Saturday: Matt
I woke up. I puked my guts out. I couldn't remember a thing. Bad, bad, bad. There was the show, yes, then a carousel of sake shots, then? I frowned at myself in the mirror. Bad Matt. That's when I noticed the line of angry red bruises marching across my neck. "Goddamnit," Not again. Gingerly, I ran a finger over the hickies, each one hot to the touch. I closed my eyes and tried to remember who or what or when and came up with exactly nothing. Oh well. I stumbled back into bed, cuddled up to my massive hangover, and fell asleep wondering what terrible thing I had done this time.
No surprises here, I dreamt of Tai. Tai and I lying awake side by side under an alien sky, our friends asleep all around us. He turned toward me, supporting himself on an elbow, and, fixing me with those big, sweet eyes, said, "You're a ridiculous drunk." Then an enormous door slid shut between us and I was all alone in a tight box, breathing hard, licking my lips, desperately looking for the right button to press to get back to him.
I woke up horrified, shouting "Tai's game!" and fell out of bed in a tangle of sheets. I found my pants draped over a lamp and fished out my phone to find the time, but it was way too late to make it down to the stadium. He's gonna pout all day, I thought, already arguing with Tai's voice in my head. Whatever, I reasoned as I replaced my pants on the lampshade, he didn't come to the show last night. Which stopped me for a second, some vague flicker of memory, something important, something about Tai…but no. Nothing. Oh well. I pulled on a white v-neck and some comfy pants to make up for the brutality of last night's skintight jeans. The rest of my outfit from the show had exploded across the room. One boot was on top of my dresser, the other peeking out from under the bed. At least I made it home.
Groping my way to the living room I turned the T.V. to Tai's game. I crumpled into the very corner of our enormous sectional, big enough to hold all the Chosen at once, and snuggled beneath the ridiculous faux fur wolf throw Tai had given me as a present. He'd delivered it as he did every present he ever got me: by throwing it unceremoniously at my face and saying, "Here." But this one stood out particularly because it wasn't my birthday. No, it wasn't my birthday, it was too expensive, and we both knew why he'd thought of me when he saw it. Tai…
The camera found him tangled up in the middle of the chaos, as expected. He looked like he'd been through hell, covered in sweat and dirt and a little bit of blood. His reckless smile was missing along with the dangerous glint he got in his eyes during big games or scary battles or petty arguments with me. What's wrong with him? Without Tai, his team was trailing badly, and, in a moment of exhaustion, he looked up toward the sky and closed his eyes in helpless defeat. He pulled his jersey up to wipe at the bloody scratch on his face, revealing the lean, tight muscle of his stomach and I thought—I couldn't help it—I thought, So fucking hot, as the announcers wondered what could be the cause behind the great Yagami Taichi's astonishing meltdown on the pitch.
"Poor Tai," I said aloud, to distract myself from my more immediate thoughts. One day I'm gonna slip. I can't believe I've made it this long. The camera followed him across the field, and I was as hypnotized by his athletic grace as the first time I watched him play, years before I understood what I was feeling. Tai's off limits. He's my best friend, I thought, chewing on my bottom lip, But maybe that's why it's so much fun. I winced as he went down hard, tripped up. Living with Tai had become a wonderful kind of torture. Tai, always half-naked, repeat, under no circumstance ever wearing a shirt around the house, liked for me to sit on his back while he did pushups, complaining loudly how I didn't weigh enough. He was a master inventor of outlandish smoothie recipes, a master of jumping out from behind corners and scaring the shit out of me, a constant nuisance when I was working on my hair. The apartment was lonely when he was out of town. Sometimes he'd ask me to play harmonica and just lay on the carpet with his arms behind his head, sighing like a lost soul. Tai on a train, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, moving in closer and closer and closer…Wait, what? I tried to wake myself up, to grab onto that shimmering something. That flicker of…no. Nothing. Oh well. My eyes drooped again, and I pulled the furry blanket over my head. I really felt like shit.
I dreamt that Tai was peeling off my clothes. Not saying a word. Looking at me like he never wanted to look at anything else. When I woke up it must've been hours and hours after the game. The lights of the city shone in through the window, and a drunken Tai sat beside me on the couch, looking at me with the same hungry expression from my dream.
I sat up, letting the blanket fall to my lap, "Tai—"
"Do you have any idea how many blond guys I've fucked because of you?" he asked, casually, and before I could even register what he'd said, he threw a bottle of mango juice at me and said, "Here. For your hangover."
Still groggy, definitely still hung-over, I opened it right away and took a long drink, melting back into the cushions with a groan of pleasure. It was my very favorite. Wait, but Tai had said—
"And the problem with all of them is the same," he said, continuing his train of thought as he walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He emerged with a beer and pointed it at me, one eye closed, "They smile too much. I mean, I get it. I'm fun to be around. I'm a fun guy. But you don't smile so much, Yamato."
My heart had already been pounding in my ear, as my mind, slow from sleep, started to catch on, but when he called me Yamato I pulled in a breath, shocked. Tai never called me my full name, "What are you talking about, Tai?"
He sat down beside me on the couch and stared into my eyes for a long moment, searching for something. The cut on his face from the game looked raw and painful, and I was holding his gaze, resisting the urge to reach out and touch his cheek, to ask him what the hell happened to him out there, when he made me jump with a sudden, "Ha!"
"Don't do that!"
"You don't remember, do you?"
"Remember? Wha-"
"You don't! You don't remember last night. I knew it."
"Last night?" I repeated, and he nodded, holding his head in his hand, laughing like a maniac, "Why?" I asked, "What happened?"
"What happened," he repeated, shaking his head, "I knew you were too drunk. Holy shit," he stopped laughing and looked at me abruptly in open-mouthed shock, as if I was following any of this, "Holy shit, man. That was a close one. You got lucky. Well, actually you didn't get lucky. So count yourself lucky."
"How drunk are you?"
"I dunno. This drunk," he held his hands far apart, unintentionally proving his point, "I mean, what happened? What happened was you made me lose worse than I've ever lost. First you woke me up at, like, four in the morning begging me to pick you up from the club with this fucking voice you have man, you shouldn't just use it on people. It's not fair. You fucked me up, I— "
"Wait. You're blaming me for losing because you came to pick me up? Just don't come next time," I felt the heat rising on my face. I really did feel guilty but it was hard to ignore my well-developed instinct to fight Tai, "I don't need anyone to take care of me."
"Shut. Up. That's not what I'm talking about," Tai rolled his eyes, "God, you and your fucking attitude."
"I can make it home by myself."
"No, I can make it home by myself. Like I did just now. You could do it, but you like to use that fucking voice on me to make me do things. It's inhumane."
"You're wasted," I stood up, fists clenched, preparing to storm off. Before I could take a step Tai's hand gripped my wrist and yanked, pulling me roughly onto the couch. I pushed him away, trying to stand up but he grabbed me again and I fell onto his lap. I raised my hand to hit him but he caught it and flipped us over so that I was trapped beneath him. He twisted a hand into my hair and held my head still, bringing his lips to mine. I did the only thing I could think of, which was to kiss him back. If he was surprised, he didn't act it. Instead he pulled my body tight against his, greedily claiming my lips, fighting my tongue, until I was moaning for more of him, pushing my hips up against his. I had a million questions about the night I'd lost, about the blonds Tai fucked, and I was so disoriented after a full day of feverish dreams I didn't believe any of this was real, but the pressure of Tai's warm body, his insistent lips on mine felt so good it was hard to care about anything else. Slowly he untangled himself, releasing his hold on my wrist as he sat up on the couch.
"So you do like me," Tai said, "You weren't just drunk."
I wanted to know what happened but I also didn't want to break the spell. "Hey, even blacked out I have total control over myself," I lied, flicking my hair from my eyes.
"Right," Tai grinned his reckless grin, the dangerous glint back in his dark eyes.
Suddenly shy, I looked away. I guess I should've known what it'd be like—Tai and me—but the reality was overwhelming. A decade of my carefully constructed cool detachment couldn't stand up one minute to this smiling idiot. I felt my cheeks burning. He brushed the hair off of one of my shoulders and traced the line of hickies on my neck with his fingers, and I looked at him with wide eyes, the mystery of this morning solved. "Sorry about your neck," he said.
"Sorry you lost your game," I said, reaching out to touch his cheek beneath the cut. He winced away, catching my hand.
"Why don't you prove it," Tai said.
"What?"
"Prove it. Make it up to me," he said, before yawning enormously.
I know I should've sent him to bed to sleep it off, to put a lid on the mess between us for another night, but I didn't want to. I liked being so close to him, I liked the way he his hand grasped the back of my neck, fingers woven possessively in my hair, as if I'd bolt on him at any second. "Okay," I said, "I'll make it up to you." I shook his shoulder to wake him up. There was no doubt he was fading fast. "I'll tell you a bedtime story, Taichi," I said, lips against his ear, using my most inhumane voice. "Do you remember sophomore year, when we'd walk home together after your practices?"
Tai nodded mindlessly, distracted by my hand trailing slowly down his chest.
"Well, one day I was waiting around for you afterwards but you were taking forever in the locker room. Everyone else had gone home until I was sitting all alone in the bleachers. And then I dropped my phone. And when I bent down to pick it up—" Tai inhaled sharply as my hand found his dick over the fabric of his pants, "I saw you under the bleachers with some guy from your team. And your hands were in his hair and you were whispering to him—something really dirty—I mean, I couldn't hear you but I could tell it was something I'd never heard you say, and he was down on his knees in front of you. And, yeah," I realized for the first time, picturing the scene again as I had a thousand times before, "he was blond, like me."
"They're always blond like you," Tai murmured, struggling between the pleasure I was inflicting on him and the story I was telling. I tugged at the waistband of his pants and he helped me slide them down past his knees. His dick was long and thick and hard and perfect, like I knew it would be, but I had more to say first.
"I was so fucking mad at you, Tai. I ran home and punched the bathroom mirror so that it shattered. And that felt good, so I went into the kitchen and starting smashing every plate in the house. And that's where my dad found me, bloody and crying and surrounded by broken plates."
"Matt—" Tai moaned, eyes barely open past the fast pace of my hand.
"And it took me years to admit that I wasn't mad at you 'cause you'd made me wait around while you were with that guy. I was jealous because I wanted that guy to be me." Tai looked at me, and I looked at Tai, and neither of us breathed. Then I leaned down took him in my mouth. He gasped and pulsed his hips up against me, desperate, but I tortured him for as long as I could. Now fast, now slow, ignoring the stream of breathless "fucks" pouring from his lips, the rhythmic squeezing of his hands in my hair, until finally I led him over the edge. I made sure he was looking before I licked my lips and swallowed.
"God," Tai said, as if he couldn't believe what he'd seen, "Matt…" He leaned his head back against the cushions, exhaling…and immediately fell asleep. Smiling to myself, I draped the fur blanket over him and turned out the light on the way to my room, tasting Tai on my tongue. You better remember this tomorrow, goggle boy.
