedle him into quitting. He got it, Doyle had worked hard for his career, too. It wasn’t fair to set him adrift.

It wouldn’t be good for his sobriety, either. He needed to work and stay busy. The time apart was good for them, although he had wrangled a concession out of Doyle that for the next tour he would join Mevi for the European leg, which would be limited to only four weeks. At least for the US stops, Mevi could fly home once a week.

When he heard Doyle end the call, Mevi smoothly bowed, forehead touching the floor and arms stretched out in front of him.

Still waiting.

The sound of Doyle standing, walking over. The warmth of the air brushing against his naked flesh. Even like this, holding this position after over fifteen minutes on his knees, his cock was hard, throbbing, and probably leaving a puddle of pre-cum under him on the tiled floor.

He didn’t care.

He lived for this. A small oasis of peace in the middle of their hectic lives.

Them. Just them and nothing else to intrude.

“Good boy.”

There came the beloved slip into subspace. Mevi took a deep, relaxing breath and let go of the last stress, conscious thought, worries about their normal lives.

For here and now, he was Sir’s boy.

Nothing more.

Spending time out of mind.

Not even the worst cravings of his addiction broke through during times like this. If anything, Doyle had replaced alcohol in Mevi’s soul. Mevi craved this, these times. Being able to be like this with him was every bit as intoxicating as the finest bourbon.

And even Bonnie had joked in private that Mevi at his worst was easily fixed by five minutes alone with Dom Doyle.

A zipper lowered, fabric rustled, the sound of Doyle’s shorts being dropped into the plastic hamper next to the bathroom door.

Silence, just the feel of the air kissing his flesh, growing warmer against his left arm, until he sensed Doyle stepping between his outstretched arms.

The feel of his toes touching the top of Mevi’s head.

Mevi kissed the tops of his feet and rested his forehead against them, still willingly in the dark.

Waiting.

Contented.

“Up here, boy.”

Mevi finally opened his eyes and stood, staring down into Doyle’s eyes.

He wore that smile, the playful one.

The one Mevi knew meant he’d be going to sleep later with a sore ass, in more than one way.

Doyle reached up and fisted Mevi’s hair with his right hand, teasing him, moving in to kiss him and not completely closing the distance even as Mevi’s tongue flicked out, trying to make contact.

“Who’s my good boy?” Doyle whispered.