Close to the Flame by EvenStar

"What's the matter with you, Daniel?"

His voice pierces my head so harshly it feels like I have a hangover, and my brain cells throb with the echo. My first instinct is to snap back with a feral growl, but one look at his face denies me of a negative reaction. He looks so vulnerable for a second, eyes wide, and there's a flicker of concern tugging at his lips as he watches me. I can see why he feels that way. I'm not one to get distracted from the music, he's the daydreamer, he's the one who drifts off into oblivion of thought and never quite makes it back. It takes me a few minutes but I realize I've been strumming the wrong chord, and Darren's moved away from the microphone so as to study me. He's not in diva stance, his arms aren't folded in front of him and he isn't tapping his feet in annoyance. He's just looking at me, and I get unnerved.

"Nothing," I say defensively, trying to wish myself away from those penetrating blue eyes. They're unforgiving though, still and unblinking like glass. Reminds me of what I see him as, my living doll. His hair's black and glossy like the synthetics they use on toys, though his is all natural bar the colour. His skin's like porcelain, creamy white like buttermilk, looks cold but gets hot, when he's running 'round on stage or standing under scorching lights.

Now he nods slowly, unconvinced. He's suspicious, and I can feel him burrowing into my mind, it's all I can do not to run. I can pretend it's OK, but then he'll turn back to the microphone and start singing again, and that voice will drip over me like honey, and I'll fuck up the chord, or touch a wrong note. Listening to him just now, the sound emanating from his mouth was almost like a silk-treated wax, soaking out of his lips, blessing my ears with sweet clarity. Deep and melodic, yet shifting to higher and more feminine tones as it escalated.

Darren steps back to the mic, squeezing it in his grip, and I'm lost again. There's a long pause, and he's looking out forward, but then he turns back. Looks at me for a second, eyebrow raised. I shake myself, remembering the guitar in my hands, coming back down to earth. He smiles and I feel a chilly tingle crawl up my spine like a spider. He shakes his head rather affectionately, and waits for me to strike up the music, only I can't remember what song he was singing. My mind hits a blank, and I stand there, biting on my lip and racking my brains. What the fuck? Pull yourself together, I tell myself, but I should have known already that my mind's too juiced up on Darren to think.

He looks even more beautiful than ever now, and there's a smirk on his face like he knows something I don't. I don't like it. I feel myself back up like he's a predator and I'm his prey. I feel weak in his presence.

"You sure you're OK?" He asks lightly, and I know his eyes are searching mine, looking for the depth that'd tell him what's going on. I nod my head vigorously, but he doesn't buy it. Not for a second.

"Dan, you're obviously out of it. Tell me what's wrong." The genuine care that lies in his voice pulls at my heart strings, and then and there I want to pour it out, sob into his arms that I love him and can't take him being so far away and yet so close. The guy's a year older than me, but somehow seems so much younger, so much more fragile. I want to take care of him, look after him, so the tone he's using with me now is twisting my mind out of proportion. It isn't like a lover's, though. It's big-brotherly, and I can't help but begin to resent it, that's not what I want from him. I don't want to tell him my problems, he is my problem.

"I'm fine," I lie. I don't want to lie, but I do anyway. I want him to trust every word I say, but it's not gonna work.

"OK," he says uncertainly. "Listen, no offence but you seem unfocused. Maybe we should take a break."

I sigh gratefully, almost immediately shucking off the guitar and placing it down carefully beside me. Thank God for that. I can't concentrate.

"You know if there's something you want to tell me, you can, right?" He blinks at me evenly. He's got a soulful look on his face now, almost saintly, offering me this big favour of letting go my burden.

"Yeah, I know," I try to smile at him appreciatively.

"Good." He grins, and he's come closer. He places a hand lightly on my shoulder, and I suck in a breath, sharp and quick. He just smiles, and his eyes hold that blue sparkle. It's taking all my strength not to groan audibly. His fingertips are warm, burning through the cotton of my shirt and setting my skin on fire. Reminds me of the other night.

We were on-stage, and he's always coming over, paying too much attention to me, sometimes makes the fans go wild. He tends to smile, then he'll walk. The other night he put his arm around me. I felt my arousal tight in my jeans, tried to take a step back. The man's too hot for his own good, even when he's not trying to be. The curl of his lips, the way his clothes cling to him just so. The way he can merely breathe and send off firecrackers in my skull.

All I wanted to do was grab him and kiss him, didn't care about the consequences. I held back, imagining steel chains binding me to the spot, anything to keep me from jumping him right then. Too bad he didn't notice me keeping my distance, or if he did he let it pass him by. He leaned in anyway, cradling me tighter, and I couldn't deny myself of the pleasure in his embrace, I never can. He wrapped his arm right 'round me, and it felt so good, I could feel myself begin to pulse under the jeans denim. His cuddle was heartfelt and warm, soft and friendly. It would have felt awkward if it wasn't so unbelievably sexy. Gentle, intimate, and driving me crazy.

He was right there, and God, I couldn't help it, I took in his scent. Heaven with a hint of cologne, he smelled so good it was almost fatal. Shampoo on his hair, soap on his skin. Smelled so good I was dying to take a nibble. Wanted to take a bite.

Then he was gone and halfway across the stage, felt like I was naked and horny in front of too many screaming fans. Kept my cool, strummed the guitar, but I was running on autopilot for the rest of the night.

Like now. It's too much and I stutter, retreating and almost tripping up over my own guitar. My heel kicks against the Fender, and somehow I manage to catch it before it falls, my hands shaking. Darren frowns, I understand why, it probably looks like I'm repulsed by him. I'm anything but.

I try desperately not to stumble again and pick up the guitar, stroking the strings like it's a bruised child in need of comfort. "I'm gonna get some fresh air, Daz," I mumble, setting back down the guitar and making my way towards the doorway. I don't take time to let him reply as I leave the room, staggering blindly outside and ignoring the waves of arousal spinning rapidly through my brain. I suck in the air and devour the oxygen, then contradict myself by fumbling around for a spare cigarette I know I left in my pocket. I slide out my lighter, flicking on the flame and sticking the cig in my mouth as I light up. I draw in the smoke and then breathe out, taking a seat on the steps.

After a few moments I can feel that he's followed me. He's standing there, in the doorway, where I left the thing wide open. It annoys me the way he stays put and keeps silent for several minutes, makes me feel more tense.

It seems like he's split through thick cold ice when he speaks. "Daniel?"

I take in another smoke before giving him my lacklustre reply. "Yeah."

"I meant what I said."

I swallow, and there goes another mouthful of smoke down my throat. I resist the urge to cough.

"What?"

"That you can tell me if something's wrong."

The man's persistent. I know that already. Too persistent and too caring. Once he's hooked into something, he'll obsess about it until it comes to an end. I hear his footsteps as he comes down from the doorway, joining me on the steps. I look away, it takes too much of my inner strength to control myself when I look at him. I breathe in the smoke again.

"That's bad for you, you know," he points at the cigarette.

Immediate frustration settles over me, I hate when he states the obvious. Before I can stop myself I snap back with a hiss. "Yes, I fucking know, Daz."

He's taken aback. He looks hurt, and I can't stand that. "I was just saying."

"Well, thanks, I already read the warning labels," I say bitterly. Can't help it, it just slips out. "Who cares?"

"I care."

That gives me pause. I look up, and I turn to glance at him, cigarette still in hand, poised halfway to my mouth. I don't answer, merely just stare at him. I know my eyes are watery, but that's just because of inhaling too much smoke. I look at his eyes, they're sapphire blue and shiny.

I look down and blink. And, fuck it, it looks like I'm crying. The tears held in my eyes wander down my cheeks, and I curse the fact. I want to run away before he sees, before he jumps to conclusions, but I think I'm too late. Darren is watching me crying. I want to hide in shame.

I'm all ready to stand up and rush back inside, but something stops me. It's his hand, smooth and soft, and his palm's suddenly by my face, grazing my cheek. His index finger's wiping away my tears, but when they're gone he doesn't move away. His hand cups my face gently, feels like velvet and silk. I close my eyes against the sensation, aware of my vulnerability. I avoid his gaze, looking down at my knees, but his hand eases my head upwards with the lightest of persuasions.

I don't register anything more, until he presses the pad of his thumb to my lips. Too intimate...no, just intimate enough, but it raises emotion in me like I can't even contain. Darren's stroking my lips like a lover, he's caressing my cheek like he wants more than this. I can feel a distinct euphoria creep up around my heart, so much so that everything else is numb, even my growing hardness I forget about for a moment.

I swallow, and I think of questioning him, but I can't, the touch is too perfect to let anything disturb it.

Though soon as this thought crosses my mind, something does. Darren's not inches away on the steps now, he's only centimetres away, so close his thigh's rubbing against mine, leaving me breathless.

I can't stand it, and I think of running away, but there's his face, and it's so close it's out of focus, because he's leaning in deep, and suddenly his lips are on mine. I'd jolt back in equal parts terror and shock, but it feels too good to miss, his bee-stung mouth so hot and skilled. At first he's chaste, virginal, innocence derived from soft caresses. He's soft, as though testing the water. As though he's not too sure what he's doing, but he wants to try. When I don't protest, I feel his hand in my hair and then the taste of his tongue, it's ripe and writhing, and it's snaking around mine, and I'm finding it hard to believe the pleasure. Darren's kissing me, the words ride a roundabout in my head. I want him, and I feel the tears rise again, I feel like such a goddamn sissy for being overcome with emotion, but my heart's beating fast and it's pushing me to the brink of insanity.

It takes me eons to actually realize that he's pulled away. When I open my eyes wide I can see him, and he looks shell-shocked, as if he were witnessing himself from the outside. I wait for his smile to spread in contentment, but it doesn't, because he looks scared. I can feel my own expression fall to the ground, he actually looks frightened, and I want to cradle him, tell him not to be afraid. I reach out for him but he recoils, his hand jumping away from mine like I electrocuted him. Like I hurt him. His eyes dart from side to side, as though he's questioning, as though his mind's willing to explode with fear and confusion. He whispers, his voice tainted and his speech dry, my ears resounding so much with hysterical deafness I'm surprised I can even hear.

"I'm sorry, Dan."

I'm baffled for a second, but then he moves, standing up from the steps and walking away, quite a distance. I blink, and watch him as he turns his back slowly to me. My mouth opens and shuts. "Sorry?" I ask, regaining speech. "What for?"

"I'm sorry. I can't." He walks backwards, stumbling through the doorway in his haste.

And he leaves me empty.