1980

Bono felt the urge long before his name became a household word. Back then it was more of a twinge, something he tried to suppress. In the suffocating mist of Irish moralism, he was all for liberation and expression of feeling. But some things were just not proper. Despite his punk ethic, he was looking forward to one day settling down with his pretty girlfriend and having a few kids. He had that urge, too, and he knew that the satisfaction of that urge would be much healthier and, well, natural.

The twinge didn't go away. Like the growling of a hungry stomach, Bono could try in vain to push the feeling down and away, but it wasn't going anywhere until it was satisfied. When U2's touring took them beyond Dublin's disused parking lots and empty airport hotels, things changed. Now Ali wasn't there all the time. Days would go by, then weeks. Bono, crammed in a van with his three bandmates, all of them breathing, laughing, sleeping, sometimes drunk, sometimes sweaty and exhausted, but always there. It was like a polar expedition. A gold rush. A war. Women were in short supply and men were in close quarters.

When the van was brimming with the smell of sweat and whiskey, when things quieted down, just before they reached the hotel, the urges came back. As his bandmates listed their favorite moments from the night's show, Bono would silently tally his own highlights; like when he put his arm around Edge during "Out of Control" and caught a whiff of Edge's musk. Some people just smell good. Has nothing to do with cologne or soap; some people simply have a pleasing natural odor, a lucky draw in the body chemistry lottery. Bono was glad he had an excuse, being carried away in the music, when he lingered just a moment longer with his nose at Edge's neck, to breathe in the pheromones, to feel Edge's hot damp skin through his perpetually plain cotton shirt.

When Bono got in his face, Edge did his best to remain aloof, to casually look away, or down at his guitar. He didn't act that way for lack of affection, but because he knew it made Bono work harder. The more stoic Edge was, the further Bono pushed, the more energy he exerted, in an attempt to win attention not only from Edge but from the audience.

Bono's charisma might have made him a dangerous person. Someone with that much charm could do a lot of evil in the world. Thankfully for the human race, Bono was also a complete love-slut. He would do absolutely anything to win the unadulterated, and hopefully untainted, adoration of the masses. He needed to be worshipped, he needed to be loved. One would think Bono to be a very powerful man, to have the control he did over a crowd, but if they lost their affection for him one would quickly see who was truly at the mercy of the fates. Each year that passed, Bono's came up with new techniques, new games, new words that would whip a crowd into a collective frenzy but simultaneously make each person feel as though they were alone in the room with him.

But just as important as the attention from the crowd was the attention from Edge, and Bono's methods for garnering a public display of Edge's affection also evolved as tours came and went. The audience never suspected that perhaps the reason Bono was so good at making people feel like they were they only one there with him was because he wanted only one person there with him.

There was no system for doubling up in the hotel rooms in the early days, but Bono always found an excuse to share his room with Edge. "I've got this lyric I want you to look at..." or somesuch. Edge was very agreeable and sweet, listening patiently as Bono stumbled through words he made up on the spot to follow through on his transparent request.

****

Bono sometimes found himself susceptible to conservative standards of Irish masculinity: that the man was active, in charge, and the woman was passive, a recipient. He wasn't proud of that. He was lucky to be with a woman who didn't take any shit from people, especially not him, and to have friends who eschewed traditional societal roles. But society is an overwhelming force, permeating one's social circle and clouding one's mind with its counterproductive ideals. When Bono and Ali broke up, for fifteen minutes or so, back at Mount Temple, he promptly ran out and found comfort in the arms (among other body parts) of another girl, because he thought he was entitled to, he thought he needed to, to reclaim something of what he'd lost. Sometimes, after he'd done something stupid for the sake of masculine pride, he thought to himself, There must be a better way.

That was when he started listening to those strange urges.

One late evening, he lay awake thinking about Ali, about what she was doing at that moment, if she missed him as much as he missed her. It got him wondering, what did it feel like for her? How did it feel to be the passive one, to allow yourself to lie back and allow someone to touch you? Does it make you feel helpless? Is it a good kind of helplessness? Or maybe it makes you feel more powerful, to relax and accept the pleasure the other person lavishes on you. Or maybe it's suspenseful, waiting until you can take control, like anticipating your next line in a play. Or maybe...

Halfway through the next night's show, as Bono wrapped his arms around Edge and begged him to join in for the chorus of "The Electric Co.," he realized that he may never know why he needed so badly to have his curiosity satisfied, but he knew, now, how he did.

The longer the band toured, the fainter the voices of reason became. His father, who kept telling him to grow up, be a man. Bono didn't have his mother to take him aside and tell him that it was okay to cry once in a while, that being an adult didn't mean denying your feelings. But he was lucky to have a friend like Edge, who may have mostly kept to himself and was eerily quiet but who knew the importance of a good cry.

When Bono was dying of loneliness, when the frustration and curiosity became too much, he would rush into Edge's arms in tears, and Edge would stroke his hair and whisper, "It'll be alright....shhh.....what's wrong?"

"I miss Ali," Bono would say. Which wasn't a lie. It wasn't why he was crying, but it wasn't a lie. Edge didn't have to know that Bono was crying because he knew that when he cried, Edge comforted. Warm hands on his shoulders and warmer breath on the back of his neck. It was an act of defiance, against his father's masculine proselytizing, against society's identikit blueprint for his short time on this earth. Bono was going to cry. He was going to find solace in a man's arms. If that was what his urges demanded of him.

 

1981

The hotel room was silent and empty when Edge walked in. He had opened the door quietly so as not to disturb a possibly sleeping Bono, but all he found in the room was a low-watt lamp burning in the corner. No suitcase, nothing on the nightstand. Bono must have found a pub or something, Edge mused. Well, if that were the case, he wouldn't be back for a couple hours at least. Like any good Irishman, Bono couldn't resist a lengthy conversation with a total stranger in a pub at two in the morning.

Edge set the bottle of Heineken he'd just finished on the nightstand. It was his third. Maybe the fourth. He wasn't tired, but he didn't feel like going back out to complete his inebriation. It was nice and quiet, and he was alone, something he hadn't been very much, just lately. And he had an urge.

Even in the early days, Edge had built a reputation for peacefulness and sensitivity, a bashful intellectualism. His determination to be a guitar anti-hero evolved into a style of playing which transcended the corporeal, a thing that most guitarists tried to bring more attention to. In the down-and-dirty post-punk age, Edge reminded listeners that music was also meant to enrich the soul. But that didn't mean he didn't get drunk and horny once in a while, like any other man.

Bono wouldn't be back for hours.

Edge undressed and laid himself spread-eagle on the bed. He stretched luxuriously, glad to be off his feet, and slid one hand down his slender, trembling abdomen. To this day he was little shy about beginning. Fearful that God would see him doing it or, worse, one of his parents, back home he always waited until the wee hours to pleasure himself, and even then only after much contemplation. His fingers would brush through his pubic hair as he wondered, are they all asleep for sure? If I make a noise, can they hear me in the other room? Do they have some sort of extra-sensory perception that tells them I'm doing it?

But it wouldn't be too long before his body would call to him, Go on, no one knows, and anyway who cares if they know? Go on...it feels so good...

Edge gave himself a gentle squeeze and smiled involuntarily at the jolt of pleasure. He squeezed again, his cock squirming in his hand as it filled with blood. Stroking slowly and deliberately, it took him a minute or two to arrive at something that made his eyes close and his lips part. Then, he wasn't in a hotel anymore, he was somewhere else, in a field or on a cloud...There was someone there, someone else who tended to his erection so he didn't have to do it himself. Another warm hand to gently draw back his foreskin and gather the first glistening drops that leaked from the tip of his cock....

Bono finished drying himself off and looked in the mirror. He was glad he decided to pack it in early, get himself cleaned up and rested. He hadn't heard Edge come in; Bono figured he must have gone down to a local pub to have a few drinks. Well, that was alright, it'd be nice to have the place to himself. He didn't bother to wrap up in a towel, just flung it over his shoulder and grabbed a clean t-shirt from his suitcase. He opened the door and stepped out to find the most shocking, glorious sight: Edge in the throes of passion, his hips pumping as hard as his hand, a ragged gasp pushing past his lips.

But it was only for an instant. When Edge heard the click of the door he stopped, wide-eyed, and when he saw Bono he yelped and snatched up his shirt from the floor to cover himself. Bono reacted in kind, snapping the towel from his shoulders and trying to regain some sense of decency.

"What are you doing here?" Edge breathlessly demanded.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought you went out for a pint!"

"I thought you went out for a pint!"

Both men were too terrified to move. It wasn't that they hadn't seen each other undressed before, but it had never been in this context. Bono gazed, petrified, at Edge's long, lean body, the sharp angles and soft curves shadowed in the dim lamp-light. Every muscle was tensed, and Bono feared Edge would leap from the bed and disappear forever, leaving him with only the fading image of wiry legs and wide frightened eyes.

"Edge," Bono whispered, breaking the silence like glass. His hand trembled and he let the towel fall to the floor.

"Edge, do you ever get lonely?"

Edge drew a deep forceful breath, as if Bono had just pulled his head from underwater. His eyes darted up and down Bono's body, not knowing where to look. The piercing eyes were too painful and tempting, but he didn't want to be caught looking anywhere else. It didn't occur to him to take his eyes off Bono, to look at the wall, the ceiling, anywhere.

He pulled the shirt away from his groin with excruciating slowness.

"Maybe," he answered. "Sometimes."

Bono sat on the bed and faced Edge, careful not to touch him lest he be startled, or worse, turn out to be just a dream image.

"You know I love Ali, right?"

"Of course."

"And I always will. I don't want to hurt her. It's just that...there's something I want that she can't give me."

Edge sat up and brought his knees to his chest, knowing exactly what Bono wanted and not sure if he was willing to give it to him. "This is a very serious thing you're talking about here. And I know you. You plow ahead with every fleeting idea without regard to the consequences."

"But this isn't like that at all!" Bono scooted closer to Edge. "This isn't something new. This is something I've been thinking about for a long time. You're very special to me and I want there to be something special between us."

"You're asking a lot, Bono."

"A lot, perhaps. But too much?"

Edge sighed. "I really think, that we should put our clothes on."

Bono was crestfallen but did his best to act as though that's what he'd been thinking all along. "Right. Of course. I'll just...My suitcase..." He stood up and rushed into the bathroom.

When the door was securely shut behind him he stared into the mirror and watched the tears fall from his own eyes. The fluorescent bathroom light illuminated the mistake he'd made, just as the low-watt lamp outside had highlighted Edge's sleek musculature but disguised and concealed common sense. How could he have been so stupid? So selfish? He should have known that Edge could never feel the same way he felt. He had been right all along, back in Dublin: his urges were unnatural and he never should have dwelt on them.

Bono almost deigned to sleep in the bathtub that night; he didn't know how he could go back out there after the humiliation he'd just subjected himself to. But spending the night in the tub wasn't going to make the situation any less embarrassing, so after dressing and washing his face he fumbled with the doorknob, as though unfamiliar with its use, and found Edge dressed and nonchalantly watching television. Bono set his suitcase down and pulled back his bed sheets, keeping his head down. After getting into bed he glanced over and was disappointed to see Edge still engrossed in the broadcast. He looked again, prodding Edge with his stare, but Edge maintained an unblinking determination to keep his eyes on the television screen. Bono switched off the lamp and turned away, pulling the covers over his head.

Edge was staring straight at the television but couldn't have said for certain what was on, and not just because the program was in another language. He was wincing, mentally, over and over, for being caught doing what he had been doing. All his teenage fears realized, coupled with the awkwardness of Bono's offer. Why did he have to admit that sometimes, yes, he did get lonely? That sometimes he might just desperately want to return Bono's affections? Now Bono knew everything. He knew that Edge's on-stage aloofness was just an act. He knew that Edge had base needs, too.

He turned off the television and looked over at the other bed. As cars passed on the road outside, their headlights flashed through the thin curtains, the ebb and flow of light silhouetting Bono's form.

"Bono?" he whispered. There was no response. Edge knew Bono wasn't asleep because when he was asleep he snored like a jackhammer.

"Bono, do you want to talk?"

Still he pretended not to be awake. Edge sat staring into the darkness. As if on cue, he began to feel a familiar tingling between his legs, as if to tell him, Somebody had better do something around here.

Edge rolled off the bed and tiptoed across the room. He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and unfastened his jeans, trying to stifle the sounds of the zipper and rustling of fabric. He lifted the sheets and climbed, naked, into Bono's bed.

If it hadn't been dark, Bono wouldn't have been fooling anyone. His eyes were wide open, darting around in a desperate attempt to adjust to the blackness. But he kept still to wait for Edge to make another move. He felt hot breath on the back of his neck, then a kiss, just the slightest brush of deliberately moistened lips that tickled the fine hairs. Edge reached out to pull down the collar of Bono's shirt so he could kiss just a bit lower. Then suddenly he inhaled sharply and grabbed Bono's shirt, yanking it up so he could run his palms over Bono's warm, fleshy torso.

To feel Edge's fingers stroking him, gripping him, was a great relief, a weight being lifted from him that he didn't even know was there. But now he was saddled with a new burden: now he and Edge both wanted the same thing.

He placed his hands over Edge's and gently removed them so he could turn over. To see Edge now was to see him for the first time. The sculptured features, the deceptively innocuous eyes, the pronounced collarbones...Bono's eyes glided over Edge's body like a silk scarf, and when the sheets discontinued his view he slid his hand beneath them to feel the skin they concealed, the sweet soft flesh over Edge's ribcage, his smooth, narrow back. Bono drew Edge closer, close enough to share his breath.

The ambiguity of their first kiss alarmed Edge. The inherent dual nature of a kiss, the virtuous romance brawling with the erotic implication, fired every nerve in his body but made him tremble with fear. Bono touched the tip of his tongue to Edge's lower lip, caressing it, pink on pink. Edge was so frightened and excited, he didn't realize what Bono was trying to get him to do. Bono pulled out of the kiss and whispered, "Please, open your mouth for me."

When Bono's tongue skimmed over the sensitive surface of his gums, Edge felt sparks shooting down his spine. When Bono took his lower lip between sharp white teeth, Edge's body arched before he could suppress it. Bono was not just exploring his mouth. He was exploring his entire body. Edge was just about to bid his trepidation farewell when Bono paused and tilted Edge's chin, peering into his verdant eyes.

"I have to ask you a question..."

Edge didn't say anything, so Bono continued, hesitantly. "Edge, are you a virgin?"

Edge averted his gaze and bit his lip. "Maybe."

Bono laughed out loud. "It's nothing to be ashamed of." But it embarrassed Edge to admit this to someone so comparatively licentious as Bono. Since Ali had come along, he'd been much more discreet and well-behaved, but Edge could remember many nights when Bono would pick out a girl from across the room and beckon her over using only his eyes, without so much as twitching a finger, as though he had to save his hands for more important matters, later.

"So you and Aislinn haven't..."

"Not yet. She wanted to but I...kind of...panicked and left. I don't know why."

Edge was shaking, and it became more noticeable as he spoke. Bono asked sweetly, "Do you want me to stop?"

Edge paused before answering. "Yes...in a couple of hours..." and he bent forward for another kiss.

Bono leaned back and encouraged Edge to take the lead. Not only was he curious to know how it felt to be quiescent, he also wanted to see what Edge was like in this sort of situation, left to his own devices.

Edge was completely mystified by Bono's body. It wasn't that he was unfamiliar with the stocky frame, the hirsute chest, the rough hands. But there was a world of difference when that body had left the stage and was lying next to you, eagerly awaiting your touch. Always inquisitive, he balked but did not refuse this opportunity. His tongue pushed past Bono's lips and investigated that infamous mouth. Bono's tongue toyed with Edge's, which was intimidating; a man's tongue was larger and thicker than a woman's, Edge quickly determined.

He disengaged from Bono's mouth to explore his face, neck, shoulders. He moved swiftly, skimming the surface of Bono's body, partly due to his eagerness, but also because Bono was a furnace, generating heat that Edge could feel without even touching him. He feared his lips would be seared to Bono's skin if he lingered too long.

His long fingers grazed exotic territory; a flat, muscled, hairy chest; a waist devoid of curves. There was something compelling about it. Edge couldn't tell if it was because the body was male, or if it was because it was Bono's.

His mouth plunged lower, tonguing the flat pink nipples, encouraging them to grow round and erect. Bono motivated Edge with little whimpers, wriggling to let him know he'd found a nice spot. His breath was coming in short sobs by the time Edge had reached his stomach, dipping his tongue into Bono's navel, caressing the soft mat of hair. Something snapped inside him; he gripped Edge's shoulders and pulled him up until their mouths met again. When Edge was sufficiently disarmed, Bono twisted Edge around and laid him on his back on the mattress. His desire to be taken, to be dominated, was going to simmer on the back burner for awhile.

That special, ambrosial musk that broadcasted from the nape of Edge's neck, Bono was delighted to find all over his body. Bono's nose fluttered over the lanky torso to inhale it, snuffling around the lean thighs to find it; he could even smell it in Edge's pubic hair. But by the time Bono had settled between his legs, he found Edge's erection had wilted.

"Edge? Are you sure you're alright?"

Edge raised his head and gazed at Bono's angelic visage hovering over his flaccid penis. He tried to articulate what he was feeling, but he couldn't. He could only produce tiny whimpers, fear noises, until his head fell back on the pillow and he sighed, "I'm so nervous."

Bono smiled and, without a word, took Edge's soft penis into his mouth. His tongue was much more sensitive than his hands, and he swore he could feel every capillary in that limp member swelling, engorging with blood. He pressed it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, savoring the velvety texture, rolling the head between his moist lips.

Edge lifted his head again to watch. When Bono had taken Edge's penis into his mouth it had been a small, soft thing, but now he was slowly withdrawing it, long and diamond-hard. The sight was surreal. Bono leaned back a little and examined the erection that he apparently was responsible for; the whole situation rather amused him. He gripped Edge with a curved palm and curling fingers, massaged him. When the dew of pre-ejaculate appeared, Bono dove back in, swirling his tongue around the head, lapping away the saltiness, his tongue probing the tiny slit.

Edge was overwhelmed with sensation, but he felt that some part of him had still not let go. There was something that was keeping him from luxuriating in the feeling. He clenched his fists in frustration, his lips pressed painfully shut. Then it occurred to him; maybe it was best to loosen his tongue.

"Oh God yes, suck it harder!" he demanded, and covered his mouth with his hands. He couldn't believe he'd just said that! But Bono wasn't fazed at all; he did as he was told. For some reason, it seemed like a novel concept to Edge: he asked for more pleasure and Bono gave it to him! He didn't even have to speak; he began to rhythmically rock his hips, his body mutely begging for more, and Bono knew that it was time to quicken the pace.

Edge usually shut his eyes when he was about to come, but now they were wide open with incredulity. This new sensation, to not be able to control the speed at which he accelerated towards orgasm, was terrifying. He wanted to alert Bono of his impending climax, but when he opened his mouth he could only emit a strangled groan as he clutched Bono's skull and released the bitter evidence of his pleasure.

Semen dribbled from the corners of Bono's mouth, but he took a hard swallow and got most of it down. He raised his head and licked his lips. Edge's fingertips caressed his jaw line, gathering stray drops of come and sliding them up to Bono's mouth. He sat up and reached for Bono's erection but Bono tilted out of his grasp.

"No, no, I want you to relax. Would you like to watch me...?"

Edge was too thunderstruck to respond clearly; Bono just assumed that he didn't object and rolled onto his back to pleasure himself. He moaned shamelessly as he relieved his own need, his fist moving at a lightning pace. "Mmm....Edge, it feels so good...Touch me..." Edge leaned over and nuzzled Bono's ear, delving into all the little ridges with his tongue, while lazily tweaking a nipple. Bono bent his knees and pushed his hips up off the bed. "Oh, its so good....I don't think I can..." He began to moan unintelligibly and a moment later he had spilled his seed, defiling himself in front of Edge.

It was long moments before he could do anything but tremble. Edge covered Bono's body with his own until the shudders subsided. A minute passed, three minutes, maybe ten, while the two young men lay there, trying to process what had just happened.

Bono was the first to move. He sighed, pleased and comfortable, reaching down to grab a shirt to clean himself up with. Edge stopped him.

"Wait. What...em...What does it taste like?"

Bono arched his back to present his sticky belly. "Find out for yourself."

Edge reached out, his hand hovering over a streak of semen, hesitant to collect it with his fingers. But then he abruptly pulled his hand away and ducked down to lick it right off of Bono's body. Bono grinned for half a second, until Edge raised his head with a troubled expression.

"I don't know if I like the taste of that," he said, as politely as he could.

Bono smiled. "You didn't used to like playing the guitar much, either."

 

1982

Like most of the six billion people wandering around Earth, the only thing that gave Bono a more difficult time than sex was religion. The product of a rare Irish mixed marriage, Bono saw even in his earliest days how religion divided people, when his father would drop him and his brother off at one church and then drive himself to another.

Growing up, it became increasingly apparent to both Bono and Edge that religion was merely an earthly attempt at spirituality; worse than that. It was a sabotage, an abuse of it. In the Shalom group they found more satisfaction, having been encouraged to forge a personal, direct relationship with God rather than let mortal representatives tell them what God has said and what He hears.

But the longer Bono and Edge attended the Shalom group, the more obvious it became that even the supposedly progressive Protestant churches were just sets of rules to dampen and trivialize spirituality. It occurred to them that many of the tenets of religion were not designed to help people communicate with or ingratiate themselves to God at all. They were designed to control.

Edge was not a man who got angry easily, but the hypocrisy of religion enraged him, so much so that he had to remove himself as much as possible from a religious identity while still maintaining his core Christian beliefs. When Sinead O'Connor tore up that picture of the Pope on live television, he understood why, even if he didn't think it was a good idea. He knew that Sinead didn't do it just to make people angry. She did it because she was angry, at an institution so authoritative, so omnipresent, it made itself out to be bigger than God Himself: the Catholic Church. If what Sinead did was inappropriate, what was an appropriate way for one single person to express their dissatisfaction with a church that had given them so much but at the same time had taken so much away?

The most misguided attempt by religious authorities to control their followers, Edge felt especially, was the exclusion of sexuality from spiritual fulfillment. Certainly, sex had the power to lead men astray, to sink them into the depths of evil and despair. But it also had the power to better a person, to bring them closer to understanding God, to understanding infinity.

Just like rock n' roll did.

****

Bono found Edge down by the docks, not too far from Windmill Lane, alone, staring out at the water. He approached silently, but Edge sensed his presence. "I'd like to be alone, if I could," he said gravely.

Bono ignored this and sat next to Edge on the grassy roadside. "I know you've been feeling conflicted for a while now. Larry and I have felt that way too, before. I wish you would talk about it with me."

"I don't think I should." Edge kept his eyes fixed on the water. "I know how you feel about it right now, and I know that if I discuss it with you, you'll try to sway me. Have you been reading the music papers? These guys are talking about how we're poised to become rock's saviors. Maybe you're ready for that responsibility, but I don't want to save rock at the expense of my soul. This is something I have to work out alone."

"I must say, I'm insulted. Do you honestly believe that I would try to convince you to do something that you felt deep in your heart was wrong?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore, that's the problem!"

"Edge, listen to me: Your happiness is so important to me. I will support any decision you make, so long as it makes you happy. 'Hot Press' may be making me out to be a spokesman for rock n' roll, but nothing can make me a spokesman for your convictions."

Edge turned to face Bono for the first time. "Well...thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that."

"Don't stay out here too long, it's gonna get dark soon." Bono stood up, but then crouched back down to meet Edge's eyes again. "And one more thing. I hope...whatever you decide about the band, I hope that it won't affect...us." Bono leaned forward to give Edge a kiss, but Edge pushed him away.

"Please don't do that." Edge crossed his arms and fixed his gaze on the water again.

Bono felt a cold chill, and couldn't tell if it came from within or without. "What's the matter? Why not?"

Edge pulled a weathered Bible from his black wool overcoat and flipped through to find a dog-eared page. He held it out to Bono with his finger poised over Leviticus 18:22.

Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind; It is an abomination.

Bono's heart sank. "Oh, Edge..."

"I'm sorry." Edge put the Bible away and asked Bono again to leave.

Bono needn't have worried. The shiver that raced through Edge's body as he watched Bono depart induced an immediate decision, one that assured that he would never have to watch his best friend walk away like that ever again.

****

Edge's bandmates were overjoyed to hear that he was indeed still committed to the music. They got to work right away on the new album, galvanized by this renewed unity and a fiery desire to surpass the hasty muddle that was "October." But after the first day of recording, when everyone else had left, Bono laid a hand on Edge's shoulder and asked if maybe he wanted to go someplace private with him, and Edge backed away. He apologized, but reminded Bono that his decision was strictly regarding the band. He still didn't think what they did was right. Bono nodded understandingly but left the studio dispirited, the energy of the day's successes drained from him.

Bono, however, being as resolute, or if you will, as stubborn as he was, had not finished with Edge yet. His desire was not something solid, like iron, but mercurial. It wouldn't hit you and send you tumbling, it would slide into the cracks of your armor, wind its way around the walls you'd built, fill the trenches you'd dug and flood them. Bono wouldn't take you by force. You wouldn't even notice he was there until it was too late. He knew he would not reattain Edge's affections through sensuality. This time, it was all in the mind.

The following morning, Bono found Edge ordering breakfast in a local cafe. Edge rolled his eyes when he saw Bono enter and sighed when Bono took a seat across from him. He was holding a bulky text and could barely contain his excitement about it.

"I bought this new annotated version of the Bible. Just published this year. It has a lot of interesting insights."

"And I'll bet you've got one ready for me right now."

Bono scowled at Edge's caustic tone. "Indeed, I do. Look at this: The word 'abomination' used in Leviticus 18:23 was derived from the Hebrew word 'toevah,' which was often used to describe contemptible pagan practices. The real taboo was temple prostitution. 'Toevah' is actually properly translated as 'unclean,' you know, ritually unclean, like how the Hebrews weren't allowed to eat any animals with split hooves. So you see, lying with mankind as with womankind, it's regarded kind of like...eating pork."

A waitress approached and set Edge's plate down. "Here you are, luv...pancakes, eggs, and sausage."

Edge looked down at his plate, then back at Bono, who raised an eyebrow.

"That just seems too simple an answer," Edge muttered.

"Edge, what was it that made you realize that you still wanted to be in the band?"

Edge poured a frightening amount of maple syrup over his pancakes and said awkwardly, "Well, I just realized that...when I pick up a guitar and you start singing...it just feels like things are falling into place."

"That seems pretty simple to me. Look. I know I promised you I wouldn't try to sway you. All I'm saying is, I find it odd that most Christians very conveniently find excuses to sidestep silly rules, but you're finding convenient excuses to follow them." Bono closed the book and pressed on it with his index finger. "God's word is in here, yes. But it is also in here." And he pressed the finger to Edge's heart.

Sensing that he'd put a lot more schmaltzy sentiment into the situation than he needed to, he grinned, gulped the last of Edge's orange juice, said goodbye, and left.

Edge stood up, pulled a tenner from his pocket, slapped it on the table, and raced after Bono. He caught him in the parking lot, grabbed his arm, and whispered urgently in his ear that maybe they should find some place where they could be alone.

****

As Bono sat up wiped his mouth, Edge stared at the ceiling, silent, shifting to one side of the bed. Bono scooted over as well, but Edge put a hand out to halt him. This was not good; Edge knew that Bono liked to be touched afterwards, and had never before denied him. Bono looked at Edge imploringly until Edge could feel eyes burning into him, into his face and his neck. It was time; Edge had to reveal what was really bothering him. Who cared about Leviticus 18:23? He could hide the truth no longer. He turned to Bono and confessed.

"I asked Aislinn to marry me."

"That's okay. Me and Ali are gonna get married in a couple months too."

"You what?!" Edge probably shouldn't have placed himself so near the end of the bed; he just about fell out when Bono said this.

"Look, it doesn't have to change things."

"Yes it does! We're going to have wives! And children as well!"

"And what do you think's gonna happen after we get married, finish the new album, and go back out on the road? Do you think all those desires are gonna lie dormant for six months just because you've got a ring on your finger?"

Edge sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Well no, but there's something to be said for chastity."

"Like what? What can be said for it? Edge, we're not talking about fucking a bunch of nameless faceless groupies. It's me, here. I'm just as special to you as Aislinn. Aren't I? Edge? Aren't I?"

Edge buried his face in his hands and cried.

Those nameless faceless groupies, they gathered eagerly at backstage doors baying for Bono's body but they always walked away disappointed. Girls invited by the band to hang out at their hotel jumped at the chance to find out what was under all those ebony accouterments, but once they arrived they became so entranced by Bono's good-natured early-hour philosophizing that they barely noticed, as they left the room at dawn, that nothing had been uncovered but their souls. Edge watched the girls leave, pitying them, for they felt the dulcet sorcery of Bono's attentions but once. Bono did the same to Edge every night, peeling away the cumbersome layers of his mortal coil, seeking out the core of his being like it was the sweet pulp of a ripe fruit.

Edge knew he shouldn't have chased after Bono outside the cafe. Why did he do it? He had said no to Bono at the dockside, he said no to Bono in the studio.

But he said yes in that parking lot, he said yes in that bedroom.

He would never be able to say no again.

 

1986

Edge held the bottle over Bono's body and squeezed. The oil spilled onto his spine and shoulders, dripping down his sides and flowing into the small of his back.

"You've got a bad habit and frankly I am sick of it," Edge grumbled. "You say you want to be submissive and you're putting youself at my mercy, but then when the moment of truth comes you take charge and dictate everything. Just like in the band."

Bono grew apprehensive. "What do you want me to do?"

Edge set the bottle down beside him and began to massage the oil in, gently at first, then pressing deeper. Bono groaned with each push of Edge's fingers against his exhausted muscles. He only wished Edge could reach in and massage his brain as well; it had been pushed to the limit no less than his body. Edge was right. Bono couldn't volunteer his own passivity; he had to be ordered to lie back and soak up the sensations offered without commanding them.

"Edge...you're getting oil all over the bed. These sheets are going to be ruined."

Edge sneered, picked up the bottle defiantly, and squirted more of the slippery fluid onto Bono's already glistening flesh. Rivulets of oil tickled Bono's sides and he squirmed beneath Edge, which turned Edge on immensely although he wasn't sure he should admit it. He slathered the oil up to Bono's neck, kneading down his shoulders, his path obstructed by tight knots of muscle tissue.

"Jesus," Edge muttered, "It feels like you've never had a good massage in your life."

Bono grinned to himself. "I've been waiting for you."

Edge blushed and kept working, kneading harder and coaxing deeper groans from Bono as he slid his hands down to the small of Bono's back. Bono seemed to know where things were headed; he tensed up again and his breathing quickened.

Edge stopped. "Don't get tense now. I'm not going any further until you relax again. Take a deep breath."

Like a child half-heartedly apologizing for his insolence, Bono took an exaggerated breath and sighed, his entire body shuddering between Edge's legs. Edge had to take a deep breath himself. He scooted back until he held Bono's thighs in the grip of his own. With shaking hands he lingered at the small of Bono's back, sliding one finger lazily in a circle over two vertebrae.

He was dying of curiosity.

He reached for the bottle of oil again, squeezing a little pool into that hollow, this time spreading it further down, over Bono's rump. Though swift at first, Edge soon slowed his hands and allowed himself to firmly cup the smooth, rounded flesh. It felt good to hold Bono like this. Almost, one could say, satisfying. He gave each butt cheek a firm squeeze and Bono gasped. He wasn't feeling half-bad either. Each exhalation was a sigh, a little whimper of anticipation.

Edge was afraid to go any further. He had never explored Bono as intimately as he was about to. He cringed, closed his eyes, and spread Bono's cheeks with his thumbs.

Whatever Edge feared he would see, it wasn' t there; just an expanse of smooth pink flesh and a delicate opening. Edge shifted, spreading Bono's knees with his own and encouraging Bono to open his legs. He slid one oily finger up and down the crevice and Bono made the most alien noise Edge had ever heard him make. Half-wheeze, half-groan, Bono's vocalization was accompanied by an equally forceful full-body shudder.

Edge stopped and took his hands off Bono's body. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"That was. The most incredible thing. I have ever felt." Bono gasped. "Whatever you do. Don't stop."

Edge was glad Bono couldn't see his smug grin. He poured a little more oil into his hand and continued to gently rub Bono's most private area, this time dipping his hand further down until was cradling Bono's balls. Bono buried his head in the pillow but it wasn't enough to stifle his moaning. Edge worried someone would hear.

"Can you be a little more quiet?" he asked.

"Probably not," Bono whined, clutching the pillow.

Edge sighed and ran one finger lazily up and down until it came to rest on the tender pink opening. He pressed on it and Bono made a noise like a squeaky door hinge. He pressed harder and Bono made no noise at all. Unable to restrain his eagerness any longer, Edge took a deep breath and pushed his finger inside.

Bono's felt a sudden, primal fear at this intrusion and his reaction was immediate; he howled and writhed and Edge couldn't tell if it was good or bad. He froze and asked Bono urgently, "Does it feel good or does it hurt?"

"I don't know!" Bono cried out in frustration, clawing at the sheets.

"Do you want me to stop? We can stop now if you want."

"Don't stop. Please don't stop. Oh God, I feel so violated..."

Edge's eyes widened with understanding. He pushed his finger in deeper and Bono howled again, this time so loudly that Edge had to lean forward and cover Bono's mouth with his other hand.

"Would you shut the fuck up!?" he hissed. "Someone's gonna hear you!"

Bono pulled Edge's hand away and said breathlessly, "You hit something."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know what happened, but you touched something that felt really....really...good."

Edge, leaned back, curious. He moved his finger around a little and he felt a little ridge, not too far inside. He pushed against it and every muscle in Bono's body coiled up.

"Oh God oh God do it again. Oh God..."

Edge couldn't believe the discovery he'd made. He pressed his finger rhythmically against this little bump and Bono started rocking his hips, pushing his rump into the air. He made no noise for a moment, as though he'd lost the power of speech, until Edge's finger slowly retreated and he hollered, with great effort, "Edge, you have to fuck me now!"

Edge chuckled, gave Bono a playful slap on the behind, and told him to roll over. He leaned back as Bono swung his legs and turned onto his back, squirming and rubbing the insides of his spread thighs. "Come on Edge, do it, come on....come on..." Edge grabbed the bottle of baby oil once more and tried to pour some into his palm but he was so nervous he spilled it all over himself.

"Come on, Edge..."

His head clouded with desire, Edge frantically gathered up as much oil as he could from his belly and thighs. His slippery hand found his erection, oiling it as Bono thrust his pelvis, humping the air in anticipation.

"Come on Edge, I need it...Come on!"

Edge leaned over Bono and put a hand on his mouth.

"If you just shut up, I'll give it to you."

Bono nodded and wrapped his legs around Edge's hips. Edge took his erection in his hand and slid it between Bono's buttocks, up and down, until he found the tight entrance.

To enter a woman was relatively easy, provided she was willing. But to enter Bono was an effort. Edge had always been a bit reactive when it came to sex, but now he had to be forceful, he had to be aggressive, just to complete the act. It took three merciless thrusts in order to fully enter: once, to push past the stubborn but tender ring of muscle; another time, to hit that little ridge inside Bono and make him forget the pain; and once more to sink himself completely into a warm, willing body.

Bono writhed beneath Edge, clutching at him and grunting with pleasure as Edge thrust deeper. Bono's erection throbbed between their bodies, and he made a grab for it but Edge batted his hand away, murmuring, "Let me do it..." Edge leaned down and tried to kiss him, but their bodies were rocking against each other so violently, they could barely get their mouths to meet.

Edge did his best to comply with Bono's demands, so as not to hurt him; he went faster only when Bono hollered "Faster!" and he did it harder only when Bono hollered "Harder!" But it was very difficult to comply when Bono demanded that he stop.

Edge froze and looked down into Bono's eyes, now uncharacteristically vulnerable and pleading.

"What's wrong?"

"I...I'm gonna come soon."

"So why do you want me to stop?"

Bono swallowed hard. "Because, when we come, then it'll be over, and I don't want it to be over."

With a sigh, Edge closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. "Bono, don't you understand?" He smiled patiently, opened his eyes, and gazed at Bono's face, glowing with sweat and forlorn passion. "It won't be the end at all. This is just the beginning."

When he heard Edge's comforting tone and enlightened words, Bono's eyes brightened with understanding.

"Yes! Oh Edge, you're so right..." Edge slowly picked up his rhythm again, stroking Bono's cock and filling him, inch by inch.

"Yes...Edge, it's so right...yes..."

The pleading noises Bono made became more urgent, an octave higher, and Edge tugged harder at Bono's cock until the noises were caught in Bono's throat and he compensated by thrusting harder, pushing against Edge, thrashing almost silently. Only a single whimper escaped his throat, as his thighs clamped involuntarily one last time around Edge's waist, and then he went completely limp, allowing Edge to finish as he pleased.

To see Bono thrashing in ecstasy was too much. Edge tried to grab Bono's hips as he pushed but the two of them were so sweaty and oily, he couldn't get a firm grip. He just thrust as hard as he could, recklessly, teeth bared and gritted. Then that indescribable feeling washed over him, that feeling that began in his groin but at the same time seemed to come from outside, from above, and he grunted deeply, like an animal, as he gave Bono everything he had to give.

Only afterwards did he see Bono lying beneath him, damp, glassy-eyed, boneless.

"Bono? Bono, are you alright?"

Bono's chin quivered. "I've never come that hard in my life."

"Are you going to be alright?" Edge slid his waning erection out of Bono and rolled to one side, a clumsy tangle of white limbs.

"I don't know if I can move," Bono groaned. With great effort he lifted his head to inspect the battlefield they had left behind. "Oh wow, we made a mess, didn't we." He slid one hand over his chest, fingers sliding through his come. He tilted to face Edge. "God, it got all over you..."

"It's okay, it's okay. When you feel up to it we can take a shower."

"But the sheets..."

"Bono, since when do you care about the fucking sheets?"

"I just don't want it to be so obvious what we've been doing."

Edge sighed. "Do you know how loud you scream when you get excited? The sheets are the least of our problems. The people staying down the hall can't hear the dirty sheets."

There was a long silence, as if it had suddenly dawned on them that they had just shared a remarkable experience and should take some time to bask in the afterglow. Edge relaxed and took Bono in his arms, stroking his hair. The sudden quiet was spooky.

"Does it hurt?" Edge asked.

"Does what hurt?"

"You know, your..."

"Oh. Yeah, it hurts, but it feels good too."

Edge gave Bono a peck on his flushed forehead and hesitantly rolled away. He sauntered around to Bono's side of the bed and took his hand.

"Come on. Are you waiting for me to carry you into the bath?"

****

Neither Bono nor Edge knew what it was inside Bono that made it feel so good. They'd tried to be enlightened men, and had learned key parts of the female anatomy in order to be better lovers to Ali and Aislinn, but no one had ever told them about any special corresponding equipment that men possessed. They kept quiet about it, wondering if maybe they had discovered something, if Bono was special in more ways than the music press had ever detailed. It made their lovemaking much more intimate, the thought that they were sharing a secret, something that no one else in the whole world knew about.

The mystery ended a few months later, when a curious Edge wandered into a public library one day on the tour and found an anatomy book. He sat at a table with the book and studied the diagram, shocked to learn that not only did all men have this special spot that Bono had, but its pleasure potential was well documented.

Sometimes it was difficult for Bono to find the spiritual aspect of sex that he was searching for, the way Edge did things to him. With Ali, at least, there was an implication of fulfilling a covenant with God: it was sex between a man and a woman within the sacrament of marriage, with the requisite procreational implications. Sure it felt good, but it was feeling good with a higher purpose. And so often did Bono confuse God with Woman; the otherworldliness, the mystery.

To find such spirituality was more difficult with Edge, with a man. Once that enigmatic pleasure was revealed as purely a matter of anatomy, Bono found his lovemaking with Edge irreparably corporeal. Each time they began, whether is was a light kiss on Edge's cheek or the frantic removal of Bono's trousers in the back of a limo, Bono swore that this time, THIS time, he would try to get closer to God. He would use his bodily pleasure not as a hedonistic end but a means to an end; a stepping stone. His spiral towards orgasm would be a staircase to the higher ground.

But these lofty goals were lost, drowned in a sea of scented oils, in forests of musky hair. It was just the way Edge made Bono feel. So dirty. Everything about it was nasty and forbidden. The places they put their fingers, the things they did with their mouths. How could Edge make Bono feel so vulnerable but at the same time so wicked?

Edge got rough sometimes. Ali never got rough. Edge wouldn't listen, like Ali would, when Bono protested unwanted advances. When the tour was over, and Bono returned to his loving wife, he missed these things. He never brought them up to her, for fear she would question where he got such notions from. What do you mean, he could hear her say. What do you mean you want me to ignore it when you say you're too tired? Bono accepted that things would be different at home, and he was not at all unsatisfied, so long as he remembered, no one has to act like a woman now. She is a woman.

Passivity was a different thing now. Ali nudged him awake in the middle of the night, climbed on top of him. He just lay there, resting his hands on her thighs while she went to work. His orgasm was powerful and satisfying, but he couldn't help thinking: This isn't being submissive. Lying on my stomach asking Edge to ram it up me, that's submissive.

 

1988

Bono paced the room and swirled his drink in its glass. He didn't understand how Edge could just sit there and read. In mere hours they'd be hearing their name called out alongside the likes of Prince and Michael Jackson in the "Album of the Year" category at the Grammys. Bono always acted like awards were no big deal; sometimes he implied that they'd only be burdensome, piled on top of numerous other undeserved accolades already bestowed on them. But it was about time for some justice, after U2 lost to Culture Club for "Best New Artist" a few years back. Who wouldn't be biting their fingernails down to the elbows in anticipation on a momentous occasion such as this?

Apparently Edge wouldn't. He was sitting on the sofa, engrossed in some book or other, oblivious to Bono's tension.

"Hey." Bono snuggled up next to Edge on the sofa and whispered in his ear. "Whaddaya say we have a quick tumble to relieve the pre-show jitters?"

"What pre-show jitters?" Edge said, and kept his eyes on his book.

"Come on, Edge," Bono whined, grinding into Edge's thigh. "I really need it."

"You always need it! Has there been one moment in your life since you hit puberty that you haven't needed it?"

Bono took this question very seriously, and pondered for a moment. "Well, I do sleep a few hours every day..."

"Yeah, and when you're asleep you still get a stiffy and you poke me with it in the middle of the night."

Bono tugged at Edge's earring with his teeth. "Who says I'm asleep when I do that?"

Edge sighed and pushed Bono away. Bono slouched down in the sofa cushions, crossed his arms, and pouted in defeat.

"So are you still reading 'A Brief History of the Universe?"

"No, no, actually this is something I think you'll find a little more interesting."

"ANYthing would be more interesting to me than 'A Brief History of the Universe.'" Edge was silent, insulted. Bono sighed. "So what's so interesting about it?"

"Well, the author has some fascinating ideas about the relationships men have with each other."

Bono set down his drink. "I'm listening."

"See," Edge began, "these desires that men have for each other, they're not unnatural at all, they're not even uncommon. But society has made them seem that way. And so men choose other, covert, if you will, methods of expressing these desires." He flipped through the book and pointed to a particular passage. "He uses gang-rape an example."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Just listen: this guy claims that gang-raping a woman is actually a very homoerotic act. According to him, the act itself may be about controlling or receiving sexual gratification from a woman, but the motivation is the desire of the men to have sex with each other."

"I don't follow."

"Okay, men who gang-rape, they tend to all be friends; they're fraternity brothers, or they play on the same local rugby team. So they're very close. And they want to express their closeness through affection, tenderness even, but society says they can't. So they choose this target, a woman, who is, I don't know, more acceptable. When they take turns having her, it's as though they're vicariously having sex with each other. I mean, look at the physical aspects of it. They're all literally having sex in each other's come, in each other's essence. By sharing the woman they're projecting onto her the desires they have for the other men."

"Edge, I don't know what you're suggesting but I don't think I want to get involved."

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm trying to illustrate something."

"That's a pretty nasty illustration."

Edge set the book down, exasperated. "You see, there's a lot of things that I share with Aislinn that we'll never share with anyone else; like the children we had together." He cringed, as thought it were painful to bring them into the discussion. "Our daughters are ours and no one else's and we are bonded because of them. But there's also things that you and I alone share, and there's nothing anyone can do to change it. We've traveled around the world together, discovered new music together, met our heroes together. Who was there to comfort you when we left Ireland for the first time and you were frightened about the future? Was Ali there?"

"Well, it's not her fault she wasn't ---"

"Was Ali there?"

"No."

"Who was?"

"You."

"And when we got smashed at that club in Norway and you got up to use the toilet and you went into the ladies' room by accident because you couldn't read the signs --- Who laughed at you all the way back to the hotel?"

"You did," Bono grumbled.

He had to admit: Edge was right. Their explorations together were not limited to each other's bodies and psyches --- they spanned the globe. Not to say they didn't share their worldly discoveries with Adam and Larry. It was Adam who held Bono's long hair back when he threw up his first attempt at sushi, and Larry who helped Edge with his first musical project outside of U2. But whether it was the studio, the stage, or the pub, it seemed like Bono and Edge paired off most often to face the brave new world.

A tour was supposedly non-stop adventure and excitement, but it was fraught with its own complications. Touring was like playing make believe. Sometimes, at the end of the day, after a show, Bono would lay for a moment in the dark and he would have to think back on the day trying to remember if he'd done anything he shouldn't have done. Was he rude to anyone who didn't deserve it? Did he say "fuck" too many times in an otherwise polite conversation? He could hardly remember, because it was like a dream; he lost his sense of judgment, for himself and for others. He did things without realizing, he became a marionette, willed by the desires of his fans, his bandmates, and his manager. In that order. Bono never let that get to him, though. Just as one must forever be willed to sleep and succumb to dreams, he never balked at the capricious tour mindset. Because he knew he would never walk alone there.

 

1989

It never failed to irk Larry that Bono and Edge were always finding excuses to feed each other bits of food from off their plates when dining in public ("This bisque is amazing, here try some..." "Does this taste funny to you? I can't tell..."). It wasn't so much that his bandmates were carrying on a torrid affair; it was mainly because they were so fucking lovey-dovey. That romantic bullshit made Larry want to puke. He sometimes wanted to yell at them, "Get a room!" but he'd hate to give them any ideas. Adam was more amused than anything by Bono and Edge's antics and, though he sometimes feared a press scandal would have a bad effect on the music, he was never one to judge, and maintained a laissez-faire attitude towards the whole thing.

Today, Bono was not as enthusiastic about trying Edge's quiche lorraine. He gazed out the window while the others discussed the new REM album. Adam nudged Bono, bringing him out of his daze. "Looking for Ali's plane? She's not arriving until four, at least."

Bono nodded absently. "Yeah...Yeah, I know."

Edge saw that something was wrong, but he didn't press the issue at the breakfast table because he feared that Bono might be upset at him and he didn't want to cause a scene. He reached under the table and squeezed Bono's thigh. Bono turned and glanced at him, managing a weak smile before staring down into his unfinished eggs benedict. So he's not mad at me, Edge mused...

Alone in the hotel corridor, Bono walked ahead of Edge but was pulled back by the shoulder.

"What is the matter with you? You've been pouting like a little girl all fucking morning. You're never sad when Ali is due to arrive."

Bono looked down at his room key, then crossed his arms, sullen. "Henry Rollins said I have a bubble-butt."

"You do have a bubble-butt."

"I do?!" Bono twisted around and tried to get a look at it. "How come I never knew? I'm a rock singer, you know, I'm very sensitive. Why didn't anyone tell me I had a big arse?"

"It's not big," Edge said. He looked up and down the hall and, seeing that they were certainly alone, put his arms around Bono and squeezed his behind. "It's just round. I like it."

Bono's face lit up. "Really? Hmm..." He paused, then twisted around self-consciously again. "Do you think Ali likes it? Maybe I should ask her..."

 

1990

The nights got longer. The studio got colder. The vocals became more desperate. Any hope that Bono had, that recording in Hansa studios would allow them to tap into the energy of the new Europe, had long since legged it. Bono could feel it, particles of it colliding with particles of dust and ice in the frigid stagnant Eastern Bloc atmosphere: This was U2's swan song, in every failed take of "Morning Child" he could hear echoes of the Beatles' "Let It Be," the strangled and well-documented fall of the world's greatest band, fighting blindly against the humiliation of their own demise.

Bono took Edge aside, around two-thirty that morning, and asked, "Are you hearing Adam's bass lines? Do you think he's deliberately dragging his arse? I know he doesn't like what we're doing. I think he's trying to sabotage us."

"You can only be what you are," Lanois called to them, not hearing their voices but knowing what they were talking about nonetheless. "And we know what U2 is. Why pretend to be something else?"

Bono collapsed at the soundboard with his chin in his hands. "Well, if you really feel that way, maybe we should bring Eno in and you can take a hike."

"Danny is not going anywhere!" said Adam. It was his opinion that Lanois was the only thing keeping the band from getting lost in Bono's post-modern junk-culture brainstorming. "Look, we're trying to listen to your ideas, but they're ridiculous! I mean what do you need me to do? Just tell me what to play and I'll play it. " He took off his bass and held it out to Bono. "Or do you want to play it yourself? Well, go ahead."

"That's it," said Edge, "we're done for today." He threw down his guitar and stormed out. No one protested; everyone was stunned that of all people Edge would be the one to get fed up and depart. But Bono followed close behind, at first to catch Edge and bring him back, but as the door shut behind him he realized that he didn't want to go back in either. And so he followed Edge out of the building, the East Berlin winter closing in on him from all sides like steel.

It wasn't the cold that got to Bono; Dublin winters did just as much to challenge the downward capacity of the thermometer. But even in winter, Dublin was verdant and one knew they could always seek warmth in companionship, or at least a pint. Berlin's cold was a gray, bleak cold. Berlin was a corpse.

Edge knew that he was being followed by a bandmate who was trying to get his attention, and he knew which bandmate it was, but it didn't matter. He was not going to turn around and give Bono the satisfaction.

Bono followed Edge down the street, six blocks, ten blocks. Up the steps to the grimy hotel. Past the prostitues in the lobby generously offering to relieve their tension. Into Edge's room.

"I know it's tough right now, but things will be different in the light of day," Bono lied. "Maybe we all should just get some rest."

But Edge didn't seem tired at all. Bono was astonished; Edge had been up longer than he had, and had suffered the same trials he had, but apparently, none of the fatigue. Bono's wrath-induced adrenaline had drained hours ago, but it was still coursing through Edge's veins. Bono put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. Edge ignored this; he took Bono in his arms and planted a deep, utterly unromantic kiss on his lips. Bono tried to wriggle out of his arms. "Edge, I'm serious. It's been a long day." He glanced at the clock. "Couple of days, actually. I really need to get some sleep."

Edge wasn't going to take no for an answer. He gripped Bono harder, rubbing against him with his erection, and snarled into his ear, "What you need is to take this big hard cock."

Bono was caught completely off guard by Edge's filthy mouth and lost any opportunity he might have had to defend himself; Edge shoved him face-down on the bed and got on top of him. Bono's objection was in vain, Edge was already making short work of undressing him. The more Bono struggled to resist, the harder Edge fought back to restrain him. He grabbed Bono's wrists hard enough to bruise and twisted them behind his back. Bono cried out as Edge entered him roughly. His shrieking served only to encourage Edge, who rammed him with immutable force, his body thrumming with rage.

"Edge, what are you doing? Edge, that hurts! You're being too rough! Nnggh....stop it, please, I really don't want to --- stop it! Stop...ohh...mmmmm...Edge... ahhhhh Edge, don't stop...oh..."

Bono's protests faded to wounded sobbing as his erection rubbed against the sheets. His eyes rolled back in his head. Edge sustained his frantic rhythm, but five minutes, ten minutes passed. Edge could, in an abstract way, feel Bono's muscles contracting around him, feel the tightness and the heat. But something was missing. Edge took hold of Bono's wrists again and growled.

"Keep talking dirty to me."

"What?"

Edge groaned, "Just do it!"

Sometimes, even Bono got stage fright. He didn't know what he should say. But the pressure, the odd new fear of Edge's wrath, brought out of him the same talent for ad-libbing he often employed in the recording studio. He whimpered, "Oh Edge, fuck me, oh god Edge I'm such a slut...oh yeah, make it hurt...mmmmm fuckmefuckme..."

Edge clutched at Bono's hips with renewed fury, his knuckles white, whispering, "Yes...I'm gonna come..I'm gonna....ah!" And then everything went white, or black, or maybe he was seeing stars as he lunged forward and bit Bono's shoulder. And not a mere nip; Edge held on, his teeth digging into Bono's flesh, piercing it, as his climax struck and passed. He thrust harder, faster, grunting deeply as his desire and his frustration became something warm and thick inside of Bono.

Bono was too terrified to move. The last thing he needed was to do something to provoke Edge further. Edge rolled off him after a moment, but he remained fixed, keeping his breathing shallow. The dinginess of their Cold War chamber, forgotten in the frenzy, returned to haunt them, more intensely now than ever. And most depressing of all, it carried with it a reminder of the collapsing studio that awaited them the next day, and the next. No amount of rigorous fucking could make that go away.

"Jesus Christ," Bono finally whispered, to try and stave off this reminder. "When I said 'make it hurt' it was just for effect."

Edge didn't seem to hear him. "What the fuck --- there's blood!"

Bono jumped, horrified that Edge, in the tumult, had torn some delicate internal membrane. "Where?!"

"On the pillow." Edge pointed.

"Oh," Bono said, adopting a calm, casual tone. "Yeah, you bit me pretty hard."

"I bit you?"

"Indeed. I'm surprised I've let you anywhere near my willy with the set of teeth you got on you."

"When did I bite you? I don't even remember."

"When you came. It was kind of a turn-on actually." Bono looked over his shoulder at the congealing blood.

"Really? You liked it?"

"Sure. Look at that. It's like a brand. Maybe you can bite in the shape of an E next time..."

Bono should have known better to than to encourage him. Edge soon developed an affinity for biting. It was a fantastic method of control with a variety of uses. He could lightly nip at Bono's ears or the nape of his neck to secure his interest; he could leave a trail of faint bite marks along Bono's sides to intensify his arousal; he could chomp on Bono's shoulder or arm to discipline him if he misbehaved before or during their lovemaking; and of course he could raise a lasting welt with his teeth to mark Bono as his, to protect Bono as if by magic against imaginary rival suitors.

Edge got carried away one night shortly after Bono had first approved of the teeth marks on his shoulder. The day had been the most frustrating yet; previously, it had been obvious to Edge before that the recording was stagnating, but that day he knew they were getting worse. He was dismayed by the idea that U2's days were numbered. He didn't really want the band to break up, even if he had agreed with the others that they would do it if it seemed for the best.

That night, Edge nearly chewed Bono to pieces. Before, during, and after penetration, he snapped at Bono like a wild dog, all over his back, chest, arms, legs, everywhere. Both men were so frantic, so frustrated, so fed up with the dead-end recording sessions, neither felt a thing. Their mutual climax brought nothing but momentary relief; both fell asleep dissatisfied.

In the morning, Bono rose first, his bones aching, his muscles screaming as loud as he had the night before. He staggered to the bathroom for a piss and was horrified when he saw his reflection in the mirror: purple, pink and red suck-marks had blossomed on his skin from head to toe. He looked down at his arms and hoped he had a clean long-sleeved shirt somewhere. He looked back in the mirror and touched a bruise just below his left nipple. He turned his head to take a look in the full-length mirror and just about died when he saw the crimson bite-mark on his behind.

He hollered Edge's name and stormed out of the bathroom, nearly in tears.

Edge had barely opened his eyes as Bono screeched, "Look what you did!" He held his arms out to display his wounds. It was the first thing Edge saw that morning. He gazed with fascinated calm, his eyes moving over Bono's body with newfound intrigue. He pulled the covers away, revealing his own, unharmed, naked body, approached Bono, took his hand, and began a ritual which he would repeat, on occasion, for years to come.

"Yes, yes....look at you," he said, and would say, each time. "Come here, lie down." He took a small green bottle from the nightstand and poured its contents over his fingers, all the while whispering, "Some wretched beast has devastated you. How could he treat anyone as beautiful as you so savagely?" He gently massaged Bono's gashes with soothing lotions, stopping occasionally to give him soft kisses and sigh in his ear. When he had finished his meticulous work, he would help Bono into the shower, wash him with care, drying and dressing him slowly so there was plenty of time for soft caresses and tender words.

But in another day or two, the marks would heal and fade, and then, if he was in such a mood, Edge would start it all over again, biting and sucking at Bono's flesh as though it disgusted him to see it so creamy and unblemished.

Bono had no problem with this kind of treatment. In fact, sometimes he would become aroused during the course of the day just thinking about how, underneath his drab clothes and long overcoat, he was branded; walking evidence of the brute inside Edge.

 

1993

It was almost certainly infected. Bugger, where was that hydrogen peroxide? Bono rifled through his suitcase but came up empty-handed. Ugh. His earlobe throbbed. Edge had told him not to get his ears pierced. Not for the reason at hand, necessarily, but because he feared that piercing them might destroy their erogenous sensitivity.

Bono sighed and picked up the phone, holding it to his good ear as he dialed Edge's number.

"Hello?"

"There's an Irish pub down the street. Do you want to go have a few?"

Edge stubbed out his cigarette. "Not tonight. Morleigh and I are going to go see 'Scent of a Woman.'"

"Oh."

"Is there something wrong?"

Bono scowled at the phone. "Well it's just, that's the third time this week."

"So?"

"So you and I haven't spent much time together lately."

"Bono, we're on stage together for two hours every night."

"No I mean...we haven't spent time together."

"Oh, well, you know, me and Morleigh..."

"Yeah, I know, you and Morleigh."

"She's very important to me. I'm sorry if that upsets you."

"Well, what is this? I mean, when the tour's over, are you still gonna see her?"

"I don't know. I think so. Look, it's not interfering with the band, is it? I mean Morleigh and I see each other on our own time."

"You know that's not what this is about. Do you not need me anymore or something? 'Cause I mean, if I've been replaced I'd like to know about it."

"Bono, don't be an arsehole. You are not replaceable. Did you think that Aislinn was going to be the last woman I'd ever be with? You know I love you and you are very special to me. But I still like girls."

Bono hung up without another word. Sure, he knew that Edge would have other relationships. But he didn't think it would be so soon. He was looking forward to having Edge all to himself on this tour, as selfish as that was. Now that Edge was no longer attached to Aislinn, perhaps things would evolve. Edge would feel more free, would commit himself more deeply to Bono. It just seemed silly now. Edge still wanted a family, he wanted more kids. Things Bono couldn't provide for him. He felt the echo of his words, ten years gone.

"I love Ali, but there's some things she can't give me..."

He couldn't believe he had said something that he now knew was so hurtful. Bono picked up the phone again. He had to get ahold of Ali. He needed to talk to someone who wanted him and only him.

He was halfway though dialing when he realized he'd left out the requisite international code prefix. Once again he'd forgotten what it was. He was ready to cry as he rifled through his suitcase to find the slip of paper where he'd written it. Dialing again, he blinked back tears. It rang. And rang. And rang. It was Sunday morning in Ireland. Ali was probably in church with the girls.

The girls.

Bono flashed back to three years ago, when Jordan was born. And before that, eight years ago, when little Hollie came into the world. Those were strange and difficult times. Wonderful times too. Bono would never forget the day Edge called him, barely able to hold the phone for his excitement.

"I'm gonna be a dad!" he had squealed. "Me and Aislinn, we're gonna have a family!"

Bono's heart sunk. "Well, that's...that's great. Congratulations." He could feel, already, a wedge being driven between the two of them. A kid. An obligation. An anchor.

Edge wouldn't have any time for Bono now, would he? And anyway how could Edge go on, doing the things he'd been doing, knowing that he had a child at home?

And at first, it was true. Edge doted on his baby girl like no father before. Bono never thought he'd be jealous of a newborn child, absorbing all that attention. It was surely the end for what Bono and Edge had.

Time passed. The band threw themselves into the studio. Dropped themselves in the American southwest. Aislinn got farther away. Hollie got farther away.

Edge and Bono were hitchhiking their way around Nevada for no particular reason, as dusty and broke as anyone who'd ever had to thumb a lift on Route 66. They stopped off at a gas station mini-mart for a couple of cold beers but when Bono opened his wallet he found only a few wrinkled pound notes. Edge was furious.

"You don't have any American money?! Bono, I swear I'm gonna kick your arse to the other end of this highway!"

Bono grinned sheepishly and pulled two quarters from his vest pocket.

"For phone calls," he said.

Edge snatched the coins from his hand. "We can always call collect. Now, what the hell can you get for fifty cents around here..."

As if handed a divine decree, Edge walked by the freezer cabinet just as another customer was opening it. The rush of cold air in the sweltering mini-mart made Edge shiver and his breath caught in his throat. He looked to the source of this arctic chill and saw a row of ice lollies with a label underneath: 49 cents.

Bono came and stood by him. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Edge asked.

Bono blinked. "That shite generic beer in the corner there?"

Edge pulled a single ice lolly from the freezer. "Beer's only going to make us thirstier anyway." He tossed the quarters to the cashier and strolled out. Bono followed closely behind. "Just one? What about me?"

"I'm a generous person." Edge climbed the embankment and sat down to watch the cars go by. Bono plopped down beside him and stared as Edge unwrapped the frozen treat and slid it into his mouth, leaving no doubt as to what he was simulating. When he was satisfied he held it out to Bono, the way Bono would hold the microphone out to Edge to encourage him to sing. Bono licked up and down the length of the ice lolly, never taking his eyes off his companion.

Edge leaned in and joined Bono, their tongues met, and they savored the sweet coldness of the lolly as well as the sugary heat of each others' mouths.

Bono couldn't control the noises that surfaced in the back of his throat as one lip slid over smooth ice and the other was gently pulled between Edge's teeth.

Aroused by the sound of their own wet kisses and the slurping noises they made as they sucked at the ice, they soon had one hand up each others' shirts, then down each others' trousers.

The ice melted and dribbled down Edge's chin, and Bono licked at his face to catch the sugar trails. When Bono crushed the last of the ice between his lips, it dripped down onto his bare chest, and Edge grabbed the tiny wooden stick from Bono's hand and tossed it aside as he pushed Bono down to lick him clean.

"I missed you," he whispered with a eerie calm. He paused, pushed the hair back from Bono's face, ran one finger over his temple.

Bono's jealousy disintegrated. They clambered over the hill, concealing themselves in a grove of sagebrush, and did to each other what they'd just been doing to the ice lolly, afterwards staring up at the starriest evening sky they'd ever seen.

"You don't see this many stars back in Dublin," Edge remarked.

"There's a lot of things you don't get, back in Dublin," Bono breathed into his ear.

 

1997

"Are you ready to order, sir?"

Edge set down his menu and looked around. "Not just yet. I'm waiting for someone. I'll take a Black Velvet, though, if you...Ah, here he is now."

Edge grinned involuntarily when Bono arrived, looking as incognito as one could who was in a four-star restaurant dressed like the Unabomber.

Bono sat down across from Edge and without even saying hello he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt off to reveal a fresh crew-cut. "Whaddaya think?"

Edge dropped his fork. "What have you done?"

"No, but feel it! It feels really great!"

Edge reluctantly reached across the table to stroke Bono's hair. Bono tilted his head down and made a low rumbling noise. Edge laughed. "You're right, it does feel kind of nice. Like a sable brush." He was pleasantly surprised by the texture, although it did serve to remind him of a time, God it seemed like only yesterday, when Edge could run his fingers through Bono's thick, luxurious, shoulder-length tresses. He would sometimes get frustrated in those days, because Bono often had little time to care for such long hair, and would neglect washing it. One morning, when Bono was showering, Edge climbed in with him halfway through, which was nothing new, except he left Bono a little offended; Edge had proceeded to give him a good shampooing and then just left to order breakfast from room service.

The waiter came round with Edge's drink and when he left again Edge asked why Bono did such a thing.

"All these club kids, you know they were brought up listening to Nirvana and growing their hair all scraggly and their fuckin' goatees and all that. No offense. Now they're all shaving their heads. It's a symbolic break from their grunge past. Just like the suedeheads in London in the seventies, to defy all those flowing hippie locks. I never realized how important the hair thing really is to rebellion."

"I guess I'm fucked, then, aren't I?" Edge took a contemptuous drink for dramatic effect. "So you're a rebel now, huh?"

Bono grinned. "Well, I have to kill off The Fly and MacPhisto somehow. Prissy bastards."

After lunch, when they were standing in the doorway, briefly out of sight, Bono ducked under Edge's chin, rubbing his head against Edge's neck.

"Hey stop that!" Edge jumped back and clutched his neck. "That fucking tickles!"

"There's still a half-hour left 'til we have to get on the plane. Plenty of time for us to go back to the hotel so I can rub it all over your naked body."

"I really don't think so...Wait --- did you say a half hour?"

Bono's eyes widened, but Edge only grinned slyly. "Gotcha."

****

Bono didn't realize that he'd left his cigarettes at the restaurant until it was far too late. He leaned over and tapped a snoozing Edge.

"Have you got any smokes on you?"

"Hmm? No, I'm quitting."

Bono twisted around to scope out other sources. "Feck. Hey Adam! Where's Adam? He's always in the loo when you need him. Where's the stewardess?" He sat back and sighed. "Probably in the loo with Adam. You know, I don't even think it's the nicotine, I think I just need to have something in my...hey Edge, give me your hand."

"Why?" Edge knew perfectly well why.

"Just give me your hand."

Edge offered his hand to Bono, who took it in both of his own and raised it to his mouth. Edge's index finger found its way inside, and Bono began to suck on it, whimpering with relief as he appeased his fixation. His tongue moved over and around Edge's finger, tickling it, encompassing it.

Each time Bono sucked, Edge felt something equally insistent tugging at his cock. "Bono," he whispered. "Everyone's asleep. Do you maybe want to put something else in your mouth...?"

Bono flicked the overhead lamp off and grabbed a blanket from the compartment above him. Giving silent thanks for first-class leg-room, he kneeled between Edge's legs and dropped the blanket over the two of them.

Edge was half-joking when he'd made that suggestion, but he certainly wasn't going to stop Bono now, despite his fear of discovery. Surely everyone was asleep.

Edge tried to push the worry back and went to unbutton his trousers, but Bono was already working his clothing away from him. He slid forward in his seat, seeking entrance in Bono's mouth. He ran his hands lovingly through Bono's newly cropped hair, quietly encouraging him. Bono was fully aware that they were in a dangerous situation, and there was nothing he liked more about a dangerous situation than making it more dangerous, so he decided to give Edge a little surprise. When he felt Edge nearing his climax, he stopped, just for a moment, and took his mouth off him, letting Edge's erection bob free. He blew warm air on it and Edge shivered and clutched the armrests, struggling to keep quiet. Bono quickly put a finger in his mouth and gave it a generous coating of saliva. When he returned to his task, he slid the finger between Edge's buttocks and into his body, pressing hard on his prostate.

Edge's orgasm tore through him with no warning, no build-up. He was mute with shock, but anyone that was awake could have heard his body slamming against the plush first-class seat. His eyes were wide open with terror; it was amazing that after all this time, Bono could still make him feel strange, new, wonderful sensations.

Bono flipped the blanket off his head and whispered, "Man, it's hard to breathe under that thing." He plopped himself back in his seat next to Edge, giggling. "Wow. I pushed the orgasm button, huh?"

"It's not funny, Bono. I was scared to death."

"Yeah, you were so scared you came in my mouth."

"Shut up."

 

2000

What made sex such a spiritual experience for these two men was not that it propelled them to a higher plane but that it reminded them of their place. To be so close to bliss, but to be driven there through earthly desire, was a word to the wise. You're human, and that's a great thing to be, but that's all you are and don't forget it. For most men, sex was an ego boost, a occasion to brag, to deify oneself. But Bono and Edge never bragged, not because they had nothing to brag about, certainly, but because they were so humbled. Sex was a wonderful, mysterious thing, and they feared that to try to articulate what they felt would corrupt it.

They viewed their respective erections not as bastions of pride, as men were wont to do, but as humbling reminders of their human frailties. They tended to each other's physical needs with understanding that bordered on pity: Oh look at that, you're hard. Nothing to fear, happens to the best of us. Here, let me take care of that for you...

Edge learned the hard way how perilous it could be, to not take the carnality of it seriously. He was an intelligent man, there was no doubt, but often his curiosity would get the better of him and he would go overboard in his empiricism. If you're going to consume a psychedelic mushroom, why not consume the whole bag? If you're going to give into lust, why not take a flying leap over the chasm of heedless lechery?

Bono led the way into his suite, Edge following him not as a visitor would, but as a predator. Bono started for his suitcase to retrieve a change of clothing, but Edge took his arm and pulled him close, unable to contain any longer the secret he'd been concealing since the bullfight on the ramp that evening.

"Oh God," he said, "I'm so hard, it hurts...I need you....I need you to..."

Bono grinned at Edge's plea. He gestured for Edge to lie down so he could take care of him, but Edge wasn't interested in that. He grabbed Bono's shoulders and shoved him down, eliciting a yelp of shock. Edge wasn't pleading at all. He was demanding.

Bono did his best to comply quickly, but he was so taken by surprise, he fumbled with Edge's zipper, a task he usually performed skillfully. "Take it out!" Edge growled impatiently. "Take it out and put it in your mouth!" He sighed and looked up at the ceiling when he felt the cool air hit his bare flesh.

Bono pressed his lips to the tip of Edge's cock, tasting pre-come and feeling the flesh throb beneath his touch. Edge was right, it was hard as glass and twitching with need. Bono applied just enough suction and the head popped into his mouth, and he suckled gently for a minute. "Goddammit, don't tease me! Not tonight!" Edge pushed himself past Bono's lips and pumped away, punishing Bono for his foolish provocation.

Bono wasn't completely averse to such treatment, and did what he could to follow Edge's angry rhythm. He wrapped his hand around the base of Edge's shaft to compensate for what his mouth couldn't reach, but for Edge it wasn't enough. "Can you take it all?" he asked, and put a hand on the back of Bono's neck, but Bono was one step ahead, sliding down, down, pausing only momentarily to gather his bearings, until his lips were buried in Edge's pubic hair. He was too terrified to actually move, then, for fear he would trigger a gag reflex. Edge could feel the head of his cock pressing against Bono's soft palate. "Yes," he whispered hoarsely, "yes, take it. Take it..."

Bono was being humiliated. And Edge liked it.

Edge grabbed Bono's hair and held him still as he pulled out, gave himself a few final strokes, and let it go all over Bono's face, chanting "Yes, take it, take it..." until he was completely spent and his legs threatened to give out under him. He caught his breath and looked down, into Bono's wide, sad eyes. Bono wasn't upset. He was just confused. He wasn't sure what Edge was trying to do to him. Viscous strands of come trickled down his face, like tears.

Edge's heart broke when he saw what he had done. "Oh Bono...I'm so sorry." He dropped to his knees and took Bono's face tenderly in his hands. Not knowing what else to do, Edge drew close and licked away the evidence of his sadism, gathering salty droplets with the tip of his tongue. "I promise," he murmured as he cleaned his lover, "it will never happen again."

When he finished he gave Bono a tender kiss, a tiny attempt to heal that violated mouth, and leaned back to gaze at him once more.

"That wasn't like you at all," Bono said.

Edge looked away in embarrassment. It would be one thing if Bono were insulted or enraged by Edge's animal behavior, but he was just baffled by it. That was doubly mortifying. Edge was certainly being humbled now, only it wasn't in the delicious awe-filled way he was so familiar with. He set out to degrade Bono, but he'd only degraded himself.

He repeated his promise. "It won't happen again."

(And it didn't.)

"Let me make it up to you. Lie down on the bed," he told Bono with a gentle smile, "and I'll do it the way it ought to be done."

(And he did.)

 

26 OCTOBER 2001

Edge sauntered over to the mini-bar, examined its contents, and plucked one of the tiny liquor bottles from the shelf. He took a swig and offered the rest to Bono, who emptied the bottle and set it on the nightstand with the others.

"New York, New York. I'm told it's a hell of a town. Shall we find out if they're right?"

"Edge, this is about the six hundredth time we've been here."

"Perhaps. But tonight is special."

"Why?"

Edge pulled Bono close and whispered into his ear. "Because tonight is our anniversary."

"Our what? You're kidding me." Bono grinned. "That is far out. How did you remember that?"

"Well it wasn't so difficult...I was thinking about it a couple months ago, how the band had been together for twenty-five years now, and you and I had been...together...for going on twenty. And I remembered something about that night. When I was watching television in the hotel room, the program was in French. So I did a little homework and found out that we were in France on this very night, twenty years ago."

"Wow. Well, good work, Dr. Spock."

Edge wrapped his arms tightly around Bono and led his hands slide down. Down...

"Go lie on the bed and wait for me."

"I thought we were gonna go out on the town."

"I said, go lie on the bed and wait for me."

Bono loosed himself from Edge's grip and bounded across the room excitedly and with a decided inelegance. As Edge exited, he divested himself of his clothing and fell squarely in the middle of the bed, prone. He pressed his face to the mattress and grinned with anticipation.

Edge retreated to the bathroom for a moment to retrieve a bottle of oil and then stood quietly in the doorway undressing and watching Bono in repose, his legs spread. Seeing him on display like that gave Edge a fledgling erection, which he improved with his hand. He stroked himself while staring at Bono's spread thighs, remembering the times that Bono held him like a vice grip as he came, his body shuddering, the vibrations rumbling through both their bodies.

Edge strolled over to the bed. "Well the view is lovely but I want you to roll over."

Bono turned onto his back and sat up. Edge climbed onto the bed and threw one leg over Bono's thighs to straddle him. Bono reclined a bit and held his arms out to welcome the slender form, reaching around and taking one tight, round butt-cheek in each hand as he pulled Edge closer to him, his erection at Bono's eye level. Bono tried to take it in his mouth, but Edge pulled it away and lightly slapped him on the cheek with it. He faked Bono out again a second later, offering it to him but instead sliding it down, moistening his lower lip with the clear fluid that oozed from the tip and tapping it against his chin. Bono soon figured out Edge's little game, and began half-heartedly attempting to catch Edge's cock in his mouth, groaning when he got close, whimpering when he failed. His tongue snaked out to extend his reach. He played the game a little too well; it didn't take long for Edge to let him capture the tip between his moistened lips. But Edge wouldn't allow him to have it for more than a moment before he pulled back and told Bono that it was time to get on his stomach.

Bono preferred to be taken on his back, because it gave him the opportunity to watch what Edge was doing and also afforded him easier access to his own erection, but typically he was put on his stomach because that was Edge's favorite position. Not only was doing it face-to-face harder on the knees, but when Edge thrust he was slamming against hard bone and muscle, which was not wholly unpleasant but certainly inferior to pushing against Bono's soft round rump.

Edge slicked himself up and pressed the tip against Bono's entrance as if to enter, but instead pulled it back and used it to give the tender pink flesh another playful slap. He rubbed the swollen glans between Bono's buttocks, up and down, then slid the shaft into the crevice as well, pumping swiftly and smoothly, unable to suppress deep, sanguine sounds of pleasure.

Bono started to protest; he wanted Edge to quit fucking around and put it in. But he censored himself. Parallel to his desire for gratification was his need to prolong the pleasure, and he had to trust Edge to know where the boundary was.

Edge's entrance was easier than it used to be, but never too easy. It still took a couple of good pushes, and maybe a tender whisper in Bono's ear to soothe and relax him. But tonight Edge's whispers were drowned out; years ago in Berlin, Bono had picked up dirty talk like a bad habit. To this day Edge sometimes got a little embarrassed when Bono became particularly uninhibited. As Bono felt himself being filled he groaned, "Oh Edge, you get me so hot....ah yeah fuck my arse, fuck it...nnngh youre gonna make me come..." Edge couldn't help blushing at the thought that these words were directed at him. It was almost a relief when Bono's enjoyment took him beyond words; he began to babble and keen incoherently, like he was improvising lyrics. But he did very clearly utter "Deeper, deeper." And Edge complied, easing in further until Bono started to shriek with pleasure again. He begged for more, and lifted himself from the bed as he received it. He told Edge he was coming, and if Edge had any reason to doubt it, the powerful muscle contractions around his cock made him a believer.

Assuming that his lover was sated, Edge speeded up and got ready to come himself. But a moment later he heard Bono's familiar sequence of noises again: the short moans, each one higher than the last, like he was singing a scale, then a strangled wail signalling that he'd hit a peak. Before Edge could wonder about the strange repeat performance, his own orgasm caught up with him and he cried out, thrusting madly until he had exhausted himself. He collapsed on top of Bono and sighed contentedly.

Bono twisted beneath him. "Ugh, get off me!" he said. "I swear, you are twice as heavy right after you come."

Edge rolled off him with a satisfied groan. Bono turned over and sat up. He was still hard.

Edge looked at Bono questioningly. "But I thought you..."

"I did. Twice! It was so good...I thought I was gonna pass out. But it was...it was all INSIDE me. It was really different."

For a moment they both stared in wonderment at Bono's incongruous erection. Edge shrugged and slid down to finish him off.

When it came to oral gratification, eighty percent of Bono's technique was pure enthusiasm. He sucked Edge's cock like he'd been waiting to do it all day, and Edge felt that eagerness, was lifted and transported by it. But Edge had developed his own technique that was based much more on precision. His method exploited each of Bono's weaknesses, prodded each of his erogenous zones. When Bono felt something nice he didn't exactly hide it, and Edge soon learned just how to flick his tongue over the sensitive head, to hum when he'd taken the whole thing in his mouth and send shockwaves through Bono's entire body.

It never took long to bring him off this way. Bono was rubbing the back of Edge's neck to encourage him, but suddenly the massage became a solid grip and Bono gasped in shock; something incredible was building at the base of his spine. He had a feeling that he was going to lose control, and he took his hands off Edge for fear of hurting him. He clutched at the sheets, stroked his nipples, but it didn't appease him, so he just put his hands over his eyes and thrust further into Edge's mouth as he finally ejaculated, screaming Edge's name, writhing, every flexing muscle highlighted by a sheen of sweat.

And then he was quiet.

Edge swallowed, gladly taking the fluid he had once found distasteful. He crawled back up to give Bono a kiss and put an arm around him. Bono was still. Edge licked the shell of his ear and whispered to him.

"Happy Anniversary, Bono."

Silence.

"Bono?"

Bono gazed up at the ceiling. "I...I think I saw God."

Edge chuckled and propped himself up on one elbow. "That's wonderful. Did you put in a good word for me?"

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