FicWad

We met the first time at a party for a mutual friend, our eyes meeting across the room by chance. He glanced once, looked away, and then his eyes darted back to mine and locked. We stared until it began to be ridiculous. I knew the sudden electric buzz angling through my veins wasn't my just my bewildered imagination when he suddenly broke off his conversation and started winding his way through the clusters of people towards me.

I watched, silently, calmly, though the cocktail napkin I held in one hand like a signal flag was slowly crumpled into a ball of uncertainty and anticipation.

We exchanged only a few words, some meaningless drivel about the weather, perhaps, or guitar strings, and then parted ways, the only remnants of the conversation thin ink marks delineating an email address, a phone number, on my tattered napkin, and a lingering feeling of senseless attraction and stuttering nerves.

It wasn't as though we hadn't heard of each other; no-one gets to be even moderately famous in this business without becoming known of by almost everyone. Still, we were both in unknown territory, and went about getting to know each other in the most circumspect of ways.

We talked on the phone, the conversations marked by their brevity and misleading tangles of words like worms after a rain. The emails were no better, nothing more than, "I'm fine. Please give my regards to [insert name of friend here] next time you see [him/her]. I saw [movie/drama/magazine] yesterday. The [x quality about it] was good. And let's meet up sometime."

Sometime. It felt like we were trying to test the waters so slowly that it seemed as though sometime would last until all time. Was he as afraid of me as I was of him, I wonder? Was he as frightened by the promises that were held in my eyes as I was of those in his?

We were both busy, of course, too busy to spare much more than a few minutes on even the most enticing of strangers.

Eventually we started opening up a little more in our short conversations on the phone, and even more in the ever-stranger emails we exchanged. Sometimes we might transfer conversations from one into the other, and back and forth until the lines between written word and spoken blurred into pixelated fuzz.

We never talked about work, however, no matter how busy it kept us. It was always just a vague, "Oh, no, tomorrow is bad. I'm busy.*" that kept us from meeting. We grew to feel like close friends having met only once.

At last, one midsummer afternoon, it came about that neither of us were 'busy', and we agreed to meet at a bar the next day, early in the evening. I'm not sure how I managed to sound so calm about the invitation when my heart was fluttering in my throat like a butterfly caught on a pin.

I was actually late by a few minutes, delayed by a lunch date with my manager. Faintly nervous that he might have gotten annoyed and gone already, I let my eyes adjust to the dimly lit bar with trepidation. He was still there, huddled over a table in the corner nearest a solitary sunbeam. It sparkled on his feathery black hair in the most charming fashion.

He watched me, wary as a crow on roadkill, as I walked slowly towards him. His eyes twitched back and forth, and though he otherwise seemed calm enough, his fingertips whitened on the sweating glass of beer. I managed to greet him without my voice shaking, a miracle for which I was grateful, and settled down in the seat across from him. It really seemed too early to be drinking heavily, but I had a beer and tried to relax. The tension between us stretched out like the lengthening shadows of the pedestrians walking by.

That was how we met for the second time, in a bar, like any other bar, on an evening like any other evening.

The sky was yet ivory and turquoise as we silently walked out into the breathless heat, agreeing without words to talk somewhere where we wouldn't be overheard, and his hands were trembling almost imperceptibly as he lit his cigarette.

Our silence seemed to infect the world, and all background noise faded, both birds and insects and the busy hum of the traffic. How to defeat that interminable quiet? Did it need to be defeated? Could we just walk and find somewhere to sit and not worry about those useless things known as words?

I had almost forgotten, in the time since I had last seen him in person, how shy I felt around him, and, even more so, how shy he seemed to feel around me. It was strange, curious, the way we walked down the street almost exactly one foot apart, paces in perfect time, hands stuffed tight in our pockets. It was an oddity to me just how happy I was to let him take the lead, to not question which train line we were getting on, or wonder where we were going. I think my heart was beating in time with the sound of the rails.

We sat next to each other, but like strangers, we didn't look at each other, nor did we speak. One old woman looked at us a little oddly, but no-one else cared enough to comment. I got up when he did, four stops down the line, and followed him to a nearby taxi stand. He looked at me slightly askance, and I shrugged. Wherever was fine. That was how I truly felt.

He gave the driver a street address, and sat back, looking a little more relaxed now that we were in an air-conditioned car. The sun was just beginning to set, setting red highlights in his hair and glinting off his sunglasses, fire on basalt.

We eventually reached our destination, thanked the man, and paid. Then he led me up the sidewalk to a thin set of stairs leading up to an apartment, somewhere on the third floor.

It was not at all like my apartment, being, actually, somewhat smaller and very narrow. He did have a private bath, however, which was more than I could boast. We dropped our shoes at the door, revealing that, off of my platforms, I was quite a bit shorter than he was, which seemed to surprise him. He pulled another beer out of the tiny refrigerator, offered me one, and sat down on his couch with a sigh of relief. I could hear wind chimes from somewhere outside. A moment of silence, drawn out, and then an evening bird song broke in and cracked our shells. He broke out into an enormous grin and patted the seat beside him. I sat down, my unease fading at last.

"It's so good to see you."

His voice really was filled with an understated joy, simple pure pleasure at seeing my face again after so long. I smiled, feeling the same.

"Yes. It's nice to see you, too. How long has it been? Four months? Five?"
"Six and two weeks since that party."
"It seems longer."
"Yes. It does."
"I'd ask how you've been, but we've been talking, and emailing, and I almost feel I know."

That made him smile and laugh a little.

"I'll tell you anyway?"

We spent two hours just retelling each other everything we could think of that we'd already said, just to hear it again with the facial expressions and movements. We laughed and joked, drank a couple more beers, made some curry, complained about the heat. It was wonderful, but there was still some strange current running under it all. Something we couldn't bring ourselves to say.

Eventually the steady torrent of conversation slowed to a stream, then to a faint trickle. We were left with just the heavy stillness. He had turned on a single light, just one thing to fight the darkness that had fallen outside. It swung gently in the hesitant breeze from the open window. He looked outside, swallowing a last gulp of beer quietly, then broke the silence.

"I...I don't know why I decided to bring you here, of all places. It's not very..."
"No, it's fine. It's better than some of the places you could have brought me."
"I know. It's just...I felt as though it was, in some way, a sort of date...silly, but..."
"Who's to say it wasn't?"

He looked quickly at me, searching my face for any indication that I had been joking.

"Who's to say...anything?"

I had to muster up a lot of courage to actually meet his eyes again, and when I did, they were filled with an emotion I couldn't quite put a name to. Something like a mix of uncertainty, happiness, nervousness, and a little bit of blank lust. Or so I hoped.

It made it a little easier, seeing that expression, to lean forward until I had to prop myself on my arms or risk falling into his lap, close my eyes (after watching his drift closed as well), and press my lips over his. He drew in a sharp breath of surprise, then kissed me back. His hands drifted up my arms, settling on my shoulders with a gentle squeeze. I noticed that he was still trembling.

I sat back on my side of the couch again, my own nerves wicking up the tension. He touched his lips, as though not quite believing what had just happened.

"I...didn't think you..."
"Don't we all experiment at one point or another?"
"That's not exactly what I meant."
"Ah?"
"I didn't think you wanted..."
"I wasn't sure if you..."
"Oh, yes. Ever since that party."
"Me, too."

There was something absurd about it. We didn't even need to finish our sentences, it was that obvious how we wanted it to be.

"I hadn't met you, but I wanted so much to get to know you. Listening to you sing...It's so strange. It's like you pour everything out into your songs, and then, how they're more like poems than lyrics..."
"Well, what are songs, if not poems set to music?"

He laughed, a dry chuckle.

"Yeah. But seeing you, meeting you, kissing--...I just...never..."
"Dreams can become reality sometimes."
"It's never happened to me before, not like this."
"Me, neither."
"I'm glad, though."
"...Me, too. You surprise me a little. You're a lot different than you look in the magazines."
"Oh, you, too! I thought you'd be more...shy?"
"It's all a matter of image, isn't it. I thought you might be less."
"Mmm. I suppose it is. I'm always more shy with strangers. But we're not really strangers, are we?"
"People are always strangers. That's why there's sex. People want to crawl inside other people's skins, and that's the fastest way to do it. Haven't you ever noticed that?"

He seemed taken very much aback by my direct speech.

"I..."
"I want to know who you are. For some reason, when I saw you at that party, we connected, and I wanted to know who you were at once. Though I didn't even recognize you at first, you looked so different out of makeup and costume, I still wanted to know, and that's why I stared. You shone like a tiny moon. You still do."
"I...shine?"
"Yes. And I want to touch you."
"Like your song..."
"Gently."
"I won't hurt you."
"No..."

No more words. I was through with words. I placed one finger softly on his lips, indicating that he should be quiet, then slipped over to his side of the couch, letting my hand slide down his cheek to twine my fingers in the hair that drooped over his shoulders. He tensed, but reached out for me anyway, probably trying to pull me closer. It was so simple to take his hand, just before he touched me, to wrap my fingers around his wrist and pull it to my mouth. He didn't know quite what to make of it, but my lips on his hand, the gentle kiss I placed on his palm, both surprised and delighted him. He must not have been used to people being gentle with him. He smiled at me, eyes soft. I trailed kisses and tiny tongue-flicks up his arm, all the way to his shoulder, happy he was wearing a sleeveless tee shirt. He had a lovely musculature, sleek and toned--I've always loved guitarists' arms. He hesitantly put his other arm around my shoulders, tugging at me lightly, wanting me to stop playing.

"Is this the best place for this?"
"Only for the moment. Your room will be better, later. If you want it to be, that is."
"I...want it to."
"Then let me tease you. Just a little bit."
"Ah--"

I just tipped up his chin and nipped his throat lightly.

"Go ahead..."

"Thank you," I murmured into his neck, breathing in the scent of whatever light cologne he'd worn that day. Not bad, though not something I'd have worn. He seemed to like my tongue on his skin, and practically purred when I ran my short fingernails down the other side of his neck. I rained down kisses just enough to damp his pale skin, and he smiled. Eventually I brought myself to his lips again, teasing childishly, tiny false attempts that he quickly tired of. He took a little initiative, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me close, catching my mouth in a surprisingly hungry manner.

I curled my arms around him, enjoying the sensation of his lips pressed against mine, his tongue in my mouth. It wasn't enough, though--I waited until he loosened his hold on me, then slid my hand up his chest, tugging the shirt along with it. He let me pull it off, enjoying my pleased huff of appreciation. Cleanly defined muscles, smooth, pale skin, lovely, lovely... I pushed him back into the arm of the couch, leaving him open and defenseless. Softly, I rested my ear over his heart for a moment, listening to the uneven pattering, then resumed my game, holding his wrists well away from my body so he couldn't fight back. I toyed with him, made a pattern of it; lick, kiss, nip, kiss, nip, lick, scattered here and there with a sudden increase in pressure, in passion, just enough to keep him uncertain and waiting. Eventually even I couldn't stand it anymore. His breathing was husky, his eyes half-closed and glittering, his fingers curling and uncurling against my hands. Like a dream, but for the little shining trails my lips had left across his throat and torso.

I pulled back just a little, and he snapped his head up.

"This isn't fair."
"No?"
"No. You get to look at me, and I can't look at you...you can touch me, and I'm left here waiting for permission? Not fair."
"I suppose not."
"...And?"

I released his wrists, very carefully, moving in slow motion.

"And now?"

He smiled.

"Better."

He fussed with the edge of my shirt a moment, liking the furry texture of the inside, then lifted it over my head. I wanted to dodge away, suddenly shy, but he trapped me, arms still above my head, and toppled me over onto my back. I lay there for a moment, waiting, waiting. It seemed like minutes, hours until he touched me again, fingers a little cold, marking out invisible designs on my body. I couldn't breathe wrapped in the soft cotton. Being blindfolded has never been my favorite hobby, but I decided to tolerate it briefly while he toyed with me. I loved every second of his hands, his tongue, even his teeth, demarcating every square inch of me as -his- for the moment, but still, it felt a little bit like being half-conscious while under a surgeon's knife. Fascinating, but panicky. He let me up and pulled off the shirt as soon as I started struggling, a worried look stickered on his face.

"No, don't stop..."

I happily tossed him backwards, pouncing on him and burying my face in his hair and nipping at his earrings. He entangled me in his arms, holding me close, safe in a way most other people can't be. There's a definite comfort in knowing what someone wants from you. I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same way. From the greedy smile on his lips, I interpreted that he was at the very least pleased with the situation. All his previous nervousness was completely gone, replaced with hungry lust.

"You know, I haven't done this in a long time..."
"No?"

Was my voice really that breathless?

"No...but with you..."
"Don't try to flatter me...just..."
"Just?"
"Kiss me."
"Ki-su-shi-te?"
"That's what I said."
"I want to do more than that. I like playing, but.."
"So forward."
"Says the one with his hands on my ass."
"Mmph."
"Don't like that?"
"Nnnn..."
"You liked that."
"...you talk too much."
"Only when I want more than I'm getting."
"So...so sorry."
"You're not, but I still want you."

Pause. Afterthought.

"Now."

If he could have picked me up, I think he would have, and carried me off, too, but I was still on top of him, and too big to be treated like that. He settled for sucking hard on my neck and draping one leg over me casually. I couldn't say no to a request like that, could I? Could you? From a beautiful friend who you hadn't seen in months, and whose momentary reticence was still turning you on, even as his attitude was changing to something completely different? No...

"Can't...get off you...if you don't...let me go..."
"Deal. I'll get off you so you can-"
"Don't say it, or I'll hit you with that pillow."
"Promise?"

The little smirk promised that resistance was futile. Who was I to disagree? I rolled off him gracelessly, flustering myself to my feet somehow, feeling round and furry and bear-like. He rose off the couch like a panther, pleased beyond reason at having turned the tables on me so neatly. I didn't bother to educate him otherwise, just waited while he flicked off the light, dropping us into darkness.

In the dim light of the fluttering streetlight outside, he was just a silhouette, stalking me. I shivered as a light breeze caressed my skin, then again when he touched my shoulders. He limned out threads of heat down my chest, swirling around and around and then sharply down to hook his fingers in my belt loops and drag me into his body. I let him, quietly submitting to my mask of shyness. He kissed me hard, then led me off into his room. I stumbled over every possible obstacle in the way because I have very poor night vision, but he was patient enough. I only ended up pressed against the wall once, with him holding me there and taking advantage of every raw centimetre of height he had on me to make me feel small. Almost too soon, he opened the door to the small room he slept in, and clicked on the bedside lamp. Strangely, it was red. Red? Everything was red...or it certainly looked that way.

The whole place was a little like a nightmare room, full of blood and papers with strange drawings scattered about. Pencils, pens, his bass carefully laid set on its stand...it reminded me of home, but I have six-string guitars, and more books and fewer comics. And I've got a futon, not a western-style bed.

I walked in hesitantly, the light making my head spin. Then he tripped me, grabbing my arm as I stumbled and almost throwing me on the bed. I smiled as I lay there, ostensibly catching my breath; he had chosen an interesting tactic. I rolled over, and he was on me, hands sliding over my body, pressing me down, but now inviting me to play, too.

I could have drowned in the wash of sensations. His hair, his skin, his arms around me and mine around his slender, exquisite body, his legs twining with mine...it was wonderful, wonderful. He left little bitemarks all over my neck and shoulders, and I left large melting bruises on him, marks to make his bandmates wonder what strange sea creature he'd gotten entangled with. I think I was the first to stray my hands far enough to start undoing his pants, but he was the one to sit up and finish the job, then to unbutton mine, playing with the skin stretched taut over my hips. He knelt there looking blood-drenched between my legs, suddenly diffident, the shyness reasserting itself.

His voice drifted out, a dry whisper.

"I want you...so much...you're so beautiful, but so...untouchable."
"Isn't that my line?"
"No. It's mine. I claimed it first. But..."

I sat up, suddenly understanding. He wasn't certain if I was comfortable with the idea yet. The concept made me want to laugh, though I could certainly understand where it had come from. It's not like I run around advertising myself as a sex toy the way he does.

"Fine. You can have the line, but you've got to give something up in return."
"What?"
"Yourself, of course."
"Eh? I..."

The look of surprise that glittered on his face as I pulled him down beside me on the bed and gently folded myself over him was absolutely beautiful, and I couldn't help smiling. He seemed to be ticklish, wiggling relentlessly until I bit him hard enough to leave a mark like the ones he'd already left on me. I stripped him down slowly and even folded his pants neatly before tossing them over my shoulder. He chuckled, but it was a little breathless. I looked him over, pretending skepticism, but delighting in his body. I've never seen someone who comes so close to many different types of ideals--he's at once feminine and utterly masculine. I'm just disappointingly boyish and 'cute', despite my age.

"Now for you..." He reached for me, but I tapped his hands away.
"No way. You only get to watch for the moment. Keep your hands to yourself."

He pouted, but curled up a little so he could watch better. I had to laugh at his expression, which was incredibly cute, and crawled over to plant a kiss on him. He grabbed my hips, trying to tug off my pants, and I knocked him backwards, landing him on his back again, giggling. I slipped off the remainder of my clothes, perching a little shyly on the edge of the bed, my back rudely to my host.

A gentle creaking and quivering announced that he had crept up behind me, so I wasn't really surprised when I felt a fingertip sliver down my spine, then hands wrap around my waist, sliding down my thighs as far as their owner could reach. I leaned back into him, encouraging, and he obliged, nosing the hair away from my neck so he could kiss me while his fingers explored the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I was nearly quivering from the different types of tension that we had created, sexual being only the most obvious, and he smiled against my shoulder, I'm sure thinking it was all his doing.

"May I...?"

I'd be lying if I said I knew why he asked my permission, as I was sitting naked on his bed, leaning against his body, with his hands leaving sparkling trails of warmth wherever they roamed. He did ask, however, and that gave me the right to say no, which is precisely what I did, blinking mischieviously up at him through my hair. He looked startled, naturally enough, and took his hands off of me immediately, as I had planned. I turned on him, pounced, and succeeded in flattening him to the bed, half on top of him, trailing one hand up his thigh. He smiled, understanding.

"I see. You're still...still playing. I'll let you do it for the mo...ment...as long as you keep doing that..."

I couldn't stop, now could I? Not after I'd finally gotten him relaxed into the idea that I might actually enjoy this, that "fuck" might actually viably be a part of my vocabulary. Not after hearing his breath hiss through his teeth when I touched him. I kissed down his side, all the way to his hip, making certain he knew what my intentions were. To my surprise, however, he didn't let me follow through with them. He grabbed my hair and pulled me away, sitting up and grinning devilishly.
"Now, I don't know which parties you've been going to, but in my experience, the one who gets sucked first also gets fucked first, and, I'm sorry, I'm not going to let you be on top. Not first, anyway."

I just blinked up at him, astonished again. This was the first time anyone had ever called me on that tactic. Usually they're just so amazed that I'd be interested that they let me do as I please, giving way gracefully to my wishes. It was almost gratifying in a way. I nodded submissively and sat up when he let go of my hair. He leaned forward, catching my wrists and pulling me to hands and knees, leaning over him.

"How are you with being tied up? Just your hands, at least."
"I..don't kn-." I couldn't lie to him, though I thought about it. If that was his kink, who was I to refuse it? "I don't mind. It's not something I really get into, but I don't mind. Not into pain though."
"Fine by me; neither am I. Hold still."

I don't have a clue where he was keeping the soft leather cuffs, but he had them in his hands before I could blink in confusion for even a moment more. It was like a kid with candy, all rush, no grace--he had me shoved onto my knees, back pressed against the wall, with my hands firmly strapped behind my back, and was gleefully rustling through his bedside table for something else. My heart did a dip and swerve when he came out with a strip of red, silk-backed velvet and promptly aimed for my eyes. I tried to dodge without falling over.

"I..mmm...blindfolds aren't exactly..."
"Only for a moment. I want to see-"
"So do I."
"Too bad. My turn for control. Don't make me get out the gag. I wanted to be able to kiss you."

A little more than I'd bargained for, perhaps, but I gave in. I wanted him to be able to kiss me, too.

"All right...fast, before I change my mind."

He slipped it over my head, tightening the slipknot carefully. The world darkened to a reddish blackness and I was reduced by one sense and forced to drive down a vague panic. He kissed me, languorously, messily, and ran his hands over my torso, making little pleased noises in the back of his throat. Bound, I could do nothing but feel, and listen to my own breath running harsh in my throat. He pushed my head back to fully expose my throat and played there for a little while, tangling his fingers in my hair and murmuring something I couldn't quite make out. All I could hear was the tremulous sound of my own heart beating fast and irregularly. I couldn't help shaking a little, making him laugh softly and press my body close to his, rolling our hips together. It was a sudden burst of realization, however, when I realized that, without the option of vision, everything was sharper for the rest of my senses. The tiniest breath on my neck was like a small gust of wind, and just the act of sliding one finger very lightly down my chest sent electric pulses stammering through my body. Suddenly, being blindfolded wasn't such a trauma after all. I relaxed, almost slumping against him, and kissed at his shoulder, sliding my tongue up his throat to his ear.

"I want..."

I let my voice trail off deliberately, letting him know that I was his for the asking. He laughed again, richly, with a small degree of triumph, but the slow rocking of his body against mine kept me aware that he thought he knew what exactly what I wanted. He pulled away from me after a few moments, leaving me feeling cold, despite the summer heat. There was no noise at first, just the sensation of the bed shifting as he moved. I waited, again trying not to tremble, for him to touch me and was rewarded with silence, then a shuffle of paper and a strange scratching.

"What-?"
"I'm capturing this moment. This is more gorgeous than anything I've seen in a long, long while. Your hair is blacker than crow's wings, your skin paler than the clouds, but tinted with the light so you look painted in roses. You're just...I can't even describe it. There. I'll let you see it when I'm done with you...maybe after I've cleaned it up a bit. And now..." I heard the soft thump of the pad of paper on the floor.
"And now..."

He knelt before me, pulling me forward and nuzzling one of my hips, then graciously licked the underside of my erection, eliciting a startled peep. He chuckled.

"And now I get to see if I can make you scream."

I held my breath...no, more than that, I forgot to breathe completely for a long moment as he gently, too gently, started to suck. A slippery warmth bled through my body, familiar and sweet. I pushed forward, wanting more, and he pulled back.

"No way. My speed."
"Untie me. I want to be able to touch you..."
"No. You got to play games with me quite long enough. It's my turn."
"Not fair..."

My voice caught in my throat like a netted bird as he resumed his 'game'.

"At...at least take the blindfo...ld off..."

I felt, rather than heard, him chuckle. He didn't stop, nor did he show any inclination to move any faster. I slumped a little in frustration. Had he lingered there, delighting in slowly tormenting me with such a painfully hesitant pleasure, it might well have driven me mad. Fortunately, he soon decided that lunacy wasn't the reaction he desired from me. He pulled me fully away from the wall and tossed me on the bed, heedless of the pain it might cause me to be treated in such a way with my hands tied behind my back.

"Gently, please..."
"Ah- sorry. Let me...just..."

He unbuckled the restraints and kissed my hands, then slipped off the blindfold. I blinked hazily at his face, watching his lips part as he breathed. Something about his expression, his eyes, his tongue flicking out over his lips, his fingertips tenderly caressing my waist...it all combined with the midsummer heat and made me just want him on top of me, his skin on mine, his body and mine melding into each other. Now. I wanted sex, pure, sweet, simple SEX.

"There. Better now?"
"Much, thank you."
"Good. Do you mind if I...finish this later? I want-"
I cut him off. "Fuck me, please."
He laughed. "That was direct."
"Not in the mood to be indirect."
"No, I can see that."
"Please..."

I reached up to him, stroking his hair, his throat, desperate for his attention.

"PLEASE...just pull on a condom and fuck me. No more teasing."

He looked a bit bemused as I hung there, suspended on his whim, waiting, wanting, but something in my face must have convinced him I was serious. He nodded, leaned over enough to pull the requisite foil packet from the bedstand drawer while I tried to regain something resembling composure. My breath, though, just wouldn't come out evenly, and my heart wouldn't stop pounding. I was afraid it might explode into a thousand pieces if I didn't feel his hands on my skin again. Just in time, he slid over me, pressing a kiss against my lips and pressing himself between my thighs.

"How do you want this?" I'm not sure how I managed to avoid answering something like "Hot, sweaty, and now," but I managed to resist the urge to be flippant. Besides, I knew what he was asking.
"I want to be able to kiss you and see your eyes..."

He nodded and kissed me again. I dragged myself out of my watery mental state enough to wrap my legs around his waist and drag him closer, closer...I wanted to feel him in me, wanted to let the pureness of physical pleasure wrest me out of my own head and into the realm of feeling. To drown, drown...that's all I wanted.

It always hurts for a moment, but after that, it's like nothing else in the world. You aren't two beings anymore, you're one, and you can't help but find yourself in a completely separate state of consciousness, if only for a moment or two.

I watched his face, abstracted, taking in the look of concentration, the little wrinkle in his forehead that smoothed as his hips settled to a comfortable rhythm. His eyes fluttering open and closed, the cute way he was chewing on his lower lip, the drops of sweat fighting to stand out on his skin...everything was combining to a perfect whole.

I fought hard not to moan as he slammed into me with a little extra force, but he caught it anyway and his eyes flashed open.

"Go ahead, let yourself go...I won't tell..."

I smiled at him, already feeling the tension building within both our bodies, stretching tighter, tighter, like spider webs as a dying insect thrashes about. I wanted those threads to rip, to explode with force, as though we were butterflies, too strong for such fine weavings.

I whispered in his ear, clinging to his shoulders with as much strength as I could muster up.

"Hold me, please...just...please hold...me..."

My mind was going, leaving behind swirls of something like intoxication, fuzzing my vision and melding my skin to his. Dimly, I could hear myself making little whimpering cries as he pressed harder, deeper, faster; his own breath coming out in gasps against my cheek, his hands trailing down between our bodies to stroke, cajoling my body towards orgasm.

"Beautiful boy...let me see you, let me look in your eyes..."

His meaningless words slithered over my skin, cradling me in their whispered caress. I opened my eyes slowly, meeting his, just as the building pressure finally cracked my control. I flung my arms around his back, gripping his hair, his skin, fingers sliding on his sweat. Struggling to breathe, I arched against him, waiting to feel everything blur and disintigrate into the usual particulate matter. He, feeling the first shudderings of my release, swept aside my hair and buried his face in my throat, biting and sucking ferociously. To my intense surprise, it sharpened my senses to the point of pain. Instead of a rush of meltingly soft completion, everything seemed to grow distinct and pointed, piercing me, burning me. I cried out, a strangled scream of mingled pleasure and discomfort, and came, dragging my nails across his shoulders to grip into the soft flesh of his arm. He followed soon after, whispering my name to deaf ears as he thrust into me with careless abandon.

My eyes itched, like I wanted to cry, but I lay there, silent, as he pulled out of me slowly, then tossed the spent condom into a wastebasket. He carefully lay back down beside me, eyes soft, pretty. I pretended to smile at him, stroking his cheek. I could feel a solid ache starting in the muscles of my legs, and curled against him, cooling myself against his sweaty body. We stayed there for a few minutes, each locked into our own heads, nothing worth saying. He broke the silence first.

"The last train's long gone. You'll have to stay here."

I nodded. Yes, that had been the idea.

"I hope you don't mind, but...I'd rather like to go take a quick shower. You can join me, if you want."

No...I wanted to sleep. I couldn't bear to look at him any longer.

"No, that's all right. I'm really tired. I'll wash up in the morning."

He seemed to take that as a good enough answer, kissed me gently, with affection and care, and scooted off, leaving me to my thoughts. I listened to the water running, eaten from within by my peculiar and sudden sense of self-doubt, and slowly fell asleep. I woke up again when he came back to bed, clean and damp. I felt more grotesque by comparison, but couldn't bother to rouse myself enough to comment. We both fell asleep curled into each other's warmth, but I separated from him in the night, repelled by the sweat that the summer humidity provided.

------

I woke up alone, but smiling faintly, a shivering, unhappy smile. I've always hated this sort of thing. Waking up and being uncertain as to what to do next, how you ought to treat your temporary lover, how to expect to be treated. It's different than waking up with someone you really love. I lay there for a few minutes, wondering if he'd left or if he was regretting being with me, or if he was expecting more; where he was and when he'd be back; whether or not he'd stare at me as though wondering what I was doing in his bed. Others have done that. I got up and pulled on what pieces of my clothing were present, feeling that familiar sense of puerile self-hatred returning. If only that sense of beautiful that I have when I'm with people like him could stay.

I walked out into the living room, admiring the framed drawings on the walls that I'd missed last night. He was sitting on the couch, glass of water in hand, tee-shirt draped loosely over his slender frame. He looked entranced, staring out the window at nothing in particular. I wished I could sneak out without being noticed, but my shirt was sitting on the floor directly under his foot. I crept over, trying to be invisible.

"Morning."

Worse and worse. He sounded cold, far away.

"I was...just leaving. Thank you for a lovely evening..."
"I'd heard you do this."
"Wha-?"
"You go home with someone and fuck them and creep out in the morning like you've done something wrong. Like you're some kind of, I don't know...vampire. Like the light of day hurts you. I don't understand. You're so beautiful. Why can't you hold onto that in the morning? Why won't you look at me?"

I dropped to my knees, fumbling for my shirt. He had me dead to rights. I couldn't, couldn't, couldn't look at him. He grabbed my shoulder, pulling me towards him.

"Hasn't it ever occurred to you that sometimes someone might not want you to leave? Did the last six months just mean nothing to you? Are we suddenly not FRIENDS because we slept together? Or are your only friends people who...who...are just like you... Is that it? The rest of us are just pretty things to sleep with when you get hungry?"
"NO! You're not! You're just too...perfect! Too perfect to understand!"
"Keep telling yourself that. I can assure you it's not true in the least."
"You can't understand. You...you're..."

Helplessly, I shook my head, throwing my hair in front of my face like the concealing curtain it is. He couldn't know. He couldn't understand. We're friends, but from completely different universes.

He grabbed my shoulder, shaking me gently. I let him.

"I think it's you who doesn't understand. Don't you get it. I wanted you...with me...not...I didn't want it just to be sex and then I never see you again. That's not how my world works!"

Exactly. That's it exactly. Mine works that way. If someone isn't good enough, then they don't get the prize. I'm good enough for some things, but not good enough for a relationship. That's just it.

"No...that came out wrong. I didn't bring you here for this. I didn't think you'd take it to that point. I wasn't expecting..."

I was.

"Look at me, damn you! Look, right here, and tell me that the last six months was just to feed your need for some random sex someday, and I'll let you go, right now, as you are. I won't care anymore."

I looked up at him, feeling sick, and smiled thinly, like my muscles had all been frozen and all that was left was a painful rictus.

"Then let me go. You could have just left it at good morning, and everything would have been fine. But now... "

I paused for a heartbeat, leaving him to stare at me, horrified.

"Let me go."

He dropped his hand, turning to the window in disgust, or disappointment.

"I'll call you or email you later or something, okay?"
"Whatever."

I sighed.

"Don't expect me to change just because you slept with me once. I don't expect you to understand me, because I know I don't understand you. Anyway. Goodbye."

He watched me pull on my shirt, eyes hurt and forlorn. At the last moment, just as I was getting up, he broke.

"...Please call."
"I said I would."
"Okay."

I looked at him, and he looked back at me, a world of uncertain vulnerability floating in his eyes. I knew he'd see the same in mine.

"See you...later?"
"Likely."

I snapped on my boots, and left, closing him in his apartment, and closing myself out into the world. The muggy summer heat trickled into my skin, melting me into a formless amoeba within my own head. I had taken my chances, come out of it safely, and could now resume life as myself again.

I headed home smiling. Bitterly, silently, nervelessly.

=================naisho=====================
* "Uun...ashita wa chotto, ne. Isogashii kara sa..."