Sea
Brian Kinney/unknown, PG-13


The roughness of the wall scratched Brian's back through the thin black polycotton blend of his shirt. He let his head fall back slowly, the gelled tips of his hair bending and breaking against the pitted bricks. The steady thumping beat from the dance floor throbbed in his chest and brain, drumming a staccato rhythm on the backs of his eyes and making his molars buzz slightly. His artificially heightened perceptions heard everything, saw everything, felt the cool of his belt buckle against his hand and the soft fabric of his pants quickly slipping down.

The hands moving along the bottom of his stomach and tracing the lines of his hips were strong, subtlely muscular. The palms were smooth, but the tips of the fingers were calloused and tough, and suddenly Brian was somewhere else. The pads of those fingers, or perhaps fingers so similar it was hard to tell the difference and really not worth trying to, flew across thin strings, slipping up and down and back and forth, dextrous and intuitive. Brian watched for a moment, eyes fixated on hands exposed in fingerless grey gloves, then reached out lightning-fast and grabbed a wrist. Dark eyes met his, and within seconds the hands were empty, a loud and somewhat hollow wooden thud floating up from the ground. Brian twisted the hand behind the owner's back and pushed him up against the wall, burying his mouth into the crook of the panting, surprised man's neck. Their bodies pressed together, so close comfort is no longer relevant, and Brian laughed quickly. Dark curls brushed against his cheek, and he breathed them in deeply. The man against the wall let out a low moan, and one of Brian's hands strayed down, much further down as he whispered under his breath let's see just how good my competition is

With a quiet gasp, Brian was back, his hips rolling slightly, the hands still roving. He looked down at the man and his thick black curls, and before he could think clearly had taken a handful of his hair and pulled back sharply. The man looked up, confused, and Brian realized with a strange shock that it was a stranger. A stranger who probably couldn't carry a tune, who probably didn't know the feel of a violin tucked under his chin and a battered case touching the tip of his worn boots. With a disgusted look, Brian quickly pulled his pants up and buttoned them, walking away from the man still down on his knees.

Brian stumbled down the narrow hall a bit further, the dim lighting and heavy music making the walls even closer and the air even thicker. Bodies with forgettable faces shifted slightly to let him pass then immediately regained their rhythm as if nothing had happened. He glanced over his shoulder for a moment, then turned back, and stopped dead in his tracks. Two people in front of him were intertwined, one glowing and pale with hair almost as light, the other a deep warm olive, his hair fading into the shadows. They were blurry limbs and slick sweat and heavy breaths, a deep underwater blue from the meager light, either blissfully drowning or fighting to reach the surface, Brian wasn't sure which. His mouth parted slightly as he watched, and he slowly licked his lips.

After a moment, the lighter one sensed eyes on him, and carefully, deliberately broke the embrace to look up, quickly shaking his bangs out of his eyes. "Want to join in?"

Brian looked at the bodies that were all right and the faces that were all wrong and felt his stomach lurch and tumble, as if he too were being tossed in their sea. A moment passed, and he almost imperceptibly shook his head before shoving past them.

No.




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