Just A Touch Away
By Renee
'It's all right, oh yeah/ soft as a feather and just a touch away' Deep Purple
This one is for Maryan, because she suggested a part two, and for Moira, because she's seen the dancing, and for Donna, because she's baaad to the bone. The characters belong to their creators: I just borrow them.
In the dimness of the closed club, Tin-Yee is dancing to the last track on the CD. The tables are cleared, chairs stacked atop them, ashtrays and used glasses banished behind the bar. His eyes are shut: head tipped back, he moves with the music in unselfconscious grace. Old smoke, slowly dispersing, eddies about him, filtered and hazy in the twilight. He is communing with himself, or with past, or with future, unreadable, unreachable. In the open neck of his shirt, sweat glistens, runs down away into shadow. He would taste, right now, of salt and cigarettes and Remy-Martin. He would taste of memory. His arms, easy by his sides, are empty. It cannot be said if he wishes them otherwise. In the shadow of the back of the room, Ho-Nam, with mouth gone suddenly dry, draws on a cigarette, hard. Sometimes, sometimes, one glass of wine is better spilt.
***
Ho-Nam's opinion of the girl called KK changed in a matter of minutes. The first time he saw her was simple enough. She was Smartie's old friend, an easy-going, rather brash operator, pretty in a grungy kind of way. Too knowing for his taste, but okay for all that. No-one was asking him to date her, after all, and she was useful. The second time, he knew in an instant that she was bad news, through and through. She had worked with Smartie on the arrangements for the grand opening of his bar, and all for friendship, not for money or face. She had used her contacts to ensure the right people were present and that nothing would go wrong. She made Smartie happy. She was wearing Tin-Yee's right arm around her shoulders like a scarf. Ho-Nam wanted her dead, turned to ashes, gone in a second before anything might change.
Tin-Yee was his shadow. Nothing could touch that. In all their years of friendship, nothing ever had. Tin-Yee was always one to guard his thoughts, but of one thing Ho-Nam believed himself certain: for Tai Tin-Yee, Chan Ho-Nam came first. Not even Chicken - and there was a closeness between Tin-Yee and Chicken which Ho-Nam could not quite like - not even Chicken could alter that.
Women, certainly, had never been a problem. It was hard to be sure what Tin-Yee though about anything, but women, with him, had never seemed to be essential. They liked him well enough: he had what an ex-girlfriend of Chicken's had once described as 'gigolo eyes', and he was kind, which counted for more. If he wanted a bed-mate, he never had trouble finding one, but it never went beyond that. Unlike Chicken, he put no value in the act of conquest; unlike Ho-Nam, he did not seem to need the closeness. His emotional life was elsewhere, or so Ho-Nam had always assumed.
Tin-Yee was looking at KK as if he could see nothing else. Ho-Nam's hands curled into fists. Tin-Yee, who never gave confidences, was abruptly open for the world to read. This girl, this no-one, this scruffy street tramp, had put out her hand and stolen his soul.
Ho-Nam wanted to kill her. Slowly, in minute, quivering fragments.
No-one, no-one, might step between him and his loyal, dependable, perpetual, shadow.
***
Outside, a new day is beginning. The rattle of trolleys feeds the waiting rows of market stalls. A few thin shreds of daylight filter into the bar, chill against the smoke. The mirrored fragments of artificial indoor light strike patches of amber in Tin-Yee's hair, tinted, and, just now, long against his throat. His shirt, open at neck and waist, is loose on him, showing light muscle and the sweet vulnerable breastbone kiss of ribs. As he moves, it rides up over the top of his dark trousers, slim-line on his slimmer frame. 'Either too tight or just falling off,' said Pou-Pi, once. 'Rent-boy clothes.' And ducked away from the open blow Ho-Nam aimed at the back of his head.
Rent-boy clothes and gigolo eyes. Ho-Nam puts his cigarette down, and runs a shaking hand through his hair.
***
There was no escaping KK. Had he known what she would do, Ho-Nam would have banned her from his bar, his company, his city. She was everywhere, with her useful contacts and canny business skills, loading him down with a debt he did not want. There was an aching space at his left side, where Tin-Yee should be, even when Tin-Yee was physically there. Tin-Yee was laughing more these days, sleekly content. Ho-Nam bit down on anger, told himself it would never last. A girl like that, street smart and trashy, would move on before long, and all would be well. And Tin-Yee would learn the difference between diversion and love. Ho-Nam could outwait her. History and shared knowledge were both on his side. He could bear it, while he must.
'D..d..do you think he loves her?' asked Smartie, romantic.
'No.' Ho-Nam was short.
'But he h..hasn't...' she fell silent.
Ho-Nam stared. 'Hasn't what?'
'T..tried to.. She told me.'
'Ah Yee has manners,' said Ho-Nam, and set himself up for a fall.
***
Tin-Yee does not notice the noise from the street. He is alone with himself, rapt in the movement of that dancer's body. Ho-Nam swallows, all too aware of a growing pressure at his groin. He has no knife, this time, and no righteous anger. He has only the need and the memory and the deep inner pulse of possession, you were mine, you used to be mine...
***
He had not noticed before, or cared, how thin the walls were in the flat they shared. In the past, Tin-Yee and Pou-Pi must have heard every movement, every murmur, of his lovemaking with Smartie. Alone in his bed after her accident, Ho-Nam lay in the dark, awakened by more than simple loneliness. Noises in the next room, familiar, taunting, threatening. A girl's laughter, the rustle of clothing. They would be lying entwined, Tin-Yee's arms around her waist, her shoulders, KK's hands sliding down and down, over line of rib and flank, hovering on hip-bone, moving to cup the firm muscle of buttock or thigh. His mouth... where? In her hair, perhaps, or teasing her ear with his tongue, tasting, exploring, making her squirm and sigh. Unclad, her ripe breasts would lie open to his hands, or press soft against his skin. Through the wall, KK's laughter ran out into a gasp. Ho-Nam's hands closed tight on the sheet. Tin-Yee's voce was a murmur, too low to be clear, soft and intimate in tone. So long as he is merely pleasing her, so long as he is still aloof... More movement beyond the wall, and tin-Yee's voice became a moan. Ho-Nam rolled over, burying his face in his pillow. Where might her hands have gone? Their motion continued behind his closed eyes, over the shoulder blades... Ah Yee was sensitive there, if you kissed the tattooed skin, he would shift and shiver. On down the spine, inch by hungry inch. Despite himself, Ho-Nam grew hard, rubbing rhythmically against his mattress. KK's voice had fallen silent. What, then? Ho-Nam shifted again, slid one hand down under himself. He was stiff enough to hurt...Do it quickly, think of Smartie... Truant, his thoughts would not obey him, wrapped round in the memory of Tin-Yee. His hands, now, in imagination, not KK's. His mouth. Tin-Yee, lithe and too thin, as ever, defiant and compliant all at once. Mouth on mouth, tasting, exploring. Hands controlling, gripping hard enough to bruise. Ah Yee bruised easily, skin reddening almost under a hard stare. Bruises, then, forming under Hon-Nam's fingers, and Ah Yee making neither protest nor resistance. Ho-Nam had done this much before, and more, but his mind was wayward. No knife and no force, this time all sharing, all warm willingness. A tang of sweat on Tin-Yee's skin, and shivers of pleasure as Ho-Nam's mouth moves down. How's this, Ah Yee, and this, and, oh heaven, this? Better than that other time. Better, always better, than KK. Eyes shut, hand moving ever faster, ever tighter, Ho-Nam slid two fingers to the second knuckle into his mouth, and sucked, hard. And how would that taste, and feel? Skin soft over hardness, salty and slick with more than saliva. Ho-Nam's breath was ragged. Through the wall, Tin-Yee's voce rose to a sudden, sharp, cry. A silence, a few moments, then KK's laughter again, sickeningly intimate. On the lonely side of the wall, Ho-Nam bit down on his fingers as his own climax flooded his palm.
***
The CD track fades out into silence, and Tin-Yee opens his eyes, falls still. He stretches upward, one long swift motion, and turns. His eyes widen, gaze falling on Ho-Nam. A faint flush warms his flesh. 'Nam-go?'
They are alone, behind half-closed shutters, blocked from each other only by the smoke. Tin-Yee is still part drunk and smiling, happy in his skin. Persistent hunger tugs at Ho-Nam, one long ache in loins and heart. He can think of no excuse good enough to reach out and touch. If Tin-Yee would only make some move, make any sign... He stands there, doing nothing at all.
Smartie in the hospital. KK - always KK - waiting somewhere... Ho-Nam has been silent too long. Tin-Yee's smile fades to puzzled concern.
Just one touch, one offer, to break or heal their bond... in a moment, Tin-Yee will offer sympathy, if Ho-Nam does not speak.
Smartie in the hospital... Ah Yee has never been one to give anything much of himself away. Ho-Nam bites his lip.
'Go home, Ah Yee, it's morning.'
FIN
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