Ren pushed open a heavy black door, kicked down the rubber door-stop, then went back for his amp. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was bright. But in the studio, it always felt like night. The studio had graffiti-covered black walls inside, giving it this laid-back urban feel where anything goes. Stacks of outdated concert fliers yellowed all around the front desk. They blew over onto the floor with a gust of air from the open door.

Someone's gut-wrenching amateur guitar solo crept through the hallway. Ren dragged his amp in, gold eyes flashing annoyance. This place was good, though. The walls were soundproof, so once you were in a room the other bands were barely audible. It only cost $25 an hour if they brought their own amps and mics, and the recording equipment was decent enough.

They always chose the room two doors down the hall. It was the biggest, had the least broken equipment, and it was the first room to be outfitted with a few stage lights. Ren liked having those on. The glare tried to blind him like it would onstage. And the blindness made his mind detach a little, so their practices were more realistic.

Ren kicked the open the door, letting it swing back to put a new dent in the side of his amp as he dragged it through.

Without a bassist, The House of Usher consisted of three people. The tattooed one slumped behind the drum set was Jamie. He had manicured black hair and a beat-up 12-piece drum set that had seen better days, but drums can take a lot of abuse before they peter out. These were still hanging in there. Right now he sat bored behind his drum set in torn jeans and a Bright Eyes tee-shirt. If he took his sunglasses off, everyone would know how bloodshot and hung-over he was.

Than there was Gavin, lead guitarist, chatting with a few of the bassists lined up for try-outs. Gavin was tall and skinny as hell with dark skin, and never without something colorful on. Today he was in a purple tank and matching fishnet arm warmers. Gavin always kept his cool, had a nice base of loyal fans, and his solos came out smooth and lightning fast.

Ren scanned the place as he opened his guitar case. Waiting for tryouts were an older guy, two Lina wannabes, and a couple of disgruntled high school kids. No Zia. He smiled, letting out a deep breath.

Ren tapped the mic a few times, the static thud echoing around the room. Everyone looked up at him. "Alright kids, game time's over. I'm Ren, lead vocals and rhythm guitar. The guy chatting you up, that's Gavin, yeah, hey Gav, what's up? He owns the lead guitar. Back there hiding in drum set jungle is Jamie. Jamie's your best friend tonight, kids. If you can't get his rhythms down, you can't play with us, got it? Time for tryouts. You're gonna jam with us for a few minutes, then tell us what you wanna play. Bonus points if you can play one of our songs. Who's first?"

By the end of the third tryout, Ren's patience was thin. He yelled at the last boy, "What, do you think this is a f*cking joke? You play anywhere besides your mom's garage? Get out of here!" And the kid's face went tomato red before he stormed out.

"Ren," Gavin set down his guitar, coming up close to his band mate with a serious tone. "Chill out, will you?"

Ren flipped off the microphone, turning away from the remaining hopefuls and lowering his voice to a whisper. "Who found these guys? The first kid was the only one who could even keep up."

"Whatever you say. But it's a promotion, Ren. You tell the fans they can have a chance at the big stage. Now they're here and you're sending them back with their tails between their legs. Let it go before you lose all your fans, got it?"

Ren took a deep breath. "Yeah. Sorry, I get it. Let's start it up again." He flipped the mic back on, thinking he'd rather eat dirt than hear another sh*tty bassist. He'd put up with it, though. Gavin was right.

When the next bassist came up, Ren was tolerant, at least. She had good rhythm but she needed them to play slower. She even stopped them in the middle of a song to tell the drummer to slow down. Annoyance flared through him, but Ren bit his tongue, even threw in a small compliment for good measure. The girl practically beamed as she stepped down. But Ren knew she wasn't up to par. Great, Lina, he thought. We need you back.

It took Ren a minute to stifle the disappointment. He stared at the scratched floor, wondering if they were going to have to cancel next week's show.

And when he looked up, he saw a familiar lean body and a head of choppy shoulder length black hair slip into the room. He could pick out a hushed laugh, an excitable voice. A flash of heat rose through him. An anger that bordered on territorial.

"What's he doing here?" Ren sneered into the mic. There weren't many people in the room. Everyone knew he was talking about Zia. And that's where their attention turned next.

Zia flinched. He took a step backwards, hurt and mistrust spreading over his face.

Ren watched him hesitate, his step unsure for once. Zia almost retreated until Jamie called out. “Cousin! We're gonna get this thing going now right?” Zia grinned, at last seeming awake. “Boys and girls, Zia's up in this bitch, at last someone's going to show you all how to play the fucking bass!”

Twirling his sticks over his head Jamie beckoned to Zia. “Come on, don't listen to the moody, whiney, cunt faced singer over here. We only keep him around for all the pussy he draws in, anyways.”

Ren ground his teeth, not sure what made him want to hit someone more - his drummer betraying him, or the nagging feeling of guilt he was fighting. That hurt, shocked look on Zia's normally cheerful and cheeky face had made Ren feel like something was gnawing at his guts. He didn't like it.

Zia’s normal smile slid over his lips. It seemed almost like he meant it, but his eyes didn't match as he walked over, juggling his guitar case, a tray of some kind, and his ever present snake. He shrugged from his long black cloth trench coat, putting down both Baby and the tray for a minute on a folding chair someone had left there long ago.

At last he picked up the tray and the snake, winding her about himself. He walked over to the small stage where he stood at Ren's feet, staring up with a hopeful smile. “I made everyone bite sized Key Lime pies. My mom's own secret blend. I know it's like so cheesy, but I thought you guys might be hungry, so...” He trailed off as Gavin took Zia’s hand, helping him into the stage.

“That's really sweet of you Zia, ain’t it sweet of him, Ren?” Gavin asked the singer with a pointed glare.

Ren openly sneered back. “What are we at, the fucking Model UN club meeting now? Mini Pies?” He rolled his eyes as he sat down on the stage, dangling his long legs off it.

“So fucking lame.”

Jamie flipped him off behind his back. “And when do you do anything for anyone, man?”

Ren recoiled a bit. That had stung. He wasn't that much of a dick, was he?

Zia cleared his throat. The other two turned to look at him. “Listen, it's fine. It's just how he is. Coming backstage for two weeks, hanging with you guys, I think got a feel for him.”

To Ren, he just said. “You can hate me, you can hate my pies, and my snake and whatever. But what I would tell you not to do is ruin me joining your band before you even hear me play.” His tone was mild and reasonable everything Ren was not being.

Ren sulked. Worse, he knew he was sulking. Oh, how much worse that made the fact he was acting like a spoiled rotten child while Zia of all people, Zia, got to play the reasonable one. The blonde got up and stalked over to the others, grabbing a bite sized pie off the tray. He popped into his mouth staring at Zia mistrustfully one eye slightly squinted.

“You better be everything you claim you are, or so help me, I'm kicking your ass out before your done playing three cords and holy mother of sugar and spite these things are good.” He seemed to shock even himself as he praised Zia's cooking but anything else would be a lie.

Jamie had three in his mouth and was smacking Gavin's hands away from the tray, whining about his munchies. The lead guitarist was fighting valiantly against the stoned drummer even going as far as to pinch his ass to make him let go of the tray. Zia chuckled at their antics as Ren's face grew ever stonier. The candy cane on legs cleared his throat again, casting his blue green eyes downward. Ren offered him his case.

A long look passed between them, longing on Zia's part, a searching neediness. Ren's eyes were calm now, but with a more than a hint of challenge. “Play well.” He turned towards the microphone.

Zia slipped his snake off then put on his ax, and after some fancy arm work he had both snugly where they should be.

"Play Burn Out," Zia said into the microphone. Ren and Gavin exchanged looks. That song started hard and drove harder, grinding into itself like skin on a cheese grater. It wasn't their most difficult song, but it was in the top five.

Ren shrugged, cooly eyeing Zia's snake. Then he nodded at the drummer.

Tap, tap, tap - Jamie slammed his sticks together over his head, and they drove straight into the song. Zia didn't miss a beat, his fat bass strings vibrating as his pick snapped them. His arms looked suddenly sronger, the tanned muscles edging out. Nonplussed, the snake sat over his shoulders, blinking cooly out at the other players.

Ren gripped the microphone, his eyes locked on Zia's hands. They were strong, veined. And Zia had a gripping power over the music. The black Fender bass drove each note up Ren's spine, until the music crawled out into his blood, and he sang.

Come back down, your body's drained

down the sink or up the vein

Don't let me drive, don't let me

preach to you

I must want pain 'cause I still reach for you

Jamie's drums and Gavin's guitar went into a decrescendo, becoming slowly quieter. But Zia's bass picked up. Everyone's eyes were on the raven-haired Zia as he plunged into the bass solo. His beat was dead-on. It had a life of its own.

Ren's knuckles gripped white on the microphone. He forced himself to look away from the snake wrapped around that slim tanned body, away from Zia's strained muscles forming beads of sweat. He stared into the fierce hot lights, feeling the microphone alive in his hand, and a wicked little smile twisted on his lips.

Come back down, come strike me blind

my body's what you had in mind

Don't let me touch, don't let me

speak to you

I must want this, I still feel need for you

You bring me in like a moth to the flame

I run to you, I'm burned again

But I'm burned out now,

I'm burned out...

I'm burned out.

The song slowed to a stop. Zia's last note hung long and slow in the thick air. When the sound died and silence replaced it, there was not a person in the room whose heart wasn't beating faster.

Gavin punched his long dark arms up in the air - "F*ck yes!" Leave it to Gavin to break any silence. And since he was still gripping his guitar, it swung up over his head, the strap falling down over his head. "F*ck yeah!" he laughed. "Zia's in the band, hands down, f*cking bass rocked this ass!"

Ren wiped sweat from his head with his forearm. He was dripping. The front of his shirt was damp under his guitar. He didn't like it. He didn't like having to bite back his harsh words or accept this obvious fate. He turned his back to the lights as he set his black and red checkered guitar in its stand.

Zia stood cooly, left hand still curling over the wooden neck of his Fender. He leaned over into the second mic, blue-green eyes burning on the lead singer. "Is that the verdict?" He asked smoothly.

"You picked all that up just from coming to our shows?" Ren asked in reply. He eyed Zia for a second before he found a half-empty bottle of water and chugged it, back still to the lights.

"Jamie helped me out a little."

Jamie set his sticks down on the snare, then folded his hands behind his head of glossy hair. "He picked up fast, Ren. I've been playing with Zia for years, you know. We mesh."

Ren threw the empty plastic bottle at the back wall, and it fell on a piled-up trash can. "Alright. You're in."

It took less than a second for Zia to throw his guitar down and pummel into Ren, snake and all. And before Ren got the chance to push him way, Zia jumped up, wrapped his tight black jeans legs around Ren's hips. It was all the singer could do not to fall over. He stumbled back a step, reaction time not up to speed with the little devil wrapped around him.

Zia's lips grazed his ear, whispering something Ren couldn't make out at first. The words wouldn’t register right away because Zia smelled like blackberry candy, like something he wanted to taste--

"You owe me, Ren." The whisper lingered as Zia's fingers gripped through his blonde hair, and his slender legs tightened their grip. Ren licked his lips hesitantly, overwhelmed by the closeness of limbs and scent. A sudden thickness in his chest told him to bury his face into that slim neck, run his tongue over the smooth skin, close his mouth around it. The whisper came again. "Play nice with me now, will you? I'm sensitive."

"Off, off off," Gavin's voice cut in. The pressure was all relieved as Zia slipped away from him, guided by Gavin's pull. "No jumping on Ren, he'll hurt you."

Zia's eyes were heavy and seductive as he stepped gracefully backwards. The flush on Ren's cheeks hadn't escaped him. He smirked as he slowly unwrapped the snake from around his neck and rested her on the chair. “Are you going to hurt me, Ren?” He asked in a tone that was anything but innocent, looking up from under long dark eyelashes.

“No,” Ren said softly, matching Zia’s tone. He turned his head away. “Why would I want to do a thing like that?”