E-Flat Inspiration by BA Tortuga (NSFW)

January 18, 2018

E-Flat Inspiration

 

Howdy, y’all. I’m BA Tortuga, resident redneck and country music addict.

This story features Markus and Sebastian from Fighting Addiction. This piece is set ten years before the novel starts, but it was the story they wanted me to share.

Much love, y’all.

BA

 

***

 

E-Flat Inspiration (m/m, NSFW)

 

Sebastian looked across the postage stamp sized stage at the finest son of a bitch that had ever slinked out of West Texas and into Nashville.

Dark and tight, with eyes like buttons, Sebastian was into the man — up to his neck.

They tended to glomp together — songwriters and pickers, solo artists and bands, deep South boys and the Texans.

Fortunately for him, Sebastian was a fucking Cajun and he’d just rub all up in anybody’s business.

Tonight he fully intended to find out all about Markus Kane’s business.

Markus Kane, who was sitting there, head bobbing a little with the music, foot tapping while he sucked back a beer. That mouth was like all the good sins.

Seb was sure that he needed desperately to be introduced to at least five or six sins, immediately if not sooner.

As soon as Bruce Walker finished his set, of course. Seb was seriously considering talking to the man about starting a band. Bruce sounded a little like a goose with a head cold when he sang, but damn, the man could pick, and it sure sounded like he could write a song.

When he glanced back at Markus the man was staring at him, and there was interest there, not just friendly.

He met that look head-on, making the clearest offer he could without getting his ass handed to him.

Come get me, gorilla man. I could use a nice, hard fuck. We could play alligator wrestlers.

Markus stood, those long, long legs moving, bringing the man to him. “You want another beer?”

“Nope. You want to take a walk?” He didn’t need to be fucked up to get what he wanted.

Dark eyes scanned the room, and he knew Markus was making sure no one was watching. It was a thing, and Sebastian understood it. “You know it,” Kane finally said, nodding toward the door.

“Rock on.”

He nodded to Bruce, to Seeley, and then took his Cajun ass out, whistling on the way.

Markus followed, warm and solid behind him, almost too close, but not close enough.

“I got a place. It’s tiny, but not foul.”

“I share with three other guys.” Those pretty lips twisted wryly. “Yours is a better bet, huh?”

“It’s a closet, but it’s my closet and there’s a bed in it.” Thank god, Mamma sent money. Lots of money.

“I like beds.” One hand slid over his ass for a moment, almost like a promise.

“I like fucking. Sucking, too. I’m also not opposed to handjobs.”

A short chuckle came from behind him. “I am not opposed to any of that.”

“Excellent news.” He turned down an alleyway, leading Markus up a short flight of stairs.

“Oh.” When he turned around, Markus was still at the bottom, staring in the general direction of his ass.

He rolled his hips, nice and slow. “Come get it.”

Markus hit the stairs like a locomotive, charging up, reaching him just as he unlocked his little apartment. The big guy pushed him inside, and Seb’s back slapped against the wall, Markus kissing him hard.

He hooted, legs wrapping around Markus’ hips, heels digging in but good so he could rub. The man was like a giant jungle gym. Hard. Hot. Solid.

Markus tasted like hops and barley and pure heat and Seb pushed into it, fucking Markus’ lips for all he was worth.

With a low moan, Markus lifted him higher, hands under his ass.

Oh, Jesus fuck. He loved that — the strength, the power, the need. “More, cowboy.”

“Uh-huh. Bed.” Markus took him right over to the bed, which was sort of central to the apartment, laying him down.

He pulled Markus’ shirt out of the second tightest pair of jeans in history, then sucked in his belly so Markus’ fingers could work on the fly of the tightest.

Markus had picker’s fingers, clever and quick. His jeans were open in no time.

His cock battered its way out of his fly, pushing right into that touch. “Touch me.”

“Hell, yes.” That big hand closed around his cock, pulling. There was nothing gentle about it.

“Fuck!” He rolled up, his eyes rolled back, and he thought seriously about giving praise.

“Hot as a firecracker, Cajun.”

“You know it. Don’t stop on me, now.”

“No.” Markus kissed him again, and it was like eating something too hot, burning his lips. They ate each other up, tongues duelling, and suddenly Markus’ prick was sliding alongside his, fat and heavy, and his hand joined Markus’.

The heat ramped up a thousand degrees, and they were both straining to get to the endgame but he was sure enjoying the ride.

Markus grunted, and it was blisteringly hot, damn near musical, and he dug his thumb into the dripping slit.

“Fuck! Fuck, man. I need.” Marcus really got into it, humping and pulling at him.

“Got you. Got you, come on and we’ll start over.”

“Okay.” Those eyes met his, like two holes burned in a blanket, and Marcus came like a ton of bricks, wet and good on his hand.

His balls drew up, and he curled up, humping in a random syncopation until he lost it, shooting his brains out the tip of his cock.

Markus stared at him, panting, his chest heaving. He was so beautiful that Sebastian knew he was utterly lost.

“Hey.” His smile grew, slow, from the pit of his belly.

“Hey. That was– I could write songs.”

“Yeah?” He reached for a pad of score paper, a pen. “I got a couple of guitars.”

Markus sat up, too, stretching a little before grinning. “Can we get naked to write?”

“Oh, hell yeah. I write best in the buff.” He made a show of looking Markus up and down. “You know, I’m all about inspiration.”

“Well, I’m happy to be inspiring.” Markus wiggled out of his clothes before grabbing a guitar.

He hooted, grabbed his baby acoustic, strumming an E flat. “So, what do you think of Beer-Soaked Heaven as a hook?”

 

 

Check out Fighting Addiction today!

 

o-fighting-addiction

Blurb:

Country hat act Markus Kane is skeptical when he’s asked to do a joint tour. He hasn’t seen Sebastian Longchamps since he gave up drinking—and since their compulsion for each other nearly cost them both their livelihoods. But Markus’s career is on the downhill slope, while the country-fried Cajun rocker’s star is still rising. His label thinks it’ll be a match made in ticket-sales heaven.

Sebastian knows better. One wrong move and Markus will break his heart all over again. This time he has much more to lose.

Time has changed both men, though, and while Markus and Sebastian try to fight their addictions, the big music industry machine has plans for them that don’t include a quiet retirement. Can Markus convince Sebastian that there are things in life more important than adrenaline and control? And can Sebastian make Markus understand that all he really wants is his music and his man?

Second Edition

 

About BA Tortuga:

Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy’s Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds and her beloved wife, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she’s not doing that, she’s writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA’s personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.

Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the  high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery menages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head. Find her on the web at www.batortuga.com

Leave a Reply