Feigning, Falling
I remember when I first saw him.
It was a strange evening; I’d never been to a punk show before, or anything like one. Joe had been listening to this band that one of his friends had gotten him interested in, and they happened to be in Chicago the same couple of nights that we would be. So, on our free night, he dragged me along with him to the show.
It was eerie, being in a large crowd of people who either had no idea who we were or just didn’t care. Joe insisted we move right up to the front, toward the gate, and as we arrived at the venue as the doors opened, we were close to begin with. By the time the opening act was finished, we were pushed up as close as we could get. I could tell some of the other people up there weren’t happy; I caught the word “posers” a few times, but I didn’t really think we were posing. We were two guys here to see a band we were interested in. That didn’t seem awful to me, but I guess we were breaking some cardinal punk rule.
When the band came out, the fans seemed less interested in us, which was fine for me, and we turned our faces up toward the stage. The music started with the low kinds of chords that rumble through your veins, and being as unfamiliar with the music as I was, it caught me off-guard. The lights flared up, and right before me, like some kind of overdone fairy tale, was a gorgeous man with a gorgeous Les Paul. His hands moved along it like a lover’s, and his eyes seemed soft, like he was somewhere far away while playing, a place I knew well.
I was immediately smitten.
I don’t know if it was the fact that he was just beautiful or if it was because he was so incredibly talented. He was playing with a confidence and breeziness that led me to believe he’d either played these songs a million times, or he was so comfortable with his instrument that he didn’t need to think to play it. It was a self-assurance I’ve always wanted when playing, and I envied him, and I envied that guitar for getting to experience those hands.
It wasn’t until the VMAs half a year later that I met him. It was once again Joe’s fault; he knew that both of our bands were scheduled to perform, and so he knew we were both backstage at one point. He also knew that I was somewhat infatuated with the guitarist, so he led me over to where the band was getting ready to go onstage. There he was, toying absently with his beautiful black Les Paul.
“Excuse me - Mr. Puget?”
He looked up, blinking, and god, those eyes are brown. His grin was quick and easy. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone call me that.” He had a voice strange but pleasant, holding an almost nasal sound that made him seem to be on the verge of laughter at any moment.
“Hey, aren’t you guys those brothers in the pop band?” One of his band mates tipped his shaved head to the side. He was the bassist, but I didn’t know his name was Hunter at the time. “The Jonases or something?”
Joe nodded, flashing him a grin. “Yeah, that’s us. The Jonas Brothers. We just wanted to tell you guys that we saw your show a few months back, and you guys were so awesome. Right, Kevin?”
I had been staring at Jade’s hands and jumped when Joe slapped my back. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Really awesome.” Jade’s face softened with a smile I liked. “And, good luck tonight. We can’t wait to hear you guys play.”
“Thank you.” His head inclined, and his hair brushed its way into his eye. I wanted to push it off for him. “You guys are playing later, right? Good luck to you too. I’ll definitely be listening; I’ve never heard your stuff.”
I blushed, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s nothing like yours…” I murmured. “You probably won’t like it.”
Jade punched my arm lightly, like we were friends, and he gave me this crooked smile that left me staring at the flash of off-white teeth between his lips. “It’s all about pride, dude. There’s nothing wrong with playing pop music, and I certainly never said I don’t enjoy it at times.”
“See?” Joe backhanded my shoulder like he was right about something and Jade’s words had proven him so. I had no idea what he was even referring to. “Well, we’ll let you guys get ready. Good luck!”
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Their performance was phenomenal, and really, so was ours. I’m pretty sure I wanted to impress Jade, if he was watching; I wanted to show him that I was a guitarist too, and maybe in some small way, I thought he would become just as enamored with me as I was with him.
And, in some small way, it worked.
He was waiting backstage when we walked off. I was grinning like an idiot, I know, and sweating like a pig, but he was there, and he didn’t seem to mind. I blinked at him, managed a smile and handed my guitar off to a roadie before moving toward him. “What did you think?” My blood was rushing, singing, like it always did when I was performing, and the confidence I felt now was much more welcome than my previous shyness.
He seemed to appreciate it too. He nodded. “You can play, that’s for sure. You have a ton of energy. Mad props to you, man.” He cleared his throat, pushing himself away from the wall where he was leaning. “So, if this is weird or if I’m reading you wrong, I apologize, but would you like to go out sometime? I know you’re pretty high-profile, so we could keep it low-key; that’s not a big deal or anything. What do you think?”
My heart leapt, and I nodded dazedly. “Sure… any time.”
He seemed pleased by that, and then I was giving him my number. We both moved back to our own respective bands without so much as a handshake; we both knew how it would have to be if we decided to try this. I wasn’t even publicly gay, so spending too much time with the effeminate guitarist of a punk band probably wouldn’t be a good idea, especially considering our band’s image.
When I found my brothers, Joe had a grin on his face that would’ve annoyed me if I wasn’t so ecstatic.
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Our first date was in a Las Vegas hotel suite.
We hadn’t been able to get together for dinner or anything, which was our original plan. Jade had wanted me to spend an evening with him at his place; he was going to cook for me, and we were going to watch a movie, which I found a very satisfying and pleasant idea. Unfortunately, there had been too many close calls with paparazzi to go through with that plan. I was still so concerned with our reputations that I didn’t want anyone to see us together. He seemed alright with that; he knew that his life and the scene he catered to was much different from mine. It didn’t bother him much that I was in the closet.
We met up at an AFI show.
I sat backstage on an amp with Jade’s brother Smith and watched him play. It was nice having such a perfect view of him, especially since he seemed to be knocking quick glances in my direction, as if to make sure I knew he knew where I was. And, Smith did a running commentary on the whole show, making fun of his brother and all of the band members, and by the time Jade ran off after the encore, my mouth and stomach hurt from laughing so hard.
Jade was sweaty when he came back to meet me, and he grinned and asked me how my drive down was. (I hadn’t wanted to risk going into an airport without my brothers.) He helped the roadies put away his instruments and roll the amps back into the trailer, and then we ducked into his car and drove back to the hotel where we both had rooms - separate ones, in case this date didn’t go well. I didn’t know if I would be staying with him even if the date did go well, but it was nice to have the option to get away.
His suite was nice. There were roses on the counter, and part of me thought they were for my benefit. He had a stack of DVDs on the coffee table. “I figured we could order room service and watch a movie. I wasn’t sure what you’d be interested in, so I got a little of everything.”
I smiled, nodded. “Yeah, sounds great.” I sat down on the couch to sift through the movies while he ordered dinner. When our pasta arrived, we ate quietly for the most part, talking periodically throughout, mostly about music, since it was our most common interest. Once our empty plates were set aside, he popped in Moulin Rouge, which I chose because it was sexy enough to make us both a little antsy. I didn’t tell him that of course. I just said that I liked the songs. We settled back on the couch, and I thought back to a few months ago, when Jade was only a distant beauty. Now his arm was curled around my shoulders, and I was relaxed against his side, and we were watching a stupid musical that had us laughing every few minutes.
“I think Ewan McGregor is sexy.”
Jade scoffed. “He is totally not sexier than me.”
“He has an accent.” I pointed out, poking Jade’s side. “What’ve you got?”
“A phenomenal sense of humor and puppy dog eyes.” His voice was serious.
I laughed. “Touché, my friend. I’m glad you’re aware of your best traits.”
“Hey, you’re supposed to reference my guns and sexy smile.” He flexed his biceps.
“Cocky bastard.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s the first date. I’m not going to compliment your sexy smile until at least our fourth, and I’m never going to compliment your guns because you’ll be completely impossible if I do.”
Jade’s expression smoothed into something more serious, and his hand was curling over mine. “So… there’s going to be a fourth date?” He asked quietly. “This has gone well enough for you to want to see me again? Because, god, Kevin, I knew I wanted you as soon as I saw you at our show that night.”
I stared at him. “You… saw me that night?” I blushed, ducking my head. “I was right in the front, I guess. I hoped you wouldn’t remember me from that, since I was just staring at you like an idiot.”
“I just remember how your face looked under the lights.” Jade admitted, and it wasn’t really an admission at all, because he seemed to feel completely comfortable sharing these things with me; that confidence almost scared me. “You were so beautiful. You seemed like you weren’t really a fan, so I was really happy you couldn’t realize that I had completely messed up a few chords while I was watching you.” His hand curled on my leg. I looked up at him, and suddenly our mouths were pressed together.
My eyes closed, and I rested my hand against his chest, leaning in toward him. His tongue curled in my mouth, and my hands slid into his hair. I was pleased to find it wasn’t gelled; that his seemingly intentional cowlick was natural. It just charmed me further.
I don’t remember seeing the rest of the movie. I was curled close into his side, and we were kissing almost desperately. I do know he never made me feel uncomfortable; even when his hand slid up the back of my thigh and tugged me over to press tighter against him, I knew he wouldn’t go any further than I wanted, and right now, kissing was perfect.
He pulled away first, and I whined, curling my fingers in his shirt and pushing in again, and I felt his chuckle tickle my mouth. “Kevin, Kevin.” I liked my name how he said it. “It’s getting late.”
“So?” I huffed and slipped my arm around him, kissing my way along his jaw. “We’re not teenagers. We can stay up late making out.”
“Yes, we can.” He agreed, and his fingers slid over my back. “But, I fear that if we spend too much time making out, we will soon not be just making out anymore, and I’d rather not do that on our first date.”
I blushed and nodded, and we kissed slowly for a few more minutes before he escorted me to the door with a promise that we’d have breakfast together before I leave in the morning.
We did, and I drove home feeling light and airy and hoping he would call. That night, my phone rang and every night after that until two months later, he returned to his home in Berkeley. One morning, I texted him first thing when I woke up, asking when I could see him, and he said he was on Rte 5, driving south now.
I met him at his hotel room that night. His hair was damp, and his breath smelled like toothpaste, but when he pressed me up against the door and kissed me like he was starving for it, I couldn’t think of any reason to not like it.
We saw each other once or twice a month for a while, alternating between me driving to see him and him coming down to see me, until we realized that we were both getting so busy again that we couldn’t make time for it. Jade eventually thought it would be a good thing to have an apartment in LA, a better investment than staying in expensive hotels every time he came to town and one he could certainly afford.
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At some point, I moved in with him. I don’t think my family’s ever really questioned it; it just sort of happened, and it was accepted easily. It ‘s easier not to ask, I think, because then they don’t have to be concerned.
I don’t care about that right now, of course, since we’re lying in bed, kissing slowly. We have been intimate often enough that it doesn’t make me uncomfortable or nervous anymore, and I am perfectly comfortable with being naked with him. His lips press to my throat, and then he shifts to rest up against the headboard. I sigh contently and crawl up to press my back to his chest, settling between his legs, and we kiss over his shoulder, his tongue sliding easily into my mouth.
My arm curls back around his neck, and his hand falls to press against my cock. We’ve made love. We’ve been together in more intimate ways than this. But, there’s something special about having those perfect hands on me. The fingers of his other hand rub lightly against my nipple, trail up my throat to my mouth, and I suck them between my lips, taking pleasure in the way his eyes spark.
His tongue replaces his fingers in my mouth again, and I suck on it, giggling inwardly at his groan, but then his fingers are pressing inside of me, and I’m moaning and pushing back against him, and there’s no point in pretending I don’t melt whenever he touches me. I mewl softly when he presses his fingertips against my spot, and I rock my hips down against him, gasping softly and pressing my mouth against his neck.
I hear him murmur, “I love you.” It’s a new thing, that we say those words to each other. He likes to say them when he thinks I won’t hear them, and I know it’s because he’s always afraid I won’t say them back. It’s sweet that on this one point, when it comes to me, that his unending self-confidence falters.
His hands move faster, and I gasp softly, twisting slightly to kiss him more fully, my fingers curling against his neck. I come with a low groan, my hips rocking into his touch, and his lips press sweetly against mine, and I love how I can feel his smile. It’s not until I’m cleaned up and the room is dark and we’re curled close together under the covers that I press a soft kiss to his mouth and return the words.
There’s something in the quiet that follows that feels like forever.
It was a strange evening; I’d never been to a punk show before, or anything like one. Joe had been listening to this band that one of his friends had gotten him interested in, and they happened to be in Chicago the same couple of nights that we would be. So, on our free night, he dragged me along with him to the show.
It was eerie, being in a large crowd of people who either had no idea who we were or just didn’t care. Joe insisted we move right up to the front, toward the gate, and as we arrived at the venue as the doors opened, we were close to begin with. By the time the opening act was finished, we were pushed up as close as we could get. I could tell some of the other people up there weren’t happy; I caught the word “posers” a few times, but I didn’t really think we were posing. We were two guys here to see a band we were interested in. That didn’t seem awful to me, but I guess we were breaking some cardinal punk rule.
When the band came out, the fans seemed less interested in us, which was fine for me, and we turned our faces up toward the stage. The music started with the low kinds of chords that rumble through your veins, and being as unfamiliar with the music as I was, it caught me off-guard. The lights flared up, and right before me, like some kind of overdone fairy tale, was a gorgeous man with a gorgeous Les Paul. His hands moved along it like a lover’s, and his eyes seemed soft, like he was somewhere far away while playing, a place I knew well.
I was immediately smitten.
I don’t know if it was the fact that he was just beautiful or if it was because he was so incredibly talented. He was playing with a confidence and breeziness that led me to believe he’d either played these songs a million times, or he was so comfortable with his instrument that he didn’t need to think to play it. It was a self-assurance I’ve always wanted when playing, and I envied him, and I envied that guitar for getting to experience those hands.
It wasn’t until the VMAs half a year later that I met him. It was once again Joe’s fault; he knew that both of our bands were scheduled to perform, and so he knew we were both backstage at one point. He also knew that I was somewhat infatuated with the guitarist, so he led me over to where the band was getting ready to go onstage. There he was, toying absently with his beautiful black Les Paul.
“Excuse me - Mr. Puget?”
He looked up, blinking, and god, those eyes are brown. His grin was quick and easy. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone call me that.” He had a voice strange but pleasant, holding an almost nasal sound that made him seem to be on the verge of laughter at any moment.
“Hey, aren’t you guys those brothers in the pop band?” One of his band mates tipped his shaved head to the side. He was the bassist, but I didn’t know his name was Hunter at the time. “The Jonases or something?”
Joe nodded, flashing him a grin. “Yeah, that’s us. The Jonas Brothers. We just wanted to tell you guys that we saw your show a few months back, and you guys were so awesome. Right, Kevin?”
I had been staring at Jade’s hands and jumped when Joe slapped my back. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. Really awesome.” Jade’s face softened with a smile I liked. “And, good luck tonight. We can’t wait to hear you guys play.”
“Thank you.” His head inclined, and his hair brushed its way into his eye. I wanted to push it off for him. “You guys are playing later, right? Good luck to you too. I’ll definitely be listening; I’ve never heard your stuff.”
I blushed, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s nothing like yours…” I murmured. “You probably won’t like it.”
Jade punched my arm lightly, like we were friends, and he gave me this crooked smile that left me staring at the flash of off-white teeth between his lips. “It’s all about pride, dude. There’s nothing wrong with playing pop music, and I certainly never said I don’t enjoy it at times.”
“See?” Joe backhanded my shoulder like he was right about something and Jade’s words had proven him so. I had no idea what he was even referring to. “Well, we’ll let you guys get ready. Good luck!”
---------
Their performance was phenomenal, and really, so was ours. I’m pretty sure I wanted to impress Jade, if he was watching; I wanted to show him that I was a guitarist too, and maybe in some small way, I thought he would become just as enamored with me as I was with him.
And, in some small way, it worked.
He was waiting backstage when we walked off. I was grinning like an idiot, I know, and sweating like a pig, but he was there, and he didn’t seem to mind. I blinked at him, managed a smile and handed my guitar off to a roadie before moving toward him. “What did you think?” My blood was rushing, singing, like it always did when I was performing, and the confidence I felt now was much more welcome than my previous shyness.
He seemed to appreciate it too. He nodded. “You can play, that’s for sure. You have a ton of energy. Mad props to you, man.” He cleared his throat, pushing himself away from the wall where he was leaning. “So, if this is weird or if I’m reading you wrong, I apologize, but would you like to go out sometime? I know you’re pretty high-profile, so we could keep it low-key; that’s not a big deal or anything. What do you think?”
My heart leapt, and I nodded dazedly. “Sure… any time.”
He seemed pleased by that, and then I was giving him my number. We both moved back to our own respective bands without so much as a handshake; we both knew how it would have to be if we decided to try this. I wasn’t even publicly gay, so spending too much time with the effeminate guitarist of a punk band probably wouldn’t be a good idea, especially considering our band’s image.
When I found my brothers, Joe had a grin on his face that would’ve annoyed me if I wasn’t so ecstatic.
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Our first date was in a Las Vegas hotel suite.
We hadn’t been able to get together for dinner or anything, which was our original plan. Jade had wanted me to spend an evening with him at his place; he was going to cook for me, and we were going to watch a movie, which I found a very satisfying and pleasant idea. Unfortunately, there had been too many close calls with paparazzi to go through with that plan. I was still so concerned with our reputations that I didn’t want anyone to see us together. He seemed alright with that; he knew that his life and the scene he catered to was much different from mine. It didn’t bother him much that I was in the closet.
We met up at an AFI show.
I sat backstage on an amp with Jade’s brother Smith and watched him play. It was nice having such a perfect view of him, especially since he seemed to be knocking quick glances in my direction, as if to make sure I knew he knew where I was. And, Smith did a running commentary on the whole show, making fun of his brother and all of the band members, and by the time Jade ran off after the encore, my mouth and stomach hurt from laughing so hard.
Jade was sweaty when he came back to meet me, and he grinned and asked me how my drive down was. (I hadn’t wanted to risk going into an airport without my brothers.) He helped the roadies put away his instruments and roll the amps back into the trailer, and then we ducked into his car and drove back to the hotel where we both had rooms - separate ones, in case this date didn’t go well. I didn’t know if I would be staying with him even if the date did go well, but it was nice to have the option to get away.
His suite was nice. There were roses on the counter, and part of me thought they were for my benefit. He had a stack of DVDs on the coffee table. “I figured we could order room service and watch a movie. I wasn’t sure what you’d be interested in, so I got a little of everything.”
I smiled, nodded. “Yeah, sounds great.” I sat down on the couch to sift through the movies while he ordered dinner. When our pasta arrived, we ate quietly for the most part, talking periodically throughout, mostly about music, since it was our most common interest. Once our empty plates were set aside, he popped in Moulin Rouge, which I chose because it was sexy enough to make us both a little antsy. I didn’t tell him that of course. I just said that I liked the songs. We settled back on the couch, and I thought back to a few months ago, when Jade was only a distant beauty. Now his arm was curled around my shoulders, and I was relaxed against his side, and we were watching a stupid musical that had us laughing every few minutes.
“I think Ewan McGregor is sexy.”
Jade scoffed. “He is totally not sexier than me.”
“He has an accent.” I pointed out, poking Jade’s side. “What’ve you got?”
“A phenomenal sense of humor and puppy dog eyes.” His voice was serious.
I laughed. “Touché, my friend. I’m glad you’re aware of your best traits.”
“Hey, you’re supposed to reference my guns and sexy smile.” He flexed his biceps.
“Cocky bastard.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s the first date. I’m not going to compliment your sexy smile until at least our fourth, and I’m never going to compliment your guns because you’ll be completely impossible if I do.”
Jade’s expression smoothed into something more serious, and his hand was curling over mine. “So… there’s going to be a fourth date?” He asked quietly. “This has gone well enough for you to want to see me again? Because, god, Kevin, I knew I wanted you as soon as I saw you at our show that night.”
I stared at him. “You… saw me that night?” I blushed, ducking my head. “I was right in the front, I guess. I hoped you wouldn’t remember me from that, since I was just staring at you like an idiot.”
“I just remember how your face looked under the lights.” Jade admitted, and it wasn’t really an admission at all, because he seemed to feel completely comfortable sharing these things with me; that confidence almost scared me. “You were so beautiful. You seemed like you weren’t really a fan, so I was really happy you couldn’t realize that I had completely messed up a few chords while I was watching you.” His hand curled on my leg. I looked up at him, and suddenly our mouths were pressed together.
My eyes closed, and I rested my hand against his chest, leaning in toward him. His tongue curled in my mouth, and my hands slid into his hair. I was pleased to find it wasn’t gelled; that his seemingly intentional cowlick was natural. It just charmed me further.
I don’t remember seeing the rest of the movie. I was curled close into his side, and we were kissing almost desperately. I do know he never made me feel uncomfortable; even when his hand slid up the back of my thigh and tugged me over to press tighter against him, I knew he wouldn’t go any further than I wanted, and right now, kissing was perfect.
He pulled away first, and I whined, curling my fingers in his shirt and pushing in again, and I felt his chuckle tickle my mouth. “Kevin, Kevin.” I liked my name how he said it. “It’s getting late.”
“So?” I huffed and slipped my arm around him, kissing my way along his jaw. “We’re not teenagers. We can stay up late making out.”
“Yes, we can.” He agreed, and his fingers slid over my back. “But, I fear that if we spend too much time making out, we will soon not be just making out anymore, and I’d rather not do that on our first date.”
I blushed and nodded, and we kissed slowly for a few more minutes before he escorted me to the door with a promise that we’d have breakfast together before I leave in the morning.
We did, and I drove home feeling light and airy and hoping he would call. That night, my phone rang and every night after that until two months later, he returned to his home in Berkeley. One morning, I texted him first thing when I woke up, asking when I could see him, and he said he was on Rte 5, driving south now.
I met him at his hotel room that night. His hair was damp, and his breath smelled like toothpaste, but when he pressed me up against the door and kissed me like he was starving for it, I couldn’t think of any reason to not like it.
We saw each other once or twice a month for a while, alternating between me driving to see him and him coming down to see me, until we realized that we were both getting so busy again that we couldn’t make time for it. Jade eventually thought it would be a good thing to have an apartment in LA, a better investment than staying in expensive hotels every time he came to town and one he could certainly afford.
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At some point, I moved in with him. I don’t think my family’s ever really questioned it; it just sort of happened, and it was accepted easily. It ‘s easier not to ask, I think, because then they don’t have to be concerned.
I don’t care about that right now, of course, since we’re lying in bed, kissing slowly. We have been intimate often enough that it doesn’t make me uncomfortable or nervous anymore, and I am perfectly comfortable with being naked with him. His lips press to my throat, and then he shifts to rest up against the headboard. I sigh contently and crawl up to press my back to his chest, settling between his legs, and we kiss over his shoulder, his tongue sliding easily into my mouth.
My arm curls back around his neck, and his hand falls to press against my cock. We’ve made love. We’ve been together in more intimate ways than this. But, there’s something special about having those perfect hands on me. The fingers of his other hand rub lightly against my nipple, trail up my throat to my mouth, and I suck them between my lips, taking pleasure in the way his eyes spark.
His tongue replaces his fingers in my mouth again, and I suck on it, giggling inwardly at his groan, but then his fingers are pressing inside of me, and I’m moaning and pushing back against him, and there’s no point in pretending I don’t melt whenever he touches me. I mewl softly when he presses his fingertips against my spot, and I rock my hips down against him, gasping softly and pressing my mouth against his neck.
I hear him murmur, “I love you.” It’s a new thing, that we say those words to each other. He likes to say them when he thinks I won’t hear them, and I know it’s because he’s always afraid I won’t say them back. It’s sweet that on this one point, when it comes to me, that his unending self-confidence falters.
His hands move faster, and I gasp softly, twisting slightly to kiss him more fully, my fingers curling against his neck. I come with a low groan, my hips rocking into his touch, and his lips press sweetly against mine, and I love how I can feel his smile. It’s not until I’m cleaned up and the room is dark and we’re curled close together under the covers that I press a soft kiss to his mouth and return the words.
There’s something in the quiet that follows that feels like forever.