Blue Air

Patrick and I had been eyeing the smoke machines all night. It was a large stage, but it seemed like they might have been just a little overkill. Most of them sat idle all night, just one or two giving out controlled blasts during the more atmospheric songs of each band. They hissed, and a few seconds later, like the lightest water, smoke would flood out onto the stage. It would be kicked around until it stubbornly blended with the air, giving definition to the stage lights.

We hung around stage right, finding ourselves restless back at the ropes, done with poker and the other roadies. It was crowded here too, but we found a space with a limited view behind an upstage scrim, free of techs, producers, hangers-on and bands. Just us, a row of smoke machines and the languid drummer of Reel and Rout, his efficient, complicated but slow percussion work hypnotizing the crowd. It was their third song, had gone on at least five minutes already, but showed no signs of revving up or halting. It just traveled, back and forth across the stage, like the smoke, until it blended with the air.

Then they all went off, eight smoke machines let out a long blast, like the coming of a dust storm, you didn’t know how thick it was until you were in it. Eight horizontal mushroom clouds flew out, engulfing the drummer, flowing down the stage. We lost sight of the ground, then the air above it, then anything at all. Patrick put his hand on my shoulder so we knew which way was up. I heard two more hissing bursts and the world disappeared into blue-grey, highlighted only occasionally by the purple, red or green beam of a Fresnel. We’d be in the cloud for a while, the plastic, dry smell of the smoke, the disorientation and the song getting louder under it, all of it mixing with the air.

“This is really weird,” I said to Patrick, but the words were sucked into the music and never heard from again. I felt him pull my shoulder and just made out his features as he pulled me toward him, my face down to him, the smoke dissipating and escaping between our mouths. I felt his breath and then his lips, the sweet tickle of his mouth on mine, then the muscles behind it, moving in my mouth. The music and the smoke blended into this sex, and it was all just his body moving into me. All part of the same conspiracy. We twisted into each other, the warmth of his skin under his shirt and his smell, the taste of salt on him and meat and lemon sour.

I opened my eyes and saw a halo of light around him, reflected off of him into the cloud, you could just make out his fuzzy body glowing in the lights. He opened his too and smiled at me, before his lashes flopped down again and he pulled me tighter, a strong bundle of a man in my arms, his back muscles in my fingers and his slow, delicious dance over my lips. His tongue swept back and forth around my mouth now, vibrating its tastebuds across my teeth and against my own. His breaths throbbed in my mouth, each one a call down, down into him. And I fell as I was asked to.

My arms swirled around his back and finally one dropped, per the suggestion of his back muscle, to the gentle rise of his ass, and I pushed his pelvis into me, as if I knew that the music would swirl up just then. It was there, the steel in his pants against my groin and we rubbed into each other, this suddenly all that mattered, a few pointless cries escaping my throat. His hand came up the side of my face into my hair and he pulled my head sideways, pushing deeper into my mouth. When would the smoke begin to clear? When would we have to stop? When would that drumbeat, the light cymbal crash in 7/4 time simplify itself and end the song?

The machines blasted again, the blur of the world reinforced. A blue light descended on his face and I saw beads of sweat forming, reflecting like opals across his face and in his hair. He looked around and saw that there was nothing to see, took me down to the floor by the shirt, sitting up, our legs intertwined. We pulled each other close again and knelt up partway, our cocks into each other’s hips, grinding, his mouth on my neck. A bite and a nibble and the fog entered my head. It brought sting and heat and a low humming sound. The music, all blending into itself and passing through my body as one wave.

Patrick’s arm came down between us, his tongue staying in my mouth as he backed up a little. There were some sharp movements and pants and his hand, holding me tight on the back of the neck. He pulled his body back all together and shoved my head down, just enough time to get my mouth open before he guided his cock into my mouth and shuddered. He continued to hold my neck, the music building again only to fall into chaos, he fucked my mouth, my fingers dug into the folds behind his knees. Another hiss and another blast, the oily blue dust filled the space between us again and all I could see was his cock. All I could feel was the strain of my jaw and his hand sternly holding me in place. The taste of musty precome and the smell of dirt. My right hand slipped out and he took it, placed it onto the floor.

He began pacing himself, each movement into my throat a little smoother, though he punctuated it at the end, a fierce shiver and twitch. The song continued forever, rising and breaking, rising and breaking. I took his hips up to me and sped him up. We fought each other for a while, my hands on his pelvis, his hand on my neck, and he gave in. I deep-throated him tightly and he fell apart a little. I left him that way for a second and redoubled on him. His back went to the ground, his body pulled up into an arch culminating at my lips.

There were timpani then, and the voice of the singer returned in the distance. I held Patrick up by the ass and he quaked, his body at a halt under me, though it held the slightest vibration. I took his hand and his fingers wrapped under themselves. He came, the choking, numbing shots in my mouth. I drained him slowly, not letting up until he took my face by the cheeks and forced me off of him. I picked him up by the shoulders and kept him in place on his knees. I stood up, unzipped my pants, spit in my hand and opened his mouth with my thumb. I let the tip of my cock rub his lips as I jerked myself off. He tried to get on it, but I held him back. He let his tongue dart out and my head drew back. “Aw fuck!” I yelled, though it was gone as soon as I let it out. “Goddammit, OH!” I let go of his shoulder and could just make out through the cloud my come squirting onto his tongue, under his teeth, blue in the light. I knelt down myself, my hand on his face, our noses together, the smoke dissipating just as I got my pants zipped up. We sat next to each other, cross legged behind the scrim, leaning our shoulders together as the song crashed into entropy, and ended randomly, just as the drummer appeared back through the air.