Nothing happened. I swear to the heavens that nothing happened. We just stared at each other. We stood there in the corridor and we stared across the empty space into each other’s eyes.
It was dimly lit. Time didn’t seem to affect the inside of the grey building. Sunlight and moonlight were concepts beyond comprehension. The flickering light of the fancy lamp was unchangeable. The beige walls were spotless and the silly-patterned carpet was the only dynamic piece.
Even noise had disappeared. Each door in the corridor led to a people-packed room, yet noise was kept prisoner thanks to the advanced reinvention of privacy.
I had missed him. Oh, I had missed the sight of those liquid, transparent eyes... The light of the corridor didn’t do his eyes justice. It took the deepness away, the spotless nakedness of his soul.
With him it had always been the eyes… and the nakedness. Don’t take this in a wrong way, but I started noticing him when I first saw his eyes and I started loving him when I saw him naked. Ok, I admit it, both soul-naked and body-naked. But I’m starting to add details that should be kept prisoner, like the noise behind the doors in the corridor.
From the first moment I caught a glimpse of him, on stage, young and hidden behind a layer of makeup and a thunderstorm of hair I knew he had something different. He appeared focused, proud and still his eyes told the story of a melancholy beyond control.
He smiled and his eyes showed the ironic laugh behind it.
He had beautiful eyes when he showed his feelings, I learned that with time. When he was about to cry, when he was about to burst into laughter, or when he was deep in thought. The eyes I never liked were the ones he showed when he wanted to be congratulated, when he felt the attention upon him. Not because I was annoyed at his cockiness, but because behind the pettiness of it all he couldn’t hide the letdown.
He never really wanted to be congratulated. He had always wanted to be respected. But his actions and his words, along with that face of his, only brought him flattery. And I’m talking about shallow flattery.
The curse of the pretty-faced, loose-tongued, image-centered hyde.
Sometimes I pity him. I truly do.
“Stop looking at me like that. Like you want to hug me and throttle me at the same time.” His voice echoed up and down the corridor.
Yes, I was lying. We didn’t just stare at each other. But that would have been the right thing. It should have ended in a simple “Good morning, long time no see”.
I shivered at the sound of his voice. I didn’t expect him to break the silence, he never really liked it. People may think he is talkative man, but he is quiet. And I say quiet because he can spend two hours sitting in front of you without saying a word. He can spend those two hours drifting his sight from a sheet of paper to you, and back to the paper. And, people would not believe it, but he can suddenly rise from his spot, still in silence, and plant a kiss on your lips. He is capable of making you want to die in silence if it meant getting a good-bye kiss like that. People would not believe it…
“I want to throttle you. No hug.” I said, unable to stay silent. His eyes were demanding an answer.
Another pause. He hasn’t moved and inch. Me neither.
And slowly, the thin, straight line of his lips becomes curve. He is smiling. Gradually his lips are turning into a wide smile.
“I’ve missed you, even if you don’t believe it” He says. Innocently, like a child admitting to his mother that he never meant to be mean to her.
I want to answer him. I want to say “Me too” or something spiky like “You should have called” but I’m speechless. Not because I’m amazed at his confession, but because I actually like it. God dammit, I like how his eyes shine when he smiles, how his pupils dilate when he bites his lips at my silence.
Apparently, I don’t need to say a thing, for he is walking now, getting closer to me.
I want him to punch me, or laugh at me or simply say he needs to go now. But he does what I need him to do. He hugs me.
“I said I want to throttle you, not hug you.” I say in an alien voice, almost like I’m writing it down and someone else is reading it out loud.
“That’s why I’m hugging you. Because then, maybe, you will try to throttle me” He answers close to my ear. This time around he is not being innocent; his voice is not that of a child. Here comes nasty, lusty hyde.
I stare at the wall in front of me wishing I still had the sight of his eyes. My arms hang limp by my sides, his arms are around my neck, his cheek against my shoulder, his breath close to my ear.
I want it all to end. I want to end my thoughts and that warm skin of his and the aching in my chest. I want it all to end by simply staring at each other, and nothing more.
But it’s hard. It’s hard to stop thinking of him and his eyes and how beautiful they look when there’s no light but the light coming through a crack between the curtains, or the light under the door. And that dim reflection of the electronic light from the watch on the night table on his skin…
“Stop pretending. You want to hug me.”
It’s torture. Not being able to stop myself from feeling this way.
And yes, I end up hugging him. No, wait, that’s not the right expression… I end up crushing him between my arms.
I push him towards me. My hands on his low back are tempted to go lower. My lips are suddenly too close to his ear and are tempted to bite. And most importantly, and I should be ashamed of it, my hips are tempted to make friction with his body.
You may think… how did staring at each other end up in this? Believe me, I ask myself the same question each day. I ask myself the same question since I first shared the temptation.
But no matter how many times a day I think about it, or how many times do I regret it… I always, and I mean always, end up like this.
The curse of the weak-willed, easily-tempted, hyde-driven tetsuya.
Sometimes I pity myself. I truly do.
“We better find someplace safe before you end up raping me in the corridor” he says. His voice hides what I can picture perfectly in his eyes without really looking: mockery.
He plants a kiss on the base of my neck, making me shiver instantly, only to break the so-called hug/crush, take my hand and lead me down the corridor without speaking.
Now I’m left devoid of his eyes again and I simply stare at his back.
For some reason or the other, he won’t take the elevator. Ok, I know the reason; he doesn’t want to be seen.
He opens the door to the stairway, drags me into the little space where people are supposed to walk from a set of stairs to the other, turns toward me and smiles. With his eyes not his lips.
First, he looks up and then he looks down over the balustrade. Silence in here is deeper, if that’s possible. It echoes up and down, infinitely.
Hyde leans against the balustrade and smiles again his eye-smile. Light in here is better and at last I see the depth I wanted. It’s as though he had twenty lights directed to his eyes, and every one of them created a reflection in a different place. It blinded me, the beauty of it.
Suddenly, he grabs me by the shirt and pulls me toward him. I barely have time to grab unto the balustrade to avoid pushing him over it and down twenty floors.
As he kisses me, first lightly then deeply, I wonder what would had happened if I had pushed him over it. I picture his body, each extremity in a different angle, slightly pale. Blood tickling out of his head, his mouth and maybe his ears.
What sinister thoughts to think when somebody is kissing you…
His arms are around my waist and he is slowly pushing me closer to him. His tongue is not too demanding today and it simply fights a peaceful battle with my own. Behind this kiss, there’s lust but there’s more than that. I don’t need to break the kiss and ask him anything. I know he doesn’t want flattery; he doesn’t want me to tell him he is beautiful or sexy. He wants me to make him feel loved.
What a funny thing to say: make him feel loved.
I love him each day of my life and still it’s so hard to make him feel it.
He breaks the kiss and stares at me. I stare back. Before we can start to appreciate the silent conversation we’re having through stares, we hear movement outside the door. I turn and he grabs my hand. No time to loose, he leads me up the stairway… giggling, like a girl.
I’ll never understand him completely. The quiet, serious man with the talkative, playful girliness.
Up he leads me and we arrive to the cliché scenario: the rooftop. And even more cliché: full moon.
I bite my lower lip so I don’t laugh at it. It’s all too much.
“No one will see us here. Tonight, we’re are nobodies in nobody’s city.” He laughs away, taking both of my hands in his and leading me away from the door, but not close to the railing that marks the spot between safe, stable land and unsafe, unstable emptiness.
“Why are we here, hyde?” I ask. I want to know why we’re holding hands, why he started kissing me on the stairway and most importantly, why don’t I stop myself. This makes no sense.
“Because we can.”
As always, comes the silence. There is no logical explanation for our feelings. There are no laws or paths to walk. Our relationship is not based on words but on silence. The only real sound we share is music and, right now, the sound of the wind.
“I pity us” I whisper.
He blinks, once. Twice.
And of course, no answer. He kisses me, deeply. Deeper than he had done years ago.
His arms are not on my waist but on my neck, his hands are running through my wind-thrashed hair. He is telling me he pity us too, he pities the wind, and the silence and the night and the city. He pities my wife, he pities me and most importantly, he pities himself.
And I’m in love with him again. His soul is bare and he is not afraid to share it with me.
Lucky the wind is not cold, for I start taking off his clothes and he starts taking off mine. I’ll be watching his beautiful eyes tonight by the light of the moon and the stars, and the ever-present city light will warm his skin with color.
We don’t care if it’s uncomfortable and we lay down on the floor. Yes, me on the unclean floor. That’s how far I go when I’m in love.
I kiss him and he sighs inside my mouth. I take off his underwear and the first thing he does is break the kiss and laugh. He can be quite perky when it comes to me laying on top of him. I let him laugh and cover his eyes with his lower arm while I take off my own underwear.
His perkiness turns to spikiness, if I dare use such a word, when he feels the contact of my naked skin against his.
The laughter is suddenly lost in a delicious sigh and I bury my face in his neck, desperate to feel his pulse. There lays his pale neck, pulsating with life. Every feeling, every point of breakdown travels through that passionate body part and comes out of his mouth as one of the most beautiful voices I’ve ever heard.
“Stop playing and do it” He whispers in a husky voice. I know that voice… it takes me back to sleepless nights and early mornings, hot summer midnights and cold winter daybreaks.
I kiss the base of his neck. The gift he gives me is another sigh; this time is more a growl. He is getting desperate, I know it… I feel it. He hates waiting, he hates being played with.
He hates it and still… he knows I love making him wait.
He wraps his legs around my waist and slowly grinds his hips against mine. He sighs into my ear, his hands travel up and down my back too quickly, barely letting time for me to register the caresses. He rubs his legs against my skin and creates friction. He does everything he can to arouse my deepest and wildest instincts… But I know his game, I know how he plays and it’s delicious to keep him interested enough to try to speed things up.
Truth is I want it as much as he does. I want to make him sigh without him thinking of sighing. I want him to grind his hips against mine as he closes his eyes and let his head fall back on the cold floor. I want him to give unto me completely, losing control of it all. I want him to look up at me; eyes clouded with pleasure, and try to steal a kiss from my lips.
I want it all. I want him.
And then, as I’m ready to change it all… my life comes back to me. My reality.
The reality where he’s hyde, I’m tetsuya and we’re about to have sex on the rooftop of the serious, quite serious, music company we work for.
Dear god, I’m doomed.
“Stop thinking! I can hear your regrets, doubts and guilty thoughts already. At least do it!” he is really desperate now. He read me so easily. Was it the look in my eyes? Or the sudden tension in my body?
Maybe it would have been better… pushing him over the balustrade and down twenty floors.
He growls, this time around too exasperated to wait any longer. He grabs me by the hips and with sudden energy throws me down on the floor while he quickly climbs over me.
This time around I am surprised… and cold. The floor is cold.
Before I have time to protest by the sudden change of events, he kisses me on the lips. A better way to describe it is something like this: he grabs me by the chin, and attacks down on my lips until he’s able to separate them and start a violent war with my tongue.
As he deepens the kiss even more my thoughts about the cold floor, his death body, my guilt, and my sensation of being doomed to die in tragedy disappear. There is nothing else but him. His tongue and the warmth his body emanates. Every single pore of my skin is drowning in him, in the sensation of his being.
He is caressing me now. His desperate kiss seems to be on a different dimension for his hands are moving slowly up and down my chest. He caresses me as he did when he first had me. That night years ago when I gave unto him and told him I didn’t just want his voice for myself.
His hands go up and down, caressing my shoulders, my arms, and my upper and lower chest. And then he suddenly remembers I have legs and he starts a slow, rhythmic travel to them.
His tongue leaves my mouth and as I open my eyes to see what he is about to do, his mouth comes in contact with my neck and I have no time to protest, nor have I the will to do so.
I sigh. I simply sigh as he sucks a spot close to my right ear while his hands caress my legs. I am now at his mercy, utterly and completely defenseless.
I close my eyes and everything disappears. The stars above me are now mere ghosts of light in the darkness of my mind; the noise of the streetcars below is muffled and replaced by the sound of his agitated breathing and the quiet sound of sucking. The cold floor at my back is not cold anymore, and the body above me is raging with warmness beyond imagination.
Before I know it, he raises his hand towards my lips and inserts a finger inside my mouth. I play along for I know what he’s doing and I suck at his finger. My eyes are still closed and his mouth is still busy at my neck and I can’t keep myself from moaning against his finger while I suck at it.
Two seconds later he takes back his finger and replaces it with his tongue again. Now he moves inside my mouth with ease, not too quick and yet not too slow, in a perfect rhythm that I’ve learned to love. I let my arms encircle him by the neck, bringing him closer to me in a desperate attempt to claim him as mine without real words.
As we kiss he spreads my legs apart gently and it takes me only a moment to know what’s coming. I lift my legs and encircle him by the hips now but this time around I don’t need to push him closer for he is pushing down on me.
I moan into his mouth and he moans back as he inserts the first finger inside of me. He moves with the same rhythm of our kiss and I barely react when he inserts another finger. He knows me and he knows my body. We may not be the most constant lovers but we sure are very passionate about our love-making.
He breaks the kiss and I feel his fingers slid out of me. I open my eyes in surprise. Hell, we were just starting and now he wanted a break?
But instead of finding his guilt-filled eyes or his lips in a straight line as I expected, I see him there. He had just lifted himself up with his elbows and he was staring down at me.
I stared back, sure to express doubt and lust in my eyes. I didn’t want him to stop now. Here we were, doing what we did best together next to music and I was not going to take a step back.
For instance, I had an erection and so did he. If we walked through Sony Music’s main building with a bulk between our legs we would surely be fired. And if I went home with the frustration of not being able to be with him, I would surely have sex with my wife and get her pregnant.
I didn’t want to be an unemployed, sexually-frustrated father.
“Why are yo-“
But before I had time to ask of him anything, he came down on me, kissed me on the forehead and did what I wanted him to do.
Do I need to say it? Yes, I was thrilled to feel him inside of me.
It was painful and terribly uncomfortable at first but I had been longing for it. I had been longing for his eyes, for his breath, for his voice, for his smell and his warmth.
All along I wanted to see him so I could stare at him and he could stare back. I had longed to meet him at that corridor and feel the emotion of finding him again. All because I knew that when that happened it would all lead to where we were now. It would all come down to us in a tight embrace and a shared feeling of completeness.
“I’m always going to love you.” He whispered in my ear as I grinded my teeth in pain and pleasure alike.
I knew he was being honest. He had always been a terrible liar, and he always told the truth when he was drunk, exhilarated, half asleep and crazy with lust.
I just had to moan as he adjusted himself inside of me.
“Me too.” I said.
I am also quite honest when I’m about to be reminded of life’s playful paths.
And he moves and my head rolls back as my back arches closer to him. Goosebumps run up and down my skin, my arms reach out for him and find his bare back, my legs hold on tight to him so they won’t slip with the sudden movement of his body.
He kisses my face, sweet butterfly kisses without order. His hands grip my skin, traveling down my sides, up my legs and finally finding the perfect spot to rest: at my arched back. He lifts me up and pushes deeper inside of me. We both moan without caring who might hear.
He moves slowly and I give him the freedom to mark the beat. He pushes me closer to him, pushes my hips against his and deepens even more the contact. I’m mad with pleasure and the cool wind that suddenly started blowing around us is only providing us with another stimulus. The heat we create through friction meets the cool wind and makes us shiver.
And we moan, louder and louder as the wind comes through us and as he fastens the beat of our movement.
He kisses whatever patch of skin he finds and I kiss him back with the same passion. My hands travel up and down his back and my thighs caress his hips. I need to move as he moves, I need to feel him come through me again and again without holding back.
He may not share his life with me or his thoughts and dreams but when we share this there’s nothing else. It doesn’t matter if he is lonely or if he is eating less. It doesn’t matter if I’m worried about my future or if we can’t find a way to understand what’s going on around us.
We understand each other. We feel it.
I blink and I see the stars. I blink again and I see him. He kisses me and I kiss him back.
And as our beats synchronize completely, everything around me seems to go far away from me. The stars are not there anymore, his face blurs and his skin burns. The only things I can relate to a thought are the desperate moans that escape my throat without asking. The moans and the several words I keep repeating, words I barely understand or recall except for one: hyde.
I’m on a state of mind beyond control. I’m not there anymore but I’m feeling everything. He is there and he is moaning too and saying my name over and over but I can’t keep it all in my mind for long. Every moan is new; every repetition of my name is unique.
Each thrust is a new explosion of feeling, each contact of skin against skin opens a new void inside of me. And each and every one of those voids wait for him.
Suddenly it all clears away and I know where I am and what I’m doing. I sink my fingers unto his back and push him closer to me. I look up at him and he looks down at me. His eyes are shining with collected feelings and unsaid words, the memory of past moments and the constant pain of reliving them are also there. He is beautiful in every way and I feel a deep aching in my chest. For a moment, it is all too much.
At the same moment we take a deep breath. We are aware of it… this is the clear moment of recollection before darkness and pleasure envelops us completely.
As he moves I loose sense of it all. There is no Earth, no gravity, no light or warmth. He is not matter and I’m not matter either. The floor under me is not there and the wind around me is gushing through me. I’m not alive yet I’m not death. I’m nothing.
And then it snaps. I draw in breath desperately, as though I had been underwater for an hour. I blink twice and finally I see something. A dark space full of tinny pinpoints of light. As I draw in breath after breath I try to recall the name of it, the reason of it. Why is it there?
I suddenly remember it all when I hear him. His agitated breathing brings me back to reality; his weight upon my chest marks the start of time again. Suddenly I remember I’m a human being, that dark space is the night sky and the body upon me is hyde.
And we, he and I, had just done it again.
I’m still trying to control my breathing yet I begin to laugh. I laugh quietly at first, then openly. It sounds hysteric but I can’t control it. I laugh for a long period of time, almost choking due to lack of oxygen.
But it’s all so amusing.
“What’s so funny?” he suddenly breaks it all. I stop laughing and take deep breaths. His breathing is more even now and he stares up at me.
“Nothing. It’s just… we simply walked into each other in a corridor.” I said, half hysteric, half thrilled.
He is silent. He just stares.
A car honks in the distance; an ambulance shares its noise with us and the city. Minutes pass without real change, almost as though time decided to repeat itself for a while. His breath is calm now as mine is too.
He lets his head fall down in my chest; I just bring a hand to my forehead and let it rest there. As always, we share what hurts and pleases at the same time: silence.
We don’t sigh, we don’t whisper. We simply lay there, as close as we can to each other.
I blink and remember where we are, who we are supposed to be and what kind of life we should lead. I know we love each other, yet I know there’s no space for our love in the city.
The moment passed and the light in his eyes faded for the day.
I chuckle and whisper to his ear.
“If someone asks, nothing happened….We just stared at each other.”
He lifts his head and stares at me. I let my eyes drift away.
I can’t hide the letdown.
“Nothing happened…” he whispers back.