NIKA

If The Night Prevails

"Tell me..." she said carefully. "Hn?" he answered without much attention. "Are you seeing someone?" His eyes flew to her beautiful, lovely and perfect face. "Me?" "Yes you, Hideto! And don't lie to me. You know very well that I can figure you out." "I'm not seeing someone." "Why are you always gone at night?" "It's work, you know. He needs my help and since he's my friend I'm willing to help him." the shorter man shrugged as if he was saying: "isn't it the way it should be?" The beautiful woman made a face that was not very elegant and pleasing. "I think that is just a pretext to sneak to another woman," she growled. the man shook his head: "I would think of something more clever if it was like that, don't you think? The same thing every night, isn't that a little too obvious?" An innocent, yet somehow evil grin spread on his full lips. Well, that had some impact and cleverness to it. She was not really convinced but becoming a little shaky in her doubts concerning her husband's faithfulness. He would be much cleverer if he was going to cheat on her. "Look, you can call the studio anytime and see if I'm there. Is that enough?" He scribbled down a number in her schedule book and handed it over to her. She nodded insecurely and he smiled. "Anyway, gotta go. See you tomorrow, ne?" He left her baffled and all alone standing in the doorway between two rooms. Doubtful. Yet reassured. Undecided. He entered the studio, mumbling a low: "Hello." The man inside turned around to greet him, casual but hellish expensive jeans, a youthful T-shirt...as if they were indeed still that young. "hyde... finally..." The not-too-young-anymore man before him said. The glasses made him look somewhat mature, making a mystifying contrast to the outfit. What are we? he thought while observing his friend Not young, not old. Popular and yet...no one will call out my name in India. He slumped down beside his friend and sighed: "Sorry, ne. Megumi was making a fuss. She thought I was seeing someone. What a laugh." He made a pause to strengthen his point, "I hate the expression 'seeing someone'." The man beside him laughed a little: "Right. You're seeing me in the moment. But having sex is something different than just looking. Is that what you mean?" "Exactly." Distracted he fidgeted through his blond dreadlocks for a moment. "As if I had the time to have sex with anyone beside her and myself." "My fault." A pained expression crossed the other mans face. "Sorry hyde. I'm really grateful for helping me out." "It's alright. Just the usual blah blah once you're married." "So no 'happily ever after'?" The blonde shook his head. "That's why I'm not planning on getting married ever." "You think...nothing is changing since you've lived together for such a long time..." The singer snorted with a little contempt. "But consciousness changes anyway. I'm hers now, in a way, her possession. I didn't realize what it meant, ne..." "You seem very distracted, hyde. Want to go home and straighten things out?" "No way!" "Okay~" the other man grinned in a typical way, making the years disappear into oblivion, giving him the impression of timelessness. He started the music and opened his mind for it s flow. "Here's where I have trouble thinking of any words to go with it. See..." He showed some scribbled lines to the singer and raised an eyebrow with an unspoken question. When the singer studied the lines he sighed: "All of them feel like pathetic illusions." "That's the concept somehow." A sarcastic laugh escaped the singer. "You are such a romantic at heart." "Yeah, right!" The blonde man studied the lines some more and then stood up to wander around, silently mouthing words, as if he had to feel their texture. A black head peeked in: " I'm leaving. If there's anything else you'd like me to do..." "No, it's okay. Thanks." The head vanished and the two men were all alone, the singer still wandering around, the other man watching him in contemplation. Shaking his head he stood up, stopping the wanderer on his path to illumination. "I guess, it's really no use today, ne?" he smiled full of understanding. "Will it ever be?" Why did that sound like he was giving up? "You're such a great help, hyde. And I'm taking up your precious time." Smiling awkwardly, their eyes met. "You're not taking anything from me I'm not willing to give..." the singer mumbled in a somewhat lowered voice. The other's mouth opened but no sound escaped, except a soft breath. Meanings opened between them like the many exits of a labyrinth, leading to different outcomes. Time passed, neither one of them dared to grasp one of them, staring, hiding, feeling ashamed and elated at the same time. As if a soundless command had occurred they met in the middle of the way, one pair of hands flew at the collar of the singer, pressing him against the door to the recording-room, when their lips already ate each other in a way resembling desperation so much, neither one had thought such a kiss possible. Tasting different from anything they had ever allowed their tongues to savor, darker and with the added flavor of guilt. First thing hitting the floor were the glasses, neither one cared if they broke into piercing shards. The singer felt the long fingers tear on the rim of his shirt, ignoring the protests of buttons, as they gave in and fell to the floor with ear-smashing small discords. The only other noises were the licking and sucking, above the soft hum of electricity. The shirt opened and was shoved down his shoulder, while the singer blindly felt to find the buttons of the jeans, encountering the warmth of a growing erection there. When he traced it with his fingers, the man gnawing on his lips stopped, to moan loudly into his mouth. Squirming into the loose jeans, he searched for the penis, finding pleasure in the other man's moans and sighs, softly teasing the tip. Arching back, the man before him cried out something blurry, his head falling back onto the neck of the singer, panting: "...hyde...hyde..." Then he bit down the exposed neck of the blonde, making the singer jerk in surprise. His hand drew out of the pants of the other. An unexpected display of violence. Licking and cleaning the wound with care, the black-haired man rubbed his hips against the smaller man with determination, now eliciting soft whimpers from his victim, showing him what it meant to be at the mercy of a friend. His plan evaporated, as the smaller man rubbed against him with some strength, changing roles of victim and perpetrator in a heartbeat. The question of dominance still unanswered, they proceeded some with attempts of undressing and licking the newly exposed skin with boldness and endurance. Getting to know what the body of the other felt like after knowing it from watching for so long, the texture of the flesh, contours of the muscles and the reaction of nipples. The smaller man managed to pull the stupid colorful T-shirt over the black-haired head of the other, hating it the moment he let it drop on the floor, wishing it gone suddenly. Wishing the world gone wishing himself in a secure place where nothing of himself counted except the contact he had established with the skin of his friend. His own shirt had to go too, he shrugged it off with little care, unfastening his pants as the next step, watching the other man watching him doing so. It was amazingly arousing. His friend sank to his knees before him, unfastening his shoes, helping him out of pants and underwear, getting up and pushed him against the wall again, as soon as he was naked. The singer whimpered as he was helplessly torn between the pain from his bang to the wall, and the hip pressing against his erection with might. A long-drawn groan left his throat, and another one followed, when the fragile hand of his friend closed around his erection with unknown softness. then rubbed it gently, along to the concert of moans and gasps, filling their ears with new knowledge of each other. He felt orgasm nearing, his eyes closed even though he tried to stay focused on the face of the man pumping him into oblivion. Not pretty at all. His mouth opened to a low final groan, as he let himself come, eyes almost closed, still fixated on the man doing him, the hormones of orgasm floating his body, himself getting weak, sinking down slowly, followed by the motions of the black-haired man, who softly lowered him onto the strewn around clothing articles. The singer basked in the afterglow losing sense of time and place a little, smelling the scent of the studio, his own sweat, his own come, hearing clothes rustling a little as his friend undressed with ease. Maybe I should say something, lingered in his mind, but he was too satisfied. The meager body of the other man covered his own afterwards, providing warmth he didn't even know he had been missing. A series of teasing kisses were laid on his lips, fast. Somewhere he had an idea of what was coming, but he didn't want to think about it, he was still out of it to some degree, giving his friend the chance to take him. fingers played with the fluid on his abdomen, taking it off, smearing it a little, then coming down his sides, sliding under, turning him around on his stomach. He wanted it to happen suddenly. Dirty ugly painful 'seeing someone else'. There was not much preparation only his own semen as a lubrication, when the penis of the other man entered him with a needful shove he felt the pain, but also the cold floor between the clothes cooling his hot skin and rubbing against his own half-erection. The cry he heard was his own, but he didn't connect to it. He felt the hands of his partner sliding under his body and heaving him up a little, while pressing deeper, making him aware of his every fiber in his body. The black-haired man made another push, seeing the hand of the blonde curled into fists. "Sorry... so sorry..." he whispered. "Want me to stop?" "No, no..." The man under him growled, "Stop talking!" He nudged his butt back against the intruder and there was a hope that it could turn to pleasure after all with the next push. The man over him shuddered and thrusted deeper, taking in he soft hisses of pain from under him. But then the man under him came up and moaned in lust. They started to rock together, the intense pleasure weakening them both, they fell on their sides, still rocking slowly, like time had become lazy. The black-haired turned the head of the singer and kissed him, thrusting tongue and hips in unison. It seemed like they had found eternity in these short moments. But then desire won over pleasure. The plunges became faster, also the dance of the tongues. But the black-haired's attention faded as he neared his own climax, he closed his eyes, his whole body getting taunt and unmoving for a second, no breath coming from him. Almost like death. Then a meek, yet tormented soft sound and the singer could feel the release inside of him. Like a tickle... They remained like that for a moment, one enclosed in the other. Another silent order was given, as they parted almost in a rush. On the floor was a mess of clothes and body-fluids. No words seemed fitting for the situation, so they remained silent, just observing the other critically. "Better clean up this mess..." It was the role of the black-haired to say that. And it was expected of the singer to agree, even though he liked the sight somehow. Almost like seeing a painting of sexual content. Seeing a man and another man having had rough sex for the first time. Proof of occurrence. Wipe it away, wipe the smirks from their faces, purify your body from the sex, give the world a clean smile. He nodded none the less and dizzily picked up his clothes, standing up and feeling lost for a moment, as he was getting dressed. His partner slipped on underwear and jeans, both clean, and went for some paper-towels. Seeing the paper with the lyrics the singer took the pen and wrote a few words of his own, his hand trembling, as if the pain and pleasure had made him unable to write. Maybe his body hurt, but he was to upset to notice, the whole impact of a deed done, slowly unfolding before his inner eyes. This was the night. Back out there was a day waiting for him. He was finished before the other man returned in silent company they cleaned up the floor. "I'll be going..." The singer whispered, after they had cleaned everything. Biting his lower lip the other nodded. With unsure steps the singer went to the door and opened it, hesitating before he stepped out on the corridor of the empty building. A plea floated to him: "I'll be seeing you?" All he could answer was a silent nod. "Tomorrow?" No reaction. "hyde..?" Fear palpable in one word. The man turned around, face filled with agony: "And every night from now on." Then he left without another word. Watching him leave was all the other could do, knowing there was a border between night and day. His gaze fell on the hastily scribbled lines of a song, scanning them like they were precious treasures. Afterwards he caressed the sheet of paper, folded it and hid it in his pocket, where the light of day could never ever get a look at it.

bibliothek