“Holy shit. How long has it been since you’ve seen this video, Edge?”
Edge wasn’t watching the television. Its bluish glow was dancing over Bono’s face. The room was dark but for the television, and they were too close to it.
“Don’t you think Madonna was more interesting when she was Catholic?”
Edge moved closer to Bono. They were lying on the bed, on their bellies. Bono held the remote, but only because Edge let him.
“A field of burning crosses,” said Edge, “is a pretty desperate attempt to be interesting.”
This sort of tepid discussion had been going on for an hour, and Edge was bored with it. Bono had turned the channel to VH1 Classic in a fit of pique. The television wasn’t what Edge wanted to be turned on. He kissed Bono’s neck. Bono hummed, but kept watching the video.
“Oh, I like this one. Prince is wearing his Prince-suit with the clouds, and all the girls are dressed in Prince-suits. Isn’t that adorable?”
Edge decided to compromise. He grabbed the remote away and muted the television, then he mounted Bono.
“I want to watch some more videos,” Bono whinged.
“You can if you want,” Edge rubbed his erection against Bono’s rump. “Just let me fuck you while you watch.”
Edge sat up and went for the lube. While he was getting Bono ready, the show went to commercial, and Bono laid his head down on the pillow to rest his sore neck. “Tell me when the videos come back on,” he said between groans.
“I’m gonna be busy in a minute,” Edge said, and pushed a second finger into Bono.
“I hope the next video is something sexy.”
Edge lifted Bono’s ass and guided his cock inside. He grunted.
“Are the commercials over yet?”
Edge looked up at the screen. “Oh shit,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Keep your head down,” Edge commanded, and put a hand on Bono’s skull. He started to fuck Bono hard, to keep him from protesting.
Edge was interested in the television now. There was a man on the screen. No, a boy, with smooth white skin. His hair fell over his eyes, but when he pushed it back, and he did quite often, he revealed a set of beautiful blue eyes. Edge had known this boy, a long time ago. He remembered those eyes, eyes that had seen so much pain and fury and despair but never, ever, fear.
The boy was dressed all in black, with tight black jeans that emphasized his firm, round ass. Edge stared, and the rhythm of his hips never faltered. He thrust in time with the boy’s stomping. The boy glowed with sweat. His body was pure desire, the directionless passion of youth, ever coiled but ever springing.
The boy was silent. There were only the wet, nasty sounds of Edge fucking Bono and Edge ignored that. He watched the boy’s lips move. He remembered those lips, pink and soft. And when you put lips like that on someone who is so very eager to please, well.
Bono started to lift his head. “Edge, what’s going on?”
Edge leaned forward and planted a hand on Bono’s head, shoving it into the pillow. “Mmph,” Bono said, but could do nothing against Edge’s weight. “What are you watching?”
Edge was pumping hard, fixated on the boy’s mouth. He wanted to put his cock in that pink mouth. Again. The boy turned and looked right at him. With those eyes.
“Oh God, Bono,” Edge cried out to the boy on the television, and he came.
Then the boy was gone; some candy-colored tart had taken his place. Edge pulled out of Bono; he was finished with him. Bono grabbed the remote and turned the television off, then got up and headed for the bathroom. Edge lay on his back in the quiet room and gazed at the ceiling.
“What was that all about?” Bono said when he returned.
“You’re so beautiful,” Edge said, his voice tinged with sadness. “Your eyes.”
Bono just laughed. Edge always had something weird to say after he came.