Closer to the Edge, a misc. plays/musicals fanfic

Title: Closer to the Edge
Pairing(s): Read to know ;)
Rating: NC - 17
Genre: Angst / Romance / AU
Summary: Leaving the place where you live without looking back is sometimes a bad idea. Coming back might be worse...
Disclaimer:I only own the story.

A/N: English isn't my mother language.

We always have the choice. It is sometimes unreasonable, too complicated or incomprehensible. It often seems impossible, out of reach or even nonexistent. But it's always there, lurking in the shadows, waiting patiently for us to make it. It gently opens some doors and breaks down some others. It let them ajar after we went through or in the contrary it double-locks them. But we still have the possibility to change our tack, to turn back the clock, no matter what. To find the key and open the door which we thought closed forever.

And tonight this door is the one you're getting ready to push with your trembling hand. The one which will make you leap in the past and come back to square one. How did you end up here? You can't even remember. This bar… It's been four long years you didn't step across its doorway. Since you left this huge city for another one, giving up your life, walking straight ahead without daring take a look behind. You take a deep breathe to fill yourself up with the necessary courage and you go for it. You enter slowly the smoky room, with your head held high. Pathetic. It's the first word which comes to mind when you realize you're glancing around for him. You don't see him and you're both disappointed and eased in the same time, without knowing why. And yet it's you who left him, isn't it? But you'd like him to be there waiting for you at your usual table, with his big laughing eyes fixed on you. His eyes… Those two bottomless oceans which you loved to immerse yourself in… The memories flooding in your mind seem to be so real you could almost feel them probe your soul as they used to do it before. Before you decided to end this masquerade. You had already made your decision, so letting him finally see what you were hiding in the depth of your flesh wasn't a problem anymore. But you still regret it today, don't you? The guilt gnawing at you since then has never left your sight. Having shown him who you really were or being gone. Do you even know which one is worse, which one makes you the most shameful about?

You sit on the chair you used to occupy and observe the room. Nothing has changed except you. Thinner, colder, more arrogant. But not so confident, in the end… You order a whiskey, as before, and you cast your eyes at the amber liquid as if you wanted to drown yourself in it. Anything rather than giving way to these reminiscences of the past. It hurts, don't you think so? Seeing that everything is still the same: decor, smell, music, staff. Even some regulars are still here. Everything except him. You miss him and you swallow your grief up in a sip of that alcohol way too strong for you… For lack of being able to feed on the quiet calm from the waves dancing in his eyes, you try to forget him. But you don't succeed. The courage and willingness never came with you in this place. Neither in another one. You've always been a coward unable to face up his life and what he really is. This hurts too… Admitting such truths is never pleasant, but it might set you free as well. Removing the weight of the unspoken and unspeakable secret from your chest will make you feel better. The word is out, it drags an acrimonious smile out of you. You are gay.

The front door slamming pulls you out of your daydream. You don't know since how long you've been here, or how many drinks you've drunk. And you don't care. All that matters is you. You and him. You and the memory of his long fingers of musician tenderly caressing an acoustic guitar. You and the melody of this song you loved so much. You and this tune he was humming while playing, plucking the taut strings. You and the thousands of thrills his soft and warm voice provoked in you when it was rising. You wanted to erase him from your mind and it's only the opposite which happens. He has never been as present as in this moment and you know it could even be worse. The burning sensation triggered by the whiskey down your throat at each sip might remind you of theirs. The one of those fingers on you. The thousands of thrills they have created on your skin when they brushed it. His delicate fingers that plucked you as if he was playing on you. His soft and warm voice becoming husky and smooth. Yes, you could also remember this… But you don't want it, right? You clearly prefer remember the heady melody rather than the intoxicating feelings he made you know that night. The night before your departure. The night you took advantage of him before leaving him alone behind. Can you feel the burden that weighs you down being heavy on your own frail person? The remorse has never been light…

The whiskey anesthetized your senses but it doesn't prevent you from noticing the goose pimples on your uncovered arms. No doubt someone's staring at you. The sensation of being examined is radiating your skin. You slowly hold up your head to put back the moment. Hope has never been so perceptible. You could almost feel it flowing freely into your veins. Unfortunately there's only whiskey running in them and you quickly become disillusioned as you see it. The eyes looking hard at you are black. Expressive, but black. Captivating, but black. Amazing, but black. Two abyssal lakes. Black. Too bad. You barely hold back a tiny moan as you turn your head away. You can still feel his gaze on you. Embarrassed, you'd rather ignore it and you go back to the contemplation of another glass. In few hours, the sun will rise and this stranger will have forgotten you, tired of having no reaction from you. The one who will have believed in it 'till the end, seeing the other rejecting attractive young women? Or the one who will have pretended to be unconcerned when his body was begging for a little more of that strange heat radiating from the other? Which one will be the most disappointed one, he or you?

You're sitting there, admiring the bottom of your empty glass for what seems to be ages. You're waiting. You're waiting for him. You don't know him and yet it's been nine consecutive nights you come into this bar, sit at this table, on this chair. For him. Obviously you haven't forgotten the first reason why you came here but his presence helps you to overcome the shooting pain that was shaking you to the core. Each memory sending you painfully back in the past provokes a tornado decimating you from the inside. And he's the one soothing you. His darkness-coloured eyes are the only ones relieving you. He's late. Oh, of course, you haven't made any appointment, no word has been exchanged but he's there each night. For you. You can feel his burning eyes on your skin night after night. He never takes them off of you. He's already late for thirty-six minutes and you're wondering why you're staying there. You order another glass, the sixth of the evening. It's been too long since yours is empty and without this sweet liquid you can't hold on anymore. You're pathetic, but you already know it, don't you? This is the fourth time the waiter tries to start up a conversation with you when bringing your drink but you pay no attention to him. It's not him who interests you. And not this old man on your left too. He would probably be nice. He surely is, but you don't want to talk. Not tonight, not with him. You can't explain why but you had a strange feeling when you saw him move to the table next to yours. You're sure talking with him won't be pleasant. You don't like people who feel sorry for themselves. You don't like to see your own reflection in their imploring eyes. They're looking for someone to complain to, someone who will take pity on them. As you are. Disdainful in addition to being pathetic and a coward. The picture of you we could draw is even darker than those eyes obsessing you so much. You don't admire their color, tough. You love blue ones. Pale, mischievous, laughing, alive. As those you wanted to be entirely absorbed by. Those you ran away from, fearing the lifeless sparkle which undoubtedly had found a place in them. You loved them so much…

- If you ask me, she won't come… you should go home, kid!

- He… He won't come…

You don't know why you answered. 'Cause he was thinking you were waiting for a girl? You don't know, and you don't care. You made sure to emphasize the pronoun to make him understand that he missed the mark. Even the disgust which took place on his face marked by time doesn't matter to you. You'd rather be relieved, you'll be able to wait in peace. Because you obviously have no intention to leave this place now, right? You've just expressed loudly a certainty but you won't give up. There are still three hours to the end of your meeting and you're determined to spend them there, alone, drinking. Then, you'll stand up without saying a word, without looking at anyone. You'll come to the door, sighing before going through it and take the way that will lead you to your hotel room. So vast. So empty. And you already know that tomorrow, you'll come again. Just to see how it is like.

You are here again, as expected. There are three more days to add to the meter. Three more days spent waiting, alone, desperate. As you thought, he hasn't reappeared. You're wondering once again what you're still doing there, drinking till your thirst is quenched, but your reason gets over your misty consciousness. What else can you be thinking of doing? You don't know anyone anymore in this city, you didn't keep in touch with any of your old friends. You have no family anymore. You don't want to spend one more night playing the guitar he had given to you for your eighteenth birthday. You can't stand anymore this song you know by heart. You prefer drinking to your heart's content rather than waking up with wet cheeks and reddened eyes from having plucked too much your precious friend. You hate yourself. The old man is still there, but he moved to another table, far from you. You understand his attitude way too well, you rubbed shoulders with this kind of people long enough to know them. You're not normal. You're a freak of nature. You need your head examined. And that's the least of them. You thought to have become insensible but it always hurts. You can see scorn and disgust in the old man's eyes and it hurts you deeper at each second. You're already so shameful of what you are… You don't need those eyes to remind you that you're considered as a scum of society. A dropout. You're rejected, avoided like the plague, hold off. Before you came into your own, you had a family, friends, a job. But now, what do you have left? A guitar and some savings…

By coming back, you thought that you'd meet your best friend again, that he'd forgive you for your departure, that he'd forget your moment of distraction during that particular night. That everything would be back to normal again. But he's not there and your stranger either. You're alone, still and always. Loneliness has become your only companion, the only one you granted yourself permission to have by your side, in addition to your guitar. You've tried to be normal, tough, but nothing's worked. Women are not for you, and you're not for them too. You've disappointed so many people… Everyone fled you and when they didn't, you have been the one to leave. You can feel someone's next to you and you look to see who it is, hoping he'll finally be back. You sigh, seeing the waiter sitting at your table. Everything rather than that. You'd better talk to this old man again rather than to him. Yet you have no choice, you can see a glance of determination dancing in his eyes. Brown. Not interesting.

- Hi cutie…

You want to take your heels, to run as far away as possible but you don't know what hold you back. The fear of missing your meeting? Maybe. You don't know. But the fact remains that, seeing no sign of hostility from you, he goes on, explaining the reasons why he has come to you. He used his break to do what he was dying to for several days. He has noticed you're coming and leaving alone every night. He thinks you're beautiful. And you… You let him talk, without knowing why. His words look like another crappy technique to pick you up and his voice isn't even pleasant to hear. Nasal and high-pitched, you hate this.

- You have something planned tonight?

- It's 2 am.

- Well, this night then?

You see in his eyes that you won't get rid of him so easily. He's looking you over and this makes you feel uncomfortable. He's insisting and you lose patience. You'll have to be firmer and choose better your words, but your mind is way too alcoholized to allow you to think clearly about the situation. You shouldn't have drunk.

- I don't think it's a good idea.

- Yet you're gay, no?

More than the people who run away from you or despise you, this is this kind of men who make you sick. Those who think that, because you're gay, they just have to snap their fingers and you'll spread your legs for them. Those who think they are so irresistible that they can insist strenuously. Those who don't understand you can say no to them. Those who try to charm their prey, promising them the moon, but keep it one and only one night. The only man who shared your bed after your departure is the one you left to come back here. You shake your head, trying not to think about. It's not the moment to do so. The waiter puts down his hand on yours, to remind you he's here, and you instantly frees yourself from his grip. It doesn't seem to please him and he let you know it.

- Well, cutie, I don't have all the time in the world, so you're going to come with me and I'll make you feel like the most satisfied man on earth…

- No.

His gaze hardens and mists over and it's even worse than what you thought of. You don't have time to get up to walk away from him, he puts his hand back on your wrist, forcing you to sit down. He tightens his grip, it hurts, but nobody seems to want to help you. The amber liquid running in your veins makes you weak, but you don't give up either. You said no, and you won't change your mind. You ask him several times to let you go, refusing all his propositions. His hand's squeezing your joint and you hesitate a moment about the attitude to adopt. Getting your other fist in his face, in front of everyone? Or rather leading him outside and getting your other fist in his face? You choose the quickest solution and you're already closing your fist when a fresh hand lays down on it, depriving you from your motion. You breathe in before turning your head towards the intruder who prevented you from making a real mess of your opposite's face. You're flabbergasted at the spectacle in front of you. A pair of black skinny jeans. A white t-shirt with black patterns. A black sleeveless sweater with a hood from which some brown tuffs of hair escape, surrounding a delicate face. Reddened lips, stretched into a charming smile. Eyes. You can feel yourself relaxing as you see them. They're black. He's here. You haven't still freed yourself from the grip of the waiter and you have no need to do so. He frees you, before finally let you know the tone of his voice. Beneath that calm exterior, you can perceive a barely restrained anger. As he was only needed a sign to blow up.

- I think he said no.

- Can I know what it has to do with you, asshole?

- Listen carefully, you bastard… It has to do with me 'cause you're sitting at MY table, at MY place, with MY man… So now, I give you exactly three seconds to lift your ass off MY chair or else I'll have to blow your head up on the counter behind you, understood?

You don't flinch. You have no strength to do so. You feel empty. His presence on your right side and his hand on your arm have worn you out. Under normal circumstances, you'd just leave the bar without a look behind, dumping there the two scavengers who were fighting over your company as if you were a piece of meat. Frustrating, isn't it? To be only this for him… And yet, if you were honest to yourself, you'd admit you're only expecting one thing… That this Angel of Darkness devours you in your entirety, polishing off you in next to no time. But you won't admit it. Tonight you'll content yourself with watching him sit down in front of you, now the place is empty. You'll limit yourself to diving in the Hell of his onyx eyes. No words will be talked, after you had told him you could have fended for yourself. He'll have answered it was a good occasion for him to get closer to you but you won't express your joy. You're way too proud… You'll confine yourself to gloat inwardly, keeping this impassible look you've built up. And tomorrow, you'll be there, waiting, begging a new opportunity to present itself. To him. To you. To both of you?

You are sloshed, plastered, stoned, dead drunk. You can use the word you want, it doesn't change anything to your advanced state of inebriation. All your limbs are numb, as your mind. You have drunk more than you should have, more than the other nights. Why? You don't remember. Yet, with some effort, you're sure you could remember… But do you really want to? After all, wasn't it your first intention, drinking to forget? In this case, how do you explain the disquiet gradually growing inside you, with the passing glasses? You're closing your eyes one more time. You'll never be able to overcome all this, not as long as regrets are still part of your life. You need to know what he's become, if your choice was the good one, if you made no mistakes. You're afraid. You're scared and it affects you deeply. You're trembling all over. You're so pathetic… You sigh, realizing it's the only word that comes to mind when you think about yourself. Pathetic, and dependent. On him, on them. You could manage to get out of it, tough. But once again, do you really want it? Even if you loathe pitying eyes, you don't do anything to avoid them. You're delighted in this misfortune you have created. Your life could be so different… Are you at least really aware of it?

The door of the bar, suddenly opened and closed, make you regain consciousness. You immediately sober up and you hold back a sob when you realize it's still not him. You're choked by emotion inexplicably. It's not the first time he isn't coming but every night spent without him here tears your heart irreparably to pieces. You don't understand what's happening to you. The only plausible explanation would be… You prefer not to even think about this idea, way too destructive for your soul. Really, drinking doesn't agree with you… So, tomorrow… tomorrow… You won't drink. But you'll be back, right? How could you do anything else while you're wanting only one thing just now? To get lost in the dark gold of his eyes…

Four more days spent alone, waiting. Pathetic? The word doesn't seem to suit you anymore, you have become worse than that. The wait and whiskey are all that remains to you. You're ashamed but way too cowardly to dare to stop coming here. Anyway, where else could you go to? You've become a stranger in your own city. You don't recognize anything and nobody recognizes you. Shutting yourself up in your hotel room could be an option, if you had the slightest desire to go mad. You're not even sure it hasn't already happened. After all, if it's not madness, what motivates you to stay? Hope? You try to persuade yourself. It would be much easier if you knew what you do really expect. Him to come and get you? To take your hand and take you away from here? You chuckle at the thought. You're ludicrous. You decide to go back to the hotel earlier than usual, a flash of lucidity making you aware of how ridiculous the situation is. You stand up, unsteady, and almost collapse on the floor. Drinking on an empty stomach is probably your most stupid mistake. You catch hold of the table and the waiter rushes up to you. You had almost forgotten him. He makes you sit down and goes quickly back to the bar. You take advantage of this to examine him, as you failed to do it during your first conversation. Too short, too skinny, too self-confident, hair too long, eyes too brown. Really not your type. You see him coming back to with a glass of water, and when he puts it on the table you can't prevent your fingers from touching his hand. Really not your kind. Yet you find yourself having this almost tender gesture to him. You vow once again that you'll stop drinking from tomorrow but meanwhile, you decide to enjoy yourself one last time. This guy wanted you, he'll get you. No big deal, after all, is it? Such was your state of mind, your hand gripping his wrist and your eyes into his, when the unexpected happened. You have always believed in fate. For you, there are no coincidences. Nothing is a matter of chance. And the voice rising in the bar won't refute it in any way.

- Wonnie-hyung !

You stand rigidly to attention when you hear his voice. Deep, warm, low-pitched. Hurt. You could be delighted at the tone, looking strangely like the one used for pleas, but you don't. You're not able to revel in it. You're frozen up by the spoken words rather than by the way they were said. Wonnie-hyung. He called you by your name. Your nickname, to be more precise. The one your best friend gave to you. It takes your breath away. He called you by your nickname. You automatically come back down on earth. You don't feel anymore the harmful effects of the liters of whiskey running through your veins. He called you by your nickname. You can't even follow the conversation between the two men prostrated in front of you. You don't actually take any interest in it. He called you by your nickname. Scared, you lift your eyes up towards him. You meet his usually black eyes and you jump with fright. You can see the flames of an obscure and mysterious Hell dancing in them. He's furious. And he called you by your nickname. This is the only thought spinning in your mind. You don't know if you should laugh or cry. Be desperate or relieved. How does he know? You'd like that the question breaks through your lips but it doesn't. They remain immutably closed, even when he makes you stand up and forces you to follow him, without looking at you. You go with him, without even worrying about where. You content yourself to nod your head when he says you have to talk and you obediently close on his heels. You're way too shaken to protest. He called you by your nickname. And you still don't know who he is.

You don't know how long it took to come in front of this building. His warm hand trapping yours made you completely out of touch with reality during the whole route. You don't understand what's happening to you. You want to make a u-turn. Everything is too confused. Way too confused for you. You're not in control of the situation, and you hate this. You go upstairs behind him and without realizing it, you already go through the front door of an apartment. His one, you guess. You don't take the time to look around, you stop in the hall, refusing to go further. You want to know. You need to know. So you take your courage in both hand and you ask this question haunting you for more than half an hour. At last.

- Who are you?

He stops a few steps ahead of you. You saw his back stiffen for a fraction of a second. The tension between both of you is almost palpable and it's quite confusing. But you're not out of the wood… He turns towards you, showing you his eyes. They're not black anymore. They're grey. Dull. Troubled and troubling. Just like him. You can feel this impression coming to you as an obvious fact : his answer won't please you.

- You really don't recognize me, right?

His question is rhetorical, you don't bother to answer it. He sighs, bending his head, apparently all at sea. Disappointed? You don't understand what's happening. You're supposed to know him? No matter how much you try, you don't remember him. You list all your acquaintances who might be in town today in your head, but none matches. Seeing your lack of answer, he decides to go on. For your greatest misfortune. Or is it for his?

- Kyu Hyun… Cho Kyu Hyun…

You should be broken, devastated when you hear his name. Instead, you feel fury growing inside you. This deaf, blind and destructive anger that you have to let go out, at the risk of being buried in its weight. You catch him by the collar of his shirt and you violently pin him to the wall. You feel him getting tense, he's afraid. You have only one wish, bashing him up. However, it's not your fist that crashes on his face, but your lips on his. It's brutal, violent, aggressive and you still don't understand. How could things get so out of hand? He finally responds to the kiss, letting you mercilessly sinking your tongue in his mouth. You have a burning lump in the bottom of your stomach and shivers all along your spine. It's intense and passionate. Too much for you. You're the one having started it all so you're also the one stopping it before it goes too far. You try to step back but his hands in your back prevent you from doing so. He apparently has no intent to let you go. But after all, is it what you really want? A hot flash hits you when you look down at him. Eyes become dark again, slightly flushed cheeks, tousled hair, swollen scarlet lips. He's beautiful. And you want him. Here, now, immediately. You can already feel the stirrings of regret but you prefer ignore them. You're pathetic. And ridiculous. You're going to unleash your anger and your frustration on him, and then? Do you really realize how absurd this situation is? It's to be supposed you didn't understand who he really is… Before you have the time to completely move back, he reverses the roles. You're driven back against the wall. He's smaller than you but he overhangs you. His strength impresses you. He made you known his identity and you don't care about it, do you? Do you only remember why you're here? It doesn't really matter at this moment. All that matter is him. Him and his tongue worming its way into your mouth. Him and his hands inching under your shirt. Without sweetness. Without tenderness. You're under his control and he makes you know it. You let him take over, helpless in the face of the passion that seems to devour him. You don't know what to do, what to say. You're ridiculous. If you remember right, he's just a kid. And yet… Yet… Have you ever let yourself go this way with one of your previous lovers? None has ever managed to make you quiver as much as he does without even having undressed you… His kisses hurt and smother you. His movements are rough and it hurts too. You moan piteously when his lips leave yours to your neck. He marks you while removing you from the wall, forcing you to step back to another place in the apartment. You can guess his room when your knees stumble over the bed. You fall down without further ado because of the weight of his body against you and he falls with you. His lips find their way again to yours while his hands go down to the zipper of your jeans. Reality catches you up and makes you harder than you already are. You want him so badly. You'd do anything for him never stop. And yet, he stops. His movements are suspended, you can feel him slightly lifting up. You take fright. You search his eyes to find the answer to this question making your heart bleed. Does he regret? Doesn't he want you anymore? The brightness of his eyes seems to change as the seconds go by. The fury has given way to a less violent feeling. His arms around your head, he slowly leans over you. You feel his lips gently laying down on yours. He kisses you tenderly. Way too tenderly. He can't. He has no right to do so. But are you sure about that? Who are you trying to convince? You gave him all rights over you when you allowed him to dominate you in this hall. You were ready to get fucked, he seems to be ready to make love to you. You could almost regret it…

Absorbed in his tender gestures, you lose the control of yours. Your hands go under his shirt, caressing his back. You feel his muscles tensing under your fingers, his skin is so soft… He kisses you, he sets you on fire, and you pray for never getting out of this whirl of sensations he makes you discover. The awakening would be only more painful after so much gentleness. You say to yourself he's going to drive you crazy. But isn't it already the case? Your hands move languorously on his body, copying their movements on his own. It's been a while since you have lost your last ounce of reason… You struggle to keep your eyes open. You don't want to miss the show he offers you. He slowly gets rid of his clothes, looking deeply into your eyes. His own are still blazing and you blush because of their intensity. Your eyes follow the way taken by his fingers on his neat body, freely looking it over. You want to touch him. The velvety texture of his skin is an appeal for lust. You've never seen anything like this before, in no other man. You haven't known so many, but you'd stake your life on it. You lick your lips in advance, excitement flowing in your veins. When he finished, you make it a point of honour to prove him you have nothing to envy him. Neither his perfectly sculpted torso. Nor his beautifully delineated belly. Nor his wonderfully slender legs. You blush once more after your mental listing, but shamefully this time. You're ashamed, of yourself, of your behavior. But isn't it too late? There's already no hope anymore for you…

Without knowing how, you're now on your knees on the mattress, back to him. You feel him taking place between your outrageously spread legs and pressing himself against you. His lips go all over your spine, planting stealthy and light kisses on it. You tremble with apprehension. You're flared up inside. You want him. You arch a bit, showing him your impatience. You suddenly become aware of your position, feeling his hips rubbing your butt. You think it's indecorous. But it's a little late to realize it, right? You try to calm your fears by breathing as deeply as possible. You can do it. It shouldn't be so difficult to give yourself up to him completely, is it? It is. You never had that role, after all. But are you really able to put your finger on what bothers you the most? Your position? Your inexperience in this domain? Or the fact that it is him who makes you discover the pleasure of submission? You don't have the time to think more about it, his fingers have just come into you. You don't want that. No long preparation. You want him to do it quickly. The pain doesn't matter, it'll enable you to keep your feet firmly on the ground. You're not afraid, not about the pain. The only thing you fear, it's him. Him and the overflowing feelings that overcome you.

- S… Stop…

He snatches his hand away and draws back quickly, without letting you the time to hold him back. He misunderstood. Or you have expressed yourself badly. Who cares? The result is the same. You're missing this special warmth that radiated throughout your body. You can hear his erratic breathing near you. You don't move any longer at all, lest he doesn't approach you anymore.

- Come… Come inside… Please…

Here you are, obliged to beg… Don't you have any more dignity then? You shake your head. You don't even know what answer to yourself. You're on all fours of an almost unknown's bed, totally offered and submitted, and you think of your pride because you have said "Please". You could almost laugh about it. It would be uncalled-for, right? You hold hardly a desperate smile while he complies with your request. You feel him sticking you back and your heart starts with surprise when his sex slips between your tightened thighs. You want more. You accompany his hip movements, desperately. You want much more. He leans a little more on you and clings to your shoulders. You feel him sinking into you, finally, while he furiously bites your neck. He pushes his way through your flesh, it hurts. You're torn inside, you feel like screaming. The pain takes your breath away, you can't say a single world. You regret having stopped him, all things considered. But, once again, this is too late. He stops for a while, probably to let you regain consciousness. The soothing pains are fading but it's still aching. In your heart and soul. One night. You won't have more, you're sure about it. Determined to enjoy the moment, you initiate a jerk. He stiffens and moves his hands. He sticks his nails in your hips, preventing you from moving again. He breathes heavily in your neck, making you feel chills all over your back. Or is it because of the sensation of his sweaty skin on yours? Whatever. You want him to fuck you now. The rest doesn't count. Just him, inside you. You try to turn yourself slightly to see his face. He looks tense. Your gaze implores him to make this insufferable frustration out. You are unable to resist more longer. He seems to understand and begins to move. Slowly. Far too slowly. His to and fro are of an unbearable languor. The pain gradually disappears to give way to an unspeakable pleasure. His movements are languid, lascivious, and still slow. He restrains himself and you hate that. You try to tell him but the words get stuck in your throat. Only groans and growls burst from your lips. You have a feeling that it's been an eternity he's inside you and you want it to last forever. And ever. You want him to accelerate but the rhythm he imposes on you seems to suit him perfectly. You're going to lose your head. He's going to make you mad. You'd almost want to die there, in his arms. You feel the orgasm coming in waves and he's still so hard inside you. You scream his name while your seed spills all over the sheets. His grip gets firmer. You feel him tensing inside you and his hips crash against you in a series of spasmodic movements. He empties into you. You're full of him. You hardly recover your senses and you curse yourself. You have loved this.

Since how long have you been lying there? Few minutes, several hours? You're unable to tell. Does it really matter? The only thing you are aware of is his body next to yours. None of you has moved after the events that preceded. None has spoken, either. What could you say? You already know you'll soon have to leave this apartment, why bother to talk with him? You feel like crying. It's been a while since the last time it happened. It must probably date back… Your departure, right? You can feel a lump in your throat and you hardly hold back a sob. You're pathetic, it's no longer in doubt. You sigh discreetly. Clearly not discreetly enough since he turns to you. You can feel his penetrating eyes trying to catch yours. You're helpless, powerless. You need to distract his attention. The salty pearls taking place at the edge of your eyes made you think of him, your best friend. Why not to take advantage of it? You definitely have to take control again. You're such a coward…

- How's your brother?

Your voice is assured, your tone is cold. You're the first to be surprised about it. And him… Him… You feel the mattress caving in and you guess he stands up. You suddenly take fright. Is he going to ask you to leave? You don't want to. You only want him to stop scrutinize you. You have the impression that he's looking for a flaw, a weakness in you. If he knew the long list of your failings, he'd run away without looking back… You observe him carefully. You feel ashamed when your body reacts to the view he offers you. He may be a little smaller than you, his legs seem to be extremely long. You see him rummaging through his jacket and you wonder what he might be looking for. When he comes back to you, it's only to give you a little piece of torn paper. An address. An hour. An appointment? You turn quickly towards him, eyes full of questions. He merely bends his head and sighs.

- I paid him a visit. That's the reason why I've been absent these last days.

- Why?

- I wanted to be sure it was really you. I asked him his old photo albums. You haven't almost changed, you know?

You would perhaps have preferred him to keep quiet after all. You don't know what to do. You don't know what to say. You're desperate. And hopeless. You could laugh, you could cry. You could react. You could even step up to him and hug him. Smell the scent of his hair one last time. Before the final sentence. Anything rather than this heavy silence. Once again, it's him who breaks it. You're not sure you should be delighted about it…

- When I told him you were back, he asked me to give you that. And to tell you he has always been waiting for you…

His words act as a shock wave. You're about to collapse. You felt lost, a few moments ago? It's even worse now. You have hesitated for days, months, years. You were afraid that he rejects you, hates you, ignores you. And he was waiting for you? You're really going to end up crying. You look at the piece of paper, to be sure you're not dreaming. You pay attention to him once again. You have the feeling that he's hiding something, that he doesn't tell you everything. So you ask him, to be sure that you don't miss a thing. He swears there's no trap, you can leave in a light-hearted mood. But you can't, can you? What were you hoping exactly? You sigh once again. You don't know what else to do. You start looking for your clothes scattered all over the room. You quickly put your clothes back on, suddenly eager to see him. Your best friend. Your first lover. Your first love. You're afraid. But you won't retreat, not this time. You abandoned him once, you won't make the same mistake twice. You heart grows heavy as you look up your tonight's lover. You have a funny feeling as you look at him. He hasn't still made an only move and you think it's strange. You're finally ready and you walk towards the door. You feel like glancing at him a last time before leaving, but you stop yourself from doing it. It's a bad idea, isn't it? You're firmly convinced of it. You put a trembling hand on the handle. You're hesitating. He probably feels it, since he finally approaches you. Not close enough to touch you, but close enough for you to smell his musky scent. You really like the smell of his skin…

- I've lied…

You're no longer afraid. You're terrified. You hold your breath. He has made fun of you. His brother isn't really waiting for you there. Playing with your body wasn't enough, he also wanted to play with your heart, to hurt your soul. A little more. You stiffen when he puts his hand on your shoulder to make you turn round. You don't want to. If you stare into his black orbs you'll burst into tears. You're still not able to face up to reality, finally. You make a superhuman effort to contain yourself and you follow the movement that his fingers hung on your shirt force you to do. You face him, slowly, as his voice rises again. You really like the tone of his voice…

- You… You're right, I… I haven't told you everything…

You want him to shut it up. Immediately. You won't endure more. He doesn't seem to agree with you, because he continues anyway. His voice trembles, you do too.

- You're free… Free to go and meet him up, at this place, in less than an hour. But you also could stay here, you know?

- …

- I'd love you to stay with me…

Your hand is still on the door latch. You don't move it. You have no courage to do so. Or no will? You don't know. You hesitate. A bit, much. Too much. You're on the verge of apoplexy. Your heart beats so fast you have the feeling it's going to leap out of your chest. It has begun a wild race against destiny and you can't restrain it. Calm it. Your mind is confused. You have the choice. And tonight more than ever, it's all yours, he gave it to you. You're free, he said it. You're on the edge, ready to jump into the void, not knowing if someone will catch you up before the impact. You don't know what to do. To open that door and meet up with this wonderful past for which you came back? To leave it closed on that past so painful that you'd want to forget it? Jump or let him take your hand? Leave or stay? You have the choice, you have always had.

Will you be able to make the good one?

Thanks for having read this. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think about it !