Michael - No turning back
"A red flag?!? "
"Yes, well. Dark red, to be exact."
"A dark red cloth."
"Yeah."
Silence.
"Mike, honestly. It seems to me that you had stoned of all, look, "Morgan sighs, abandoning their hands on the steering wheel.
am again sitting in the car, parked again in Michael's house. Again Morgan is smoking while waiting for his sandwich the other end - the 'last of the five that has already swallowed for dinner.
But this time the rest of the friends is with them - that's a special night. A ritual that happens every summer, and anniversary celebration. a very private affair.
There the famous concert Fat Skeleton, Central Park.
"Fuck. But you realize that ten years have passed since their first live? "Question Michael, muttering the words around a concoction of mustard and sausage.
The other shakes his head, though - frowns.
"You're trying to change the subject?"
"What speech?"
"We were talking about in your dotage, Michael, and my concern about it. Look, is appalling, I do not know if you realize ... These photos can be seen, among other things?"
"What picture?"
"Here, in fact."
Morgan sighs.
"The photos that you took the destroyer of your brain, baby, the apotheosis of all plates. The red flag, remember?"
"Oh, you mean those photos ..." comes the reply, absently. "No, um ..."
Swallowing the mouthful, Mike clears his throat.
"The point is that I have not here with me right now ... I'm on at home, you know ..."
"Yeah, I guess. And where you're going to go now, for a change?"
glance.
Mike snorts, crumpled wrapping the sandwich.
"Hey, beautiful, nothing personal. But it is a matter a little, 'you know ... intimate, you know?"
"Intimate, yes."
"Eh."
Silence.
"And you do not have you stoned for Red ..."
"No, Morgan, I was not stoned for any red, damn it!" Michael blurts out, opening the door. "With I closed him in the very moment dared bit into the language - we do not spend an evening together even if it were the last of men on earth! And now I go on to change if you do not mind, "he adds, leaning into the passenger compartment." Dare not say more, and do not move there. And do not finish me sandwich, thanks! "
" Do not eat that stuff even under torture. "
" Perfect "is the answer, and already Michael is away on the sidewalk. While the hand sinks in the pocket for the keys, and eyes dart back as a threat. An ultimatum, almost.
the concert.
The concert is a celebration too fat Skeletons important to be left to pollute the outrageous allegations of his equally irreverent friend - Big Jim left the group to retreat in a Tibetan monastery, true, and it is also true that Michael has not completely metabolized the defection of his favorite drummer.
But still, it is still the legendary Fats Skeletons!
Hard rock at its purest - the roaring of wild percussion biting electric guitar in excruciating agony. Mystical ecstasy, almost.
And then there's the fact that they met with Morgan during his first live band - they were both camped on the lawn waiting for the exhibition and Mike died of hunger. And Morgan was eating a sandwich. Was enough that. Back
to listen together is something to which both have always held a great deal - Morgan moved the date of his second marriage so as not to miss the event.
Why now insist on wanting to ruin the evening jabbering nonsense and allegedly stoned Rossi is a real mystery - more than all are exactly eighteen hours that Mike does not see Ash. Eighteen hours that do not invite him to dinner or not the knock on the door coming back from work - eighteen hours of the drawer that pulls out his photos. Or that does not pick up the phone with the intention to call him. He even declined to spend the night in white yesterday ...
Morgan can not understand.
must go through them, some quicksand - have found a few millimeters from Ash's naked body with that fucking cloth stuck under your shoes and the line of his back that seemed to rewrite every geometry. With that he turned his head slowly - with the profile of his neck that curves up. His eyes sunk in the flesh. Fuck.
dare one breath would be enough to completely lose the right - completely. And the idiot talking about stoned
... Looking in the mirror, Michael snorts.
is the third time that plays tonight - for some reason anything that is in the closet seems to be able to satisfy it.
It did not even wear a shirt more indecently transparency of the repertoire - the one that pushed even ask him to Albert, with a grin: "You go out like that, are you sure?"
What is usually able to put to rest any claims narcissistic, and also offers the priceless opportunity to tease the doctor. That never hurts.
But nothing.
tonight does not work.
And while Michael closes the door behind the house, which is caught by the sudden revelation of what is the reason why no shirt no cloakroom to the world seems quite suitable. Or no jeans quite cool. No after-shave quite bitter. Shit.
is in trouble. Why is
stopping on the landing - is watching the bell of the apartment Ash too hard. His fingers drum on the deck in way too suspicious of the keys.
And he knows, damn it - knows how it ends when the voice of common sense that unconsciousness and begin to call his attention from so many different directions, meaning that some shit is going to do, and that is fucked up history. No time to develop minimally articulated an intention, most of the time.
Descend the stairs, you asshole! grunts logic, by some remote corner of his consciousness.
But now the thumb has pressed the bell - the door of the apartment is slowly redesigning the prospect of space. Ash's eyes are fixed inside its box for a bit 'dull room. And he's already fucked, simply. As usual.
Nor would wonder much, after all, if adrenaline is not come every time to swell the veins in a manner so explosive.
"Um. ... Hello" ventures, tilting her head in a disarming smile. The most disarming of which has never been able, probably.
front of him, immobile, Ash joins her eyebrows in an expression vaguely curious.
"Hello," he says, glancing in the stairwell. "Everything okay?"
Michael straightens his back.
Perhaps the smile was a bit 'too disarming, in fact ...
"Sissy," she says, trying to maintain a more neutral. "Everything okay. Of course."
"Good."
"Yeah."
hesitation.
"You?"
against the wall, the other casually shrugged his shoulders.
"You need something?" application. "You're leaving?"
"Yes, hm ... I went to ask if you are familiar Skeletons Grassi, really ..."
"The Skeleton Fat?"
"Now they have changed name, actually - since Big Jim left the group. ... But I would have done equally even if he had left: it was sixty pounds thinner. Did not recognize him, look. And anyway, it was a real tragedy ... "
" The weight loss of Big Jim? "
" The lighting, more than anything else, "says Mike, seriously." It happened after a day he looked in the mirror, it seems. It has not seen himself. A little 'as Siddhartha on the banks of the river, you know? "
But Ash did not mind, perhaps because it is limited to secure it without saying anything. As if she was studying - as if in front of an alien being who speaks a language completely unknown. Or how would you do if I were to interpret the words of a madman, more easily.
To all this he, of Moreover, it is now already quite accustomed to.
"Are you sure you Essert smoked anything strange, while returning home?" Finally, the question is, skeptical. "O had not skipped lunch today? Lack of sugar?"
"In fact, I ate some 'just for dinner," admits Michael, with a grimace. "Maybe we stop along the street to get some hot dogs, if you like. ... Or a kebab at the kiosk"
"On the road?"
moving away from the wall, the boy looks at him sideways.
"Why do we have to go somewhere?"
"Well, but ... But at the concert Skeleton Grassi, no? They play in Central Park tonight. With new drummer you know ... "
" Oh. Fat Skeleton in the concert. "
" The first without Big Jim. "
" Yeah, I forgot ... "Silence
.
" Sure. Okay. Just give me five minutes and there are, okay? "Ash then decides, in a completely unexpected. And Michael felt a smile curl in a fold of true euphoria while crossing the threshold of the apartment - while the eye follows the removal of kid down the hall. While the movement also draws its sinuous waves against the light, and her lips dry out with each breath. At every step, inexorably.
Fuck.
Perhaps it's to shift the focus on something else , hm ...
Still does not work, because the next room come subdued rustling that slip on the nerves like an electric shock and he is a thousand times already cursing you for choosing jeans tighter, lighter ones. Those less fit, dammit.
should have anticipated. How
should have provided the sneer of Morgan, later, when Ash runs alongside the sidewalk to reach the car parked on the street corner. The
friends are leaning against the side of right - arms crossed over his chest. Eyebrows raised to form a perfect arc, in an expression of sheer triumph.
"Oh, but look, look who's here ..." he chuckles, as soon as come within earshot. "The last man on earth ..."
"Ash, he's Morgan," Michael mutters, throwing his friend a look grim. "Morgan, this is Ash."
"But what pleasure, now you know!" is just the exclamation, thrilled. "Michael does nothing but talk about you, you know?"
"Mike always talking about ..." the boy answered, looking vaguely suspicious. "Nice, though."
"All mine, I assure you!"
"Good."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"Now we can go, then?" Mike curtly, leaning to throw open the car door. "Ash?" adds, motioning to the boy to climb.
But when he lifts his eyes again find that Morgan has not moved an inch - it is setting. That seems petrified. And not more grins, oddly enough - that suddenly his face became serious. Almost pale.
For a moment, in fact, the impression is one that could collapse at any moment there on the street.
"Well?"
Interdict, Michael tilts his head slightly.
"Mike ..." syllable friend, a few steps away. A clear call to follow him, of course.
pressing his hands on the body of the car, he snorts disappointed.
"Ohi, Ash. Just a moment, okay? "Says the boy, patting him on the shoulder.
And still can not decide what could be the problem as follows Morgan to the corner of the pavement - as he looks at turning around slowly. While watching him launch a ' look at the car, and then the boy. And then the machine - dark.
The question, from this point of view, it takes quite a surprise.
"I mean, Mike, let me understand ... is he too, at the concert? "
" Ash? "
" Oh, Ash. "Pause." Come to the concert with us, by any chance? "
" Oh, yes. Did not I tell you? "Michael smiles, relieved." I was just closing the door when I thought to myself: why not invite him? Lately, not going through a great period, you know: his brother has disappeared. I said a little 'healthy hard rock would be good, right? "
" Right, "articulates the other, slowly." Very noble of you. "
" Well, I'm glad you' s All right! "
" Yeah. "
" At the time he had me scared, "Michael chuckles, shaking his head." Can we go now, then? "
" I'm afraid not. "
" Why not? "
" Why There is a small problem, Mike. A sum of trinkets, you know ... "
" Robetta sums? "
The other sighs, wearily.
"You know how that one plus one plus one, right?" asks, and he frowns in a suspicious look.
"That question would be, pardon?"
"Put it this way, then: a guy with a beard, plus a red guy, plus one guy hopelessly stupid ... how many guys do?"
"Three guys?"
"Three blokes," Morgan repeated, raising his eyebrows. "And we have many tickets, baby?"
Silence.
"Oops ..." and then chuckles Michael, finally focusing on the issue.
has always been denied to the practical aspects of everything - then when it lets take the enthusiasm can even forget about it altogether. This is nothing new, of course. But generally there was Albert, to reduce the scope of the problem. You organize everything - to solve the mess. Finding alternative.
"Shit ..." is the only thing I can tell him, instead. Depressed.
Leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, Morgan is watching him critically.
"And then you'd be the non-stoned ..." he says.
But the fact that Michael receipts replicate without the provocation does not bode well - especially if you add to this the flash of triumph that crosses his eyes while moving his eyes from the machine to the face friend. And then the car, as if he was perfecting some idea too brilliant not to devote its full attention of the case. As always when going to come up with a gimmick particularly bastard.
imagine what goes through my head, in this case, it is not very difficult ...
"Oh, no. No, we do not even think about!" Morgan growls, as he tends his lips in the most satisfied of smiles.
"Come on, just this once!" exclaims. "You could invent that you had a sudden engagement! Or say that you're not feeling too well ..."
"Michael. Here the only one who may not feel too good you are, if you dare to give my ticket your kid! "
" There, there. Proved to be noble, "but he continues without badargli." Then in short, is not even dignified that you spend the evening hopping between the kids. At your age ... "
" We want to talk about your, age?? We want to talk about the shirt you put on?? "
" Tsk. This is the first that I found in the closet ... "Michael mutters, pushing him unceremoniously to the car. It stops only when they arrive in front of the door open when you leave to go Morgan resigned against the chrome body.
When the eyes suspicious of Ash emerge from the window pane, just below. E si piantano su di loro. Cupi.
Schiarendosi la voce, Mike affonda allora le mani nelle tasche.
"Abbiamo un piccolo cambio di programma…" annuncia. "Morgan non si sente niente bene, purtroppo."
"Oh."
Silenzio.
Da dentro l'abitacolo, Ash si sporge appena verso l'esterno.
"Qualcosa di serio?"
"Mal di pancia," esclama lui.
"Mal di testa," esclama l'altro, all'unisono.
"Sì, insomma…" Mike tossicchia, imbarazzato. "Un malessere diffuso…"
"Capisco."
Ancora silenzio.
Spostando lo sguardo dall'uno all'altro, Ash esita ancora un istante.
"Then you go home?" Finally, application, addressed to Morgan.
"Sissi, is better," Michael said quickly, before his friend has time to open your mouth. "Among other things, the belief is good for a walk to digest ..." he says, pulling the keys from his hand. "The car you carry me after the concert, quiet!"
"Mike. Let me tell you with all my heart that you are a true and authentic ..."
"Friend. I know." A pat on the back - fast. "You think about getting into shape, okay?"
"Fuck."
"Fuck," he says quietly, taking place on the seat. Buckle up, turning the key in the picture. Pressing his foot on the accelerator.
"It's our way of saying goodbye, you know ..." then says, coughing, turning to his right when he discovers Ash's eyes fixed upon him.
Imagine all too well what goes on in the boy's head and was not deceived, even for a moment that the scene of a moment before he could get him at all. Sa
to have destabilized again - in a sense that he bypassed his defenses.
In opposition seems to succeed remarkably well even when there is no real intention behind. Even when it behaves normally.
But he likes.
And he likes the idea of vibrating the walls of his secret hiding place - The love it when he looks at it that way. When it seems about to say something and then surrender - when he takes on air of nonchalance as if he had everything perfectly under control. As if nothing could really scratch. The
is an infinite tenderness.
"Then 'sti Skeletons Grassi make music? heard him ask, with a little 'nervous - the first time shows signs of discomfort.
"Hard rock," he says, then simply pretending not to notice. And start talking about the group, the strength of certain sounds. Electric guitar and percussion solos and, until Ash notes that the position has become more relaxed and that the monologue is slowly becoming in an exchange. Laughter. Often provoke and abetting after less uncertain. Roots that sink into the ground, an inch at a time. Need patience, essentially. It's like when
aspects to capture the truest expression, hidden behind the lens of the camera, waiting for a stimulus and discover that even the most perfect shot will never be able to give you.
Why is invaluable experience of stripping someone. Always.
And Ash is defined in the light and dark, shaded in tones of black and white. Her sensuality is expressed essentially in the posture of the body - the way he knows to leave his head against the back when he laughs and sinuosity of spontaneous movements.
We observe for hours, Michael, if the very act of looking was not likely wiped out any wins.
remains the only alternative to distract him - talking and laughing and playing as if the stomach does not dig him down every single time they head back. In that way. Finding the curve of the throat, and clavicles infossatura under her shirt. Redesigning the lips in new forms. New
dizziness.
The air is sweet as every summer in Central Park - the night dissolves in the embers of cigarettes that sizzle in the dark like mysterious insects. In the sweet smoke of the pipes.
And there are many people, different people.
Groups of guys with beers in hand and heavy metal on their Harley Davidson - couples stretched out on the lawn. Some familiar face, from time to time. The usual gang of noisy teenagers.
might seem the set of all time if the moon were not so sharp tonight, and if the shadow of Ash does not stretch the field with the hypnotic movements of a wave on the beach. Walking beside him
Michael looks at the dark spot become increasingly thin as they venture into the park - note the curve of the hips that is softened in soft shapes.
see the outline of his body touching her in the illusion of an invisible touch - the gradual merging of the contours. The halo of light that slowly fades, which fades into the grass.
He continues to talk because the perception of that neighborhood is not stunning at all - because the blood does not fly too strong in the temples. Because the cool night air does not ripple the skin that way, with that intoxicating sensuality. With that intangible lightness.
is curious how the presence of Ash manages to change the texture of things, like always end up blowing the nuances of reality dreamlike atmosphere of the moon.
It makes no difference if you watch in silence from some mysterious corner of his shadow, or if he laughs at your side as you would any other kid: his body seems shaped in a different material - such as spider webs that reach the skin without being seen.
And his bones are invisible traps, hidden in the pallor of a body in the dark seems to be made of transparent glass, but just a moment to find frightening solid - so real to block breathing. To remove the balance.
Michael tends to get distracted too often and that's what the damn time, with Ash: the habit of moving the focal point just as close to the image - the charm dell'inafferrabile. The feeling almost crazy to be able to catch it, its mystery, when all around is darkness so thick.
But then the people flocked to the prairie, the coffers bursting with music. He grabs the wrist of the boy to take him with him to below the stage.
And the impact is powerful - like an unexpected air pocket. As the prominence of her bones below your fingers to press - the very clear perception of form. Into place.
Fuck.
He waited for that concert for a whole year, and now he wanted to listen to the music remained only a crescendo of vibrations at high volume whose only effect seems to be to emphasize already too intense feelings. Too vivid.
The people behind press - press the sides.
against breast Ash rub shoulders on the fabric of his shirt at every movement.
It is useless to scream, let the adrenaline runs out of its bite in fatigue. O exaltation. He's there.
front.
Her hair touching his throat and his hips rubbing on jeans - the weight of his body almost painfully pressing on the groin. And the music is like a drug that heightens the excitement. A thrilling torture.
How to scream his name only to see it turn, bend to see the profile of his throat. And yet to watch the green light in his eyes - a whole new light. Something that he hoped to give him since the evening that he met the Nowhere up since he crossed his eyes in the shadow of exile inaccessible.
now know I have succeeded, Michael. Or is there
successful music, and more likely. But no matter.
Ash is beautiful when you let go - paradoxically it is in the spontaneity that his actions are loading the most intense sensuality.
And if the experience can help you manage the provocation as they were a game where you know the rules well or ill, that kind of seduction could drive you nuts instead of the whole.
Or it could lose it all. Make you fall in love.
But no matter.
Mike has been clear from the first contact that there is absolutely nothing erotic to Ash, in the way at times clung to the shirt. Or in the way that lets the body drop to his. The way she smiles.
And that's okay, though maybe it's masochism. Or if all this can seem almost too generous for not alerting the alarms of danger.
Michael has never been particularly good at keeping out of trouble, anyway.
Why should this time be an exception?
"Hurry, hurry! I have a thirst that I die!" exclaims later, when the concert is over and now Ash has finally managed to return from the kiosk with a can of cold beer.
He feels the fabric of his shirt stuck to the skin - the air space just recovered which freezes the sweat on my back. The wet hair - caught in the eyelids.
And that sense of euphoria that still shows no signs of violent to calm down - that continues to throb in his temples as the blows of the battery. Or the bass keyboards.
reached out, play to steal beer from the hands of the boy.
The elbow that comes in response seems more playful than convinced, however, and Ash looks at him, laughing as he opens the can to take the first sip.
"Were not you the one who lived on coca-cola, you?" then asks, handing him.
"Not tonight, I think I need something more than alcohol ..." he says, hurrying to swallow as much beer can be taken without breathing. Hear it running down his jaw - throat. And then rubbing her mouth with the back of his hand - his eyes closed. Air satisfied and that must be exhausted after sex, probably. Or after he played for hours. In any case, the timing of the ice cold is always a very mystical.
"Well?" question to Ash, seeing that the boy is watching with an eyebrow raised. "Paninini not did you get?"
"I thought the concert Skeleton Grassi was too solemn an occasion for your stomach ..." is the answer - as usual impertinent.
"It's your stomach that has serious identity problems, pile of bones!" Then he snorts, handing a pat on the head. And when the other returns it with a pinch she takes it in the side trying to tickle him. Finding himself with the rest of the beer upside down on his shirt - with the imprint of his shoe on the calf. And with the weight of his body back down on him - his arms tightly behind his back stops. The legs intertwined with his, to stop the movement.
It's crazy.
The need for physical contact is so strong that even Michael is reviving abandoned attitudes about fifteen years ago, when wrestling with a few friends on a regular heterosexual seemed to be the only way to be able to touch it without doing too much damage.
But it is probably the fault of the music - he thinks - or all of the adrenaline built up at the concert. The need to download it somehow.
Maybe.
"I is only good that I no longer have the age, to break down the kids on the lawn, "he chuckles, finally decides to loosen the grip on the body of Ash.
" Very mature of you ... "mutters another. And then staggers a moment to resume the balance, - the system with a shirt tug. The spear glares from under the red clumps.
And that's when Michael realizes that does not fit the music, and has nothing to do euphoria.'s not about the fact that even what is all too common for him to regress to the state of adolescence.
The truth is that he is feeling a longing for intimacy that had protected the concert for hours and it's like something was missing, Now - as if his hands were empty and broken curves. The broken lines.
None.
something deeply physical, emotional as well - a feeling that he or she is to experience only once before then. When Albert is gone.
When extending your arm on the mattress he had found more to his right, but a mess of tangled sheets. The body did not recognize the usual boundaries.
unstable equilibrium. Better not think about it.
Going by car - leaning forward to open the door to Ash, quickly turning on the radio - Michael continues to talk and hard rock bands. The new drummer who was not bad, after all, even if it's still Big Jim Big Jim. The god. He continues to stretch the side pinches the boy whenever he likes to tease - is still laughing as if nothing had happened. Play.
Yet awareness of the need to touch some part of himself, slips in the blood as a poison insistent. He has had dozens of stories over the years - dozens of times he got fired too embarrassing. Dozens of young men - of men.
This time, obviously, is something entirely different.
and would like to say that is not afraid, but would not be honest: this is simply to pull over on the side of the road, lower the top of the car to Morgan. Starting again with the night through his hair, his shirt wet printed on the chest. With Ash, sitting on the seat next to that observed with the arched eyebrow.
"Stand up! Stand up, up!" the cries, - the arm already raised against the friction of the wind.
"Mike, if you crash somewhere I'll kill you," shouts the other back, grabbing his arm to bring it back on the wheel. "It kills you even your friend ..."
"Get up and then tell me if it is one of the few things that probably also be worthwhile to strangle!" he replies, pulling her shirt. "Come on, stand up! Get up!"
a snort.
"Go!"
The reason why so much emphasis is he is not at all clear, but probably has something to do with another of the pressing needs that he discovered during the evening: the need to take Ash on his own wavelength, the desire to convey feelings. Enthusiasm and euphoria, excitement. And also a bit 'of fear, perhaps.
But keep it with you.
So when he finally sees his feet - and sees his crush hair back, go up the link to find out the back - can not help but cry as he did as a child in the mountains. The valley responded with repeated echoes, then.
Ash laughs instead.
Ride from the top, into the wind, while he screams again and the music becomes more and more pressing. And just turn the gaze as the profile of his drawings back in the night the crescent moon is so sharp that almost wants to touch the edges to see if they're so sharp. Or caress the curve - by filling the form the palm of your hand. After
, still breathing heavily for doing the stairs, Michael let go with their backs against the wall of the landing and tilt your head forward, breathing fast. The
hurts the throat, and ears resound like sea shells. But it's still excited. Maybe it will rev up for days, probably.
"God!" chuckles, amused, throwing a quick look on the kid who is putting the key in the lock of the door. "You look like Medusa at sunset, with all the snakes angry blacks!"
"Better not tell you what you seem ..."
Smiling, Michael gets wet lips.
"Perseus?" grins.
But in reality, Perseus was all too clear what were the consequences of looking at Medusa in the eye - was decidedly less asshole. More aware, no doubt.
He, however, is once again petrified.
"I did ..."
Pause.
"I've developed your photos a few days ago ..." he murmured, almost in a whisper now. "I want to get, then I think you'll see them."
"Yes? How did they come? "Brushes her hair from her face, Ash hesitates in the doorway." Were you satisfied? "
" Hm. "
Pause.
" This is not a question of what, in reality, "he said, slowly. "I think more than anything else ... shame. It's never easy to print on your emotions - sometimes even come to be a bit'..."
Scary, was about to say. You stop in time.
"But yes," he added, moving away from the wall. "I think they no longer beautiful. "
" I was expecting something else when you've brought me the first time, you know? "
" Something like that will steal your soul? "
"No." A half-laugh. "But I thought you'd put in that position I had to yell orders and keep that short term use and .... Something like that."
Michael shakes his head.
"Actually it was me who wanted to be guided."
Inside you - would like to add - the indissoluble interweaving of my eye and your body. Stood still.
says anything, instead.
"I want to kiss you, Ash." One step forward - infinitesimal. "Many want to," he whispers again.
It does not know how the output is, but it has surprised him. As much as he surprised himself - at least so far as to make him stare. Half-close lips.
In the silence, hear her breathing change pace completely.
"You're feeling because the last time it did not go so well?"
"I'm warning you because I'm a jerk, I'm afraid," he says then, unable to restrain a smile.
But when laying his hands on his shoulders, then - when the leaves run along the neck and plunges her fingers in her hair and saw her eyes get darker, more dangerous - the feelings are already so intense that almost boundless new in fear. Fear
to get involved - afraid to feel way too strong. Fear.
and euphoria. True.
But it is the first time without Albert - Not that he's hidden in every touch. In every look. And you can not smile, the heart beats too fast.
Even the vacuum seems pretty damn serious, in that moment, as if you might be able to carry out life along with sharing his lips centimeters from those of Ash. Molecules
hot breath and breathing. The head tilts slowly.
And one last whisper, then. Roco.
"Actually, I want you to know, Ash, as much as possible," Michael whispered, barely moving his fingers on his neck. "I need it, you know?" adds.
But do not expect a real answer - not in words.
They just feel on the skin to accelerate another of his breath, and almost hesitant gesture with which his hand rests on his shoulder. The mirror tilt of his head - his eyes close slowly.
Waiting. RELIEF AND
the lips, then, without even realize the person who has taken the first step. What is the sense of poignant emotion - that hint of completeness found. And that excitement
completely new at the same time - the fluidity with which the languages are fondling and whose bodies instinctively find the additional joints. A closed
knee between her legs, the curve of her hips under her hands.
And the heart beating against his chest, thump. Suffused buzz.
Sound the door closes behind them.
just pushing the lips, Mike takes breath against Ash's throat.
"Do not bite me again ..." Notes, rubbing his forehead on his jaw.
"No ..." is the answer - almost a whisper. Lower than when the same voice whispers into the microphone, the same thrill.
Smiling, he approaches his mouth to his ear.
"It must be my lucky night ..." she whispers.
And this time there is simply no response - just a wrinkling of the skin and the slow turning of the head. His lips pressed to hers, open - arms tied behind him. And another
vertigo, but deeper, now. Absolute.
abandoned prudence initial kiss is getting urgent and hungry - as if the desire was finally fully express all his strength, dragged into the vortex of excitement even more instinctive movements.
Michael realizes that he pushed against the couch only when it moves quickly step back to release the T-shirt - when the knocks, and closes his hands again on the cheeks of Ash. And kisses him again.
again.
has lost all sense of space - the sense of this.
rubbing his groin against her suffocating between his lips a faint moan, then it raises the weight to set him on the back of the sofa and pulls the shirt from the neck with a delicacy very different, as if to touch him, however, require special attention. Sweetness.
moistened his lips, his eyes still looking.
Ash has a way to be guided that has never experienced with anyone else - it's as if his body is molded in the hands of a breathtaking beauty in forms and it is strange not being able to decide between the need to hear and to watch it.
Watching him in that moment, while the head tilts to one side and the wave of hair on the back slips like a tongue of fire. Dark red on white skin.
and deep green eyes. Terrible. Taking
gaze stubbornly still inside her, Michael goes between his knees and still not believe it. It is not possible.
He wanted the taste of her skin so many times that he seems almost unreal now, slowly approaching the mouth of his. Stop for a moment - as if waiting for a kiss. And to get off rubbing her lips on his throat, though - suck his neck. Hearing him shiver under your fingers and take his hands to lay them on the buckle of his belt.
Hold your breath.
It's just a moment.
would be almost too easy not to notice the change - enough to be paying a bit 'less attention to the harmony of the body or not you want both the soft abandonment of previous actions. Very little would be enough - this time it is not a violent shooting. No bite - nothing too obvious. Yet Michael
block movements, at once.
because I feel tension in the wrists of Ash that something has changed - the feeling in the cold stillness of a sudden. In his breath that seems to get a bit 'too late. A bit 'too low.
and slowing of their progressive pulse - as if his own body was trying to absorb the discomfort of that moment. Remove it from the shoulders of Ash and take it all upon himself, whatever that is. Any ghost.
Breathe.
Before him the look of the boy became stone - stone slippery. Moss Green. And the eyes are
fixed within its looking as if they stubbornly resist a mysterious power - pushing the eddies of the river water in different directions.
lips parted in an uncertainty that can not melt.
and confusion, too. Profound.
He went too fast, Michael, went as fast in the evening bite, probably. As always went too fast. All life at the mercy of the emotions, never stopping to think.
Not now.
Now let go of her wrists Ash, though - without breaking the interlacing of glances away slowly his body from his hands. How to want to break free from a burden, maybe.
Protect. And when
speaks later, he does so with a strange sweetness. The same that happened to use with Albert, at times, but full of a tenderness quite new. Clearer.
"I think tonight is better for both if we go to sleep," she whispered - still breathing accelerated. The items that are struggling to get out, almost. Yet
is smiling - he decided that smile is important at that time. Fundamental, almost.
Leaning over him, kissed him lightly on the forehead.
"It's very late," he adds. "It was a tiring night for both of us ..."
"No, no ..."
biting her lips, Ash shakes his head nervously.
"Do not I know what it is, "continues - in a tone that makes it difficult to distinguish an admission of a lie." I did not want, do not ... I do not know, "ends. Almost a whisper.
But Mike still pressed his lips on his forehead, and then on the cheekbone. On the lips - brushes her hair from her face.
"Shhh ... It's okay. So do not you get rid of me, no hope, "he murmurs, his smile widening." There will be other nights, you'll see. Other times, "he adds.
And he knows are doing that is a promise kept, because just walk out that door to feel again the need to return - just touch the lips with his tongue to want yet another kiss. Another occasion.
And maybe tonight will spend the quiet hours with her photo spread on the table, studying them one by one as if it were possible to ask them the secret of Ash. The source of his fear and his eyes - that shadow that can sometimes become so dark it hurts. But now
any questions and would be out of place when the boy closes his eyes - when she says quietly, without looking at him: "Thank you. For the concert - for everything. Truly" - he just nods. A smile again, to retrieve the shirt. And to reach the door, after following the direction of the shadows in the dark and instinct. In a quiet location such as a caress.
without looking back.
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