I've Been Dying for This

I’m only getting started
I won’t black out . . .

The music of their newest album blared in the background as cheers erupted all throughout the room. The crowd was excitable, and the sound of most well-known song off of Hell Is What You Make It gave them all the more reason to rejoice. Kyle bounced and swayed to the beat, sweaty bodies pressing against him on all sides, all of them moving to the same rhythm—even to him the tunes were intoxicating, and he had helped to create them.

It was a few days after their album release, and still they were celebrating. David’s basement, nary, his entire house was packed with people, most of whom Kyle didn’t even know—friends, friends of friends, family members, and complete strangers. The doors were open to all, as was the code for most of the parties thrown by Breathe Carolina. Although Kyle had to admit that he wasn’t exactly as enthused about the wild parties as David was, he couldn’t say no to his only fellow band member with his huge, dark puppy-dog eyes.

So party they did, throughout all the night. And during those few flashes of daylight that cut through the seemingly endless raves, Kyle only had memories of nursing both his and David’s hangovers and promising himself to remain sober the next night.

He was doing well so far this night, refusing glass after glass of Jack Daniels and keeping a wary eye on his counterpart, who had no such qualms and was already drunk beyond belief.

Little did Kyle know how much harder it would be to enjoy himself when he was sober. It wasn’t so much that drinking made partying fun and exciting, for even when he was intoxicated it wasn’t easy to go along with David’s ecstatic shenanigans. But at least when Kyle was drunk he could wake up and have little or no recollection of the burning jealousy that he always felt when he looked across the room and saw David surrounded by women.

It wasn’t something that he could put into words easily, how he felt about David. It was like he and the younger man had a connection beyond what could be shared between Kyle and a woman—they had spent hours alone writing songs, each spilling himself onto paper for the other to see before the finished product was even close to being done. The world didn’t know what sort of conversations went down when it was just the two of them.

After all that, there were still bands out there that were the best of friends—only friends, and nothing more. But something stirred within Kyle when he thought of his fellow singer, and the more the blonde learned about David, the more infatuated he became.

Even now, something deep inside of him burned to rip the younger man from the barely-clad arms of the adoring whores and keep him all to himself. To tell him what his true feelings were towards him after all these years of keeping it to himself, though heaven knew how he could find the right words.

But of course, he couldn’t. After all, didn’t he have his own life that could be destroyed? His girl, his wife, Ashleigh, for whom he had a completely different set of feelings than he had for his band mate. They were already making plans for children, and then to throw her under the bus like that, while he . . . while he . . .

While he ran off with David.

The mere thought sent shivers down Kyle’s spine, but he forced himself to shake off the images that begged to pour through his mind and return to the real world—or what parts of it he could see beyond the people that were jamming to the beat of his songs.

Suddenly he had no desire to be in the crowd, be surrounded by all those people who were happily dancing the night away. Despite the reason for the festivities being centered around the two of them and their music, Kyle found that the partygoers didn't much care about the actual members of Breathe Carolina as long as there was plenty of booze to go around. He wandered off, heading up the stairs and then up again, to the second floor of the house where he was less likely to be forced to deal with wasted strangers.

There was still the occasional sloppy couple or confused stoner to avoid, but for the most part Kyle was able to find solitude on the landing. The familiar beat of “Blackout” pounded softly, comfortingly in the background as he sat down on the floor next to an abandoned kiddie pool right out of one of their music videos and buried his face in his hands.

He sat there pathetically for less than a minute before he heard a set of approaching footsteps. Before he could dig an excuse out of his fretting brain for why he would be curled up like a sullen child in a corner, the oh-so-familiar voice: “Kyle?”

Kyle’s head shot up. There in front of him, beautiful even sticky with sweat and swaying slightly with the effects of the alcohol, stood the very object of all this worry.

“You okay?” slurred the younger man, scratching his head and staring at his best friend through hazy eyes. Kyle couldn’t even reply, eyes roaming from David’s somewhat damp tank top to his enticing, slightly parted lips to his usual array of bracelets that hung and rattled off of his thin wrists.

“Come on,” said David after a moment, sensing that something was up with Kyle. “Let’s go talk.” He indicated the door of his own bedroom, giving Kyle reason enough to follow him through and close the door behind them.

Luckily there was no one doing it in David’s bed, so they were able to be alone. “Well?” said David expectantly.

Kyle didn’t, couldn’t reply. Although he was used to lying to his fellow band member—hell, he had to do it every day just to cover up the way he felt—there was something in the air between them now that could not be ignored. He had to think that David felt it too, even beyond the influence of the tequila.

They stared at each other wordlessly for a few seconds; Kyle’s throat was stuck and he was barely able to breathe, let alone speak. Even through the door they could hear the distinct sound of “Edge of Heaven” begin downstairs.

David cocked his head slightly to the side to listen. “I like this one,” he murmured, his eyelids falling slightly. Then, automatically, as if this happened every day, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Kyle’s neck.

Shocked, Kyle automatically responded likewise—he cradled David’s slender body and they began to move in slow circles to the music like they were at a high school dance.

It felt so natural, so right, for them to be touching like this—like everything Kyle had ever dreamed. He tightened his grip around that thin waist, paying no mind to the sweat dripping down the younger man’s body, reducing the friction between their skin. He let his hands roam down to the hips that he had witnessed shaking whorishly countless times onstage, their movements now gradual, reduced, and clumsy due to the alcohol.

It was so simple. Kyle wondered how his mind had become so muddled over this one individual; there was nothing to worry about. Right now, in this very moment, keeping David in his arms was all that mattered. Fuck life; fuck rationality. His mind was clear and blissful; his only concerns were with his bandmate, the occasional He’s so small or I wonder how many shots he’s taken or Still smells so good even through the partying floating through his thoughts. This was too good to give up. Kyle closed his eyes and rested his head against the mess of dark hair against his chest as they revolved around one another.

A messy dance. A harmony of sweet imperfection. Feet stumbled over whatever objects littered David’s bedroom floor. And yet it was the most heartbreakingly perfect dance of Kyle’s life, including every club that he had ever been to, every stupid party he had had to force himself to attend. The music was syrupy and distorted through the walls, and it was utterly inappropriate for the gentle dance they were engaged in, but it was their guide, and Kyle let all his walls break down to allow the melodies access to his innermost mental cavities. He shifted his head a bit and planted a kiss in David’s hair.

Soon after that the song ended, the last beats fading into oblivion, and still Kyle and David did not break apart. They weren’t dancing anymore, not really, just standing there, listening to each other’s breathing and letting their thoughts wander where they may. Kyle didn’t allow himself to think of the very near future, of the time when his arms would be empty of his fellow musician and best friend, so he just squeezed his eyes shut tighter and ran the palm of one hand up David’s smooth, inked arm, trying to squeeze this opportunity for all it was worth.

Then David brought one hand down from around Kyle’s shoulders, curling it against his chest, and murmured, “I’m sleepy.”

“There’s a bed right there.”

“Are you sleepy?” questioned the smaller man, still, Kyle noted duly, with one arm wrapped around his shoulder like a lifeline.

Kyle smiled a little, noticing the slight sway in David’s stance. “Sure. Come on, let’s go lie down.”

Carefully, ever supporting his friend with one arm, Kyle maneuvered the two of them onto the bed, actually shoveling David’s legs onto the mattress due to the intoxicated individual’s sudden lack of motivation to perform any movements whatsoever. In fact, Kyle soon realized, David was out the moment his head hit the pillow. The small vocalist groaned a little, rolled over, and curled his body into a ball like a protective measure against invaders.

Kyle went around the bed to the other side and crawled up next to him. He wasn’t sure if physical contact was okay now that “Edge of Heaven” had produced its last synthesized notes, so he contented himself to just lie next to David, facing him, studying the sleeping, gorgeous specimen of human being while thoughts of “consequences” haunted his brain.

With that dance earlier, things had changed. Kyle refused to believe that he was the only one that felt it; he was more than certain that David had felt something a little stronger than brotherly affection while the rhythm of their hearts aligned with each other and with the beat of the song, and their sweat mingled against their bodies and their arms squeezed each other, longing to be ever closer.

It was all so confusing. Especially when Ashleigh’s face popped into Kyle’s brain, causing him to bury his face in his hands and groan.

What was he doing?

Everything would be different tomorrow; that much he knew. He would have to wake up and the thoughts of the previous night’s events would flood his mind and then, eventually, he would have to face his bandmate. He would have to confront that unfathomable expression on David’s face, would have to have a conversation about boundaries that he had hoped he would never have to endure . . .

If he remembers this night at all.

The realization hit him like a physical blow. David was probably drunk off his ass; it was entirely conceivable that he would recollect no details whatsoever of what he had done the night before. It wouldn’t be the first time, or even the thirtieth, that it had happened. In fact, Kyle thought with smug smile as he rolled over onto his back and stared at the textured ceiling, he was pretty much perfectly in the clear.

Everything would be all right. The dance would be completely lost in David’s fuzzy reflection of what had happened during the party.

However, it would not be so easily forgotten by Kyle.

The night wore on. Song after song off of their new album blared repeatedly through the speaker, with a few other dance tracks from other artists mixed in. Footsteps came and went outside of the door; a few people tried to come into the room and Kyle ushered them out silently, protecting David’s slumber from unceremonious disturbances. But eventually, after hours of lying next to the unconscious vocalist, watching the slender man sleep and letting thoughts of what was and what would be roll through his mind, Kyle forced himself to push up off the bed and leave the room. As painful as it might be—and painful it was, believe me—he couldn’t allow himself to be caught up in what would always be his forbidden fruit.

He had his life, his career, his image to uphold, as did David.

And, as much as he sometimes thought that he would like nothing more than for his bandmate to come into his life and ruin it all, everything that he has built up, he knew that it just wasn’t meant to be.

With one last glance at the sleeping figure within, Kyle closed the bedroom door behind him and, head ducked, began to make his way down the stairs.

Even if it cost him his happiness, his love, Kyle would do whatever he had to for the band, because in a way, the band was also his love. It fed him and strained him and made him wonder what it was all about, but he loved it just the same. He had devoted everything to the band, and he would continue to do so until it killed him.

No matter what it took, the band would come first.

Breathe Carolina would survive.