After the shoot finished, Gabriel changed back into his street clothes. He took off a little of the makeup around his eyes but left most of it. He liked the way it looked, like another part of him was peeking through.
There was tense, awkward silence in the car on the way to the venue for the next concert. In just a little while, he would have a whole new face, a new mask to hide behind and a new persona to play with—with Michael. Gabriel didn't know what to say, but he could feel something between them, something magnetic, something intense. But for the life of him, he couldn't explain it or put his finger on what it was.
Michael did. Gabriel didn't even realize what was happening, but one instant, they were just sitting there and the next, Michael had his hands in Gabriel's hair and was pushing his tongue into Gabriel's mouth. Gabriel growled, grabbing hold of Michael's shoulders and kissing him back fervently. It was hot and slick and so intense it felt nuclear. There was a fever running through Gabriel, fire shooting through his veins, and it was all because of Michael and this kiss, this kiss that he never wanted to end.
He moaned when Michael slipped his warm fingers under his shirt and teased at his nipples. He tossed his head back and Michael latched on, sucking marks into his neck, marking Gabriel as his own. The whole world—and he meant that literally—would see them, and they would know that they came from Michael, that he was Michael's.
Gabriel groaned and swung himself onto Michael's lap, kissing him hot and hard as he ground down on him, rubbing their cocks together in delicious friction.
God, it was so good, so so good. He could come from this, just like a horny teenager, from rubbing off on Michael, the feel of Michael's fingers on his skin, the taste of Michael in his mouth.
"Oh, God, Michael," he whispered, rocking hard. "Fuck yes."
"Gabriel," Michael gasped.
"Ah-hem." The driver coughed politely. "We've arrived."
They untangled themselves, both breathing hard and more that a little turned on, and tried to smooth out their clothes and make themselves look presentable. When they exited the car, it was back to work.
Gabriel stared at himself hard in the mirror, trying to look into himself, like the glass was going to show him the answers to the questions he barely understood. He purposely avoided looking at Michael's reflection behind him, looking only at his own face. What was he doing? What was he feeling? What was happening between them, to them? What was this—this thing between him and Michael, this thing inside him, this thing that consumed him and transformed him like some kind of demon?
He was forgetting all the rules and boundaries he had created for himself with his past bands, forgetting them and not caring about them one iota. When Michael was around him, this thing—whatever it was—took him over completely, making him careless of who saw or what they thought, only that he get more of it, like he needed it, needed Michael, in order to keep living.
What was this thing consuming him?
*~*~*
That night, Michael lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. All he could think about was Gabriel: Gabriel's smile, Gabriel's eyes, Gabriel's fingers on his guitar, Gabriel's body when he played, the way Gabriel laughed, the way Gabriel tasted, the way Gabriel felt pressed against him. He couldn't stop. He tried. He tried to think about dead puppies, his mother, even his vision for the next record. Nothing could occupy his mind or get rid of the images of Gabriel.
What was he doing? Hadn't he learned his lesson barely a week before? He was going to fuck up his band; he was going to fuck up himself. He'd fuck Gabriel up too. Screw up any chance he had for a decent career or respectable reputation. Michael could think of a million reasons not to fool around with Gabriel.
But all those reasons flew out the window whenever Gabriel was around, and he felt this need pulling at him like a magnet.
With a soft groan, Michael gave in and slipped his hand beneath his blankets and wrapped it around his already hard cock. He could see it in his mind. Gabriel on his knees in front of him, those brown eyes blown with lust and hungry for him. He could feel Gabriel's hands on his skin, feel those long fingers fumble with his belt and pull his pants off. And then his mouth—hot and wet and so damn needy, wanting to take him in, desperate to suck his cock.
Michael stifled a groan, stopping only to spit in his hand before continuing to jack himself off. Oh, fuck. God, he wished he was pounding into Gabriel instead of his own hand, thrusting his cock deep into Gabriel's tight ass. He could feel just how hot it would be inside Gabriel's body. He bit his other hand to keep himself quiet. In his mind, he drew his eyes up Gabriel's body as he fucked him, seeing all that pale skin spread out before him, but it was when he got to Gabriel's desperate eyes that he came, hard, and Gabriel's name slipped out.
*~*~*
In a bunk across the hallway, Gabriel heard Michael moan his name. What was going on? What was happening between them? What was he doing, fooling around with Michael? His whole life, bands had picked him up to make him their fuck toy, not respecting him as a musician or even as another human being. He was just a wet mouth or a tight ass to all of them. What the hell was he doing letting Michael treat him the same?
When Gabriel checked his email the next morning, he was surprised to find an email from someone he didn't know: Zadkiel. How had the band's former bassist gotten his email address? Zadkiel didn't answer that, but he did say that he had seen their stage show and knew what was going on between him and Michael. He warned Gabriel that as someone who had been—quite recently—in Gabriel's shoes, it was best not to let Michael control him, no matter how much both of them wanted it. Michael wanted sex. That was it. Gabriel's career didn't make a hill of beans of difference to him. Attached were a half-dozen pictures in varying states of nudity, all of Zadkiel and Michael.
Instead of solving anything, the email just created more questions. Michael and Zadkiel? Michael and Zadkiel? How had the fans not gotten wind of that? How had Michael and Zadkiel managed to keep that a secret?
He had to assume that Michael had broken Zadkiel's heart and Zadkiel had then left the band. And now, a week later, Michael had a new boy to play with?
Gabriel was hurt, that was for sure. And disappointed. But underneath it all, he couldn't deny that he still felt that tug in his chest, that connection, that desire and need. What was wrong with him?
He caught up with Raphael after soundcheck.
"Hey, Raphe?"
"What's up?"
"I got an email today—from Zadkiel."
Raphael's eyes shot up. "You don't say."
"Yeah. And he said—well, I'm not really sure what he said. It was more about what he didn't say?" Raphael was silent, not offering any information, so Gabriel point blank asked, "Were Michael and Zadkiel together?"
Raphael hesitated and then shook his head. "That's Michael's business, not mine."
Gabriel nodded. "Alright." Like Michael would tell him, ever. It seemed like Michael thought he was just another plaything. If he was serious, wouldn't he have said something?
"Sorry. I just don't want to get in the middle of something. It's a two-man kinda situation. I don't want to play the third wheel in the way."
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah, totally. No problem."
*~*~*
"When they ask in your interview—and they will," Michael said as he sat across from Gabriel in the lounge, eating a bran muffin, "make sure you don't tell them I'm a shitty kisser or that I don't know what to do with my hands. Unless you make it sound really charming and endearing."
Gabriel snorted. Michael knew exactly what to do with his hands.
Michael grinned. "Just thought I should say, in case that was the angle you were gonna go with."
"Wait—interview?" What interview? He'd been distracted by thoughts of Michael's kissing prowess. If the band was doing an interview together, he was sure the rest of the guys would have been talking about it. Wait—was it a solo interview?
"Yeah. You're interviewing with SM Magazine today.
Just a little piece for their online viewers, 'cause everyone's curious to know more about you. Didn't you check the calendar?"
Gabriel spun around. Sure enough, G: SM Mag Intrvw @10am was written on the square.
Michael laughed. "Eventually it'll become second nature to check the calendar every day, twice a day. Believe me. Oh!" He dug in a pile of papers on the counter and handed Gabriel a folder. "They sent us some of the proofs from the shoot, in case the ones online aren't enough for you." He winked and headed to the back of the bus.
Gabriel sat down at the table and flipped through the photos. They were fierce, sexual, and commanding. And then a photo caught his eye. It was a simple shot, the two of them standing across from each other. Gabriel was looking off camera, but Michael was looking at him and there was this look in his eyes—vulnerable, needy, longing—that tugged at Gabriel's chest some more.
He taped that photo into his bunk before leaving for the interview and pulled his bunk curtain securely shut, once more hiding his private world from view.
*~*~*
"Hey, Michael."
Michael glanced up from the Bible in his lap to see Raphael standing in front of him. He hadn't heard him come up; he was paging through Revelation. He was thinking the next album might have something to do with the Apocalypse—or maybe the album after that. He didn't want to rush it.
"What's up?"
"Gabriel asked me the other day about you and Zadkiel."
Michael closed the book, his stomach fluttering. His past with Zadkiel was something he'd hoped to hide from Gabriel, presumably forever. How had Gabriel guessed? "What did you tell him?"
Raphael looked at him carefully. "That it's your business, not mine."
Michael inwardly sighed in relief. He wasn't going to let Raphael see just how much this got to him emotionally—but he suspected Raphael knew anyway. Raphael knew him better than anyone. "Thank you."
Raphael was looking at him with that leveling, piercing look. "What are you doing, Michael?"
Michael hesitated, and then honestly said, "I don't know."
"Does Gabriel know what you're doing? Does he know what his name really means to you?"
Michael shook his head immediately. "He doesn't need to know that. It's too much for him, too soon." Raphael raised an eyebrow. "I can't tell him. It's crazy. It's enough that he's Gabriel. Well, it should be, but sometimes, it feels like it's not. Like there's more, like I want more. There's this need—"
"Ah, yes, the legendary need." Raphael's tone wasn't teasing, merely pointing out how Michael's life and work revolved around "the need."
"I know. I've only known him a week—"
"You named him Gabriel before you knew him at all."
Michael sighed. "I know."
"That's a big deal to you. If he knew what it meant, it would be a big deal to him too."
"Too big of a deal."
"Then why did you name him 'Gabriel?'" Raphael asked, somewhat exasperatedly. "You knew he was only going to be here four weeks. That's not exactly long enough for mind-blowing revelations—or for them to mean anything."
"Of course it means something. He deserved the name Gabriel."
Raphael sighed. "But he doesn't know what it means."
"He's not ready."
Raphael sighed. "Fine. It's your business, not mine. But I think you should tell him—about Zadkiel, if nothing else. He deserves to know that."
*~*~*
Michael went for a walk after the show that night. Walking around the city streets, his thoughts had more room to run free—but that only made them multiply to fill the empty space.
How did Gabriel know about him and Zadkiel? He was sure no one in the band would have told him; they all respected each other's privacy enough not to go around shooting their mouths off. Not even the tabloids or diehard fans had known there was something between him and Zadkiel. How had Gabriel figured it out?
It wasn't important how Gabriel knew, not really, and he pushed that question from his mind to focus on the important one.
Was he ready to tell Gabriel about Zadkiel? There were things about his relationship with Zadkiel that even Raphael didn't know. And he wasn't sure he was ready to admit them to himself, much less to Gabriel. He wasn't sure he was ready to let Gabriel get that close to him, to get inside him like that. Even though all he wanted was to be inside Gabriel. God, he was a hypocrite.
What the hell were they doing? There was something between them—Michael could feel it. He could feel the insane need that consumed him when he was around Gabriel. There was something in Gabriel's eyes that pulled him in, hypnotizing him. There was something about Gabriel's presence that made everything else fall away. And there was something else, something about him that made Michael's blood run hot and made all caution and self-preservation fly out the window. It was like nothing he'd ever known before, certainly nothing like what he'd had with Zadkiel.
What the hell was he doing?
His phone beeped; he looked down to see a text from Raphael. Bus call in 20. No rush 2nite. U need more time?
Wandering around wasn't answering any questions and Michael knew that once the bus got to the next city he was going to get to sleep in a hotel bed. Maybe a real bed and a day off would help. Nah. B there in 30.
When he got back to the bus, Gabriel and Sammael were playing video games, laughing and shouting death threats at each other as their characters battled on the screen. As Sammael's character died, Gabriel threw his arms up in the air.
"Victory!"
"Luck," Sammael retorted with a smile. "Best of seven?"
Gabriel grinned. "You got it."
Something made him look up at Michael. His smile seemed to fade a little, but the light in his eyes only got stronger.
"You fit in," Michael said finally and then turned and headed toward his bunk.
In his bunk, he rubbed at his face. His brain was too wild for him to sleep, but no answers to his problem were coming. He rolled onto his belly and pulled his laptop out of the cubby. He scrolled through the band website and answered a few fan questions. Then he saw the newest update—Gabriel's interview had gone online.
He clicked the link. It was short and headed by a photo from their shoot, one of Gabriel crouching and staring down the camera. Michael had been in this photo, but he'd been cropped out.
SM Mag: Fallen Angel chose you out of hundreds of auditions. How did that happen? How do you feel about it?
Gabriel: A lot of it was luck, I think. There were so many [expletive] amazing guitarists there; they could've picked any one of them. I guess I had something they were looking for. And I feel incredibly lucky. These guys are my idols; I've been following them since their first single. It's big—almost too big, you know? I mean, how many nobodies get a chance to play with their [expletive] idols? Nobody.
SM Mag: Has your family been supportive of your musical interest?
Gabriel: I started playing when I was twelve 'cause my dad hated musicians. It started out as a way to piss him off, but then I couldn't stop playing. My mom has always been very supportive of me, no matter what I choose to do.
SM Mag: How are you getting on with the other members of the band?
Gabriel: They're great. Raphael is brilliant; I've never seen anyone play guitar the way he does. Ariel reminds me of my little sister. Sammael and I get on really well, and Uriel's like an older brother.
SM Mag: And Michael?
Gabriel: (hesitates) Michael is … brilliant. Intense. He's really dedicated to his music. It's his whole life. It's really inspiring.
Michael set aside his laptop, not reading the rest of the article just then. Gabriel had a sister? And he hated his father? How had he never bothered to ask about Gabriel as a person? He was such a shitty band member. He'd been entirely too focused on the big picture, that Gabriel was like Creation to him, like the dawn of the millennium. He'd been blinded by the intensity of his feelings for Gabriel and the strength of whatever was going on between them
. He'd only ever seen him as The Almighty Gabriel, never as a person. He was going to change that.
TRACK THREE
Gabriel slept in late on his first day off since joining the tour. It was nearly noon by the time he dragged his ass out of bed, and once he did, he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He found a text message on his phone from Ariel saying that she was out shopping, Raphael and Sammael were out and about, and that Uriel was sleeping—and not to interrupt his beauty sleep.
It seemed like he and Michael were the only ones left in the hotel, so he threw on jeans and a zip up hoodie and headed over to Michael's room. Part of him just wanted to relax and enjoy the time off, but the little voice in his head kept telling him that he needed to know and he might not get another opportunity. Maybe it was time they finally had "the talk."
"Hey, Gabriel." Michael looked surprised, but he stepped back to let Gabriel in.
Gabriel stared at the bed, which was covered with sketches, notebook pages of lyrics, and open books: Bibles and biblical texts. "What's all this?"
"Oh, this. I'm working on the next album, bouncing around ideas and organizing them into something comprehensible."
Gabriel nodded, still surprised by the amount of clutter it took for Michael to brainstorm something. "You do realize you're going to be on tour for another three months, right? You've got some time."
Michael shrugged. "I'm always working on the next album. It's what I do."
"When do you live?"
"What do you mean?"
"You're always getting ready for the next thing. When do you enjoy right now?"
Rocking Hard, Volume 2 Page 4
