Fairytale of New York by Gemma

Breaks.
They loomed on Daniel’s horizon like a blaze of manna from heaven, and he marked them in his diary with his large, looped B's. Darren didn’t bother keeping diaries, Daniel was the organised one, who would suggest what they did when they had free time, and Darren would happily troop along wherever Daniel fancied.
He liked museums and art galleries, and going to see kung-fu movies. Darren liked art galleries but wasn’t so keen on museums. They were a bit too quiet most of the time, and he wasn’t any good at that. Mostly he followed Daniel around, answering his murmurs with smiles or nods. Not really looking at the exhibits, but rather participating in his favourite spectator sport, Daniel spotting. Watching the play of emotion on his face. Interest and curiosity, awe and reverence. Even in the cinema, when the lights went out Darren liked to watch Daniel better. Watch while he smiled or teared up, or looked puzzled. One of Darren’s favourite memories was when they saw The Matrix, and Daniel’s face was enraptured, undisguised pleasure washing across his face in waves.
But just watching was starting to get more than a little frustrating. He wanted to put his fingers up to Daniel’s face as his expression changed, feel the belly rumble of Daniel’s laugh against his chest. To brush his lips against his eyelids as they fluttered in sleep.
Sometimes Darren was sure Daniel wanted it too. Like sometimes he’d be looking at Daniel, and Daniel would turn around and look into his eyes, and hold the contact until Darren could only look away or embarrass himself. At those times he could almost feel totally certain that Daniel would not turn him away.
It carried on for six months, until December, when Darren peeped in Daniel’s diary and found six large, loopy B’s. Daniel had written - Want to go away for the week?
Darren borrowed a pen from one of the dancers (pink, metallic, utterly appropriate, smelling slightly of bubblegum) and wrote back:
Of course. Where will we go?
That night he watched Daniel’s face as he opened his diary and found the reply. With a wide smile he lifted his own pen and wrote back, and left the diary on the arm of his seat. Clutching at his pen, he casually walked over and picked it up.
New York. Plenty of stuff, and no one will blink at us twice. You book the flights, I’ll get the hotels, and arrange our escape.
Okay. Want to disappear?
He didn’t need to look for the reply.
The next day he booked the flights from a payphone at the venue and arranged to pick them up at the airport. He looked in the diary every night, watching the days marked coming closer.
He had an odd feeling in stomach, like just before he’d proposed to his ex-wife, that this was it, the make or break. He wouldn’t be surprised if when they got to New York there'd be only one room, one bed. This was Daniel, making his own move and waiting for Darren to make his. Move it or lose it, Danny Boy, you know what you want.
The day before the first looped B Nonie asked what they were doing in their downtime, and if they wanted to go out before they all met up in Washington, D.C for the final leg of the American tour. Daniel politely declined, as did Darren, both claiming need for sleep, sleep and more sleep.
The first marked day began with them catching a cab from the hotel in Dallas and leaving a note for Nonie, saying they’d be back when they were due and not to worry. They talked like they would have when they first met (when they should have started this, Daniel knows) about new songs and new movies and god, how drunk were they going to get?
No one noticed them on the plane, or if they did they didn’t hassle them. They could have been two regular guys just flying out on vacation. But they weren’t, and they both felt it keenly, in the slight brush of their hands, of the shake of Darren’s voice, the minute twitch of Daniel’s cheek when he smiled just so.
Neither of them could put it off anymore, could give any more time to others before sorting this thing out for themselves. And dammit Darren wanted all that he could get. He just hoped a week would be enough to sort out years.
“Hey Darren. We’re here.” Daniel’s voice was soft, lips the barest fraction of an inch away from his ear.
They said nothing in the cab from the airport, but Darren’s hand crept into Daniel’s, rubbing his thumb against the calluses in his palm. And Daniel’s face was wonderful, a mix of awkwardness and wonder, and boundless affection. Love. They didn’t need to talk; they’d been talking for years, exchanging words through songs and conversations, words in a code that even they hadn’t been able to understand until a bare few months ago.
Take these broken wings and learn to fly…
When they arrived at the hotel, an old, funky building recently re-done in a way that Darren knew Daniel loved. All dark wood and metal, blood red and snowy white. And it was only one room, a suite, on the very top floor. The elevator ride should have been awkward, but wasn’t, it was warm and happy and they clutched at each other’s hands tightly, wanting to embrace but not wanting to risk it in public.
It only took on a slight air of awkwardness when they walked into the hotel room, and dropped their bags on the floor. Darren looked around, and out of the corner of his eye caught sight of the bed. It was a queen-size, with white and red linen sheets. Daniel touched his arm again, and he turned 'round and allowed himself to be held. He felt Daniel’s lips on his forehead, and he angled his face up, and their lips met. It was like the past few years sped by his eyes, and he knew that this was inevitable, was always going to happen, should have happened the first day they fucking met.
How could you make up that amount of time in a week? You could only try, and god they were trying, straining, hands moving almost frantically under shirts and through hair, tongues licking lips and teeth and moving against each other.
We're surrounded by the comfort and protection of the highest power…
Daniel pulled back, finally, and spoke.
“This is it, Darren. After this we can’t go back, you have to decide now.”
“I decided a long time ago. Why do you think I got divorced?”
It hung between them. His wife, who he had loved in his own way but not enough, the music and Daniel were everything, and there simply was no room left for anything else. It hadn’t been her fault. But he couldn’t have stayed with her.
And Daniel nodded, understanding, and ran his fingers over Darren’s face and pulled him in so that their foreheads touched. They stayed there like that for a while, just savouring the contact, listening to the sounds coming from outside. Then there was kissing again, Darren brushing butterfly kisses across Daniel’s eyelids, longer, languorous kisses with plenty of teeth and tongue.
When clothes began to be removed, they backed into the bedroom, and took it slowly, touching every bit of skin exposed, nothing they hadn’t seen before but now everything had meaning it hadn’t before. This wasn’t just baring of skin, it was throwing everything they had into being with each other. Finally there was nothing between them, no wives or girlfriends, and none of the unbearable distance that had been between them for such a long time, both physical and mental.
When it was over, and they lay in the mess of the bed, Darren aching in places he’d forgotten even existed, they showered and went for a walk. New York was cold and snowy, and Manhattan was moving all around them, nobody bothering them, limiting their curiosity to second glances and eyebrows raising at their joined hands.
Daniel couldn’t stop looking at Darren now, hair tousled, cheeks and nose red with cold, bundled up in a Brooks Brothers' overcoat and red scarf. He looked older and if it wasn’t for the fact his hair was dyed black, Daniel knew for a fact that there would be some grey in his hair. He was quite the most beautiful thing Daniel had ever seen, either lying naked on the bed or bundled up like an Eskimo.
So they did the Met and the Natural History Museum, before attempting to skate at the Rockefeller centre.
The entire week passed like that, a flurry of sex and snow and the endless amount of tourist attractions New York offered. They bought presents for Nonie and their families, spent hours in Saks and Bloomingdale’s, and ate vast amounts of food that was extremely bad for them.
All in all, Darren reflected, it was pretty much the perfect week. There after, he always marked those six days on the calendar with large, loopy B’s, and when people asked why (and they often did) he just said that it was to mark the Christmas he got exactly what he’d always wanted, and watched Daniel’s lips curl in a smile. Later, he’d kiss them, and fall asleep to dreams of snow, Christmas lights and the feel of Daniel’s skin.