Through A Glass, Darkly
Zac
He’s doing it again. The looks, the touches, the comments; and tonight, he’s pulled out all the stops. He’s wearing his tightest pair of jeans, the ones that leave nothing to the imagination, and a tee shirt I swear is two sizes too small. He’s practically humping his piano, even more than usual; the crowd loves it, of course. Unfortunately for them it’s me he’s doing it for.
He keeps looking back at me; I’m trying not to stare, but tonight it’s just too hard, pun intended. I just hope people mistake my look for one of concentration, instead of intense desire. He’s going to make his move tonight; I’m sure of it. Half of me is looking forward to it, as I always do, but the other half is physically sick with anger. I can’t take it anymore, the constant teasing, always getting just a taste, but never enough to truly satisfy.
Maybe tonight I’ll tell him no. I almost laugh out loud at the thought; I laugh even harder when I picture his face, a shocked pout at not getting his way. But I know that won’t happen; as sick as it makes me, I need it to happen. I need these little trysts, unsatisfying and torturous as they are. Taylor is my drug, and I am his junkie, always begging for another fix. And I hate myself for it.
The night wears on, and my patience wears thin as Tay steps up his game. When he steps away from the piano, he leans over into the crowd; they think he’s doing them a favor, but they’re on the wrong side. I know he’s just showing off how good his ass looks in those jeans. My thoughts grow dark, as they usually do right before a breakdown. I imagine pulling that pretty hair of his until his eyes water, leaving marks all over that perfect neck, maybe seeing how much of it I can fit in one hand.
We head back-stage after the first set, and he brushes past me in the narrow hallway, his hand “accidentally” brushing against my thigh. Something sparks, and I grab his wrist, pulling him back. I’m not sure why I did it, and I’ve managed to surprise both of us; Tay stares at me, a mix of confusion, shock, and something like amusement. I feel my grip tighten for a moment, and he almost winces. My stomach is in knots as we stare each other down.
I release him, backing away slowly before turning and all but running to the bathroom. I lock the door and lean against the sink, willing the waves of nausea to pass. I look up at my reflection; there’s a darkness in my eyes I don’t recognize, and it almost scares me. I take a few deep breaths, until my hands stop shaking. Tonight. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it’s going down tonight.
Taylor
There’s something different about Zac tonight, something about the way he’s looking at me. I said it was his move, but I can’t help pushing him closer to whatever his breaking point is. When we go backstage before the acoustic set, I see the change in him. He’s getting aggressive. His grip on my wrist reminds me how much stronger than me he is, and it makes a chill run through my body. The look in his eyes is impossible to read, though. I’m on the edge, waiting for him to tell me to stop or to take the next step. He doesn’t, but I can feel how close he is. He’ll break soon.
I can feel his eyes burning into me for the rest of the concert, even when I can’t find a reason to glance over my shoulder at him. The tension is so high I wonder if everyone in the room can feel it. They can certainly see the way my pants are growing tighter. I’m sure Zac has noticed that, too. I wonder if he really knows why. Does he know how much I’m getting off on this?
I must be just as sick as him. I keep telling myself it’s only the chase, this game of cat and mouse; it’s not really him turning me on. Most of the time, I believe myself. Tonight, I’m trying to blame the music. We’re really on fire tonight, I tell myself, trying to ignore the fact that we’re on fire because of the dangerous sexual tension Zac and I have going on.
Just one more move. That’s all I need to make, and I know it’ll send him toppling over the edge.
The acoustic set ends and we rush off the stage again. I grab Zac by the wrist and pull him into a tiny stairwell. It leads to the venue’s basement or their storage area or something – I’m not sure, but I know we won’t be spotted here, even though we’re only feet away from the crowd.
“Tay…” His voice is low and hoarse. That one word, just my name, has so much meaning when he says it; it’s a confession and a question, a heated warning and a desperate plea.
His eyes are dark and full of some emotion I can’t place. I don’t give him time to say anything else, though. My lips are on his before he can form the first syllable, drowning out any thought he might have that isn’t about me. It’s not a deep, lingering kiss, but it’s powerful. It gets my point across.
While he’s still trying to catch his breath, I lean in so close that my lips are almost touching his ear, the rest of my body pressed flush against his. I can feel his heartbeat against me and his short, gasping breaths tickle my neck. But most of all, I can feel his hardness straining against his jeans, begging me to touch it.
But I don’t. I lean in even closer, my lips barely grazing his ear and whisper. “It’s a shame you always hide behind the drums. You should be proud to show this off; they don’t have to know who it is you want…who you need. But you and me know the truth, don’t we?”
Zac
I swallow hard, my mouth painfully dry. My eyes are closed tightly; I don’t think I could stand to look into those blue eyes right now, seeing everything and nothing, a deceptive mixture of convincing illusions and half-truths. I don’t want to think about the things he’s saying, the way he’s touching me. The playful tone that he’s using suggests he thinks of this as a game, which ignites a flare of anger, but his body tells another story.
If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say he wants it too. The way his body is pressing into mine, the hitch in his breath, the furious pace of his beating heart; it’s just enough to make me wonder. A voice in the back of my head tells me it’s not real, no more than the act he puts on for his adoring public. But as the tip of his tongue grazes my ear, his fingers digging into my hips, it’s hard not to be convinced.
That’s how it always is with him, though. I can never tell if he really wants it, or if he just likes making me squirm. Sure, he’s hard as marble, his erection firmly digging into my thigh, but he’s always hard during concerts. As am I, but I find it hard to believe it’s for the same reason. And unlike him, I don’t prefer to parade my vulnerability to the world; but then, he doesn’t see it as a weakness, but a trophy, something to be worshiped. Which it is, of course.
I push away from him, gasping for breath as we take the stage for the last time. My vision is hazy as I struggle to focus. He’s never affected me quite this much, and it’s got me worried. So he does know; I had a feeling he did, but to hear him admit it takes things to a new level. Especially since it confirms that he has, in fact, been torturing me on purpose. The flare I felt before grows, as the real truth of the situation makes itself clear.
I don’t know if I can do this. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely keep the beat. He’s been doing it on purpose. Bringing me to the edge, then pulling back at the last instant. I start to go over memories in my head, things I’d shrugged off, but now see in a whole different light. Things I thought I’d imagined, products of a twisted obsession. My brother, the angel of every girls dream, getting off on getting his little brother hard. My god… I knew he was a selfish, arrogant prick, but this… this is a level of depravity I never would have imagined.
On purpose. Everything he’s done, everything he’s said, all done with the sole purpose of torturing me to the brink of insanity. The phrase echoes in my mind, drowning out the sounds of everything around me. An intense heat is spreading through me, filling my ears and blurring my vision.
During the last song, he bends over, shaking that ass of his, running his hands up his legs, over his inner thighs… moves that would make a stripper blush. He turns to look at me, running his tongue over his perfect lips. I’m gripped suddenly by a vision of the things that tongue could do, so vivid that I physically shudder, a primal groan rumbling through my chest. His eyes widen in shock, and it takes me a moment to realize why.
I dropped my sticks.
I quickly recover them, but the damage is done. The frustration I was already experiencing, combined with the embarrassment of such an unprofessional mistake, fuels my previous anger to a nearly blind rage. The desire is to the point of pain, and yet I’ve never wanted so badly to hurt him, in every sense of the word. I don’t even recognize the thoughts and scenarios flashing past my eyes, and frankly, it’s scaring me. I try to calm my breathing, to slow my blood, but it feels like I’m losing control of my body.
We finish the song and take our bow; I make sure to put Ike between us, afraid of what I might do if I get my hands on Tay. He watches me from the corner of his eye, and I swear I see him smirk, which only further ignites the flames that threaten to consume me. As soon as we say our final goodbyes, I run off stage, desperate for the safety and solitude of my hotel room. I need to get away from him, before I do something we’ll both regret.