THE DRAMA CLUB, Part 11 'Blinded by Rainbows'
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'I was out in the city, I was out in the rain,
I was feeling down-hearted, I was drinking again,
I was standing by the bridges, where the dark water flows...'
Out of Control (Rolling Stones, 1997)
When Gene got the call, he'd just gotten into the car he'd left in Northside's student parking lot that morning before the tournament. He answered the phone while he turned the key in the ignition, then leaned back to let the engine warm up and slid the Stones CD he'd been listening to in the deck. His mind was a pleasant, empty blank, worn down by hours of intense, high-speed debating and the long waits in between. He felt even more tired inside than out and longed for the quiet of his bedroom.
"Kuo." he said into the cell. He folded his jacket and draped it carefully over the back of the passenger seat.
"Hey, Gene." It was Michael's voice. Ignoring the sudden tightness in his chest, Gene reached for his briefcase on the seat beside him, tucking the folders deeper into the inside pockets.
"What's up?" he asked, voice even. He unsnapped the outside pocket of the leather briefcase and pulled out a half empty pack of Marlboro 27s, opening it and pulling out a single filtered cigarette with slim fingers. He could hear music in the background as Michael answered him.
"I'm at the party. Where are you?" Michael sounded out of breath.
Gene fished his silver lighter out of his pocket while balancing the phone on his shoulder awkwardly. He lit his cigarette and pulled the phone mic out of the storage between the seats and plugged it into the phone.
"Just got back, I'm still in the parking lot." he said. He heard Michael sigh.
"Well...I was wondering if you could...pick me up. From the party."
Gene took a drag from the cigarette as he considered this. He was tired from the tournament but...
"Your mom dropped you off?" he finally asked.
"Yeah."
Gene took a deep breath and flicked ash into the small ashtray in the dashboard.
"Sure. I'll need directions."
"No problem, its simple." The relief was evident in Michael's voice as he described the route from school to Angel's house. Gene ground out the cigarette in the ashtray and pushed it closed. Tapping his foot on the brake, he slid the car into gear and backed out of the parking space. He was deliberately not thinking about this, about seeing Michael tonight. Michael usually called when he wanted to talk and Gene had a feeling he knew what the subject would be. He was determined to retain control, to be supportive without being too...effusive. His thoughts flicked to tonight's sleeping arrangements before he shut them down. Maybe the call was a good thing, maybe this could be the first step. He briefly wondered if Michael had planned this, then rejected the idea. Michael just needed to talk, he had that tone in his voice, of needing to be listened to. Gene took a right onto Angel's street and started scanning the house fronts for the number.
Angel's house was a nice one, a rambling ranch-style with a rough stone front partially covered with what looked in the streetlight to be a profusion of hedges, flower trellises and tidy flowerbeds. The porch light was on, shedding golden warmth into the night. Gene pulled up and parked across the street, shutting off the ignition and reaching for his cell phone. As he held it, ready to hit the speed dial, he saw Michael standing in front of the garage, smoking quietly and watching him. He set the phone down and lifted his briefcase into the back seat, then laid his folded jacket on top of it. Michael walked towards the car, the glowing orange tip of his cigarette clearly visible. Gene watched him open the passenger door and get in, tossing the cigarette into the gutter as he pulled the door closed behind him. Michael leaned over and kissed him, then lay limply back in the seat, head thrown back, looking up at the quilted inside of the car's top as he spoke.
"Thanks. I know you're tired. How'd you do?" His voice was gentle. Gene drew a deep breath and started the car, not answering immediately. Michael looked over at him in the near dark.
"That bad, huh? Couldn't have been that bad..."
Gene's voice was uninflected. "Lost in finals."
Michael reached over to take Gene's hand in his. "Sorry. That's not too bad, though, that tournament had some good schools." Gene grunted. Michael shook his head, ruefully, releasing Gene's hand.
"You're too hard on yourself, babe. Second place isn't bad, it's just not the usual Kuo massacre is all." He was smiling, watching his friend's face.
Gene didn't answer, concentrating instead on navigating the unfamiliar streets. He turned onto the main street towards Michael's house. Michael noticed and started to speak, then hesitated.
"Um...Gene? Are you taking me home?"
Gene made an affirmative noise in his throat without taking his eyes from the road.
"Um...well...I was thinking we could go to your house." His voice sounded a little uncertain, a little sad. Gene exhaled quietly, slowly.
Michael studied him in the flashes of streetlight they passed, his friend's face alternating between sharp and shadow.
"Okay." Gene said quietly. He made a U-turn and started to make his way home. Everything was fine, he told himself. Really.
'I was talking to a stranger, about times long ago;
I was young, I was foolish,
I was vain, I was charming, I was lucky:
Tell me--how have I changed?'
Out of Control (Rolling Stones, 1997)
Michael leaned over Gene to type on the keyboard, punching in a response to the Yahoo Messenger box for 'dramabrat88'. The printer clacked away on the shelf above the monitor. The Stones played softly in the background. Gene slouched in the chair, holding a cigarette at his lips as he watched the screen, ignoring Michael's shoulder in front of him and the faint scent of the other boy's cologne. This wasn't as easy as he'd hoped. Maybe this was good for him, he thought with wry amusement; maybe this was like a crash course in self-control. He had an image of Mr. Spock on some Star Trek movie or other, studying the Vulcan discipline of Logic somewhere in a desert. He knew he could use a dose of logic right about now. Logic and a long, cold shower.
Michael finished typing and leaned back carefully in the folding chair. He grinned at Gene.
"Yanno, starting this GSA thing could end up being pretty cool. Jaye seems worked up about it, for sure." Michael said.
Gene nodded.
"I think its past time for something like that at Northside. There's a lot of gay kids on campus and they aren't all in drama." said Gene.
Michael snickered at that. Gene laughed.
"Yeah, definitely not all in drama. Anyway, Friedman's fine with sponsoring it so I'm taking up this stuff that's printing out for him to look at on Monday."
Michael nodded absently, watching the monitor screen.
The Yahoo box blinked with Jaye's reply. Michael leaned over Gene again to the mouse, clicking the box back open. Behind the four Yahoo message boxes were the open forums of the high school debate website that Gene moderated. Gene was cleaning up the day's discussion threads while they talked, his hand hovering over the mouse and occasionally clicking commands.
'sounds cool...we should meet this week...all of us...and friedman...' appeared in large flowing purple script inside the message box, followed by a yellow smile face. The message was overlaid across a realistically animated fishtank IMV. Gene put his fingers on the keyboard to answer.
'how's monday? i'm taking the printouts in to friedman...' said 'c-xchamp06' in red boxy letters that showed up well against the movement of the colorful cyber-fish. Gene's hands fell from the keyboard as he reached to lift his cigarette from the metal ashtray beside it. He watched impassively as the debate discussion posts under the sub-topic 'WMD Negs' scrolled down the screen under the yellow Yahoo boxes.
The box for 'dramabrat88' was blinking. 'mondays cool...who should I tell besides angelboi? ...i could put up signs in drama room...or in the bathroom' appeared in purple, followed by a devious looking smilie face. Michael laughed and reached for the keyboard.
'no on the toilet signs you asshole' spelled out in red letters across the waving sea plants of the small box.
'k...me and angel and you guys...who else?'
'c-xchamp06' responded with, 'anyone u want...just no haters'. Gene looked at Michael typing and stubbed out the cigarette. Michael met his gaze and shrugged.
"Ya never know." he said by way of explanation. Not that it seemed likely any drama kids would be or even know any bigots but you couldn't be too careful, Michael reasoned. Better to state the obvious.
'dramabrat88' wrote 'duh' followed by a yellow smilie batting long, fluttering lashes, then continued with, 'what did friedman say anyway?'
Michael pulled back to let Gene type.
'c-xchamp06' said 'he's fine...he'll do it... no problem...said we can use the debate room...'
'dramabrat88' blinked, 'cool!!' with a smilie whose grin showed a lot of teeth, then continued, 'after school monday ok?'
Michael looked to Gene and put his hands to the keys again. Gene nodded.
'c-xchamp06' said, 'yep'. 'dramabrat88' flashed a smilie face again, then asked, 'BYOB?'
Michael chuckled and typed, 'very funny, jaye' decorated with a tongue-stuck-out smilie in response while Gene's hand on the mouse clicked several times, clearing out and closing a debate site thread that had gotten a little heated. Debaters could get so obnoxious, especially online. Sometimes it almost seemed a prerequisite for winning, Gene mused, that famous cross-ex debater arrogance, but more often on the website it was just some kid who's only claim to fame was his snarky online attitude. He sighed, trying to feel charitable.
'dramabrat88' blinked to say, 'cant blame me for trying...off to bed...nite'. The message box displayed the message 'DRAMABRAT88 HAS LOGGED OUT. (1:14 AM)' Michael reached over Gene for the keyboard again.
'c-xchamp06' typed, 'see ya then!' which would appear as an offline message when Jaye logged back in to his account. Michael pulled back and laced his fingers together, cracking his knuckles loudly. Gene winced. Michael grinned at his friend and stood up. He wore only a loose pair of plaid boxers. His brown hair was still damp and his skin glowed from the long, hot shower. Gene glanced at him and away, focusing on the monitor and the scrolling posts. He was glad of the loose gray sweatpants and untucked 'Nude Co-ed Debate' tee shirt he'd pulled on in the bathroom. They covered quite a bit, fortunately. Michael stretched, hands above his head, and groaned with feeling.
"I'm gonna hit the bed. I'm pretty wiped." he said. Gene nodded, his eyes on the computer screen. Michael bent over and kissed Gene lightly on the cheek, then walked to the double bed and pulled down the navy bedspread. He climbed in and snuggled up to the furthest pillow, leaving the nearer side free for Gene. That had always been Gene's side when Michael slept over. With his head on the pillow and both hands tucked under, he watched Gene from the back as he worked, his black hair mussed and still somewhat wet, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. Gene's angular right shoulder moved as he worked the mouse, intent on the monitor. He glanced once over at Michael.
"Want me to turn out the light?" he asked.
Michael nodded. Gene stood slowly, hand lingering on the mouse as he did, then walked to the switch at the door and flicked it off, leaving only the light of the monitor and the small lamp beside it to illuminate the room. He returned to the computer chair and sat down again. He worked silently for some minutes while Michael watched.
"Gene?" Michael's voice sounded loud in the quiet of the house, just above the low stereo.
"Hmm?" Gene said without turning.
"You coming to bed?" His voice was soft. Gene sighed.
"In a minute. I have to finish this stuff, catch it up a little."
"Okay." Michael tried not to feel disappointed. It was just so much easier to talk in bed and he'd been looking forward to curling up next to Gene. It was always comforting to be in this room, the light and sounds from the computer were a familiar accompaniment to sleep and Gene's presence was, as always, reassuring. Of course, he thought with a smile, Gene had that effect on everyone. Cats would drape themselves over him in a heartbeat, sensing something calm about him, something safe and dependable. People were even easier, often confiding in Gene what they told no one else and looking to him for advice. He knew it perplexed Gene himself but Michael thought he understood.
Gene was that thing that sounded trite but was, in his case, just the plain truth: trustworthy. Literally worthy of trust. Reliable. And strong, Michael added, to himself. Gene couldn't see it but the rest of the world had no difficulty. It was almost the first thing you noticed about Gene, despite him being only seventeen. He radiated a kind of casual authority and certainty. Michael knew adults who didn't come close to that. Gene was going to be amazing when he was an adult, he thought, and not for the first time. He watched as Gene pulled printouts from the printer tray and sorted them into stacks, separating them with paperclips from a dish beside the monitor. He felt himself growing drowsy and nuzzled deeper into the pillow. Maybe he could talk to Gene tomorrow. He felt his eyes closing with sleep, the light of the moon falling through the blinds and across the sheets beside him. He therefore wasn't aware of it when Gene finally turned in the swivel chair. The debater's face was impassive as he gazed at his sleeping friend from across the darkened room.
'I followed you
Through swirling seas,
Down darkened woods
With silent trees.'
Love Is Strong (Rolling Stones, 1994)
Gene finally logged off the computer but left it on to run diagnostics and repairs through the night. He switched off the study lamp beside it and walked to the bed. He could hear Michael's even breathing in the dimly lit room. He shrugged out of his shirt, laid it on the bedside table and looked down at Michael's tousled head on the pillow. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of his sweatpants, slide them down and off. He folded them and put them on top of the tee shirt. Wearing only briefs, he pulled up the edge of the covers and climbed into the bed carefully, trying not to disturb Michael. He lay his head on the pillow and tried to relax. Michael's body stirred beside him.
"Mmm...Gene?"
Damn. "Sorry. I was trying to be quiet." he said.
Michael rolled towards him and opened his eyes. Gene could see them glitter slightly in the moonlight.
"You must be tired, babe. Want a backrub?" Michael asked sleepily. Gene's smile was concealed in the darkness.
"Umm..." Somehow 'no' just wasn't coming out of his mouth.
Michael chuckled and pushed himself up on his elbows.
"That sounded suspiciously like a 'yes'." he said. Gene laughed quietly.
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't mind a backrub, I guess."
"You never mind a backrub after a tournament, Gene." Michael corrected, rising up to kneel beside his friend. He patted Gene's shoulder. "Be a good boy and roll over."
Gene laughed again and followed the command, rolling over and putting his cheek down against the pillow. Michael straddled his back, placed his hands on Gene's neck and began kneading the tight muscles, digging his thumbs in to loosen the tension there. Gene moaned softly, it felt so good after the long day and Michael's hands were strong; his backrubs were always amazing.
He murmured into the pillow. "I keep telling you, Mikey, you should be a professional masseur, you have real talent in those fingers." Michael worked his way down Gene's spine, digging in and relaxing each muscle group in turn. He shook his head.
"Nope. It's just for people I care about, my talent can't be bought." he said.
"Mmmph." Gene said against the pillow as Michael hit a particularly tight section in his lower back. As he relaxed, he became more physically aware of the weight of Michael's body on his and he felt himself start to grow hard. He reached down to surreptitiously adjust things. Friendship with Michael, especially this kind of proximity to Michael, was going to make his resolution to damp down his heart more difficult, he knew, but he had no intention of changing their relationship itself. Just...his own emotional reaction to it. He could do this.
It wasn't Michael's fault that he was having difficulty, why penalize him with some kind of dramatic scene or hysterical demand to alter their friendship? Gene just had to...gain control of himself. He had that quick vision again of Mr. Spock in the Vulcan desert again. Hadn't Spock failed that training in stoicism? He pushed that thought away and concentrated on letting Michael's hands soothe the stress in his body. Michael's friendship wasn't something he wanted to jeopardize with jealousy. He really could do this. Michael hit an especially sensitive spot and Gene groaned appreciatively. Michael slid his hands down and kneaded just above his buttocks.
"Mmmm....Michael?" Gene muttered.
"Like that?" His hands stroked and massaged a little lower.
"Mmm-hmm. Don't stop...well...except..."
"Its dark, babe, but I can tell you're blushing. You're lighting up the room."
The pillow muffled Gene's embarrassed laughter.
"Yeah, well..." he murmured, stretching his legs apart to get more comfortable. Michael paused and then gently lay down across Gene's back, nuzzling the back of his neck.
"Feeling better yet?" he asked.
Gene snickered. Michael nipped his earlobe and he gasped at the unexpected rush of blood and feeling. The heat of Michael's body touched his from head to toe and he could feel the other boy's erection hard against his buttocks. He felt Michael push down his own boxers with his hand, then use his foot to toss them off the bed. He groaned again, needy, and arched back up into the hardness at his back. Michael reached his right hand around and under Gene's pelvis, sliding under and cupping his scrotum, squeezing gently.
"Oh, God..." whispered Gene. Michael's hand moved up to rub the underside of Gene's cock, then grasp it through his briefs. He pushed his erection against Gene's bottom, grinding into him and stroking Gene's restrained cock as he did so. Gene was writhing a little and pushing up from the mattress into Michael's hard body, into his hard cock. He felt Michael's warm hand move up and slide under the band of his shorts as he pushed up from the bed, and then press the band downward, his hand slipping inside and wrapping around Gene's throbbing organ.
"Jesus..." Gene all but whimpered.
He was breathing hard now and could feel Michael's hot, fast breaths against the nape of his neck. He arched his whole body back against Michael, feeling himself pinned under the larger boy and enjoying the sensation. Michael's weight on him, hand on his cock and breath on his neck were driving him fast towards release. He groaned again, sweating, his hands against the pillow, his pelvis moving in circles against Michael's hardness. His cock was leaking onto the sheets, his briefs, bunched down under his balls, were damp with it. Michael's hand gripped his shaft, the leaking fluid coating and lubricating it, as he pumped in rhythm with his own grinding and thrusting pelvis.
Michael groaned into his neck and began thrusting faster against him, jacking in rhythm, left arm wrapped tight around Gene's waist, then he suddenly bit into Gene's shoulder where it joined his neck, sending them both over the edge, almost simultaneously. Gene gasped aloud as he felt his balls contract upwards and the pressure release, driving a heat through his guts to burst outward and shoot across the sheet, some landing fiery on his skin. He felt Michael's body arch finally against his buttocks, grinding in hard then holding still as his body rocked with his climax, making a strangled sound low in his throat.
Gene's balls exploded in a secondary, sympathetic spasm as he felt the other boy's sweat-slicked body shuddering above him, spurting hot against his back. Michael's arm held him close as aftershocks coursed through their bodies and they sank together slowly down flat onto the bed; Gene's face against the pillow, Michael's right hand still under him, encasing his cock. Their breathing slowed as their bodies relaxed. Michael rolled slightly to the left, taking much of his weight from Gene but staying wrapped close, his lips against Gene's neck. They held still, bodies quieting, heart rates slowing. Michael gently pulled his right hand from Gene and laid it across his back, his left arm still around and under the debater's waist.
The room came back into focus, filtered moonlight across the bed, a low hum from the computer in the sudden silence. Gene slowly regained control of his lungs, his pulse. Michael's breathing became more even, he was falling back into sleep holding Gene. Gene smiled in the dark, feeling sleep stealing up on him, too. He nestled into the pillow and into Michael's arm, sleep overtaking him. The silence seemed soothing. The pillow was comforting against his cheek, Michael's arm holding him even more so. He drifted off to sleep to the sound of Michael's rhythmic breathing and the sweaty, tangy scent of satisfying sex. Gene would think about other things...tomorrow.
'Do you ever touch the night, do you ever count the cost?
Do you hide away the fear, put down paradise as lost?'
Blinded by Rainbows (Rolling Stones, 1994)
[End of Part 11]
This chapter written to the musical accompaniment of the Rolling Stones' Bridges to Babylon and Voodoo Lounge CDs-which is what Gene is listening to throughout.
IF YOU LIKE DRAMA CLUB, consider joining the TragicRabbit listserv (link below) to keep up with chapters as soon as they are completed and to post comments/questions directly to author:
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