track 7. skin
placing a smile at the perfect event, gracing your skin with the side of my hand.
It’d gone well. But it always went well.
The Striders were amazing. As always. But he found himself impressed near every time, watching from his usual place off to the side from wherever the venue deemed itself as offstage. This was, in many ways, his break time. He was on the clock, still, but being paid to enjoy the talents of his clients. He was on the clock, still, being paid to watch in contented awe as Dirk Strider, one half of popular band Catch-22 and also his boyfriend, proved again and again why he’d gotten to this level of success.
And he did it. Flawlessly. But it was always that way.
This particular performance was off the charts. Everything had come together -- favorable space, great lighting. An enthusiastic crowd. The energy could be shared by everyone in the room, perpetuated by the two blondes who commanded attention. Flashy effects and good music. Humor and sibling banter. Talent and heart, unabashed. They always did well, but tonight was, in itself, better by far. Like comparing gold and silver. Something he’d long accepted as simply magic in a world where he felt it rarely, if ever, existed.
Somewhere among that definition, the two of them. He and a celebrity. He and his boyfriend. It had been 7 months and to call him of all people that was just... he couldn’t come up with the words. Though not uncommon, he was appropriately tongue-tied. Perhaps that was love. He was still figuring it out.
Following, they held a meet and greet with limited attendance. It was still a fair crowd, of which he was put back into action. A safety precaution in the background, yet thrust to involvement by, surprisingly, the fanbase themselves. They seemed to like him from the boys and their social media. Embarrassing, but he’d become something of a fan favorite according to Dirk. Something about trending hashtags. He didn’t really understand it, but gave a nod or a thank you when addressed all of the same. And Dirk would occasionally, when there was even the slightest break in traffic, look at him and smirk something secretive. A ghost of an expression but still very much there. He’d become able to pick it up in even the largest sea of people.. and he, too, would return it, a glint in his eye unbeknownst to anyone but the blonde it was meant for.
It carried to the car. To the late dinner. To the hotel. To the suite where Dave closed his door for the night to Skype call his best friend John and eventually turn in. And, as sudden as a blink, they were alone. Together.
Mouth to mouth. Breathing as one. He tasted like fire and felt hot to the touch.