Blank Space

by Francis Gideon

  But then Adrian was next to him again. They were both swaying together, side by side, swept up in the undertow, and being tossed closer to the stage. The singer dropped his guitar by the stand, then took the mic to scream into it at the side. He and Adrian moved further along, towards the opposite side of the stage. When the singer jumped in to crowd surf, the blur of bodies shifted them even further. Curtis felt a sudden kick to his lower back, and a tug as he was pushed down.

  "Fuck!" he cried, but he didn't even hear his own voice. He was going down. He felt a sudden yank on his body, his shirt tearing, and someone else kick his leg. His inner thigh smarted, where he was still tender from the tattoo. The piece was no longer scabbing, but still raw and vulnerable. The pattern would be fine—the ink wouldn't blur just from one kick like this—but his body stung. His knuckles hit the concrete area of the floor and scraped. The crowd took over and shifted Curtis down lower on the floor, blurring past him. Curtis's skin tore off as he scraped his knees through jeans against the ground now. Fuck, Curtis thought. Fuck. I am too old for this.

  In between mangled song lyrics, Curtis made out a distinct voice. "Curtis! Curtis!"

  Adrian's hand appeared on the back of Curtis's neck. Adrian tugged at Curtis's hair, before he finally got his hand on his shirt collar. Curtis wanted to move away from the touch. No more temptation—no I can't have this—but he felt how close he was to the ground. He felt how imminent a kick in the face was and how raw his skin was against concrete. He had watched guys deliberately fall into the centre of pits so they could enter their own make shift Fight Clubs. They would get hurt, and hurt more, so they didn't have to feel their own blank space. He had done it himself a few times, walking into his retail job the next day with bruised elbows and a battered lip. But he felt, as sure as anything else, that he didn't want to do that anymore. Not tonight.

  Curtis moved into Adrian's touch. He fought against the crowd, against the blinding blur of male bodies that jabbed and pressed against them. There really is only guys here? Curtis glanced around at the crowd just as Adrian's arm came under his own in a supportive embrace. All men, Curtis concluded. Some shouted at the female guitar player, even as she continued to play through the songs.

  "Show me your tits!"

  "Show us your tits!"

  "Here's to the wound that never heals!"

  Curtis wanted to vomit. This wasn't their crowd. This was never a place for them. No wonder we never did anything, Curtis thought with sudden fury. All these men are dicks. We just liked dick.

  He turned to Adrian, who now had his hands around Curtis's waist, holding him in place. They were out of the pit, but still surrounded by guys as they stood by the edge of the stage.

  "You okay? You took a tumble on me."

  "Yeah, kinda." Curtis stepped forward more into Adrian's arms, so that their torsos were now pressed together. He wanted to say it was because of the crowd. They pushed him; the music swayed him in there. But Curtis knew better.

  "But I'm fine, really. Just a fall. I'm out of practice."

  Adrian grinned. He rubbed his hands along Curtis's biceps, and Curtis flexed instinctively. Adrian glanced up on the stage. The singer shifted to the side now, and yelled into the mic. The crowd swayed and pushed them. Curtis's ears popped and another kick to the back.

  "Ow. Fuck," Curtis hissed. He looked back in the direction where the kick had come from, but it was impossible to tell. The only body that made sense from the other ones was Adrian's. Curtis felt Adrian's fingers on his arm and flexed. Again.

  When the crowd swayed the next time, Curtis was spun around into the curve of Adrian's body, their waists now aligned. As Curtis pushed back, he realized he was pressing into Adrian's crotch with his ass. He swore he heard Adrian moan, but it could have been the sound system. It could have been anything. Curtis tried to stay put inside the throbbing crowd, only to feel Adrian press forward. When the music sped up, so did the two of them. The pressing and pulling into one another's body continued in a frantic pace. So intense, so needy. Curtis chastised himself for the sudden chill that caught him off guard in the overheated room. Their touches—if only indecent for the fact that they did know one another and weren't strangers—barely lasted anything at all. When the music changed again, they separated, and Adrian was next to Curtis again. Curtis could have moved away, could have tried to forget, but he didn't want to. He wanted to remember everything now, when he thought he had been better off forgetting.

  "How are you doing?" Adrian asked, in between a quiet lull where the band prepared for an encore. Curtis's shirt was stuck to his back, his knees tired from his first fall and his back smarting from being kicked. His skin was still flushed with the memory of Adrian next to him.

  "I'm okay." Curtis touched his hair, feeling the sweat pool there, too. When he turned to face Adrian more, he heard a sudden tear on his shirt. "...Fuck."

  Adrian laughed, and placed his hands on Curtis's shoulder, around where his T-shirt tag stuck out. "I think that's a done shirt for now. Sorry."

  "Yeah," Curtis murmured. As he craned his neck to inspect the new tear on his back, he caught Adrian's eyes going over the tattoos on his back. When Adrian realized he was being watched, he pulled his gaze away and coughed.

  "How about I buy you a merch shirt?" Adrian asked, quickly changing the topic. "And we call it a night? Maybe go back to the hotel?"

  Curtis gulped. This was what he loved. This was what he had been waiting for. The crowd pushed against him and the sudden smell of marijuana was too much. He looked back toward Adrian.

  "Sure. I think I'd like that a lot."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Adrian got a hoodie for Curtis. He zipped it up against his bare skin, since his T-shirt was nothing but rags. He was glad Adrian had bought the hoodie for him, especially when they stepped out of the club and were greeted with the chilled night-time air of spring.

  "God," Curtis hissed. His voice sounded too loud, still unadjusted to the regular tempo of everyday life. Adrian gave him a quick look over his shoulder. His T-shirt clung to his body like a second skin. After a moment, his teeth began to chatter.

  "Come on, Curt. We're close."

  When Adrian pushed ahead of him, Curtis only had to follow. He was glad, when they got back into their hotel room, that they hadn't tried to drive back tonight. Every muscle in his body ached, and while he felt wide awake now, he would crash soon. There were two twin beds in the hotel room, a bathroom on the right side, and a chair by the window. Adrian walked right up to the chair after he unlocked the door with the key-card, unzipped his backpack, and dug into the bottom to find a new shirt.

  "I think I may have to throw mine out after that," he laughed. He stripped off his shirt. Curtis bit his lip and glanced idly at the shower. Should he bother with one right now? He was still covered in sweat from head to toe and grime from the venue's floor, but now that he was inside a nice warm room, he didn't think he had the energy for much else. He flopped down onto the closest bed instead and sighed into the fresh pillows.

  "I guess that's your bed for the night?"

  "Oh. Sorry. Did you want…"

  Adrian held up a hand. He had a white-shirt on now, but Curtis noticed his nipples were still visible—and hard—through the thin fabric. "Nah, it's okay. I don't mind you having that one. They're pretty much the same."

  Curtis made a noise of approval and buried his head farther into his pillow. He heard the other bed creak as Adrian sat down, then replaced it with a random baseline from one of the songs tonight. Curtis wondered if he could fall asleep right now, right then. What would happen if he did? The night would be over so fast that way. He turned over onto his side and kept his eyes open in spite of himself. When his movement shifted his body, stretching a patch of skin on his knees that had been scraped, he let out a low hiss.

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah. Just sweat getting in a cut. Stings like a fucker."

  Adrian glanced at Curtis's leg with sympathy. "Took a l
ot out of you tonight, huh?"

  "Yeah, you could say that." Curtis laughed. "I... I forgot how intense it could get."

  "But that's good, right? It's like a surprise all over again."

  "Yeah. Of course. It was good." Curtis propped himself up on his elbows, his leg no longer an issue. "It was a lot of fun. Thanks for taking me."

  "Not at all. Always good to have a buddy." Adrian leaned back on his twin bed, but sent glances towards Curtis after a couple moments of silence. "I…I don't think I can sleep right away. I'm far too wired."

  "Same."

  "So..." Adrian eyed the TV in front of them. "I guess we could watch something? I also have my laptop. I could throw on Netflix?"

  Curtis shook his head. To go from a show back into such calculated everyday life seemed as wrong as sleeping right now. He toyed with the zipper on his new jacket. An embroidered skull patch was on one side and The Brutal Youth was emblazed on the back.

  "If that's a veto to Netflix or TV," Adrian said, "then my next choice is usually to put on music, but even that seems weird after tonight."

  "Yeah, it does. Maybe because we listened to so much in the car."

  "Maybe."

  Curtis made another small noise. He knew, deep down, what he wanted to do. Adrian's lingering gaze seemed to understand, too. He shifted on the mattress without getting under the covers as he shut off the bedside lamp, leaving only the glow of the adjacent bathroom's nightlight.

  "This okay?" Adrian asked. "I don't want to sleep, but we could talk."

  "Yeah, this is fine. I kind of like it dark like this."

  "Me too."

  Curtis heard Adrian shift in the bed. He wondered if he could tell in a matter of time, when his eyes adjusted to the dark, just where Adrian's hands went. Curtis closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could still feel the sticky sweat from the club. He needed to have a shower, so badly, but he didn't want to move. "Ever had sex in a shower?"

  "Yes. That's easy, Curtis."

  "Not really! You have to get positioned just right. It can be slippery. Deadly, even. I'm convinced that half the people who die in bathtubs were really just trying to fuck and screwed up."

  Adrian laughed. "Yeah, that's a good point. But we've done it—that's what I meant before. So you should know my answer."

  "Oh." Curtis shut his eyes tighter. Of course they had fucked in the shower. It had been in a situation exactly like this one. After seeing an AFI show in the city, they had piled into Adrian's small apartment and into one another's arms. But before they wanted to lick or suck, they had to be clean. They had spent most of the night in the shower anyway, going down on each other under the stream and on the bathroom floor. Curtis felt rooted to the bed by the memory with sudden guilt. Oh, God. What are we doing? How did I not realize this until now? Curtis moved his hand away from his half-hard dick, disgusted with himself.

  "We shouldn't do this," Curtis said. "Not again. Not after last time on the phone."

  Adrian's breathing seemed to slow. "Look but don't touch, right?"

  Curtis didn't say anything.

  "It's just us, just ourselves," Adrian added, then paused again. "You…You can just watch me if you want. I don't mind. It'll kind of be like porn that way."

  Curtis bit his lip. He could imagine Adrian standing in front of him stripping off all his clothing, and then allowing Curtis to watch every private second as he jerked himself off. It really would be no different than porn, except that Curtis could remember kissing those lips. He could remember what Adrian's cock used to taste like, ten years ago, and he wondered if it still tasted the same way.

  "No, it's okay," Curtis said. He shifted, then touched his dick again. Maybe this would be okay. Maybe if they just talked, everything would get easier. He wanted to get off. To make the concert high—what was left of it—last a little longer. He would always be chasing that feeling, even if he now knew he could never quite pin it down. "I think… this should be fine. We'll do this, what we normally do."

  "Okay. What do you want me to say?"

  "Whatever you want." There was a weight paused where Curtis filled in the blank in his mind. I'd do it, Curtis. We could do it. He remembered the words and shivered. "Tell me what you'd do to someone tonight."

  "Tonight?"

  "Yeah. If you had just met them at the show and took them back to your hotel room."

  "Okay. Well, if I met them at a show, I'd ask them more questions about themselves first, because I don't like to fuck strangers."

  "No?"

  "No. Not really."

  "Not even the guys at bars?"

  Curtis could tell in the dark, but if Adrian's sudden breath was any indication, he was sure his face had fallen. "I haven't gone out in a while."

  "Why not?"

  "Long story. It's just... not the same."

  "Okay," Curtis said, moving on. "After the questions, then. What would you do? To a guy you just brought back here?"

  "I'd... I'd probably keep only one light on. Something small. Not enough to see absolutely everything, but enough to know where my hands were and where he was. I'd want to touch him first. Feel him in the near-dark."

  Curtis let out a low breath. He was about to undo his pants, when he heard Adrian rise from the bed and walk around its front.

  "Don't worry," Adrian said. "I'm just going to the chair. I want... I want to sit up as I talk, because that's how I'd want to fuck whoever I brought up here."

  "You'd fuck them?" Curtis asked. He heard the dull drag of the chair over hotel carpet as Adrian brought it between the two beds. "I thought you liked being on the bottom?"

  "I do. But when someone rides me, it's just as much power to them, you know?"

  "Yeah, I know."

  Adrian sat on the chair. The light from the bathroom pooled into the room, illuminating half his face. Adrian's eyes were still closed, his body hunched over the arm, his face relaxed. Curtis noted there was still the length of the bed between them. Even as Curtis looked away, and only heard Adrian slip his hand into his pants, it still felt like a lot of space. Too much between them. Curtis pushed on.

  "Okay. Tell me more. Would you prepare them?"

  "Oh, yeah." Curtis heard the smile in Adrian's voice. "Have we talked much about rim jobs? Because those can be fun. I see them all the time in porn. It took a while to get my head around it—like who would want to eat ass?—but I like it, I think."

  "Giving or getting?"

  "Both, probably." Adrian paused. "If it was this guy I'd brought back to my room, then I'd probably get him naked first. Take off his pants and make him lie ass up on the bed. I'd touch his balls, then his hole, rubbing him gently before I kissed my way over the same path. Maybe I'd deep throat him, make him gag me, before I licked him."

  Curtis grabbed his dick, squeezing hard without moving back or forth. He had never done rim jobs, even with Darcy. But he had seen them in porn. When it was a guy and girl in the video, Curtis didn't really like seeing rim jobs. But the way Adrian described it, the act sounded really, really good. And from the way Adrian talked, it sounded like he hadn't done that—given or gotten—before. It would be the one thing, Curtis figured, they were on the same page with.

  "I'd have to spread his ass to get in there really deep, you know," Adrian went on. "Or maybe I could get him to hold his ass open. That's hot, especially when guys look back as they do it. I could fuck him with my tongue, then glance over and see his mouth-half open. Hear his moan and feel him shudder with my lips."

  Curtis heard Adrian gasp a little. He opened his eyes and saw his hand move up and down his dick. His bare dick, out of his pants and in his palm. Curtis stared, lingering far too long. He pulled his cock out of his pants and licked his palm. He mixed his spit with precome as Adrian moved his own hand back and forth. Silence fell over them for some time.

  "Then?" Curtis asked, his voice husky and not caring. "You said you wanted them to ride you."

  "Right. Of course." Adrian shuddered sl
ightly as he recomposed himself. "After I knew he was good and open, I'd get on the chair. Maybe make him suck me off a bit. Eyes open, looking up at me. Then I'd get him to sit on me. Facing me—I like to see eyes, you know that by now—"

  Adrian's casual, and somewhat sudden reference to Curtis in the words made him moan. He covered it up with a cough, and soon, Adrian was back to describing.

  "I'd put my hands on his thighs, spreading him open with more lube, then get him to sit down. Sometimes it's hard to take it all at that angle, so I'd work with what he could do. I'd do my best to not fuck him before he was ready. If he could get down to the hilt, I'd make him rock back and forth. I'd want to see his face twist with sensation, with realizing I was completely inside of him. I'd want to feel his cock twitch, too—so chances are, I'd have my hand around his dick. If it was too painful, which hey, it might be, I'd just jack him off. Make sure he liked taking it as much as he could."

  "What if it wasn't his first time?" Curtis asked. "What if he liked it but still wanted more? What would you do?"

  Adrian seemed to laugh. When Curtis opened his eyes to see, he caught Adrian looking at him. At least, he thought so. It was still pretty dark, and their bodies were mostly black shadows, moving barely back and forth, back and forth. Curtis's eyes stayed focused, and eventually, their staring dissolved in the dark.

  "If he was into it, I'd get him to start riding me. Up and down, as hard as he wanted it."

  "And if he wanted harder?"

  "Then I'd fuck him too. As he rode me."

  "How?"

  "I'd hold my hands on his waist and thrust into him. I'd meet each of his hips movement with my own. I'd hold him down. I'd make him beg for it."

  "Yeah?" Curtis asked. His hand moved faster over his cock. He was going to come. There was only room for when, on what word, what image would finally push him over. He could see each and every action Adrian described; thanks to the strap-on, he knew what each sensation felt like inside his own body. He knew how good it could be and how Adrian would give it to him. It was all he needed to come. He was so close, so fucking close to that edge, if there were just one final—