Another Fire

If anyone asked me about my definition of unpredictability, I would surely think about that evening's events. Yet, no words could be uttered. Because what happened that night shall stay between the two shameless creatures participating, and those who seek desires unseen. And by the latter I mean you, dear readers.

--

The audience of a concert hall was almost full, though the seat beside me was still waiting for its owner to arrive. I was looking around nervously, my palms were sweating, my heart was beating fast.

A tall lady in her early thirties entered my row. She smiled at me politely and sat right next to me.

"Thanks for selling me the ticket. I already lost all hope to see him live," she said, unknitting her richly patterned dress.

I nodded, not a slightest glimpse of interest on my face. I couldn't stop all the intrusive thoughts going through my head, screaming that there should have been another woman in her place.

"I'm Anita by the way. It's so nice to meet you."

She reached her hand towards me.

A little panicked, I rubbed my hand into the trousers I wore to get rid of the sweat, and squeezed her slim palm.

"Max."

Uneasy look on my face did nothing to her enthusiasm, as she was still trying to catch my attention.

"How long have you known his music?" she pointed towards the stage.

"Oh umm... eight years or something. Quite some time. And you?"

Not that I was curious. My eyes were nervously tracing other people in the background, I couldn't wait for the performance to start, so that stilted talk would end.

"Yeah, something like that. Maybe a little longer. It feels unreal to see him tonight, I'm so excited! Are you going to Old Gentleman after the show? Have you seen this thread?"

"You mean the fan meeting? I'm not sure, I don't know anyone going."

"Come on" she poked me lightly with her elbow. "You know me, it's a good start, isn't it? We plan to wait backstage and ask him to join. He sometimes does that after his concerts. You wouldn't like to miss it, right?"

I raised my eyebrows. It would certainly be interesting to meet the man in person. I didn't feel any sudden urge to socialize, yet crossing paths with the artist could brighten the evening a little.

"If that's the case, I'll reconsider," my answer was served with a little smile.

And then the lights dimmed, a loud applause echoed in the hall, as our long awaited soloist entered the stage. With guitar in one hand, he waved towards the audience. He looked fine that evening. A slim man in his late thirties, or early forties, in a striped woolen shirt with blue braces resting on his torso.

From the third row I was in, I could very well see his mature looking face. His eyes were blue and sorrowful, even with a smile covering his lips. These were the eyes of the saddest man on earth, I thought. I wondered what he must have gone through to emanate with this endless desolation.

All I knew was that his earliest songs were created in a collaboration with some girl, with whom he used to perform. At one point they split up in toxic circumstances. A heartache of that breakup never fully stopped hunting him as he progressed with his artistic career. And even now he looked like a wreck of a man, aged not because of his physics, but because of the emotion he bore all these years.

The whole concert was like this - full of melancholy. His music made my soul cry. Well, my soul was already crying due to personal matters, but now it was crying in a different way.

The room was filled with sounds of pensiveness. The atmosphere was evoking some lingering feelings, bringing back the memories long-gone. Waves of nostalgia and longing were going through us, as we sat in awe, singing along the chorus lyrics.

When he was performing, he was fully in the zone, focusing on each chord, each note sung. Sweat streamed down his forehead, wrinkled in dynamic expression, as he kept on pulling the strings. There was something pure about him performing, something animalistic. I kept staring at his agile fingers maneuvering over the frets, mesmerized. His hands looked big and tough-skinned, he was gripping the guitar's neck as if it was the last performance in his life.

I could feel a strange attraction, a connection coming from common experiences me and him had. He did not know me, yet I felt as if the parts of our existence were interfusing. I left the concert hall speechless, with a fading feeling of belonging, anchored right there and then.

I followed Anita's footsteps to the backstage, now with no second-thoughts. I had to see the guy once more.

Anita stayed surprisingly, yet conveniently, quiet after the show had ended. I noticed her eyes were a bit swollen, she must have cried. She looked pretty, even with her cheeks puffy-red and watery eyes. Maybe in another life I would have even asked her out. She seemed easy-going and cheerful, besides we had similar taste in music, and that was already something, considering the low popularity of that particular indie genre.

There, in another life, I would have given her a tissue to dry her eyes, maybe even borrowed her my jacket, so she could take cover from a chill night May air. But at that moment, I just stood there in silence with my hands hidden in pockets.

Other people were voraciously discussing the performance, humming their favorite songs, exchanging experiences. And when he finally left the building after half an hour or so, the whole group cheered and clapped.

He smiled with his eyes sad as ever, bowed, talked a little with the bravest people in the crowd, and stated in his sharp Irish accent "Are you guys asking for another song? I got the dope on my ig that we were just going to the bar. If I knew you wanted a song, I wouldn't go out at all."

He smiled daringly, his eyes shining brightly. He was visibly enjoying all the attention. In the end he made a pacifying gesture towards his fans gathered around the exit ramp.

"Guys, guys... Okay. I'll play a song" he paused. "At the bar!"

The crowd applauded ferociously.

"But only if" he raised his index finger, "only if you find me a guitar there. I left all my equipment for the team to pack. Tomorrow I have a flight to Berlin, so we're not partying till morning, folks."

"We'll see about that," someone shouted.

"Come on man, we're going to the Old Gentleman, I'm sure they have some instruments there" some other guy motioned the artist, and we all followed.

We were a loud group of people, filled with joy of meeting their idol in person, singing along the streets of the old town.

I could see he enjoyed himself in our companionship. He didn't feel distant at all, and was far from inaccessible. There was no trace of superiority you could see in other popular people. If his fandom was any bigger, such carefree meetings would be impossible to execute.

We arrived at the bar, occupying a separate room that someone from the group had reserved prior. Soon a guitar was found and brought to the table. He played again in his usual passionate manner. The whole room was singing. I couldn't help but join, sitting at the end of the table, right next to my new colleague Anita.

The place was vibrating with happiness, enthusiasm. It was contrasting well with the sorrowful energy of the song played, dynamic yet sad. And my heart was dominated by the latter. With each passing second, each sung verse, I could feel the longing rooting deeper and deeper within my soul. To the point I couldn't take it anymore.

As soon as he stopped playing, and the crowd proceeded to fast-talk him for another piece, I stood from the table to find the bar. My head was a bit dizzy, though I didn't drink anything yet. Maybe it wasn't the greatest idea to drown my bad mood in the alcohol, but it was the only logical plan coming to my mind at that moment.

I ordered an old fashioned and proceeded to drink a little more voraciously than I should have. And then the guy appeared right next to me, out of nowhere. A strong smell of cigarettes and cologne teased my nostrils, as he leaned over the counter.

"Scotch on the rocks, please."

I squeezed my almost empty glass, observing his face closer than ever before.

"Hey, what's up?" he asked, noticing my peep.

"Good concert, man. You never stop to impress."

"I was blown away too. I muddled the lyrics only a hundred times or so. That would be much less than usually," he smiled at me, before gripping the glass handled by the barman.

"Only a hundred times? Are you sure? I might have counted some more," I replied with a smile, the booze started to get to my brain, bringing a temporary relaxation.

He laughed, sipping his drink, with his hand lying comfortably on the counter. His palm was big, I could see all the veins running from his wrist and down his fingers. The skin on their tips was visibly hard from constant pushing on the strings. Harsh hands they were. There was something very manly about them. I suddenly started to wonder how they would feel, and whether he would hold his lover as tight, as he had held that guitar of his.

I turned red, realizing my mind was running in a dangerous, inappropriate direction. A sudden realization came - he had caught me staring. In hopes he didn't guess my thoughts, I moved my drunken gaze towards his face, but couldn't read the emotion twinkling in his eyes.

"What's your name?" he asked, a mix of amusement and curiosity visible in his face.

"Max."

"You going back, Max? They want me to play some more."

"I'll be right back, just let me order another drink."

He nodded.

"What do you think I should play now?"

I frowned, surprised he was asking me for an opinion. After a short while a reply came to my mind.

"Play Another Fire. It was my ex's favorite, so don't mess up the lyrics. I know them damn too well."

"Drowning sorrows tonight, huh? Okay bud, just be careful with those drinks," he patted my back and went back to our group.

I finished my whiskey, ordered a new one and followed my idol's footsteps.

Alcohol didn't help to brighten up my mood. And combining it with Johanna's favorite song was a deadly match. My mind flew away, when he was strumming his guitar. An avalanche of sadness, anger and longing came upon me. Never in my life had I felt so lonely and detached. Four minutes of crippling sorrow, clenching around one's heart and soul.

In another fire will we burn this bright?

There was no other fire for me at that time, only loneliness, empty home, and empty bed. I put on a jacket and left the building before the song stopped playing.

I was shivering. With shaking hands I took an e-cig out of my pocket and started smoking. Leaning above the railing, a mumbled roar left my lips. Was it a mistake to come here after the show? It didn't seem like I was ready to move on with my life, to be around people and have fun on Friday nights like a normal college student I was.

"You didn't like the song? I haven't messed up the lyrics this time, have I?"

He appeared next to me, again. He pressed his back to the railing and took a pack of cigarettes out of his brown leather jacket.

I raised my head slightly and took a look at the guy. He was now gazing at me with a cigarette in between his lips.

"It was great, so great in fact that it made my heart shatter," I answered bitterly.

"Hm... have you come here alone? The girl sitting next to you seemed to seek your attention. Maybe it's worth a shot?"

I snorted, irritated with a sole thought of Anita.

"I resold her the ticket that had been bought as an anniversary gift for my ex. No, I have no interest in this girl. There should be a different woman sitting there next to me tonight."

I sighed and straightened up, not to look like some hunched-up, helpless loser.

"Can I ask you a private question?"

"About my love life?"

I nodded, blushing.

"Go on," he replied and took a drag.

"Did you find your peace of mind after Mia? It's been years, and your works seem to be deeply melancholic regardless. Does it ever get better?"

He sighed deeply before looking me in the eye with a serious expression.

"It gets better, I promise. I do sad stuff, cause it's pure. And cause the audience puts me in this box... I'm expected to hide behind a sad man's mask. But it doesn't mean sadness is the only emotion that defines me, come on."

He paused for a longer while, before continuing "after Mia... I was in a desperate position mentally. But looking at it from today's perspective, if we didn't break up, I wouldn't know many things about myself that I do know now."

"Like what?"

"Like" he leaned towards me and finished with his voice down "I also like guys."

He straightened up and continued to smoke his cigarette, smirking. He was amused, and I was looking at him with my eyes wide open, not sure why he had just told me that.

"Are you hitting on me?" I asked in shock.

"God forbid. But if you'd like to continue the evening somewhere more private, I might have a perfect spot."

He placed his hand on a balustrade, right beside my palm. His little finger subtly caressed mine. With a heart beating so loud I was afraid someone could hear its gallop, I returned the caress. I was gazing at him stunned, unsure of what was happening.

"I noticed you staring at my hands before. Do you like them?" He continued teasing.

Of course he had noticed...

"Well, I might have taken a look. I was just wondering about your guitar skills."

"Oh yes, my fingers are skilled, I can show you later."

I further blushed and turned my head away.

"I'll go say goodbye, maybe play one more song. Let's meet here in half an hour. Take your time before you decide what to do. If you're not there, I won't be mad or anything."

He entered the bar, leaving me in a state of shock, somewhere between paralysis and a heart attack.

I went back inside with my knees shaking and my head spinning. I went straight for two more whiskey shots. I visited the restroom, washed my face with cold water and looked myself deeply in the eyes.

That night was far from what I had thought it to be. Was there any reason for me to stop there? I had no one at that moment, what harm could it bring to experiment a little?

The decision was made, and it was far easier than I could have ever imagined.

I waited for him by the entrance. As soon as he came out of the building, a small group of people followed.

"Just one more song, mate. Come on," begged some drunk guy.

"Don't leave just yet, we have just started," a girl accompanied her fellow.

"It was so great to meet you all, I swear. But I have to go now!"

He ran down the stairs, pointing at the car that had just arrived.

"See? It's my ride," stated the artist firmly to the people that were now following him to the street. "Hey! I think the next Uber is yours" he shouted at me, before disappearing inside a silver Corolla.

I rushed downstairs and got into the next car, managing to omit the disappointed crowd of fans. We stopped by a nicely illuminated hotel building, just on the periphery of the strict city center. He was already there, standing by the entrance with his hands hidden in his jacket pockets. I left the car and approached the man.

"Apologies for the Uber ploy. I didn't want them to see me leaving with someone."

I nodded and looked him in the eye. We were of similar height and posture, yet his silhouette was somehow overwhelming. Was he built better than me? Or maybe I was just scared of what was about to happen...

"Hey, if you don't want to continue the night, feel free to leave. And to be precise, you may leave at any time, no matter where we're at."

"Can I think for a little while?"

"Sure."

I started smoking again to ease my nerves..

"You smoking this electronic stuff, is it good?" he asked.

"Tasty, pleasant, nice smell. Want to try?"

I gave him my device.

He took a deep drag, before stating "Not half bad. Banana flavor?"

"Yup. You never tried iqos before?"

"Nah, I'm a traditionalist. An old man like me doesn't like to change his ways."

"It seems I'm not the only first-timer tonight, then," I answered with a smirk.

He laughed honestly at my choice of words.

"Your first time? Nothing to be scared of. Let's make it pleasurable for both sides, shall we?" He raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

I took a deep breath.

"Do you have protection?"

"Sure, don't worry about that."

The look on my face must have been pretty sour, as he added "I'm not some hook-up king, don't give me that look. It's just... better safe than sorry."

I brushed it off, knowing whatever the truth, it didn't really matter. At least he was used to having rubbers, so there was a chance he was STD free.

"Okay, let's go," I commanded, not wanting to wait any more.

We entered the foyer together and headed straight to the elevator. He pressed the button with number ten, while his other hand discretely slid over the back of my head and neck. I felt a sudden shiver going down my spine, as his nimble fingers tickled my skin.

He leaned his face toward my ear and whispered "Do you like it, Max? Do you like my fingers there?"

I couldn't utter a word, so I just nodded, closing my eyes and biting my lower lip.

"I can't wait to shove them down your arse."

I felt something deep in my stomach clench at these shameless words. A wave of desire came upon me. No-one had ever talked to me that way.

His warm hand was now wandering down my back, sliding under my t-shirt and further under my trousers.

"You have such a smooth skin, Max. I wonder how it feels down there."

I turned my face towards him, our noses were now almost touching. My breath was heavy. I stared deeply in his blue eyes, noticing they were no longer sad. Now they were burning with desire.

The elevator stopped with a distinctive ringing sound and the two of us went out to the corridor. His hand was still resting on my lower back, guiding me towards our room.

He used a magnetic card to open the door, and now we were inside of a pleasantly arranged hotel bedroom. He turned on the bedside lamps for a subtler mood.

We were now facing each other by the king bed. He was devouring me with his eyes. If he liked me that much, I wasn't sure how he had been able to control himself back in the bar.

He slowly took my head into his hands, leaning towards my face.

"If you want me to stop at any point, just tell me. I won't hurt you, I promise."

"Okay," I whispered, getting closer.

Our lips clashed in an untameable longing for each other. I felt his tongue penetrating my mouth. I gave out a loud moan, as his hand grabbed my buttcheek. I clenched my arms around his waist, not even daring to stop that passionate moment.

I could feel my penis hardening, filling my pants and pushing on my partner's thigh.

Noticing a new kind of pressure resting on his leg, he reached his hand downwards and rubbed a familiar hardening through my trousers.

I let out a loud moan and broke the kiss, arching my head backwards. Immediately I felt a warm, unstoppable tongue caressing my now uncovered neck.

It was a pleasure difficult to describe. How could it be that some stranger seemed to understand my body so well?

"Max?" he asked suddenly.

"Hm?"

"Shall we start with a quick shower? I don't know about you, but I might need some refreshment."

"Sure. You want to shower... together?"

We were just making out and now I was shy all of a sudden. Ridiculous...

"If you want to join me, then yes. I may at once use this tongue of mine for more than singing."

He smirked at me and started to take off his clothes on his way to the bathroom. I did the same, following his footsteps.

Warm water spouted on our two naked bodies, wetting our hair, faces, torsos and intimate areas.