Part 10
"What the fuck are you doing?" Paul asked, his hand gripping my wrist. His eyes expressed a blend of confusion and anger from the surprise of entering the dressing room to see me rifling through his personal possessions. What excuse could I give him that could get me off the hook? What reaction would I provoke if he learned that I was stealing his drugs? I licked my lips and quickly devised an excuse.
"Um, I was - I was looking for cigarette," I lied, shrugging sheepishly. "Sorry, I should've asked before coming in here and nicking one."
He narrowed his eyes and studied my expression, which I was doing my best to disguise, searching for any indication that I was lying. When he couldn't find it, he decided to let it slide and bent his hand around to seat of his pants. "Well, you wouldn't have found any in my bag. I put them in my back pocket during soundcheck."
He produced his cigarettes and handed one to me, providing me with a lighter. I leant against the bench and concentrated on igniting the 'nicotine stick', as I liked to call it. Paul dumped his bag onto the floor and mopped his brow with his shirt before peeling it over his head, revealing his tanned chest and slim stomach, with a thin stroke of hair going down below his belly button. I couldn't help myself and gazed at him. The more I saw of him, the more I found myself attracted to him. As he stepped up beside me and looked at himself into the mirror, I stared at him from the corners of my eyes, memorising every curve and every detail of his upper body. He couldn't go home alone tonight if he wanted to - he was utterly gorgeous, irresistable to both men and women. Though I had yet to see him with a woman, I could see it in the eyes of the female admirers that dotted the front row of his concert. They, like me, were drawn to him, unable to control themselves. Once you saw him, it was hard to look away.
He knew I was staring and a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. I shifted my eyes away, drawing back deeply on the cigarette. When I assumed it was safe to return my gaze, my eyes fell on a small scar on the left side of his chest. Without thinking, I reached out and gently touched it with my fingertips, then pulled back as though I had been shocked with electricity by the feeling of my fingers on his body. The touch was only light and innocent, but I felt as though i'd done something wrong, like i'd crossed a barrier. I cleared my throat nervously and didn't dare to look at him as I spoke.
"Where did you get the scar from?" I asked quickly.
He looked down at the scar and absentmindedly brushed his fingers along its surface. "I've got marks like these all over me," he replied. "I think I got this when I was in high school. I was a clumsy oaf back then...Oh, yeah, I remember now. I used to be a really good bike-rider. But even when you're good at what you do, you're occasionally going to get knocked about." He smiled to himself as the memory of the occasion returned to him. ""You know how it is when you're younger. You get this false mentality that you're invincible. I used to think that I was the best thing since sliced bread. Of course, when the revelation came that I was nowhere near being this great, I was devastated." He giggled, shaking his head. "So stupid."
"Do you ever feel invincible now?" I asked, now fully facing him. He considered this for a moment.
"Only when i'm onstage. It's a cliche`, but it's like touching the face of God. There's nothing quite like it." He folded his arms and pressed his lips together, losing himself in thought. "But it's different when i'm offstage. I don't feel that sense of security anymore. I don't feel strong or brave. I love the feeling I get when I perform, but it stops when I put the microphone down and step down. I'm back to being shy and insecure; back to being ordinary."
I sat my cigarette on the bench and placed a hand on his shoulder. This time it didn't feel wrong. "I'm afraid, Paul, that you'll never be ordinary."
"Yeah?" Paul's smile reappeared. I returned the smile, feeling the warmth generating through us.
"No. You're extraordinary."
What gave me the confidence to say what I did? I couldn't explain it. As the words escaped from my lips, I didn't feel any regrets. He covered my hand with his own, patting it gently, and stared directly into my eyes. I stared back, neither of us saying a word. What we were feeling didn't need to be expressed verbally - it was all in the eye contact, in the way he caressed my hand, tracing patterns in long, silken movements.
He moved his head closer, slowly, moving his hand to the back of my head, entertwining his fingers in my hair. It was happening again - our moment had returned. We were so close, only centimetres away. Finally our lips met, lightly and hesitantly, waiting for each-other's consent, not that either of us were going to object. He pulled back a little before kissing me again, softly moulding his mouth over mine, the tip of his tongue tapping against mine. I wrapped my arms around his waist and lost myself in our kiss, gently massaging his tongue with mine and pulling it inside me. We forgot about the possibility of any members of the entourage entering the room and finding us in such intimacy - the only people we cared about were each-other. Paul parted my legs with his knee and slid between them, pressing me against the bench. We lost track of how much time we spent like this, and we didn't care, nor did we care about the location. We wanted to discover and explore as much of each-other as possible, even if it took us forever. Something told me that it had been a while since Paul had felt so close to somebody, even the boyfriend he had parted ways with earlier that day. Sexual encounters were rushed when you were a musician - a lot of the time, you barely got to know the person's name, let alone tried to remember it afterwards. We knew where this was going to lead, but we also predicted that it wouldn't end tonight. We couldn't become so close and then simply turn away and ignore it. No, it was too intense, too special.
Our hands were beginning to wander, already searching for a single rhythm. While my hands cupped his buttocks and squeezed gently, Paul swept his hands along the inside of my thigh, gradually getting closer to the place I wanted his hand to be the most. He knew he was teasing me and loved every moment of it, knowing that it'd be worth it when he gave me what I wanted, and what I would give in return. I was already hard, and when he finally began to stroke me through the outside of my pants, I moaned into his mouth, holding him tighter, our tongues dancing.
He pulled back suddenly when he heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards the room, approaching quickly. Thinking quickly, he flicked his tongue against my moist lips and whispered, "The bathroom. Now."
Part 11