| //Learning The Dance// “What!” You look at him like he’s speaking in tongues--some language you can’t grasp. His eyes are bloodshot and you can smell the liquor on his breath. He’s wobbling but grinning and you back up with one hand, reaching for something to hold on to. From the corner of your eye, you see JC and Joey staring, and Justin is just inches behind him with his mouth hanging open, one of those summer ice pops dangling between his fingers. He cackles and it’s odd you think--that sound coming from him--a delirious kind of laugh. “In love with you,” he laughs again, throwing his hands up. The brown in his eyes is black now and you search them for understanding. Your bags are packed, by the door, and you’re ready to leave for Russia. But now you want to stay and hear this. The horn from the limo blares into your head and you jump. “Damn,” you whisper, pulling your gaze from him to look out the window. “Chris, man, I ...” “Gotta go,” he says, letting the laugh die in his throat. “Go. Yeah. Stay safe and stuff.” He turns on his heel and runs into Justin. You pause and look around at the stunned faces and wonder why your heart is beating like that, and why suddenly going to Russia for some tests is the last thing you want to do. You watch Justin dodge the weaving body that is heading for the kitchen and suddenly want to go after him. The horn blares again and Joey moves toward you. “Man, you gonna be okay?” He’s touching your arm and you can feel the way his fingers curl protectively around your bicep--lending you support or help--or something--the only way he can. “I have to go ...” you say, raking your fingers through your hair. Your eyes follow Chris’ body through the kitchen, and you cringe when you hear a crash followed by a curse. A door slams and you shudder. “Fuck,” you whisper, finally looking at Joey. “Just fuck.” He nods like he might get what you’re feeling but you doubt that. ++++++++++++++++++++ The plane ride kills you. Justin sent along this care package and JC handed you a CD of sketchy songs he’s working on. “In case you can come up with some lyrics,” he’d said. Like you can think of fucking lyrics. The stewardess hands you a pillow and smiles at you, completely ignoring your father, and normally that would piss you off--that special attention--but you can’t think straight. “Thanks,” you mumble, shoving the pillow against the window. You loll your head to it and shut your eyes--but all you see is him. Chris. Telling you bluntly he’s in love with you. Going on to tell you it’s been seven fucking years he’s loved you. And on top of that he’s scared to death that you’re going to go into space and be taken away from him. Well, hell-fucking-o, you think, opening your eyes. The pit in your gut hasn’t managed to go away yet. “Lance? You look a little pale.” “Huh?” You look over at your dad who’s flipping through FreeLance memos. “No,” you say quickly, redirecting your gaze. “I’m okay. Just nerves.” His hand lands on your wrist and he squeezes it briefly before returning to his work. It’s meant to comfort but it just makes you feel childish. You’ve lived most of your adult life, thus far, away from him and you sure as shit don’t need his parenting now. Or do you? +++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The hotel is nice--nicer then you thought it would be. Inside your room a large basket waits for you. From your family you assume. Or Freddie and the gang. Once you get closer you see that familiar chicken scratch--the writing you know so well. Chris. Your bag drops from your hand and you move closer and wonder why in the hell your body is twitching and your heart is flipping--and you see his face again in your mind--his mouth moving and the words coming out. It’s not in your nature to believe him. So you try to shake it away and ignore what he said. Just no way in hell Kirkpatrick is in love with you. Simply can’t be true. You look away from the gift basket and head into the bathroom and try to focus on what you’re here in Russia to do. Achieve a dream. Somewhere in the back of your head, Chris’ voice gnaws at you. His words. Simple as they were. You stand under the hot water but shiver anyway--then you curse and bang your head gently against the shower wall. Maybe you can knock the words away. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Everyone calls at some point--your mom, sister, grandparents, and each one of the guys. Even Chris. You jump when you hear his voice on the other end and brace because you still haven’t looked at his basket. And it’s almost time to head back to the road--re-join the tour and get on with life. Only he doesn’t mention the basket or repeat the words he spoke before you left. The conversation is normal for Chris, filled with jokes and laughter, gripes about his life in general and left with a simple: “Take care Lance. See you soon.” When you hang up, you’re curious why you feel disappointed. Only then do you sit on your bed and open the basket. Only then do you see what he is trying to say. There is a bottle of Dr. Pepper and a bag of Doritos because they’re your favorite junk food. An astronaut Pez dispenser and a pack of gum because you chew it when you’re bored or nervous. He’s got a whoopie cushion in there and you laugh remembering the times the two of you annoyed the hell out of Justin with it. A tube of lip balm and you smile because your lips are always chapped from chewing on them. The last item is wrapped up and you shove the other items to the bed and make yourself comfortable, fingering the box gently. Every nerve in your body is on alert and inside your heart is working double time, sending you into a dizzy spin. You curl your bottom lip between your teeth and crack open the box gently. A piece of paper sits there blinking back at you. Tossing the box to the side, you take the paper in your fingers and stare at it. It’s his writing, childish almost, but you can tell by the scribble of the letters he was nervous when he wrote it. Your eyes drift over the words and your entire body feels on fire. :::: You grew up and I grew more in love with you. Now you have to fly and I had to tell you how I feel. I’m in love with you and that was really fucking hard to tell you. I told you and I don’t expect anything in return. Just please keep your eyes open on this flight and know I support what you have to do. :::: Enclosed in the paper is a St. Christopher’s Medal, at least that’s what you think it is, and you finger the sterling silver through your fingers. It makes your fingertips tingle and finally slips through to the bedspread. You stare at it with unblinking eyes because holy fuck. Chris really in in love with you. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ You snap at the wardrobe lady and you don’t mean to. She’s yanking on your pants and pinning them in a dozen places. “Have a milkshake,” she hisses, piercing your skin accidentally with the pin. “Christ,” you grumble, flinching away. “Watch it!” “Nice mood you’re in there,” Justin grins, poking at your ribs. You glare at him. “Fuck you,” you snarl as the pants slide off your body for adjustments. “Whoa,” he smiles, holding his hands out. “Easy. I’m on your side remember?” He polishes a red delicious apple off on his shirt and takes a huge bite. The crunch echoes in your ears and you study him munching on it. “Anyway,” he says with his mouth full. “I wanted to ask you how the space thing went.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins again. All teeth you think, reaching for your own jeans. “Went fine,” you reply, hopping around on one foot to get the pants on. “Have to go back in May.” “Damn,” he says, chomping his apple methodically. You’re unnerved by his presence for some reason--uncomfortable. “Look,” you say through gritted teeth. “Is there something else you need Justin?” He blinks slowly and throws the apple core into the garbage can across the room. “Nothing but air,” he laughs, directing his gaze back at you. You glare some more because he’s getting on your nerves now. “Man,” he says softly, sliding up to you. The closeness makes you squirm because you’ve been there with him--down that road--and you try to back away. He runs his hand under your tee shirt and rubs the small of your back gently. “He’s in love,” he whispers against your ear. “With you.” His lips drift down and press against your mouth quickly before he drifts away. “That’s not gonna go away, Lance. He doesn’t love. It’s like not in his life mission.” You watch him glide out of the room and stand there in shock until Joey busts in and throws the adjusted pants at your chest. “Fuck, Lance. Dressed. We go on in ten.” “Ten,” you whisper, falling back against the wall. “Yeah ten.” +++++++++++++++++++ The last night of the tour and you’re back in Orlando. It’s hot and sweaty and you forgot how much the humidity makes you horny. Drinking on top of it all and you’re hard from the get go. Several pretty girls catch your eye and Justin is sending out signals--but you’re not in that place. For some fucked up reason you want him. He’s the same as before he told you, nothing has changed with his behavior or actions. It confuses you. Justin is behind you, his hands on your hips, his breath on your neck. You can hear his voice in your ear, offering you a trip down that road again. Another night you would have taken him up on it. But your eyes follow Chris around the room and you turn to smile at Justin. “I’m tired,” you lie and he smiles back at you. His tongue snakes out against your mouth and you shiver. “Tired for me,” he whispers, reaching around to grab your ass. “Go get him, Lance,” he says easily. “He needs you.” You smile back and wander away, grabbing Joey’s drink out of his hand--downing it in one huge gulp. He watches you and laughs, taking back his emptied glass when you shove it at him. “Go Bass,” he grins as you adjust yourself. As you stand on tip toes and look for Chris, you hear Joey whisper to Kelly “Kirkpatrick is in big trouble tonight.” It makes you flush to even consider--to think--Chris and you. You see him across the room talking to some people from the crew. He’s sitting on a chair turned backward, his legs spread, a beer bottle in his hands. He laughs at something a beautiful brunette says and you feel your gut lurch. That’s not all that lurches as you head toward him. +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ His mouth is on yours and you stumble backward into his bedroom. It’s late and the lights are out, you step on something that squeaks and instantly pull away from him. “Fuck,” you whisper breathlessly, thinking it’s a dog. “Toy,” he garbles, attaching his mouth to your neck. “Dog toy.” A laugh sticks in your throat but dies when his hand slides between your legs. Your breath mingles with his and you whimper against his mouth. “Drunk,” you moan softly. “So fucking drunk.” You chuckle and tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer to your skin but he jerks away. “What?” he croaks, pausing to stare into your eyes. His hand falls away from your crotch and he blinks a bunch of times. You feel the moment flee and wish you could choke yourself. “I just ... drunk,” you whisper softly, not daring to reach for him. You can see in his eyes you did wrong and a strange ache attacks your chest. “Yeah I heard,” he bats back quietly, stooping to pick up the dog toy. You can already hear his thoughts churning and long to touch him, get back to that moment just seconds before when all that mattered were his hands on you. “Maybe I should call you a cab,” he says and you flinch at the pain in his voice. After all, he’s in love with you. This is a big moment and you single-handedly fucked it up. So what if you didn’t mean to--the coldness in his eyes is there now and you can feel the walls slam back up. “Chris, I ...” He throws the dog toy at the wall and looks at you. “I get it,” he says curtly. “You’re drunk. Which is why you’re here. Why we were gonna ...” He tears his face away and shrugs--a bitter laugh falls from his mouth. “Hell, Lance, ain’t no big thing. Go on home, little boy. I guess I ain’t in the mood.” He shuts the bedroom door in your face and leaves you alone in the hallway of his home. His dog sits at your feet and looks up at you unsympathetically. “Fuck!” you growl, staring at the door. You want to knock--no, you want to barge in--and kiss him hard and tell him that you think you love him too. Only you’re not sure, and you’re not going there with that. Not with Justin’s words burning in your mind: “He doesn’t love. It’s like not in his life mission.” So instead you kick past the dog and storm out of the house--head to another bar where they know you pretty well--and drink some more. In fact, you drink so much you don’t remember the petite blonde who looks like Laura pushing you into the tiny bathroom stall with the broken door. You kind of recall her lips around your cock and you think maybe you threw up after you came in her mouth. A hickey is the only thing you have for proof when you wake up along with her number penned on the inside of your arm. You stare at it blurrily and use some spit and your thumb to erase it. You rub it raw in fact and wonder how the fuck you even got home. Freddie is your kitchen slamming around and you cover your ears. A girlish laugh accompanies his and you cringe. You meant to get rid of him but never did get around to it. Two minutes later, his face pops into your room and he grins. “Hey buddy boy. Want some eats?” His face falls over you and he purses his lips in disgust. “You look like fuck man. Ain’t no way they’re gonna let you be a space man.” He laughs and slams your door shut, leaving you shaking with a mixture of anger and regret--anger that you befriended the asshole and regret you hadn’t told him to get his ass out already. A fierce scream rumbles in your throat and you let it out--even though it rattles your fragile brain--then throw your lava lamp at the door. It cracks and shatters, blue oil drips pathetically down the wood, but you don’t care. Slipping back under the covers, you pray for the men to stop marching in your head, the cotton to fall from your mouth, and the nag in your heart to go away. You messed up. Again. +++++++++++ Two days later you go to him--just get in your car and drive to his house. The palms of your hands sweat and your heart beats erratically--emotions you’re simply not used to. He’s outside crouched over his Harley, working on it, and you pull up behind him. He glances up briefly, then back down and you feel your heart stop. He’s still pissed. Or hurt. Or both. You want to run--it’s normally what you’d do--but this is Chris and he ... he loves you. Slowly you park your SUV and with trembling fingers, unlatch the door. Your knees are weak and your forehead perspires as you step out into the Orlando sun. You watch the way his arms flex and the way his grimy fingers fiddle with the bolts of his bike. He swears as a wrench clinks onto the driveway. “Mother FUCKER!” he hisses, hurling the wrench to the grass. For a split second, you contemplate running again, getting back in your truck and taking off back home. His eyes are almost black when he turns to face you, making you shiver. They bore a hole into you and there isn’t a time you can remember being afraid of Chris. Until now. “I...should go?” you say and it comes out more like a question then anything. You blink as he strides toward you quickly and you brace, fearful maybe he’ll hit you. Not like you didn’t deserve it. His arms curl around your biceps and he shoves you back against the driver’s side door. “Back, little boy?’ he murmurs into your face. “For what? Why’re you here?” His mouth is so close--too close--and you want to kiss him only he’s holding you back firmly. He shakes you against the door again which makes your body burn. “I wanted to check on you,” you whisper, unable to control your tongue from snaking out against your dry lips. “Make sure we were ... cool.” He laughs suddenly, thrusting his body against yours. “Yeah, we’re cool,” he whispers into your ear before letting you go. Your head spins--your body aches--and when he backs away to head back to his bike, you feel nothing but intense want. “Hey!” you shout as he stoops down to pick up his wrench. There’s a rumble that starts in your chest and roars through your throat. You want Chris. Three long strides and you’re on him, tackling him to the soft grass. You hear him protest briefly as your hands grapple with his, forcing them to the ground, but your lips are on his too quickly. You sweep your tongue inside his mouth, tasting him again, and swallow the tiny moan that bubbles out of him. He smells like sweat and cologne and motorcycle grease, which makes you hard. You forget for the moment that he’s in love and you can’t seem to remember what it was Justin said about him. It’s a sexual collision that you want and plan to have unless Chris fights you. Which he isn’t doing. So you take, licking along his neck while pressing his hands harder into the dirt below. He makes these tiny noises that sound almost whimpery so you grind your hips into his, rubbing crotch to crotch, letting it be known what you want. Like some kind of animal. When you lift your head and look down at him, his eyes are soft brown again, searching yours. There’s lust there, sure, passion you can see, but something more lies there--something that makes you release his hands and stop. He blinks at you, opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off, taking his mouth again--only this time it’s soft and tender--not so much power. You fight it hard but your heart knows something you don’t. That you’re having feelings deeper then like here. The kiss is soft and deliberate and his hands run under your shirt, touching your skin. You lie on top of him and explore his mouth unhurriedly in the hot sun. You can feel him thrust up against you, how hard he is under his jeans, and it makes you groan. For ten minutes you kiss him, bracing your elbows on either side of his head. You can’t remember the last time you kissed someone for so long. He whispers your name and you look down at him. Gone is the wise-cracking, bitching, over-protective Chris you’ve known all these years. In his place you see a man who is battling hard for control, having trouble facing his feelings and the moment presented. You smile down at him and run your fingers through his hair, then roll off him and extend your hand. For a moment he stares up at you unmoving, then smiles back, reaching for your hand. You fear awkwardness and it’s there in some form, prickling at the back of your neck. “Wanna come inside?” he says gruffly, pushing that vulnerability you just witnessed back down. You grin and adjust yourself, shift your erection to a more comfortable position, and nod. He kicks some old, greasy rags to the side and leads you inside, pausing to smile once more over his shoulder. ++++++++++++++++++++++++ Justin rubs your shoulders firmly, his long body straddles your back, his thighs flank your hips. “He did what?” he laughs softly. “Bought you flowers?” You nod, totally blissed out, and feel a blush crawl over your face. “Yeah, these little green carnations.” “Damn,” Justin whispers, working the sides of your spine. “Looks like his life mission is changing.” You bury your face into your arms and try to hide the smile that seems to plague you lately. Justin’s mouth curls around the nape of your neck and you sigh. “You’re really lucky,” he says softly, stretching his body out over yours. His crotch presses against your ass delicately but for the first time in your life, it’s Chris you want above all others. And when you twist your head to look at Justin, he kisses your cheek. “I’m gonna miss you,” he says. He got it before you did, you muse. Then again, Justin sees people more clearly then anyone you know. +++++++++++++++++++++++++ It’s strange but you don’t smother each other with that ‘new relationship’ craziness. He does his thing and you do yours, but when you come together, it’s a completeness you’ve never felt. You find a place between his legs that suits you while he watches the game on television. You lean back and flip through paperwork and trade magazines. It suits you both. Close but still independent. His hand runs up and down your leg absently while he complains raucously about bad plays and refs who need glasses. His foot jiggles and you reach down to steady it, never taking your eyes off the papers you’re reading. Funny how it’s all second nature. The early evening sun falls away to dusk and you push all the paperwork away, opting to lean back against him and relax. It’s nearly time to leave for Russia and you want to make the most of your time together. You don’t remember falling asleep against his shoulder. The next thing you know, he’s gone, and you’re lying on the couch alone with a blanket thrown carefully over you. The moon is shining through the front window and judging by the position, you guess it’s nearing two am. Yawning, you stumble from the couch and wander to his bedroom to curl around him. You want to feel him beside you--just lie against him and sense his body. It’s hard, you think as you push his bedroom door open, not to express yourself sexually with him, but you want to be sure. Positive of your feelings before you take it there with him. Because hurting Chris is not in your life mission. And you have a feeling he loves you for life. It scares you--but *he* doesn’t. Standing at the side of his bed, you watch him sleep. One arm is flung carelessly over his head, the other resting on his stomach. The sheet is twisted around his legs and you smile as you throw your shirt off. In the stillness of the room, you unzip your jeans and slide them off, then crawl in beside him. He mumbles in his slumber and you grin, unable to stop yourself from touching him. Your hand scrapes over his stomach gently, over the warm skin, brushing over his arm to his chest. You press against his hip involuntarily and sigh, holding yourself back. Sleepiness drifts around you and soon it takes you deeper toward slumber. ++++++++++++++++ Bliss. More of it. This time in the form of warm heat surrounding your cock--a tongue swirling around the tip and a sweet tugging sensation. You can’t seem to wake up enough to blink your eyes open--nor do you want to. Hands cup your balls, squeezing them hard enough to create a delicious pressure that makes your spine tingle and your toes curl. You grip for something and find only sheets to hold onto. Your fingers twine in them, clutching and grasping as the mouth works over you. It’s a cold jolt as slippery fingers push their way inside you--your hips buck at the feeling. You strain to hear words, anything to let you know you’re still conscious. Fog whirls around your brain and you feel euphoric as your cock hits the back of his throat. You whimper in your dream-state and when you come, it feels like it’s never going to stop--a flood that starts at your toes and shoots to your brain, pausing at your groin to explode without mercy. A soft tongue licks you clean then you feel your body being invaded. Your legs lift and the first thrust is far more gentle then you need. You hiss and squirm and finally your eyes open. In the shadows of dawn you see his face hovering over yours, gentle and soft, looking like you’ve never imagined Chris could look. It’s that vulnerability that’s come back. “I love you,” he whispers softly, kissing your mouth as he thrusts inside you. You swallow the words but bite your tongue from returning them. You have to be sure. His body moves over you with feral force and when you caress his arms, he trembles a bit. His eyes are closed and you ask him lowly to open them. When he does, you keep your eyes locked on his and watch him carefully. His body never stops moving and soon he’s struggling--you know he’s going to come and you want to watch. He drops his head to yours and grunts a little before he lets himself go. As he slows and pulls out, he mutters an apology and rolls away, disposing of the condom quickly. You lie there breathlessly wondering what the fuck. He’s snoring before you can manage to find anything to say, so you crawl out of bed and dress silently. You wonder why the hell your chest is aching so bad and why the fuck he’s so sorry. It never occurs to you that maybe he’s just scared. Your ego gets a little kick and anger coils where passion once lay. You run once more--into the early morning mist--and head to Justin’s so you don’t have to be alone. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ The limo is waiting to take you to the airport and you chew on your thumb nervously. Justin is sitting on the back of your couch, his legs dangling down, sipping some tea in his boxers. “He’ll be here,” he says, kicking out at you. “I don’t really care,” you snort, but it’s a lie. You do care. Since leaving his house that morning you’ve played phone tag with him--and house tag--missing each other deliberately. Or so you think. Where there was no awkwardness, now it reigns. “You care,” Justin sighs, jumping off the couch. “Just admit you love him, Lance. He loves you. It’s simple.” He puts his tea down and hugs you but you stiffen under his touch. Not only don’t you feel huggable, you feel like a shit. Only you’re not really sure why. Justin doesn’t give up though, running his hands under your shirt, up your sides until you squirm and chuckle. “Stop,” you say but it’s not firm and you really don’t want him to. Smiling is far better then the damned fucked up feelings you’ve spent the past four days feeling. “Then tell me you love him, Lance,” Justin grins crookedly. “You tell me because I know you and I know him and this is a blessing.” You stare at Justin and wonder how the hell he always stays so positive. It’s annoying sometimes. “I love him okay?” you say, reaching for your laptop. “I don’t know how or when but ... ah fuck it anyway!” You don’t know where the anger came from or the pain of speaking the words, but they bubble inside you like a volcano and suddenly you want to get so far away from Orlando. A voice clears from behind and you eye Justin--who merely smirks and steps back. “Love you, Lance,” he says softly, walking backward. “Call me when you get in. Be safe.” He points at you and disappears. “You ... love me?” the voice says and you close your eyes. It’s him. Just like Justin said. Slowly you turn and face him. He’s got his hands shoved deep in his pockets and his head lowered, a blush splashed across his cheeks. “Lance?” You’re stunned momentarily, unable to move. But then you nod and bite your lip--and try to force your feet to move. “I’m such an asshole,” he blurts, inching forward. “I never meant to ... leave things like that and to take you like that when I knew you weren’t really ... aware and ...” It clicks in your head finally. You lurch forward and cover his mouth with yours, pressing him hard against the wall. He freezes then relaxes under your touch. Your hands run over his hips and down his thighs and you lick at his lips desperately. His hands twist in your hair and behind your neck keeping you close. The limo driver bangs on the door splitting you apart. “Damn,” you say, wiping the corners of your mouth with your thumb. “Fuck, Chris, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He stays against the wall, looking at you with big eyes, not the eyes of a thirty year old--more like the eyes of a scared kid. “That’s why I said I was sorry,” he whispers, looking down. You nudge the door open with your foot and nod toward the bags sitting nearby. The driver takes them silently then leaves you alone again. “Chris, this is all just, damn, misunderstanding. I wanted you ... I mean us to ...” A chuckle leaves your lips and you grab his hand. “I wish I had more time here to smooth this over but my flight.” He blinks hard and waves his hand. “Yeah, I know. Go. It’s fine.” You glance at your watch and grin. “Chris, I love you and you didn’t ... hell, I was aware. I knew what you were doing and I wanted it. I needed it.” “You did?” He lets out this deep breath that makes you wanna kiss him again. “Lance, I was just scared, man. I wanted you so fucking much and ... I took you and that wasn’t the ... fuck!” He runs his hand over his face and turns away. The limo driver returns and lets you know he’s ready. You nod and check your watch again. “Go,” Chris says softly. “Call me when you get there and maybe we can talk.” You move closer to him and smile. “I have to go and I will call you and the fact is still gonna remain.” You pull him to you and kiss him, licking the inside of his mouth delicately. “What fact?” he murmurs. “The fact I love you, Kirkpatrick.” You pull back and stare at him. “Loving you,” you say with a blush, “I guess you can call it a life mission.” Your hands slide down his arms and you grab his hands in yours. “You’re so coming to Russia to visit me.” For the first time in a long time you see Chris smile. Not grin or cackle. But smile. A smile you imagine he had as a kid. True in all its glory. His eyes shine and you press your mouth to his again. The time to go is now and you hate pulling back but you have to. He ruffles your hair and nods. “I love you,” he says timidly. “So you better stay safe.” He stares at the medal dangling around your neck and grins. One more look and you dash out the door. “I will.” Your smile, you realize, is true too now, and he walks out the door with you, watching as you climb into the limo. He watches you go and like a child, you turn to stare out the back window. He waves and you press your hand against the glass, then turn and settle in your seat. “Life mission number one,” you say under your breath. “No more running.” You ride to the airport with your fingers curled around the medal he gave you out of love to keep you safe and lean back in your seat. A grins spread out over your face and you realize that someone loves you--and you love that someone back. Space doesn’t seem to big anymore. [ back ] |