why am i obsessed with these boys

credits to Amelia

Exhilaration.

Kyle spins around the stage, strutting for what it’s worth, playing his guitar at the same time. It’s all choreography and nothing else, this intricate dance of the rockstar. He does almost the same thing every show, but somehow it hasn’t gotten old. Yet.

He prances back to the microphone, placed smack in the center of the stage. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a girl in a god-ugly green and black striped shirt being dragged onto the stage by the bouncers, apparently fainted from lack of oxygen, too much screaming, or perhaps both. He thinks What the fuck are you on, woman? but then takes the thought back.

Kyle knows lack of oxygen very well. He knows lack of oxygen very intimately, in fact. It comes when you just can’t get enough of someone, so that you spend nearly every moment wanting to kiss them or touch them where it is most indecent. In Kyle’s brain this manifests itself in the form of small kisses. Yes, just like that, a swipe of tongue, brief and leaving him wanting more, so that he just has to lean forward again, and again, and again.

He allows himself a small moment of indulgence as he relieves this memory in his head, short and overplayed. The fans see Kyle’s lips form a beautiful pout, dark and pink. Digital cameras and handphones smuggled into the arena flash, capturing his face in multiple angles and perspectives that will surely be all over the internet by the next day, along with keyboard smashes as captions and “dickherber’s so hot!!!11!!”. Kyle thinks they abuse his surname mercilessly.

Romans reads the forums sometimes. Kyle tells him to stay away from the slash fic that the fans write, products of their deprived minds and hormone overload, but Romans won’t listen. As such there have been many traumatized screams of dismay throughout the house, and Kyle listens to these and smirks to himself. The fics are full of the Ben/Ethan that the girls dub “Bethan”, Kyle/anyone, and the tween stories involving Charlie Guese, who is admittedly a heck of a lot cuter than Joe is, but Kyle doesn’t care. The fans don’t know Joe like Kyle does, hair brushing his neck and lips parted in that ever-present slightly vacant expression, sweat drops on his neck and shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.

There was that one time Joe picked up Kyle’s guitar, and shredded on it, testing out the feel. Now, when Kyle plays, he can’t think of much except the feel of Joe’s fingers, hot under his shirt; can’t bear to play the strings for fear that his own touch would erase the memory of Joe’s fingers; if he closes his eyes hard enough he thinks he sometimes can feel the imprint of Joe’s fingerprints on the fretboard, can hear Joe saying Hello can I play your guitar? I’ve been wanting to try it out, see how it feels. At that time Kyle was still pretty much new to the band, but now he knows Guese well enough to think that maybe if Joe tries that line on him again, he could come back with a Why, isn’t knowing how I feel good enough for you? He can never think of the good comebacks in time to say them.

The fans are going wild now, as Guese does his thing with the blue guitar, playing out his kickass wicked solo, head bent over the fretboard. Kyle thinks Joe looks slightly anaemic under the spotlight, but this is normal. He’s not sure if Joe’s trying to project sullen or shy or perhaps both, but the fans are loving every minute of it. The wide eyes and the parted lips that appear when Joe’s not staring down fixatedly at his fretboard are rare, but their manager tells them this is the kind of distracted rockstar look the fans like, and Kyle thinks perhaps for once this is not just a complete load of bull.

At one point in the concert Kyle struts over to Joe and bends over so he’s playing his guitar right next to Joe’s. Joe determinedly doesn’t look up from his playing, despite Kyle’s hair brushing his arm gently and how Kyle’s ridiculously pointy white shoes look, shoved next to his own black Chucks, the laces coming undone on one side. At one point, Kyle breathes out, right into Joe’s ear, and gives this little devilish delicious smile that says perfectly I know you know you want me, Guese.

But because slash on stage is not exactly part of their image, and also because the crowd includes more than a fair share of tweens, Joe cannot let go of his guitar and put his fingers to better use grabbing Kyle’s head and keeping it in place for a kiss, all tongue and maybe teeth (the stage is not the right place for gentleness).

So Joe settles for the next best thing- Kyle is bent nearly double to get down to his height, and if he angles his head, like this, he can lick Kyle’s neck. So he does. This is revenge like the gay boys do it.

Kyle gasps and fumbles a chord, even nearly plays it wrong, but Joe doesn’t think anyone notices. He thinks Kyle tastes slightly salty, probably from the sweat, and beneath that, a hint of mint and musk, partly from Kyle’s deodorant, and partly from his own distinctive smell.

Joe thinks that no one really knows what intense, wonderful exhilaration feels like until you’ve licked the neck of Kyle Patrick in front of thousands of other girls screaming his name, and gotten away with it.

Kyle spins away, dizzy from the moment, heady from the intoxication of being near Joe. When he finally gets back to the mike and sings the song like he’s supposed to, the fans reach their hands forward, trying to get just that little bit closer to him, but Kyle’s not concerned with giving the crowd what they want anymore. He knows who he wants.

So when he opens his mouth and sings into the mike You can love you can lust you can use me he knows who he’s singing it for, and it’s definitely not for the fans.

I’ll be here forever even if you leave
And if you look for something better
Soon you’ll say that you’re addicted to me.

(Addicted To Me/The Click Five)

~ by sydney on June 4, 2008.