"Michael," Gabriel groaned as Michael disappeared into the bathroom. "It's almost seven."
He caught sight of Michael's entire makeup collection spread out across the bathroom counters before the door closed on him. With a sigh, he spread out on the bed and flicked through the TV channels.
He wasn't the clubbing type. He went to concerts; he screamed his head off and jumped around with everybody else. He got into mosh pits. None of these really compared to dancing at a club.
Gabriel had dug through his entire—and minimal—wardrobe to find something somewhat suitable, or at least acceptable. He had even shared his dilemma with Ariel, who had lent him a shirt. When he had finally dressed in black skinny jeans and Ariel's body-hugging, black fishnet top, Ana had given him the thumbs up of approval and then insisted she paint his nails a shade called "Violent Violet." He had kept with the purple and black theme for his makeup, lining his eyes and then shadowing them with a deep plum. He felt pretty sexy, but he wasn't sure he was going to live up to club standards—particularly when Ariel emerged wearing a skin-tight sheath dress in electric green with matching heels.
That was when the knocking started. Sammael was the first to knock politely and inform Michael that he was already late. Then the phone calls started, which Michael ignored. Finally, Raphael banged on the door, threatening to replace Michael's conditioner with pink hair dye if he didn't get out there immediately.
When Michael still didn't leave the bathroom, merely called that he was perfecting a masterpiece, the rest of the band went ahead to the club.
Gabriel spent another forty minutes sprawled on the bed, waiting for Michael. No one took as long to get ready as Michael did. Gabriel had met drag queens who were faster in hair and makeup. It was worth the wait, though. One look at Michael, and Gabriel swallowed hard. His leather pants were tight and dark, encased in knee high boots. His clingy blue silk shirt had a deep V that plunged downward. His hair was teased and sprayed up high; his makeup was dark and mesmerizing. Every inch of him—hair, face, chest—was dusted in glitter.
Gabriel had to remind himself to breathe. "Holy shit."
Michael grinned. "Thanks, babe. I'll take that as a compliment." He winked. "C'mon, hot stuff. Let's get going before Uriel turns thirty."
*~*~*
The club was dark, hot, and crowded with bodies grinding everywhere. They had to push their way through the crowd to get to the band's tables, scarf down a few shots while toasting Uriel, and then shove their way to the floor—because Michael was not going to allow Gabriel to spend the night sitting in the booth texting Ana back at the hotel, even though Gabriel would have been perfectly content to do so.
"No way," Michael shouted to be heard, grinning. "You're living the high life now—so live it."
Michael was a dancer. Every part of his body was connected to the music and moved flawlessly and effortlessly with it, just like the bodies surrounding them.
Gabriel was not a dancer. He felt awkward and uncomfortable, trying to move his feet and his hips to the beat, incredibly self-conscious of the people around him gyrating like they were in a choreographed music video. He could play any rhythm, he could bang his head until he felt his brains shaking, but dancing? His gay genes had apparently malfunctioned when it came to that particular skill.
"What's wrong?" Michael leaned closer and shouted.
"I can't dance."
"Bullshit."
"I'm serious."
Michael laughed. "Everyone can dance—trust me."
He pulled Gabriel against him, back to front, and held on to his hips, pivoting his pelvis and taking Gabriel with him. At first, Gabriel's brain didn't know what to tell his body to do: blush because he was being rubbed against in a crowd of people, or get very hard very fast.
When his brain finally kicked back in, he began to sway his hips a little bit, trying to follow Michael's movements. He bit his lip in concentration.
"Just relax," Michael told him. "Feel it. Number one rule of dancing: let your body do what it wants."
It didn't take long for Gabriel to get the hang of it, grinding on Michael to the dirty beat weaving around them. Every so often, Michael's hands would brush up or down his arms, and the sensation of touch/no-touch because of his netted shirt made his nerves feel like a livewire. He managed to get up the nerve to reach up and back to put his arm around Michael's neck.
"My turn!" Ariel arrived, grinning, and tugged Gabriel away. She didn't stop until they were completely cut off from Michael. "Having fun?"
He grinned at her in reply, having too much fun to be bitter that she'd stolen him away from Michael, and she laughed. "Dance with me."
It was different, dancing with Ariel. She wasn't touching him, for starters, so he couldn't rely on her to lead. Barefoot, she was shorter than he was, but on the floor, she fit in with all the bumping bodies. To her credit, she didn't even laugh as he struggled to find the rhythm of her dancing.
More shots and drinks ensued back at the table, followed by a cake, the candles of which Uriel blew out like a champ after refusing to sing how old he was. Gabriel downed another shot with Ariel, and then Michael pulled him away to the dance floor.
This time, Gabriel's shyness was gone. He lost himself in the rhythm of Michael's body, in the heat of his skin, in the darkness in his eyes. He lost himself completely, falling deeper and deeper—into what, he didn't know. All he knew was that he was there, and Michael was there, and he never wanted to leave.
"I want you," he half-moaned into Michael's ear, somehow loud enough to be heard but husky enough to still sound horny and sexy. He was close enough that he could see Michael swallow, could watch the bob in his Adam's apple. He was close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from every inch of Michael's skin and smell the soft skin of his throat, deliciously sexy, a heady scent he couldn't get enough of.
"C'mon, Michael. Rule number one: let your body do what it wants. My body wants to do you."
Michael kissed him hard, ducking his head and commanding the kiss. For a blissful moment, Gabriel surrendered to him completely, opening up his mouth to Michael's pillaging and wrapping his arms around Michael's neck. And then the pressure of Michael's half-hard cock pressed against his belly, and he nipped at Michael, giving back, taking what he wanted and giving what he knew Michael wanted, too. Michael's hands ran down his back and that delicious feel of touched-and-then-not-touched was back, making Gabriel shiver.
"My body wants to do you, too."
Gabriel shivered again at Michael's lust-deepened voice. He kissed Michael hard for a solid minute for good measure then took his hand and pushed through the crowd, leading him to the bathrooms.
Inside, he shoved Michael up against the door and kissed him hard, the noise of the crowd and music dying down, leaving only the rushing of his blood thundering in his ears. He deftly locked the door without breaking the kiss, running his hands up and down Michael's body. For just a moment, he remembered that the outside world still existed, and he quickly checked the few stalls to make sure they were—miraculously—alone.
And then he was back in Michael's arms, pressed against him from chest to hip, and desperately touching every inch of him that he could reach. Michael tugged on his hair, kissing and biting up and down his throat.
"I wanna suck your cock," Gabriel gasped out. "I wanna get down on my knees and suck your cock 'til you come down my throat. I wanna taste you. I wanna feel you."
Michael's eyes were wild with need and dark as night. It was the sexiest thing Gabriel had ever seen. Michael kissed him like he needed him, like he'd been poisoned and the only thing in the world that could keep him alive was kissing Gabriel. Gabriel could kiss him forever, he could, but at that moment, he wanted—needed?—something even more.
He sunk to his knees, fingers sure as he unbuttoned and unzipped Michael's pants, hauling them down to his ankles in one swift motion. He was commando, he always was, and his hard cock was right there in front of Gabriel's face.
>
Gabriel leaned in closer, running his cheek up the velvety length. The heat was searing. He could imagine it leaving a bright, shiny scar on his cheek. Whenever anyone saw it, they'd know everything, and he wanted that, he wanted that so badly.
"I want you so bad," Michael moaned, practically begging. "Gabriel."
Gabriel licked a hot, wet strip up the underside of Michael's cock, firmly pressing on the vein, and Michael cried out. He mouthed at the base of Michael's cock, tasting the soft, smooth skin. Michael shaved everything, and it was so incredibly sexy.
He hummed in approval. Gabriel could smell Michael's desire, desire for him, and the pheromones were creeping into his brain, making him high.
"Oh, God, Gabriel," Michael groaned, his hands firmly pressing into the wall behind him. He was pushing for some kind of control, but Gabriel didn't want that. He wanted the control—he wanted to make Michael lose it all.
He teased, sucking on Michael's balls, licking slowly up his shaft, flicking his tongue across the head. Michael was shaking, and it was so fucking sexy.
"Gabriel …" He whined.
"Beg me," Gabriel ordered, his voice low and dark with power and need. "Beg me, Michael."
Michael whimpered. "Gabriel. Gabriel, please. Please."
"What? What do you want me to do?" He licked around the ridge of the head of Michael's cock, and Michael keened. "Tell me."
"Suck my cock." Michael practically tripped over the words. "Please, Gabriel. Please suck my cock."
Gabriel didn't answer, not with words, but he opened his mouth wide and sank down onto Michael's cock. Michael cried out, loudly, and it was the greatest applause Gabriel had ever heard. He bobbed his head up and down, sucking hard. He could feel Michael shaking, and when he looked up at him, Michael was staring down at him with desperate need and desire written across his face.
He reached for Michael's hands, still braced against the wall to restrain himself, and placed them on his head. His message was clear. Michael fucked his face, hard and fast, and when he came, he cried Gabriel's name.
Gabriel swallowed, loving the taste of Michael in his mouth, and watched with dark eyes as Michael recovered. He panted with an open mouth, as breathless from having his face fucked as from the sheer need he felt.
When Michael looked down at him, his eyes were dark as well, and in the next instant, Gabriel was hauled up and pressed against the wall. Michael kissed him brutally, hard enough to bruise, and Gabriel pulled him closer, wanting more. He wanted it all. He wanted the marks, the bruises—he wanted the proof when he looked in the mirror the next morning.
Michael opened his pants, dragging them down as he got on his knees, his own pants still around his ankles. He didn't tease and he didn't play. He went straight to business, swallowing Gabriel's cock, bobbing his head furiously. Gabriel tried to thrust his hips, but Michael wouldn't allow it. He gripped Gabriel's hips hard enough to bruise and pressed him against the door, holding him in place. It was over in a matter of moments, Michael sucking hard enough to pull Gabriel's brains out through his cock, and he came hard in Michael's mouth.
When they finally pulled their pants back up, they stared into each other's eyes, and Gabriel could feel himself falling into Michael's eyes, falling far and deep and hard. Gabriel didn't know where he was or where he was going; all he knew was that he was there, Michael was there, and he never wanted to leave.
TRACK FIVE
"Gabriel is an imposter!" The band was in the bus lounge after saying goodbye to Ana, and Ariel was reading from the band's website. "He's toying with Michael and breaking his heart!"
Michael made a face and rolled his eyes. Gabriel frowned. "I thought the fans liked me."
"They did—until this." Ariel spun the computer around, revealing photos of Gabriel tangled up with various girls. He recognized a few of the photos—well, remembered the photos being taken. Most of them he didn't know even existed.
"You were late to the gay party, too, huh?" Ariel asked wryly.
Gabriel shrugged. "I like who I like."
Sammael snorted. "The fans only like that line when it's the reason you're banging their frontman—not when it's an excuse to fuck random girls."
"They weren't random girls!" Gabriel defended vehemently. "Well, not most of them. I mean, come on. I was a teenage boy; I wasn't the poster child for the 'Save Yourself For Marriage' campaign."
Sammael snorted again. "I'll say."
"Like you did any better."
Sammael shrugged, but his grin told the real story.
"Maybe it'll all blow over," Uriel suggested from the corner of the couch. "The fans will just forget about it."
*~*~*
They didn't. In fact, a number of them were waiting outside the venue with signs that—in various tones of vulgarity—told Gabriel to get lost.
Go back to fucking girls and stop fucking with our Michael!
JUDAS!
Traitor! Liar!
The "Judas" sign was Michael's favorite. It made him chuckle.
"Really?" Gabriel asked, slightly incredulous. "Laughter is how you're choosing to deal with this?"
Michael shrugged. "If you can't change it, you gotta bear it. What else am I supposed to do but make the best of it? And you can't deny—tying the Bible into their poster was clever."
Gabriel rolled his eyes. Leave it to Michael to be thinking of the fans' creativity in the midst of their current situation. Maybe it was because Michael had spent his whole life dealing with this kind of negativity, while Gabriel was so new to it, that he was able to brush it off.
The fans at the show weren't too happy with him either. There was only a smattering of cheers and wolf-whistles during Michael and Gabriel's kiss, but there were dozens of boos, hisses, and curses. In keeping with the running Biblical metaphor, Gabriel felt like a leper. Overnight, it seemed like the entire world had turned on him.
For a group of people who celebrated the right to love whoever they wanted, they were certainly being very closed-minded. Clearly, the right to love whoever he wanted only extended to men in the eyes of the fans. Hypocrites.
*~*~*
"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry!"
Gabriel frowned as he spoke on the phone with his mom. "What are you talking about? What happened?"
"I let that boy in here and showed him the photos of you."
"Mom!"
"I'm sorry! He said he was previously with the band, and he certainly knew enough about them. He said he wanted to do a piece about the freedom to love whoever you want, and I thought that that was something you would like. I had no idea he'd use those photos to smear your name!"
Gabriel sighed. Zadkiel. What was with this man's meddling in his life?
"It's okay, Mom. Really." He didn't blame her, and like Michael had said: "If you can't change it, you gotta bear it."
"No, it's not. I've heard what they're saying about you. It's horrible!"
"This is the turnaround. I didn't get hazed enough in high school to please the gay kids so they're doing it to me now."
"What?" She sounded confused.
"Never mind, Mom. Don't worry about it, okay? Everything's going to be just fine—I promise."
"If you're sure, honey …"
"I am sure. Thanks for calling, Mom. I love you."
"I love you too, Jackson."
He flinched at the sound of his own name—how weird was that? How had he become Gabriel so completely?
"What's up?" Michael asked, entering the lounge and spreading out on the couch with a smoothie.
Gabriel sighed. "My mom leaked the photos."
"What?" Michael spluttered, sitting up straight and almost spilling smoothie over his crotch.
"Not intentionally," Gabriel amended. "Someone came for an interview and she just gave them to him. You know the rest."
Michael whistles. "Backstabbing someone's mother to get childhood photos. I tell you, there are some pretty crazy people out there."
Some pretty cra
zy people you were involved with, Gabriel thought, but he didn't say it. He didn't know why, but some part of him kept saying that he didn't want to know any more about Zadkiel because he wouldn't like what Michael had to say.
"What are we gonna do?" he said instead.
Michael looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"This shit is ridiculous!" Gabriel said passionately. "And it's not just about me. People can say shit about me. I don't care. But these kids are being just as intolerant as the assholes on the other side. They're fighting all the time to be allowed to love who they want. Why can't I love who I want?"
Michael thought about that for a moment. "You're right."
"I know I'm right. But they're your fans—I need your permission to talk to them."
"What do you want to do, call a press conference?"
"No. I don't know. But I'm not just going to sit here quietly and take their shit. If they start harassing straight kids for 'experimenting' it's going to start a downward spiral, and all the work people have put into this will all go right back to the bottom of the hill."
Michael looked at him, a strange glint in his eyes.
"What?" Gabriel asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"When did you become an activist?"
"I—I'm not. I'm just not going to let people fuck things up for themselves and everyone else. We don't deserve it."
"'We' as in—"
"The entire gay community."
"That's the first time I've ever heard you include yourself in that."
Gabriel shrugged, glancing away for a moment. "I'm not into labels. Why bother? Live your life how you want. Love who you want. Just don't hurt anybody else."
Michael smiled. "You'll be leading rallies and speaking at conventions in no time."
Gabriel snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I'm going to stop having sex, too."
"Your loss." Michael winked at him.
Gabriel had to laugh at that.
*~*~*
I want to take a moment to reach out to the fans. I'm a new face to you, but I'm not new to the Fallen Angel family. I have lived and breathed Fallen Angel for years, just like all of you. And like all of you, I support everyone's right to love whoever they choose. Recently, a number of photos have surfaced about my previous relationships, and many of you have been outspoken about your disapproval.
Rocking Hard, Volume 2 Page 8
