A Whiter Shade of Pale

We’re on our way to the bar. We haven’t been out in a week. Of course that doesn’t mean that we haven’t had fun while driving around in the van – or before and after shows.
Gerard usually seems to have more fun. It only makes me want him more.
Like now, how his hips are swaying and his hair is whipping makes me want him so bad that I can feel the excitement bubble in my pelvic.
He’s talking to Ray. For some reason, I just don’t look at Ray the same way I look at Gerard. I don’t even look at Mikey the same way, and he’s his brother.
I just want Gerard. I lust for him. I crave him. His wild hand gestures are probably a sign of his wild movements in bed. I’m sure his hair would look undeniably hot during the act. His lips would confuse my brain to the point where it just gives up and lets all the signals from all over my tingling, prickling, burning body rush in and be received.
We sit down in a booth. I get to sit in front of him, and I accidentally bump my foot into his.
I forget to apologies and not to stare, so it’s no wonder that he blushes. I bet his entire body blushes when he’s turned on. His insides are on fire and his skin is slowly burning up from the inside.
Suddenly he gets up, tells us that he’ll be right back and leaves. I follow him – first with my eyes, then with my body. I can’t stop myself. I can no longer keep myself on the leash I’ve wrapped around my neck to keep me from touching.
The bathroom door doesn’t get to fall shut, before I rip it open again. I must have done it violently, because he stops and turns around – looking confused and slightly shocked.
I lose all contact to my logic, when I grab the back of his head and quickly crash my lips against his.
He doesn’t move. I do.
My lips stay pressed against his, while my hand snakes behind him. I grab onto his firm, but full, butt and squeeze.
He squeaks.
I pull him forward and press my growing, hardening crotch against his leg.
He whimpers. I can’t tell if it’s out of fear, shock or lust.
I rub myself up against his leg.
He moans and my question is answered.
Without removing my lips from his, I push him backwards into a stall. I turn him around, so I can close the door and press him up against it.
He moans.
My brain tries to focus on one thing at a time – tries to find the most important and pleasurable place of my body – but it gets confused. It’s receiving signals from all over – my groin, my lips, my ears, my neck, my throat, my stomach, my chest – and it can’t decide.
Soon, it’s going to shut down.
It doesn’t, though. Instead, it chooses a focus point and keeps it.
All I can focus on is the way Gerard’s lips feels against my own – how much pressure, how wet, how fast, how soft.
When my brain finally gives way and let me feel the rest of my body, all of our clothes are joined in one big pile on the floor. All except for Gerard’s t-shirt, my pants around my ankles and all of our four socks.
Without any questions asked or any looks exchanged, I push a finger up his entrance. His hands grip onto my shoulders tightly as he leans his head back and winces. It’s harder when you stand up, but really; we have no other choice.
When he’s fully stretched – three of my fingers having entered him – I start rubbing myself against his soft thigh to arouse myself again. I haven’t lost my hard-on, I just need to lust for him again.
I lift him up and motion for him to wrap his legs around my waist. Once they are, I slam him against the door and roughly bring my lips back onto his.
His hips thrust forward and our dicks brush against each other.
We both throw our heads back – he moans, I growl.
Without any more hesitation, I lift him up slightly and then push into him.
As I crash my lips back onto his, I’m reminded of the shit we’ve done on stage. How many times our lips have crashed together and how often I’ve craved for him up there.

We skipped a light fandango,
Turned cartwheels 'cross the floor.

We’ve rolled around on the floor, beaten each other up and ripped each other’s hair out on stage, but we’ve never done anything crazy – like we’re doing now.

I was feeling kind of seasick,
But the crowd called out for more.

Every time I’ve lusted him, it’s felt like a burning kick in the gut. I long for him to soothe it, just as I long for him to keep it going. Everyone seemed to want the first option.

The room was humming harder,
As the ceiling flew away.

I’ve cum so hard from the thought of him – just from the thought of us doing, what we’re doing right now. I’ve been craving this for so long, and when I cum, my head seems to just blow off.

When we called out for another drink,
The waiter brought a tray.

When we sit back down at the table – our clothes askew and our hair two messes – I can’t help but grin. I’m worn and tired, yet all I want is a beer to celebrate my victory – our victory, really.

And so it was that later,
As the miller told his tale,
That his face at first just ghostly,
Turned a whiter shade of pale.

As we’re walking home, I talk to Bob about how the Avengers all seem so full of themselves – so overly innocent. It all seem just fine, until Gerard looks over his shoulder with a horrified expression.

He said there is no reason,
And the truth is plain to see

He remains silent ‘til we got back to the parking lot. He doesn’t say a word – just walks alone like I did on the way to the bar. When everyone else crawls into the van, he turns and drags me with him back behind the vehicle.

That I wandered through my playing cards,
And would not let him be

I can’t tell what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t want to tell me. He just keeps puffing on his miniscule cigarette as he stares off into the dark. I keep asking him. He keeps silent.

One of sixteen vestal virgins
Who were leaving for the coast.

When we’re finally back in the van – driving off to only Brian knows where – I stare at his lost face. He looks lost and I can’t figure out why. It’s like he’s lost his spark and drifted off.

And although my eyes were open,
They might just as well have been closed.

It isn’t until we’re back on stage – playing to a full house – that I realize what’s wrong. Gerard strolls across the stage as he sings his heart out. He’s drunk as usual – his voice slurred and dull. And that’s when I realize it.

And so it was later,
As the miller told his tale,
That his face at first just ghostly,
Turned a whiter shade of pale.

He lost his spark – his uniqueness – that night at the bar. I took away the only thing that made him special and peculiar. I took his spark. I extinguished his fire – my own desire to have him.
I don’t have that desire anymore. I don’t have that want, that lust, that craving.
He’s become plain to me.

A whiter shade of pale.