In the dark, who do I cry to?
In my pain, who do I turn to?
You walked away, deserted me
And left me to pick up the pieces. That's all I see.
Why did you have to go
To a place you know I do not know
I'm sorry but I cannot follow you there
I will not come to you. That's the truth I fear.
In the dark, who do I cry to?
In my pain, who do I turn to?
You walked away, deserted me
And left me to pick up the pieces. That's all I see.
By the time Lars finished writing, he felt drained. There was nothing he loved more that the rush of the words pouring out of his mind, searching for the music that would give them life. But no matter how much he loved the writing, he could not help but hate the way it made him feel when he was done with it.
Tired. He was always tired. If he were home now, he would have either gone to bed or worked out for an hour to get rid of the fatigue. Unfortunately, he wasn't at home, but he could start the chain of events that would lead him to lifting the weight. The first thing, though, would be handing the song to Jason.
At that thought, Lars stood up from the chair, tucked the sheets of music in a folder and walked out of the room. He took a couple of turns until he came to the room the band used for their practice sessions. As he got close to the door, he hoped that the three band members were together so they could go through the song and decide if they liked it or not.
Lars pushed open the door and entered the room. The size of the place never ceased to amaze him. It had high vaulted ceilings that helped to ensure that the acoustics in the room were good—something he was sure the band had requested. The soundproof glass kept the music in the room in and prevented the band from being distracted by outside sounds. The side of the room that did not contain musical instruments had lush rugs that he knew many a band member had laid upon. Everything in the room was done up in a blue and green, giving it a somewhat serene feel.
The serene feeling was shattered by the music produced by Terr and their instruments. Jason was the first to notice his presence and motioned for the others to stop.
He stretched out the folder to Jason and mumbled, "I'm done with it."
Jason accepted the folder and moved to sit on one of the rugs. After he stretched out, he flipped the folder open and began to read. Lars watched Jason move his head to a rhythm he could hear in his head; his hands twitched like he was playing an instrument as he mouthed the words to the song. By the time he was done, he nodded and gave the folder to Theophilus, who carried out the same motions. Theophilus then handed the folder to Carlos.
After all three had seen the song, there was silence for a while until Theophilus spoke. "You did good. Thank you."
The others echoed the words as well.
"We'll have to get a keyboardist for this song," Jason said. "There are some parts that need only the pure sound of a keyboard to accompany it."
"I thought so, too," Lars agreed.
"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I think I'm done for the week. I won't be available this weekend, so I'll see you guys on Monday." And with those words, Jason picked up the duffel bag that was on the floor, gave Theophilus a long look and walked out of the room.
"Well, I have a date with two señoritas who promised to make this weekend worth my while, so ciao." Carlos picked up his wallet from the table and walked out of the room whistling.
Lars felt the temperature in the room pick up as Theophilus' gaze seemed to burn into him. "So, you're done with the last song."
Theophilus licked his lips before replying. "Yes, I am."
"Your work with Acceptance is done."
"Wait a minute. Acceptance? You're naming the album Acceptance?"
"Quit trying to change the subject, Larson. Your work with Acceptance is done. Now we can concentrate on us."
Lars moved and entwined his arms around Theophilus' neck. "Yes, we can. Any suggestions on what we should do now?"
The only reply he got was Theophilus raising him up against the wall and taking his mouth in a thorough kiss that had Lars gasping for breath when they came up for air.
"I can think of a couple of things." Lars shivered lightly. The weekend was looking better and better.
*~*~*
Phil knew he should slow down soon. If he rushed this, he won't have memories to savour later. He had been looking forward to this day for a very long time, and when he had planned the night in his head, it had included dinner, some Bordeaux, and light music before sex.
His cock, though, was not having it. His entire body kept screaming for him to take Lars already. He'd be damned if he didn't.
Getting to Terr's jet at the airport had been tricky because Lars had his hands all over Phil. Damn! It had taken all his self-control not to pull the car over and have Lars give him the blowjob his eyes and mouth had promised. But Phil didn't see any reason why they should rush. They had all the time in the world available to them, and he wanted to do it right and comfortably in his apartment in New York. After the short flight and a limousine ride, they were now in said apartment, and Phil had had his tongue in Lars' navel.
With the moans that Lars had been steadily releasing, Phil knew that he enjoyed the sensation. He lapped at the navel well and did a little wiggle with his tongue that earned him a slight sigh.
Phil pulled himself upwards and created a wet trail with his tongue. He circled his tongue around a nipple and pulled it slightly which made the hands in his hair tighten. He pulled and tugged on the nipple until he was suitable satisfied and moved on to pay homage to the second nipple as well.
With that done, he mouthed Lars' neck slightly, then scrapped Lars' jaw with his teeth, and then covered Lars' mouth with his. Lars welcomed him in, and their tongues glided against each other until Lars decided to suck hard on Phil's tongue.
When Phil removed his mouth to nip at Lars' neck, Lars pulled away and asked, "Lube? Condom?"
"Bottom drawer to the right." Phil heard the hoarseness in his voice but was distracted by the curve of Lars' ass as he bent to retrieve the condoms and the lube.
Phil was about to reach out and caress that ass when Lars turned, holding his prizes in both hands, grinned, dropped them on the bed and straddled Phil. "Now, I think I mentioned something about a blowjob before you stopped me earlier."
And with those words, he dipped down low, nuzzled Phil's balls, took them into this mouth and rolled them around. Phil grabbed at the sheets and held on tight. Touching Lars at the point he was at would definitely result in Lars losing more than a couple of strands of hair.
Lars released the balls with a pop, gave Phil a saucy wink, moved his mouth to the head of Phil's cock and swallowed. Phil heard the groan that came from his lungs, but all he could concentrate on was the heat of Lars' mouth and the sucking motion Lars was doing.
Phil's fingers tightened further when Lars pulled back to run his tongue around the head of Phil's cock. When he felt the glide of Lars' tongue close to his slit, he sat up and pulled Lars away from his cock. "If you keep doing that, I will come in your mouth. I've been looking forward to this for so long, I want us both to enjoy it together." Phil leaned in to kiss Lars then nudged him to kneel on the bed and bend over.
Phil poured some lube on his hands and used them to coat his fingers. When he was sure they were slick enough, he slowly pushed one finger into Lars' hole, waiting for Lars to get used to the intrusion. When he was certain that Lars had adjusted, Phil slowly slipped in a second finger and then made scissor-like motions with his fingers until he heard Lars hiss.
"Get on with it already."
Phil grinned, slid on the condom, rubbed more lube on his cock and carefully and slowly pushed into Lars, pausing intermittently for Lars to adjust to his size When he was certain he was fully buried inside Lars' ass, his hands holding tightly to Lars' arms, he pulled out then pushed back in, thrusting faster to t
he cries of Lars encouraging him to move.
He closed his eyes and felt only the sensation of being inside Lars. His balls tightened and leaned forward to stroke Lars' cock in time with his thrusts. He felt Lars' body jerk as Lars came, and his body shook hard as his own orgasm followed shortly after.
Phil quickly fell to the bed with a thud, his eyes closing in exhausted sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. Somewhere at the back of his mind, just before he drifted off to the land of dreams, Phil noted he should wake Lars up so he could adjust himself and sleep more comfortably. Falling asleep with his ass stuck in the air like that would make for a pretty uncomfortable morning for Lars. Unfortunately, the note remained in the back of his mind and didn't manifest into action.
*~*~*
Lars felt the prickly sensation of the sunlight warming his face. It was comforting but, sadly enough, pulled him from the world of dreams to consciousness. The bed he was lying on was soft and so were the sheets. So, why did his body feel like he had spent the night contorted in a box that had set sail for another country? With all the aches he felt at the moment, he now knew how stowaways in stories must have felt.
Lars opened his eyes only to discover the reason why everything hurt. He had fallen asleep with his legs curled beneath him and his upper body curved to the side. The sex the previous night had tired them both, but he was the only one who had been in an uncomfortable position—bent and on his knees—before they had fallen asleep. Obviously, he had been too tired to rearrange himself during the night.
He took a moment to glare at Theophilus. The idiot didn't even have the courtesy to shift him around so he could sleep properly. Of course, said idiot was sleeping comfortably, so what else did he expect?
After he got over being miffed, he smiled at the sight of Theophilus looking so peaceful in his sleep. Lars debated waking him up but decided instead to explore the apartment.
The living room held nothing of interest for him, so he moved on. The room beside it was the kitchen, and the room across that was the study. He was contemplating going back to the bedroom to see if Theophilus was awake when he noticed another room.
The room was locked, but the skeleton key was still in the keyhole. His curiosity piqued, Lars unlocked the door and walked into the room. The first thing he noticed was the picture of someone who looked a lot like an older Theophilus.
Daemon.
The next thing he noticed was the way the room looked lived in and yet had a deserted feel to it, like its owner rushed out, left his things all over the place and had not returned yet.
"The room is Daemon's."
Lars started at the unexpected sound of Theophilus' voice.
"Is? Don't you mean was?" Lars asked, curious.
"The room is Daemon's. You're shouldn't be in here."
"I'm sorry. I saw the key, and I'm afraid my curiosity got the best of me." Lars hesitated about speaking but shrugged it off. They were in a relationship, and he saw no reason why he couldn't ask. "Why have you kept the room like you expect Daemon to return? You know he's not coming back, yet you left everything like he will return soon. That's not going to help you heal."
"And what gives you the right to make such assumptions? It is my decision to do with this room as I deem fit. Butt out."
Lars knew he should have let it go. There was no reason why he should keep talking; besides, it could all get messy. But he didn't stop, and the words just came pouring out. "I know it isn't. But don't you think doing things like this is the reason why it is taking you so long to move on? Keeping this room and torturing yourself with the memory of your brother this way can only make the pain more acute. I'm sure this is the reason why you've not written anything in a while. You're not even allowing the words to help you heal and purge you of the feelings of devastation and loss that you have."
Theophilus was quiet for a moment, and Lars wondered if maybe his words had gotten to him. That is until he saw those eyes fill with anger. "It still boils down to how the hell is that your business? You keep harping about me moving on and writing my songs. Do you even realise that if I can write, I won't need a songwriter anymore? I won't need you."
Lars started to reply, but Theophilus barrelled on. "Besides, you should learn to listen to yourself some time. You accuse me of not allowing the words to help me heal and not moving on because I decided to keep the memory of my brother alive when you're doing exactly the same thing."
"What are you talking about?"
"You shut yourself, your music, from the rest of the world because you're afraid and because you had a jackass for an ex-boyfriend. Have you moved on? No! Now you might not graduate, and you have the nerve to tell me that I'm not fighting my demons? Who are you to judge?" Theophilus breathed heavily. The words seemed to have left him as weak as they had left Lars.
Theophilus, Lars discovered, was not done talking.
"I will start to write the day you decide to open yourself to the outside world and are able to convince your psychologist and professor that you've done so."
Lars felt his legs move. They took him into Theophilus' bedroom, and his hands reached out and started to pack his stuff into his bag. He turned and saw Theophilus by the door.
"What are you doing?" Theophilus asked.
Lars wasn't sure how to answer. He did not regret the words he had spoken to Theophilus, but he needed some time to think about what Theophilus had said. There was only one place where he knew he could do that. "I'm going home," Lars said and pushed past Theophilus.
"Wait! I'll take you."
"Don't bother," Lars said without looking back. "I'll find my way." He closed the front door behind him.
*~*~*
Phil's sneakered feet pounded the pavement. He pumped his hands as he jogged to the sound of Metallica wailing in his ears. He needed the cacophony of sounds. He needed to not think because he knew that if he allowed himself to think, then the memory of what happened would begin to bug him again.
Once again, he had allowed his anger and pain to decide the words he spoke, and this time around, it wasn't to Jason, Carlos or Howard—who all would have shrugged it off—but to someone he had begun to really care about. Someone who did not deserve such an attack. He could not even call Lars because he knew that until he could finally sort through his feelings about Daemon's death, he was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
Phil took a turn at the end of the street and took the shortcut into the park. It had been a long month of putting finishing touches to Acceptance and talking with the producers about a release date. A month without Lars.
Lars hadn't even come to listen to the final demo of the album when Jason had invited him to the studio. Lars had made his apologies over the phone and immediately hung up.
It had been very difficult, what with all that was said between them and the others had been the one to bear the brunt of it all. When Jason had finally snapped at Phil to go get his act together because no one was ready to be his babysitter or shrink, he had packed a bag and gone to his lake house in California with the hope that the peace and tranquillity of the area would help. His not having cell phone reception was an added advantage.
Unfortunately, it had done nothing to rid him of the gnawing feeling in his gut nor had it helped to settle the restlessness he felt. He was still angry at the world, and he was fast running out of options that could help.
Phil glanced down at his watch. He had been jogging for more than an hour already. It was time he stopped. He slowed down until he came to a complete stop, did some stretches and a couple of cooling down exercises and guzzled down half the contents of his water bottle.
Phil lay down on the grass and stared at the sky—a beautiful shade of blue, just like Lars' eyes. Daemon always told him that whenever he found someone who would look past his anger and still tell him the truth, he should hold on to the person. Just because they were men didn't mean that they should give in to the stereotype of being pig-headed and unwilling to deal with the
ir emotions. Daemon believed that if you like someone, then you should put your all into having them like you back. If they liked you back, then you should put your all into keeping them. Daemon, who had pursued Jason fervently for months, would hate to see his younger brother so pathetic. It looked like it was time.
Phil raised himself up and began the slow trek back to his house. It looked like he had some writing to do.
*~*~*
He could sense someone's eyes on him. As he slowly drifted back to consciousness, Phil wondered why Jason finally decided to come and see him. With the harsh words they had exchanged when Jason had advised him to go and get his "shit back together," he had not expected to hear from him anytime soon.
How did he know that it was Jason who was persistently looking at his meant-to-be-sleeping form? Easy enough. Only two other people had keys to his place, and Carlos was not a quiet person. He would have woken him up the very minute he arrived. It had to be Jason.
"And to what do I owe this unexpected visit?" Phil asked. "I thought you weren't going to see me again until I returned to my senses."
Phil waited for Jason to say something or even make a sound. He usually did when Phil acted all "prissy" on him.
The silence started to worry him, so he cracked his eyes only to see Jason holding the sheets and papers filled with writing that he recognised.
He had gotten home and allowed the words to pour out. The end result was what Jason now held in his hands. Phil closed his eyes and the words came back to him.
Letting you go is hard
Not doing so is harder
The thought of not having you near is sad
But the need to move on is greater
I wish we had been given forever
But I cherish the little time we had together.
It's time to let go of the pain
It's time to release the burden and the shame
It's time for me to forgive myself
It's time for me to move on.
The problem is how to do so
Talk is cheap, doing, not so much
There are various suggestions from everyone though
Rocking Hard, Volume 2 Page 33
