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"If I could
do it again The Cure "Maybe Someday" |
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"If I could
do it again The Cure "Maybe Someday" |
I've only ever done it once before. His name was Ben, and that one was understandable. He looked like you. A lot like you. That was why I'd picked him. A bit rougher around the edges, sure - more solid build, heavy tatts, two-tone hair - but sometimes, when he smiled, I could almost believe he *was* you. I guess it was just a matter of time before I slipped up with Ben. The resemblence was too strong. My subconscious chose to utter your name at a *very* inopportune moment. He threw me out, of course. Called me a fucking queer and tried to disguise his hurt with anger and disgust. Left me feeling ashamed and vaguely unclean. It was a bad move trying to seduce your doppelganger. It wasn't supposed to ever happen again. I can't believe I just did it again. Damien looks, tastes, feels nothing like you. Where was my mind? How could I have screwed up so badly? My first instinct is to play dumb, so I go with it. "What?" I ask, feigning innocent blankness. He's still standing close to me, body hard against mine, trembling slightly - or is that mine? His dark hair messily frames his face and his eyes are huge. "You just called me Daniel." He says, his voice strangely devoid of any accusitive tone. He speaks quite matter-of-factly actually, almost resigned. I decide to skip the bullshit. "Yeah." I admit. "I guess I did." Damien's mouth curls into a wry half-grin. He's not angry. I'm floored. If anything, he just seems... disappointed. He sidles back up to me, igniting my body again with the casual brush of his. I draw a shaky breath, fighting a surge of arousal that threatens to numb my brain. His lush pink lips drift close to mine, a wet teasing brush across my lips and then he withdraws swiftly. "Darren," He whispers, fingers tickling at a sensitive spot behind my ear. "You're beautiful," I feel my face grow warm. I definitely didn't expect flattery at this point. He continues, distracting me from my misplaced embarrassment. "And I'd love to fuck you til we're both spent..." My knees almost give when he utters the word 'fuck', so softly. A light brush of those lips across my cheek now, sending a rush of warmth to my groin. "But I don't think I'm the one you want to fuck." He states solemnly, stepping slowly back and depriving me of the delicious warmth of his lush body. Regards me for a moment, eyes sad, head cocked, fingers hooked in his studded belt. That's the last image I get of him. Soon, like you did, he's vanished into the crowd, leaving me alone. Again. I miss his touch. I miss his warmth and his presence. But funnily enough, I also instinctively agree with him. I can't fuck him as a substitute for you. It wouldn't help any of us, not to mention being obscenely unfair to him. So here I am, standing in the middle of an under-lit, over-crowded dance floor, blood pumping, skin and body pulsing hot with arousal and intoxication and there's only one thought running through my lust-addled brain. If I hurry, I might be able to catch up with you.  Every person in the club is a moving, dancing obstacle bent on keeping me from getting out of this fucking place. I fight through the crowd, not caring who I insult or injure, I just want to get out. Finally, I make it to the heavy doors and the cool night air is a slap in the face. I stumble down the stairs, away from the pulsing light and pounding music, scanning the various night-crawlers littering the sidewalk. There are some half-catatonic drunks sulking in stairwells, brightly-dressed teeny-boppers hoeing into fast food, and long, long line of bored-looking pikers waiting with impatience at a cab rank. Thank christ the cab line is so long. I spot you almost immediately, about five people from the front, and I have to fight a bubble of nervousness that rises from my stomach. I start to walk over. You haven't seen me yet. You are standing sort of turned away from me, and I will you to turn around. I don't want to have to tap your shoulder to get your attention. Even that slight contact could be my undoing. I am a bundle of raw sexual need from Damien's teasing advances, and there's only one person I want to assauge this desire. I'll give you one guess who, Daniel. You notice me when I'm about a metre away. I gauge your response. Surprise, hurt, some irritation. You think I'm here to continue the fight. Well, think again. I saunter close to you, my severe arousal making every motion, every step I take, fluid and screaming of sex. I know you can see it. You can see I'm in heat, and I want you to take care of me. The question is - will you? Are you up to it, Danny? Is this why you came after me? You didn't really fight your way into that club just to make sure I had a cab fare did you? No. Of course you didn't. "Hey." I greet you. Putting as much innuendo as possible into that one tiny syllable. "Hey." You reply, your tone dismissive, your gaze avoiding mine. You look slightly - nervous? What's the matter Dan? Afraid of me? I see you dive for your cigarettes almost immediately. Your hand is trembling as you light up. I reach out and snatch the cigarette from you, twirling it in my fingers before drawing it to my mouth and taking a suggestive puff. I don't inhale (no point spoiling this illusion with a coughing fit) holding the smoke in my mouth for a moment before releasing it in a slow cloud, lips pursed in a suggestive 'o' shape. You stare at me silently, and through the light mist of smoke I can see your eyes are wide. A moment later you seem to shake yourself out of the shock and paint on that uncaring mask again. "I didn't think you smoked." You say blandly, voice a monotone. "There's a lot about me you don't know." I quip, the subtext bleedingly obvious, as I lean over to place the cigarette back between your lips. You don't let me, instead snatching the fag from me and putting it to your lips yourself, eyeing me with suspicion. "What happened to your friend?" "He had to go." "So you thought you'd come looking for me?" "Maybe I had to go too. Didja ever think of that?" "No." You say, kinda scarily forceful. And then you turn your back on me, wrenching a cab door open and climbing in. I don't wait for an invitation, just in case you're not going to give me one, I just crawl in after you as you bark the address of the hotel to the driver. I flop back in the seat and lean on you. Your shoulder is a little bony, but it's just the right height for my head. You body is rigid, I can almost feel the nervousness emanating from it. How many times have I done this before? Sprawled on you, my personal leaning post, and slept on a plane, a cab or bus? Too many to count. But, this is the first time you've felt this hard and uncomfortable. Usually your body is soft and giving, and you relax into me, and I melt into you, and you stroke my hair until I fall asleep. Not this time. Your body is frozen, rigid and un-giving. I lean into you anyway, nuzzling my head into the curve of your neck. You smell good. Like soap, and sweat, and maleness. My fingers want to crawl up and down your leg, so I let them, caressing your thigh through your jeans. How long have I wanted to do this but have been afraid to? I can't think. You are still completely unresponsive. You don't try to stop me, but you obviously don't welcome my advances either. I put it down to the embarrassment of getting it on in front of a total stranger and decide to continue anyway. I turn my face into your neck, inhaling deeply //fuck that's good.// You're like a drug Dan. My addiciton. The skin of your neck is soft. I want to kiss it, so I do. Just press my lips to it briefly, gently. I feel you stiffen, hear your sharp intake of breath. Anger? Or arousal? I tell myself the latter because I can't deal with anger right now. My hand on your leg slides higher. "Darren." You choke out, voice strained. "Shhhhh..." My whisper is stranglely loud, the liquor having robbed me of the ability to control the volume of my voice. My hand continues to climb your leg, even as I feel the muscles beneath my fingers tensing further. I know you want this Dan, you're just scared to show it, just let me touch you, love you, and I'll make it all alright. I can't help a soft little moan that escapes my lips my hand continues it's journey. I'm so close now I can feel the denim of your fly brushing the fine hairs on the back of my hand. My breaths are coming fast and heavy and I know my heart is pounding fit to burst, I'm sure you can feel it too. It only takes a swift flick of my wrist and I'm cupping you through your jeans, feeling your heat and maleness in the palm of my hand. It would've been only a second, but the moment feels like forever. Like heaven. That is, until... "Get off me, Darren." The devil himself has possessed you, and I've never heard your voice sound so purely threatening. You actually scare me. You haven't managed to do that before. You throw me off violently and slide as far down the seat as you can. You can't get far enough away from me. I watch you, fingers burning, eyes blurring, one unanswerable question rolling in my brain. If you can't stand me touching you, why is your dick so hard? |
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