I'm going to miss this.

Your hands rub gentling circles on my back. The fabric of your shirt is soft against my cheek. My eyes are dry now, and when I search for that choking grief inside, all I find now is comfort. I know one hug from you won't fix everything, Savage Garden is still over, we're still going to be apart. But something is keeping the pain from overwhelming me, and I know what it is. It's your arms around me, the warmth of your embrace, the soft smile you're giving me.

It's because I know I haven't lost you.

With no speech or interaction between us, this moment stretches on forever. I don't know if we lie like this for minutes or hours. I don't know if you fall asleep first, or if I do. All I know is that when I wake up it's dark out and the cabin is silent except for the light snores of our entourage, and the funny sighing noise Ben makes in his sleep.

I feel more rested than I have in weeks. I've finally had the deep healing sleep I needed. Your arms are still around me and I'm touched that you continue to hold me, even in your sleep. I'm afraid to move. I'm not ready for you to let go.

I shift my head slightly, tilting my chin up so I can look at you. In sleep your face doesn't relax. In fact, you get this kind of serious expression that I've never seen on your conscious self, except when you're putting on a mock-serious face to make a joke. As a result, watching you now I keep expecting you to snap out of your 'serious face' into ecstatic laughter. You don't of course. You just keep sleeping.

You're so beautiful. You are, Dan. I know you don't believe that, and that just makes your beauty more real. You don't understand why the photographers always want you to step into focus, or why the teens want to pin you on their walls. To tell the truth, Dan, it was your looks that sold us to that audience. Little pale Darren wasn't the one who scored us a slew of fans in our 'I Want You' days. It was your golden good looks that got us noticed. Yet another reminder of how much I owe you. Where I wouldn't be without you.

Your eyes flicker slightly, probably in a dreamstate, and involuntarily my body tenses. This shift in my weight disturbs you (you've always been a light sleeper) and I watch, still, as you mutter and toss, your eyes slowly opening. Confronted by those intense emeralds, I'm drawn, I'm frozen. The situation is suddenly so intimate. I could count your eyelashes. I can feel your breath on my face. I have the strongest urge to kiss you.

//No you don't! You're not starting this again.//

The feeling is so strong. Your lips look so soft. My mouth is aching to touch yours. But I won't. I can't. I force myself to think of the look on your face last night. The fear, the disgust. I run my tongue over the bite mark you left on my lip to remind myself of all the reasons why kissing you is an extremely *bad* idea.

Internally I'm chanting over and over. //Don't do it. Don't do it.// But your mouth looks so tempting. Staring into your eyes, all I see is invitation.

//It's a lie. He doesn't want it. You're just seeing what you want to see.//

Maybe I am. But is it wishful thinking when I notice your pupils dilating, your breathing quickening, the way you're staring at my mouth? Am I inventing these symptoms of arousal? Am I just imagining your face drifting closer to mine, your tongue flicking out to wet your lips, the anticipation in your expression? Is it simply a flaw in my perception that every fibre of your being is screaming 'kiss me'?

I must be dreaming. I must have a very very vivid imagination because I can feel your hands tightening around me, your breath feathering over my lips. I even see your eyes slide shut and your head swooping down to capture my lips. A microsecond before I percieve that I will feel the sheer heaven of your lips covering mine, I panic. Behind my eyelids I see the frightened look on your face as you cowered against the door last night. I pull away from you, murmuring,

"I'm sorry."

I don't know what I'm apologising for. For wanting to kiss you, or for thinking you wanted to kiss me?

"What for?" Your expression is confused and - my deceiving mind leads me to think - disappointed.

"Last night. For what I did to you last night, Dan. I can't apologise enough."

And there it is. The stone in your expression has returned. The fog of sleep has lifted from your brain, or perhaps the veil of self-indulgence has lifted from mine, and I can see the coldness, the disgust in your eyes again. It feels so familiar.

You try to hide it behind a blank look, but I can still see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice when you say,

"I don't know what you mean." with carefully feigned confusion. Oh Jonesy, it's so sweet the way you try to hide it from me. The way you're trying to protect me from your disgust. Thank you. Sincerely - I thank you, but I can't let you keep lying to me. It's bad for both of us.

"Dan. Please. Can't we be truthful?"

You regard me for a moment, and I almost think you're considering it. Then you break into a false smile and a forced chuckle.

"Darren, you were so drunk last night - I'm surprised you can remember anything."

"I remember this."

I lift a hand to my lips, tugging the lower one down with my index finger and showing you the tear in my lip.

"God Daze, how did you do that?" The lie falls easily from your mouth.

"Don't. Dan please - *don't*."

Why do you have to do this? Hell why do *I* have to do this? Why do I always have to force you to talk about things I live to regret, and you don't want to admit?

"You know how I got this. You gave it to me, to fight me off, when I was trying to ra-" my voice sticks in my throat. I can't even say it. My eyes are starting to burn and it takes all my strength not to succumb to the tears that are threatening. "When I..." Again, I can't finish. I can barely start.

It's too hard to look at you and your carefully applied expression so I turn away, trying to find some strength but seeing nothing but the cold night sky outside the airline portal. Please Dan, you have to admit it. You have to acknowledge what happened so I can beg your forgiveness.

"Darren it's ok, you're going to be ok." Your voice is soothing, and again I feel the gentle touch of your hands on my shoulders. Calming. Pacifying.

"It's not ok, Dan. It's never going to be ok." I turn my body and force myself to look at you. I raise one shaking hand to your face, a fingertip trailing the sharp line of your cheekbone. "What I did to you..." My voice sounds so small, even to me. "I can't believe what I did to you."

And now my eyes are brimming again. Your face holds nothing but compassion.

"You didn't do anything to me you didn't think I wanted."

"What?" The word falls from my mouth abruptly. Shocked, I stare at you openly, unable to believe what you've just spoken. In one single sentence you've managed to not only acknowledge what happened last night, but also convey your forgiveness and understanding. Daniel, Daniel, Daniel. You truly are the master nice guy. I feel so staunch and selfish by comparison.

"You forgive me?" My question is tainted with disbelief.

"Of course I do, Darren. I know you'd never try to hurt me." Your smile is reassuring, so elegant, so dignified. It's crazy //I'm crazy// but instead of being relieved I just feel dirtier, more offensive, more stained by my actions. Here you are - as forgiving and beautiful as you can be - and all I feel is low, disgusting and unworthy.

"But I hurt you-"

"No you didn't." You counter immediately, tilting your head from side to side almost comically to display a lack of visible injury. "See - perfectly fine."

But from memory I still see your frightened expression, confused and afraid and I can't get the doubt off my face.

"If anything I should be apologising to you." You raise your fingers to my mouth and your touch sets my bottom lip alight. "I hurt you."

"It's nothing." I counter. My voice sounds so far away. "It was necessary - self-defence."

I see you try to contain a snort of disbelief.

"Darren, you could never hurt me."

//Stop it. Stop being so understanding. I need anger - fear - pain. I need to be punished for what I've done. I don't deserve this forgiveness! I don't deserve you.//

"But I - I tried to force you - twice - no three times, into something you didn't want." Even to my ears my argument sounds lame. You just regard me with those serene emeralds, unmoved. Untouchable.

"But you thought I wanted it." You say simply.

"Did you want it?" The words are out before I can think twice.

"What?" Finally, a reaction. Your mask slips slightly, revealing surprise, and another emotion I don't have time to inventory.

"Did you want it?" I repeat, gaining confidence despite the impropriety of the question. "Last night? Ever? Have you *ever* wanted to be with me, like that?"

"I'm not gay, Daze." Your answer is knee-jerk fast.

"I didn't ask if you were gay. I asked if you ever wanted to be with me. Have you ever thought about it?"

"Yeah, sure." Casual shrug. Your tone has shifted to something a little more practiced, a little less personal. "But everyone does. I mean, half the world was convinced we're a couple - of course I've considered it."

Your answer is so careful it feels like an interview. A bad interview with a journo who only wants the juicy stuff. The tiring kind. The kind so full of wordplay and innuendo you wind up with brain exhaustion from trying to give only ambiguous answers.

"So you've never wanted to?" I can't get the disappointment from my voice.

"Daze, I'm not gay."

"But you've never wanted to even - experiment?" God, is that *hope* in my voice? I am such a sucker for punishment.

"Have you?"

"I'm asking you." Nice try Dan, but you're not turning my question back on me instead of answering it.

"You answer first."

"Alright - yes. But given last night that's obvious." And it's not like I'm telling you anything you haven't already figured out, but I'm still short of breath from saying it aloud.

My hand has found it's way to your jaw. Your skin is like silk, but roughened slightly with stubble. My eyes bore pleadingly into yours.

"So you've never wanted to. Even once?" I'm pushing now and I know it. But it's scaring me how much I need to hear the answer to this question.

Again, I must be kidding myself. Hallucinating. Because your eyes seem to soften. Your mouth seems to fall a little further open. Your breathing is getting a little harsher, more audible. Obviously, I'm seeing things again.

"I'm not gay." I've lost count of the number of times you've said that.

"That's not what I'm asking." And the number of times I've said *that*.

"I don't like guys."

"But do you like *me*?" //Stop it Hayes. Stop pushing. This is only gonna get worse.//

Your face softens at my agonised question, and I hear you release a small sigh. You regard me as a parent would a young child seeking approval.

"Darren, I love you -" My heart catches at the words, but you barrel on before I can react properly, "- As a friend, a brother."

"A lover?" There's that hopeful noise again. I've really got to give this up.

You are so still right now, you don't even blink. As if you're afraid I'll interpret even the slightest movement as a response - yes or no - and end this in one of two motions. Kiss you or turn away.

I want the kiss. Hell, I just want *you*.

//This is what I want. I feel like I've wanted it forever. Last night I tried to take it without asking.

Today I'm asking.//

I don't know if I think the words or speak them. But I know I can't blame the drink this time. I'm laying myself on the line. Stone cold sober, I have to take full responsibility for my words when I ask,

"Can I kiss you?"

You are frozen for so long I'm sure the answer's no. But I'm not moving until you say it. I have to hear the words from your mouth. Then I'll know I was wrong and that I always have been.

I need to hear you say the words.

Say it Dan. Say No.

The word drops from your lips so softly I barely hear it. But I hear it. You even move your head slightly as you say it so I know I'm not mistaken.

I know my eyes are wide. I know my mouth has fallen open and there is shock all over my face. But I know what I heard.

You said yes.


~Chapter Seven~

"I'll see your smile as you call my name
Start to feel and it feels the same
And I know that maybe
Someday's come..."
  -The Cure, "Maybe Someday"

My strangled breaths are loud enough to wake the dead, or at the very least, our sleeping entourage. My heart is beating so fast I fear I may pass out. Every inch of my body is tingling with excitement.

You said yes.

So why am I just sitting here? Staring at your wide dilated eyes, your lush mouth, your perfect face. Every inch of you is begging to be kissed and I'm locked in this position. What's wrong with me?

In the end it's you who initiates it. You roll your eyes a little in deference to my shell-shocked stillness and I feel the brush of your fingers beneath my chin, angling my head upwards. When I look up I'm shocked to see all my desire, want and anticipation reflecting back at me in your eyes.

//Do it Daze, just do it.//

My hand that was still hovering by your jaw now slips up to cup it, sliding up behind your ear to furrow into your soft spikey hair. Then my fingers are at the back of your neck and this time when I pull you closer you don't fight me. You respond to my caress, leaning closer, offering me your mouth.

The first touch of your lips is bliss. After that light brush, you immediately increase the pressure of your lips on mine and all I feel is pure rush as our mouths crush together. I feel your arms slide around me as your tongue invades my mouth. I stroke it with mine and suck it into my mouth. Exquisite.

I'm so ecstatically happy at this moment I'm not even on the planet. I can't believe it's you - Daniel Jones, guitar god, master nice guy, love of my life - kissing me right now. Willingly. Enthusiastically. I know you're enjoying this as much as I am. I know we're in sync on this. Your hands are stroking down my back, your lips are stroking mine and you're holding me so tight it borders on pain.

I didn't think it was truly possible. All those years of wanting, dreaming and fantasising about this moment. I never thought the actuality could possibly live up to my wet and waking dreams. But it is. More than that. This is *better* than I ever could have dreamed. It's real. It's really you.

The kiss degenerates into enthusiastic necking and soon we're sprawled over each other as much as the airline seats will allow. I curse the invasive chair arm and fight to contain betraying moans. Your hands are roving over me, up my arms, down my chest, over my thighs and briefly... so briefly... over my crotch. My breath catches a little at that moment, but not just in reaction to your touch. I felt you recoil. It was slight, so slight - but I could tell. When you felt an unfamiliar hardness and protrusion on your necking partner your first instinct was to pull away.

You really *aren't* ready for this.

I don't want to do it but I have to. I stop kissing you.

"What is it?" You whisper softly at me, face close to mine.

"You're not ready to do this." I state softly, voice tinged with sadness.

I see confusion in your eyes and I know you don't understand. I glance down at your hand, still resting on my knee, and cover it with my own. Slowly but deliberately I guide your hand upward. The fabric of my pants whispers as your palm slips up my thigh. I watch your expression intently as your hand gets closer and closer to my target. Your breathing gets shallow. You're body is stiffening. My hand is no longer simply guiding yours, it's taking more and more effort on my part to keep your hand moving. It's beginning to feel like I'm forcing you.

The tips of your fingers are just reaching the fly of my pants and I'm staring at you hard. Fast shallow breaths. Eyes wide. Almost trembling. When my hand presses yours to my crotch I am torn in two by sensation. Heat, desire, absolute sexual bliss at your touch. And sheer torturous disappointment at the pained look on your face.

You remove your hand without a moment's hesitation when I release it. And I know I'm right.

I didn't want to be right.

"See? You're not ready." My voice drips disappointment.

Your eyes meet mine and I can see my disappointment reflecting back at me. But there's more than just that in those green depths.

"Give me time." You say in full seriousness.

You always know just what to say.

~*~*~

The rest of the plane trip is uneventful. We both just settle in until touchdown. The entourage waken one by one and as far as they are concerned - we're fine. After de-boarding and baggage claim I find myself at the exit of the Arrivals lounge, with my car packed up and waiting for me, attempting to convince you that you want to catch a ride with me.

"I'll drop you at your place and then continue on home."

"Daze that's ridiculous - it's completely out of your way."

"Not that much."

"I live in the total opposite direction."

//Dammit Dan, will you stop being so logical?//

It'd be so much easier if you'd play along. But as always I have to spell it out for you (damn my pride).

"Look, I'd like to talk. Maybe we can talk and ride? It's a bit less public than the plane." This seems to take you by surprise.

"Oh." Is the response I get. What seems to be a fairly non-committal 'oh'. I am on the verge of kicking myself and bemoaning my stupid ideas when I hear you call out to the dude with your luggage.

"Hey Peter! Send it over that way, I'm gonna catch a ride with Daz."

My smile just about breaks my face.

~*~*~

Minutes later I'm in the back seat with you and ready to say anything to make conversation. No dice. There are a million words roiling in my brain but I can't seem to force even one of them past my lips.

I know you're wondering why I'm not talking. Why we're not having the Conversation we should be having right now. But you don't push. You just sit there, comfortably in the limo, watching the scenery fly by. Not saying a word.

The journey to your home stretches on and we are silent.

The driver, in fact, is the first to speak. Announcing our arrival as we pull up before your stately house.

This is it. You're going to leave now, and I haven't said a word.

You're regarding me, with a gently questioning expression, from the other seat. So patient. Giving me one final chance to speak up before you vanish. I take a breath, open my mouth... and I'm frozen.

Your face folds into a gentle smile. You lean forward and grasp my shoulder.

"Bye Daz." Your voice is so soft it barely registers. Is that sadness or compassion in your eyes? I can't tell. Then you're gracefully slipping out of the vehicle. And I'm still inside, internally screaming at myself.

I hear the boot slam closed, indicating you're cases have been retrieved. You'll be heading up to the house now. I've blown my chance. My fingers drum against the fine leather of the seat, my feet tapping. It's not too late to call you back. For some reason I feel like this is my last chance. If I don't confront this now, we'll never speak of it again, and I'll have lost this brief chance to grasp hold of our relationship and turn it into something more than deep friendship.

I scramble out the door and bolt after you.

"Dan wait!" I'm a few steps behind you and I hope I don't sound as desperate as I feel.

You turn slowly, the sun picking out sparks in your eyes. The quizzical expression is back. I know I'm behaving weirdly. I can't help it. You're waiting for me to speak, head slightly cocked, eyes squinting a little into the afternoon sun. I really will have to say something this time.

"I just... will you..." You put down the case you're carrying and wait for me to finish. "Come home with me." The words are out my mouth before they hit my brain. It's not quite the way I wanted to say it, but the meaning is there.

"Why?" You ask simply.

"I..." I force myself to speak. "I just..." //Where's the great lyricist now?// "There's so much more I - *we* - need to talk about."

"Is there?" You counter, sparing a glance to the driver, hovering by the vehicle, not sure what to do next.

"Isn't there?" I ask hopefully. //Please don't deny it now. Please don't let this be the end.//

"Dare, we just got back, I wanted to unpack and... get my shit together." You're playing the "busy" defence, and I almost sigh with relief. *This* kind of argument I can deal with.

"So I'll drive you home afterwards and *help* you unpack. You'll have plenty of time to get organised later - the tour is *over*!"

You cock your head to the side slighty and regard me with that same squint you always use when considering whether or not to bend to my will. I can hardly stop from fidgeting with nerves. //Please say yes. Please say yes.//

"Oh alright, but you *are* helping me with this shit later, ok?"

I can barely stop myself from dancing with delight. I settle for nodding and making agreeable noises, before helping you carry your bags back to the limo. //Thank god!//

Now all I have to figure out is what to say when we get to my place.

~*~*~

Another sizeable ride, but this time I'm not twitching with nerves. No pressure to talk yet. Not until we get back.

Seemingly moments after that thought slips through my brain, the car pulls to a stop in my driveway. So much for preparation.

You help me with my bags and I help you with yours. I'm just shoving the last one onto the pile by my front door when I make the realisation. It's time to talk now. I've run out of distractions. No more travelling to do. No more bags to lug. There's just you and me and a silence that seems to bellow through my living room. I glance over at you as you're settling on my overstuffed couch. Watching me. Waiting so patiently. I stumble for words.

"You want a drink? Coffee? Tea?" I ask, starting to back into the kitchen before you even answer.

"No, thanks." You throw me a small Jones smile, but your eyes are asking questions. "I'm fine for now."

With that avenue of distraction closed, I immediately begin searching for another. //Put on some music, maybe start preparing dinner, a glass of water, go to the bathroom-//

"Darren." Your voice, soft in volume but hard with command, interrupts my panicked train of thought. I look up, slightly disconcerted. "I thought you wanted to talk."

Internally, I sigh. No more running now. Trust you to pull me into line.

"I do." I murmur reluctantly, feeling like a child being reprimanded.

I walk slowly to the sofa and slide down next to you. I know I have to talk, I just need the words and I cannot find them. I stare at you, hard, hoping they'll come to me, the way song lyrics do when I hear your music. I'm gnawing on my lip, auditioning and rejecting sentences when you push me again.

"You want to talk about us?" You ask lightly, obviously hoping to spur on this dying conversation.

"Yes." I hear myself spurt out quickly. //One word? That's it? You drag his arse all the way here for one lousy word?// "Yes, I do." I quickly add to the word count. Four now - is that enough? I look to you for confirmation.

You're still waiting for more. Damn.

"About..." I stammer, staring at my wringing hands. "About... us. Ummm, last night I mean. On the plane. What happened, I mean." I'm doing disastrously here. //Me Tarzan. You Jane? Get a grip!// "I really..." I drag my eyes up from my fingers to find your face and lose the rest of the sentence. More than that, looking at your perfect face, I lose the rest of the English language - words, syllables, letters, even the ability to produce sounds from my lips.

Looking at you, your eyes like the sea, drowning... all I want is to kiss you again.

//Will you let me?//

I abandon speech and decide to communicate through actions. I raise a hand to your cheek, thumb gliding to your bottom lip, tugging softly. Your eyes narrow a little and something like a sigh escapes your lips. I shuffle closer to you on the sofa, slipping my hand through your hair to the back of you neck.

//Will you let me do this?//

I lean toward you, head tilting up, watching your reaction as our lips get closer.

//Do you want me to do this?//

For a moment we're caught, staring at each other, lips a breath apart. Then I throw caution aside and catch your lips with mine and then we're kissing and it's bliss. You're kissing back, gripping my arm, and I'm moaning into your mouth and clutching at your back. I drag you on top of me so I can feel you properly and we've gone full pelt from kissing to necking and I know I can't slow this down.

My heart skips when you wrench your mouth from mine, gasping for air, but worry turns to moans of delight as your lips find my neck, licking and sucking gently. I'm grasping your hair and groaning my appreciation as you seek out my hot spots and sensitive areas. My hands slide down your long back to massage your arse through your tight jeans. I feel you respond, rubbing your body against me, setting me alight. I can feel you, hard behind your fly, digging into my hip, as I know you feel me on your tight stomach. You capture my mouth again and I suckle your tongue, grinding my hips against yours.

Too soon it's not enough. You're tugging at my shirt and I lean up, helping you strip it off before tackling yours. Then it's naked chest against naked chest and I'm in heaven. Oh to be feeling the smooth slide of your skin on mine as our tongues tangle and dance. Your body on mine is a delicious weight and I'm grinding up against you, loving the pressure, warmth, heat. Without warning, your hand slips between our bodies, cupping my clothed erection, squeezing and rubbing me and I'm groaning loudly between breaths, shock and intense arousal colouring me, suddenly a breath away coming right now.

"Oh god," I moan, reciprocating the torment. Watching your eyes darken as we both push each other further and further. Rubbing, moaning, humping each other. Fierce breaths, sharp moans and fevered kisses. I never thought it could be like this.

The movement on the couch is getting to fever pitch. Everything's moving faster and I can feel my orgasm's screaming approach. I'm fighting not to give in to it when I hear your voice.

"Stop." You cry breathlessly. I freeze completely, and attempt to slow my breathing. I look up at you fearfully. //Please don't let this be over.// You're flushed, panting heavily and it appears that this pause is as difficult for you as it is for me.

"What's wrong?" I ask in a small voice. Not sure if I want the answer.

"I don't want to come yet." You pant. I just about crumple with relief. //It isn't over. Thank god.//

You lean down and kiss me gently, then pull back to look me in the eye.

"I want to do this properly." Your voice is low and dripping sex.

"Properly how?" I ask quietly, a million images hurtling through my mind. All of them carnal, and all of them involving a certain green-eyed minx. The same green-eyed minx now speaking to me with sex in his eyes. And your answer simultaneously shocks me, scares me and makes me damn near come right now.

"I want you to fuck me."


~Chapter Eight~

"There is no always forever
Just this...
Just this"
  -The Cure, "There Is No It"