He wasn't a fan of poetry...or at least he hadn't been four months before, when his dear friend Catherine, aka Cat, had hauled him into that particular cafe to watch a performance. She had begged, whined, pleaded, and finally pulled him until he had gone in with her. Just as he had expected, he was more interested in the menu and the people than what was happening on stage. That was until
he came on.
Green hair. Eyes that were a mix between orange and pink. Skin that was nearly white.
The male had been nearly perfect in appearance. His elegant bone structure and perfect coloring had left Damien paralyzed. Admiration and desire built in his blood, keeping his eyes keenly on the delicate shift of muscle and light way he carried himself.
That was before he talked. When he finally spoke, reciting the words with the reserve passion of cold fire, there was no way to describe the feelings that welled up inside of Damien.
By the end of the show, Damien had been certain that he was in love.
The problem ways: Damien wasn't gay. Sure, he was fine with being attracted to men, but it was always sexual. He wanted to fuck them. He didn't want to slowly caress them and whisper that he needed them, hold them through the night and cook for them in the morning. Without even knowing the poet, he knew that he wanted that for him. It was new, and while new was exciting, it wasn't the kind of thing he really wanted to have to live with. Being gay was a one way ticket to trouble, as far as he had ever seen, and his life brought enough of that unprovoked.
Or maybe it was provoked
Singing death metal and causing hell for others in the selfish pursuit of fun without a care in the word was certainly enough to invoke some sort of negative juju. Singing about death and destruction might summon those spirits to him.
Shaking his head to clear away the thoughts, Damien brushed his red and white-streaked hair out of his face and his chocolate colored eyes. He had decided long ago that no matter what demons his music brought, he would never stop singing. He simply loved it too much. His music was a huge part of him and he would never have it any other way.
Plus, that wasn't the main issue at hand.
He had finally come to terms with his feelings for the poet. It had taken four months of silently watching the shows and gazing longingly at the beautiful male as he watched the other artist for Damien to realize he wasn't getting over it any time soon. Even though Cat was ecstatic that they went to all of the readings, he wasn't content to just sit there for the rest of his life. For better or worse, he had decided to go after what he wanted. If it worked out, he would have to be brave about the future. If it didn't, he could breathe a breath of relief and move on.
Standing up just as Zivot sat down, Damien glanced at Cat and whispered, "Wish me luck."
"Puss," she whispered back with a smirk, but the look in her eyes said clearly that she supported him.
Grinning, but feeling shaky, he quickly crossed the room to Zivot's booth. Trying to keep a calm, clear head he greeted the other, "Hey, I am Damien. Mind if I sit here?" Somewhere in the back of his mind, he already mocked himself for how 'smooth' he had been. Damnit, he didn't even get butterflies with girls anymore. He was not getting them over some damn guy.