Lips; those smoothly rough lips; those tenderly aggressive touches; that pungent smell of cologne, not perfume

only that rigidness, masculinity; only that lust, only that craving. They understood each other. What each other wanted. The way Ethan caressed him, the way his facial hair grated against the bristly stubble on his face…enthralled Munky. Ethan’s boxy hands had reached for Munky. Ethan’s childish lips sucked on his tenderly, their tongues flicking romantically into each other’s mouths.

What they were doing was so wrong, but to them, it was so right.

Munky’s stubbly cheeks flushed scarlet blood. His heart pulsated desperately inside his rib cage. Already trembling, the tight notch in his pants rose, his upper thighs tensing. He caressed the back of Ethan’s neck. Munky’s hand rose into his hair. For the first time, he ran his large hands between the greased points on Ethan’s head.

Their kiss was rough compared to what Munky was used to. Ethan had never kissed a woman. With Ethan, there was no such thing as "rough". It didn’t take Munky long to realize that he didn’t have to worry about that anymore, either, and as their kisses rose into an aggressive fervor, he totally and completely lost himself.

Their embrace ended in a storm of fluttering kisses, hot breath, and broken shudders. But only momentarily. Munky’s hand, which had a firm grip on the back of his neck, pulled Ethan’s beautiful face back to his. The flavor of him was nothing short of nirvana. Bliss. Munky knew the truth about himself. He could keep that secret. He could.

He was very nervous.

Ethan’s hand wandered over Munky’s body, still strapped to the seat with the passenger seatbelt of Ethan’s platinum silver Camaro. The smell of the tan leather interior mixed with their slightly perspiring bodies. Windows were fogging. Suddenly, Ethan’s hand settled in Munky’s lap. He covered the bump protruding from Munky’s khakis. From instinct, Munky lifted his hips into Ethan’s light grip, which tightened as Munky did so. Ethan began stroking Munky from over his khakis, giving Munky a scratching, rough, utterly wonderful sensation. His carnal desire for Ethan made his breath come in short gasps. He grasped blindly for the latch to his seatbelt, writhing beneath the restraint. He managed to undo it, and leaned forward toward Ethan when the belt buckle gave.

"Chink" as it rattled back and secured in place.

Rubs, caresses, large, coarse hands in place of the soft, cautious wanderings of a woman’s tailored fingertips.

They separated just long enough to get out of the car and meet each other again around the front. They were so eager and passionate that neither could wait to go to Ethan’s apartment. They were in the apartment parking lot, off to the side, near a crop of bushes. Good enough privacy for them at that moment.

The first thing Ethan did as he pressed Munky’s back against of the car was remove his camouflage. The A.D.I.D.A.H. hat and Raybans were discarded. Munky, for the first time, saw how soft and pink Ethan’s flushed, baby face truly was, how pure green his eyes shone in the moonlight. Ethan studied Munky’s exposed face, satisfied. His eyes fluttered absentmindedly as he moved closer to Munky, so close that their pelvis bones clashed, their tight groins rubbing through their pants. Munky’s legs spread wide. Munky moaned quietly when Ethan lifted his legs up. Ethan wrapped Munky’s muscular legs around his waist, and Munky squeezed hard. It was all so delicious, the feeling of that eagerness in his partner. A rigid eagerness, just as pulsating and obtrusive as his own. Munky began with a slight thrust, and they continued on passionately, their kiss halting momentarily when, in the heat of passion, Munky pulled Ethan’s slim waist so much more between his thighs, to intensify the burning friction.

Ethan began to methodically massage Munky’s behind. Ethan muttered something unintelligible in Munky’s ear—but Munky had an idea of what he was saying. The heat in his touch was so tempting, sweeping him into an aching oblivion he didn’t want to recover from. That wanting—there was only one way to cease this wanting…

Munky’s arms had wrapped around Ethan’s shoulders, his legs still wrapped tightly around his waist. Both pain and pleasure coursed through him. Ethan pressed him viciously into the side of the car. Munky’s legs shook in effort as he struggled to keep that position, that position where with each thrust Ethan made him come that much closer to a glorious release. From Ethan’s breathing, Munky could tell he was almost ready too. He began to move faster, and so did Munky. Ethan’s grip on Munky’s two legs lifted them higher. Squeezing.

Tap on the shoulder. Ethan spun around. Munky kept moving on Ethan even after he had turned. When he did, it was hard for Munky to keep his position, and his legs fell from around Ethan’s like two heavy weights. Munky fell to the ground. His tight groin screamed in pain. Knees hit the pavement hard. Pins and needles in his legs as he struggled to stand.

"Hey, what are you two doing, you fucking fagets?" came a rough voice.

Ethan let out a long, slow breath. He was shaking. Munky managed to grab the edge of the car and pull himself back up again. He did with a groan. Through the dark, he could just make out two dark figures, just out of the light cast by a nearby light post.

"I asked, what are you two fucking fagets doing?"

"Nothing. We’ll just be going. Come on, Tom."

Munky didn’t react at first. Ethan looked at him urgently. "Go get my keys, Tom," he ordered softly.

Munky had told Ethan his real name. Ethan knew everything. Knew that he was in Korn, that he was just new to this whole gay thing.

Luckily, Ethan had understood. Being Tom, therefore, was something Munky didn’t have to fake for Ethan. It was something he had to fake for those two somber, threatening silhouettes.

Slowly, Munky walked around the back of the car and opened the driver door. He took out the keys. An automatic, like the two cars Munky had at home. He closed all of the windows before getting out. Then he locked the doors, and the simultaneous clicking of the locks seemed apparently profound at that moment. Also, without a second thought, he set the alarm, and all heard the single, loud beep and the flashing of car lights before all was once again plunged into a dark silence.

Munky felt no safer. Now, he just felt vulnerable. He was suddenly unsure that getting out of the car was the best thing.

The Shadows hadn’t stepped forward yet to reveal themselves. One of them, and the same one as before, the bigger one, began to talk. He gestured frantically with his hands as he did, and Ethan and Munky watched his darkened appendages as they waved back and forth. He paced. "You know, a couple years ago, I saw two fagets fucking. In an alley. And you know what? It was the fucking most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my entire life. You fucking cock suckers have no business messing up this fine fucking city with rim jobs and whatever the hell else it is you do. You sick fucks should all be locked up…goddammit…"

Munky checked Ethan’s expression: carefully guarded, although his virile hands had bawled into fists. His hard muscles began to contract as he listened on. His soft jaw had turned sharp as he grated his teeth. Tears were threatening to well in his eyes.

The man went on babbling, oblivious. "I fucking hate you butt fuckers. I don’t know why you’re so fucking sick." He growled.

"Sir, we were just going back to my place. Sorry that you saw what you did," Ethan said, talking to the angered man as a studious child would to an agitated schoolteacher.

Why was Ethan taking this shit? He wasn’t sticking up for himself. The scars on his wrists shone a dull gray between the pulsing veins pumping blood to his balled fists.

Munky realized why: Ethan dealt with being hated every day. Every fucking day.

"Yeah, you better be fucking sorry." The man stepped out of the shadows, and Ethan and Munky took in how big the man truly was. Inked from head to toe. Bald head. Biker bum. Tight jeans, an impending beer belly, traditional goatee, black eyes. Kid Rock fan—Munky could tell from the T-Shirt. "I’m just trying to decide whether or not to fuck you up right now."

A sudden movement, and the rest was a blur. Munky attacked the silent one, whose glinting knife caught Munky’s attention. He slashed Ethan’s shoulder before Munky took him down. Hard. The knife scattered onto the pavement several feet away. To his right, Ethan and the big man thudded onto the ground, punching and grasping for each other’s necks. Irritated growls from both parties roared into the night. The big man dominated Ethan, and suddenly, blood pouring from his gash, Ethan began to yelp as he was smothered.

"That’s right, bitch. Cry like the little fagot you are—"

Munky punched the silent one so hard that blood spurted from his mouth. When he looked to his side for a split second and saw Ethan in dire need of his help, he got up, and knocked Big Guy onto the ground. Munky got the upper hand quickly. Ethan lay on the ground, whimpering, limp.

Munky held down Big Guy. He had his neck in a death grip. Blood welled up in Big Guy’s face, just beneath his cheeks.

Munky had never been seriously called a fagot. Sure, he was called it in fights, or just jokingly. It had always stung, but never, ever, had it packed the punch it had tonight. He told himself that he was, indeed a fagot. Okay. The writhing homophobe beneath him, now begging, made him irate.

For one simple reason: he had no right.

Munky lifted one hand up fast and punched the man in the face. Then, again, again, again. His eyes watered from the effort.

Finally, the man stopped his struggle. Blood dripped from Munky’s knuckles.

"Oh, man…Ethan," Munky whispered breathlessly. He placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, just above the wound. Ethan’s eyes winced in response, and his hand found Munky’s and squeezed. "Look, we should get you to a hospital—"

"No. No. No. Not going anywhere but away from these assholes."

"But we should—"

"No."

"Why not?" Munky protested, agitated. That gash looked pretty deep. Blood was creeping from it at a fantastic rate. It would crust up, heal, and become another scar to add to the others. If it didn’t get infected. Or gangrenous.

"No—" Ethan grimaced in pain. "I’m not messing up my leather interior."

Munky smiled. Ethan let out a flimsy laugh. Munky took off his shirt and tied it tight around Ethan’s wound. Struggling together, Munky managed to bring Ethan to his feet, and together they quickly limped away from the two fallen figures, and into the apartment building. They ignored offers for help from the people in the lobby. Room on the tenth floor.

Wow, it was a nice apartment. He was on the top floor. The apartment door opened into a combination kitchen and living room, where Munky let Ethan sit down finally. Quickly, Munky dashed into Ethan’s bathroom and found rubbing alcohol

and gauze, as well as gauze tape. He would convince Ethan to go to the doctor’s the next morning. But meanwhile, that would have to do.

Dressing the wound wasn’t that hard. Ethan took off his shirt. He accepted a highlighter Munky gave him, to bite into while Munky cleaned out the wound with alcohol. After, Munky let the cut air out for a couple of minutes, until he could see the blood on the wound begin to congeal. Then, he cleaned it again. And waited. When it congealed a second time, and the bleeding slowed, he tightly wrapped the wound and put plenty of tape on it to keep it on secure. When he was done, he kissed Ethan’s sweaty forehead. Ethan’s eyes were dilated and glassy. His exhaustion was apparent in the way that he slouched, as if he wished his body would meld into the cushions of his plush black velvet couch.

"Hey, man, you going to be okay?"

Ethan’s eyes took a second to focus. A shiver of worry raced up Munky’s spine. He nodded after a second. His tongue had swollen, slurring his words. "It’ll be fine."

"How do you know?"

He smiled sadly. "I know. I’m tough. I’ve been through—" he swallowed his thick saliva. "—worse." As an afterthought, he added, "Thanks, though."

"For what?" Munky made Ethan wrap his good arm around his shoulder. He lifted up Ethan’s limp body. Together, they struggled to Ethan’s bedroom. Ethan laid down on it.

Before Munky joined him, he stripped down to his boxers. Ethan watched out of the corner of his eye. He grinned tiredly. Munky looked at Ethan on the bed, his legs spread slightly, his pants camouflaging his slender legs. Munky wanted to see what he looked like without his clothes on. It was a desire he felt somewhat uncomfortable with, but he still wanted to see, anyway. Badly. Munky ran his hand down his own chest at the thought, not even realizing that he had done so.

He sat on the bed next to where Ethan lay.

Their eyes met. Their eyes stayed locked as Munky took off his thick black belt, undid the button to Ethan’s black pants. Munky slid them off with his hands, then his foot. Then, without a word, Munky slipped his thumb underneath Ethan’s black silky boxers and pulled them down, again taking them off with his foot when his hands could no longer reach. Still locked in a gaze, Munky took off his boxers. He draped one of his legs over both of Ethan’s. Munky rested a hand on Ethan’s collarbone, lightly fingering his neck as he let out a long, slow breath. In the dark, like this…heavenly.

His concern for Ethan didn’t fade when after a minute Ethan began to talk once again. He was just tired, he said, he hadn’t slept for two days. That’s all he needed: a couple hours of sleep. Then, he would be just peachy. The cut wasn’t very deep, but that kind of stuff always bleeds a lot, anyway. A "surface scratch", he called it. Goodnight, Jimmy.

"Goodnight."

They fell asleep like that, on top of the silk covers of Ethan’s California king. Ethan’s spiky hair and Munky’s rough dreadlocks shared a pillow as they snuggled together, their naked bodies comfortably compatible.

It wasn’t easy street from here on in for Munky. In fact, he was doomed: no matter how much he loved another man, he was quite literally only a cock sucker to the rest of the world. Love has no gender, no creed, no religion. Love is blind, the winged cherub Cupid its master, who strikes with deadly accuracy despite his ivory blindfold.

But love is also next door to hate. And hated they were.

Ethan would forever bear the scars of hate, on his wrists, his legs, his arms, and his shoulder. Such a beautiful creature marred by despise, bearing the price of his passions on his milky skin permanently.

Munky had been tested. He was about to be tested again.

Secrets are kept, but not for long.

………………………………………………………………………

Head was alone. In his hotel room. Drinking in the shower. Trying to forget.

Love is also random. Love can be shameful. True love is to one person, and one person alone. And that person is, sometimes, unlike the others loved.

Head loved someone different from the others he had loved in his life. He suffered from his feelings for this person. He would rather die than confess to it. Head’s love had blossomed over many years, had started a long time ago as a friendship and since bloomed like a flower.

Head refused to consummate his love with this person, because he himself vehemently believed against it. He adored his wife, his daughter, with all his heart. But this unrequited affection overwhelmed him at times.

This was one of those times.

Head wanted to hold him, to do with him what scared them both so: make love to him. He wanted to be gentle, to touch him and hold him and tickle him and massage him. Fall asleep sober with him in his arms, not drunk, as he had done for the past couple of days.

But was Head willing to risk the best friendship he had ever had in his entire life to tell this person how he felt? Would the one he secretly lusted for return his affections if he knew? Head had many reasons to assume that he wouldn’t. Would Head ever again be able to face his wife, knowing that he had betrayed her in the worst way? His little daughter wouldn’t know how much her father had shamed her until she was a lot older, and had the capacity to hate.

(Love is next door to hate)

Shut up! Just shut up!

Head tried to push those thoughts out of his head. As far as he was concerned, entertaining the thought of actually telling him of his feelings, after all these years, was too much. How would he react? Head didn’t know. How would Head himself react if any other man besides the one he loved wanted him?

He would probably spit in the fucker’s face. As a rule, he hated

( himself)

fagots.

The questions in his head ceased after much effort, but only temporarily. The alcohol made his mind as slippery as the damp shower floor he sat on. His worries eventually moseyed back, as he knew they would.

Head yearned to visit him in his hotel room, but figured that his love wanted to be alone tonight. What had happened in the shower after the show had ripped Head’s heart in half. That woman could love him…could have him…but Head could never.

(Love has no gender)

It tore Head to pieces to see him with someone else right in front of his face.

Head loved him more than he loved anyone else in the world, even more than his own wife.

Which scared Head. Kept him up many nights.

What Head felt for him was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. For years he’d struggled with his inclinations, with the incessant cravings he fought every time he gazed into his love’s chocolate brown eyes. He could never be with him…that’s why Head wanted him to be happy as possible. Why he went out of his way to make sure that everything was just peachy. Why it hurt Head when he slept around with all these women. As long as he was happy, Head could convince himself that he was happy, too.

They could never be together. It was wrong for them to ever be together. At first, Head thought he could come to accept that after a while, but as time passed reality just got harder to swallow. What he felt was infeasible. What he felt was impossible.

It was impossible.

Impossible.

Head downed another Bud Light and formed a name with his lips. The name had always tasted like chocolate, but tonight it was sour. He covered his wet eyelids with two pruned fingers.

Some of the truest love is that which tortures.

……………………………………………………………….

The next morning…

"Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah."

The phone had a shit load of buttons. It was a cordless, next to the bed on an expensive-looking ivory bed stand with four claw-like feet. One thing was for sure: Ethan had good taste. It was a really nice bed stand.

He was gay: of course he had good taste. Some stereotypes hold true.

"Just press this button that says ‘Power’. See? And to talk…push that button. See, it says ‘Talk’?" Munky laughed aloud and punched Ethan in his good arm softly. Ethan had leaned over him to show him what to do, and Munky was more concerned with enjoying the feeling of his body on top of his than with the phone.

"Don’t you have a cordless or cell phone or something of your own?"

Munky nodded tiredly. He yawned. "Yes, but I also have a hangover."

Ethan got off of him and rolled over. "Well, okay. But I can still use a cell phone when I’m drunk."

"I’m not drunk. I have a hangover."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Ethan got out of bed and stretched. Munky was dialing numbers, but he hesitated for a moment when he saw completely how beautiful Ethan’s body was. How lean, how god like. He was thin; not too muscular, just enough muscle definition to imply fitness. He must work out. Munky didn’t work out; he was just skinny. Obviously, Ethan didn’t mind. He turned around to see Munky looking at him. He winked.

"How’s your arm?"

"It’s okay. A little sore." Ethan tested his arm by stretching it out to the side, making a fist, and twisting it around. "I’ll live."

"That’s good."

They exchanged a short, questioning glare. Munky saw the desire in his eyes, and reciprocated it. They wanted each other. Now. Munky considered putting down the phone and postponing his due phone call. It was about noon. He missed the press conference meeting that morning. He knew he was in deep shit with his manager, as well as with the rest of the band. Good thing they weren’t performing that day; just practicing later on. Their next performance was on the other side of Chicago the next night.

Yes, he wondered whether he should just put that phone down for now and delay the wrath of the almighty powers.

But Ethan walked out the door. Munky watched him go. Ethan turned around and said quietly, "Make that phone call, and then meet me in the shower."

"No. Stay here." Munky began dialing the numbers again. He could make it quick.

"On second thought, I’ll be right back."

Talk button.

The phone rang once, twice, three times. On a whim, he had decided to call the band’s private phone on the tour bus. Right now, calling his manager’s cell phone was a bad idea. He just wanted to let Head and the other guys know that he was okay, and that he would be back in about an hour.

He got the answering machine. He waited through the welcoming message by Fieldy:

"Yo homie G wat’s down in da hood? Props to mah ma an’ mah pa…"

Ethan tiptoed into the room. Munky held up a finger, telling him to wait a minute.

"…an’ to all da fuckas back at Long Beach. Baby, if dis is you, I miss ya, girl. Ya know how dis shit go, so… leave a message afta da beep, mutha fucka. An’ if we answer ya back, we like ya. If we don’, we be avoidin’ ya, so don’ even front—"

Ethan kneeled down before Munky. He didn’t fool around. He reached one hand between Munky’s legs and began fondling him. Munky was about to tell him to stop, but he heard the "beep" and knew it was too late. He considered hanging up, but he didn’t know where the power button was. His mild headache—and his quickly hardening crotch—were making it impossible to concentrate.

Before the first word was even out of Munky’s mouth, he was in Ethan’s mouth.

"Uh—hi guys. Munk’s here. Just wanted to tell you that—"

Ethan began to do it hard. And oh God he knew how to do it, too. Munky put his free hand into Ethan’s spiky locks. To encourage him to keep on going.

"—I’m fine. I’ll be back." He cleared his throat. "In a couple hours." Clipped moan as Ethan reached one hand underneath Munky and pressed a knuckle into the sensitive spot behind his testicles. Munky’s back arched, his eyes closing and his hand pressing onto Ethan’s head even harder. He put his palm over the receiver, and fumbled for the power button. Ethan reached for the phone and pressed a button as he continued pleasuring him, then placed the cordless onto the pillow.

He ran both of his hands up and down Munky’s thighs, kneading them with his strong grip.

He stopped just when Munky was on the verge of coming. He begged Ethan to keep sucking, but he simply refused. Munky got up, chased him around the room,

and then tackled him onto the bed. He spread Ethan’s legs.

He took Ethan’s legs and put them over each of his shoulders. He then proceeded to fuck the living day lights out of him. Nothing felt better than that. Ethan begged for him as their stiff groins rubbed together, and they both had vicious orgasms before Munky collapsed on top of him. Usually, Munky was quiet when in bed with someone, but not this time. The moans escaping from him had wrenched their way past his adam’s apple, and his exhaustion was punctuated with several deep gasps afterward.

The phone had been a few inches from Ethan’s head the entire time. Munky picked up the phone to put it back onto the bed stand.

But not before noticing the red light indicating that the phone was still on. He pressed the phone to his ear. No dial tone.

You know, when you’re a rock star, you get all kinds of cool stuff. Like, answering machines that don’t beep out when someone’s leaving a longer-than-normal message. They record until the person leaving the message hangs up. Ethan must have pressed the wrong button. He hadn’t turned the phone off.

He had been a bit distracted.

"Ohmygod."

"Munky?…"

"Oooooooh SHIT!!!!!"

"What’s wrong? Munky, what—"

"OOOOH GOD—"

"What’s wrong? What happened?"

Munky jumped out of bed. He leaped into a pair of pants and his shirt. The wild look in his eyes obviously startled Ethan, who was still trying to catch his breath. "I have to go erase that message ohmygod ohmygod I’m so shit fucked! GODDAMMIT!"

"What? What’s going on? Jimmy?"

Munky threw him his clothing, and ran into the kitchen to snatch the keys to his Camaro. They were on the tile counter of Ethan’s fine kitchen. Munky fidgeted with them and cursed until Ethan ran into the kitchen, putting on his shirt as fast as his injured arm would allow. The last trace of his beautiful body disappeared underneath his white T-shirt.

"Where are we going?"

"You’re taking me back across town. Now."

Munky sprinted out the door. Ethan had no choice but to follow.

If Munky didn’t erase that message, they would know. They would all know.

Secrets are kept, but they aren’t kept for long.