Author: Samantha (Sam)
Feedback: I greatly appreciate feedback.
Pairing: B/M, of course, with initial B/J, Be/M overtones. T/E
Rating: R
Genre: Angst, Romance, WIP
Summary: Michael has some news for Brian. Brian can't cope, and
pushes Michael - and himself - too far.
Special Thanks: Everyone who has sent me such lovely feedback, on and off-list.
Spoilers: Through Season 4
Warnings: AU (which constitutes only the plot - NOT the characters),
WIP. And, er, its rather angsty. However, I promise when I say it
has a very happy ending.
Disclaimer: I'm just playing in Cowlip's sandbox. No profit is generated from this. QAF and Brian/Michael are not mine. But oh, if they were...evil grin
In a haze, a stormy haze, I'll be round
I'll be loving you always, Always.
Here I am and I'll take my time
Here I am and I'll wait in line always,
Always.
Parachutes by COLDPLAY
Be My Downfall
Chapter 7
Michael lay stretched across the bed he was supposed to be making, indulgently embracing an indescribable frame of mind that begged him to simply do nothing; thus prompting his earlier feat of flopping over onto the bed like a dead fish. A dead fish probably felt better.
Dead fish, indeed. Exactly what he was going to be if he didn't get his ass in gear, as he was sure his currently-not-speaking-to-him-mother would so benevolently bellow at him, were she present. Which - thank whatever God's were listening - she was not.
Ben wanted to take him out to eat tonight; to the same fancy restaurant with ridiculously exorbitant prices that David had taken him to on that first, inauspicious date. He hadn't told Ben this fact, nor that he rather not eat there, because of said fact. It was silly, really, but he couldn't change the way he felt. And God, if he could...well.
Living in the past. An expression Ben would surely shoot down with pointy little Buddhism arrows if it ever escaped Michael's lips, much less became an element of his mental regime.
Staring at the ceiling in utter detachment, he brushed his fingers across his throat, along the soft skin just beneath his jaw; rubbing at marks of passion that had long since faded, leaving the pale column smooth and flawless once again. So unlike the surface of his heart.
If he closed his eyes, he could feel Brian's lips trailing unmistakable fire along his neck. He could feel the scrape and nip of teeth. He could feel Brian's hands - smoothing down his sides, caressing his face, skirting over his ass...tracing the teeth of his zipper with a deft finger, teasing the hard cock within.
It always came back to him with staggering clarity, no matter what the circumstance - whether in his dreams, his husband's touch, or the idle moments at the store when his imagination ran free. But more than anything, he felt and remembered Brian's heat. His passion. His gaze. Michael had been burned by it; and knew, no matter how stubbornly he tried to persuade himself, that it was something Brian had never offered to anyone else. He didn't know how he knew, and he often wished he didn't.
Lazily, he swiveled his head to glance at the clock perched on the nightstand. 5:45. He sighed, throwing one arm across his forehead and the other to lay askew above his head. He didn't want to move. And he certainly didn't want to dress up and stare at food he knew he wouldn't eat, all the while scrutinized by Ben's analyzing gaze and audibly assaulted with cheesy elevator music and grating violins.
It was 2:45 PM in Los Angeles. He couldn't help but wonder what Brian was doing. Literally.
The sound of Ben snatched him from his reverie. Michael didn't have to see his husband to know that he would hang up his coat first, put his papers and bag by the table, then search him out for a hello kiss. It was a ritual he had come to love. But it was fleeting.
He felt more than saw the muscular form appear in front of the bedroom door, tan skin contrasting with the deep burgundy of his long sleeved shirt. He was casually rolling up his sleeves, having not yet looked up, instinctively knowing Michael was in the room as he greeted his lover.
"Hey, Babe."
Michael watched him from underneath lowered eyelids, waiting for the reaction he knew he would receive when Ben finally looked at him.
"Michael...why aren't you ready?"
Michael lay very still as Ben approached the bed, concern and confusion etched upon the sculptured lines of his face. The mattress bounced as Ben sat down beside him, one leg tucked underneath the other, and spread the back of his hand across Michael's forehead.
"I'm not sick."
"Oh." Ben withdrew the hand, his gaze sweeping over Michael's supine form, clad in sweats and a faded Captain Astro tee. "That's good."
When Michael offered no further explanation, eyes riveted to the ceiling, Ben inwardly sighed. Two months of this was alot for a man to take with tolerant composure.
He snaked his right hand down to Michael's stomach, rubbing in slow circles as he leaned down to whisper in his ear, kissing the underside of Michael's forearm on his way down.
"Then why don't you come take a shower with me? We'll get ready together."
Michael cocked his head to the side, brown eyes holding the barest hint of regret as his gaze locked onto Ben's.
Ben wasn't going to pretend that he did not recognize the abject misery he read in those incredible eyes. Nor was he going to pretend to not be privy to its source.
"I don't want to go."
Ben's head drooped, and he shook it softly, unable to repress a faint puff of breath.
"We were going to celebrate the completion of my book," he replied, somehow maintaining his projected serenity.
"I know, Ben. Can we celebrate here, in our own way?"
Ben suddenly sprang from the bed, turning away as he paced the length of the room.
"Dammit Michael, you won't go anywhere. Except to work, the gym, and Babylon. Everytime I try to do something together, or take you someplace special, its the same old excuse."
Michael's forehead crinkled as he propped his upper body onto his elbows, regarding Ben with narrowed eyes.
"You've cut yourself off from your friends - sometimes even me. You won't speak to your mother. You don't eat. You spend hours at the gym. I can count on one hand - one, hand Michael - the number of times we've had sex this month."
Michael took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I'm not living up to your standards of the model housewife."
Ben's hands fell in exasperation to slap against his thighs. "I knew I was forgetting one. You have a smart ass remark for everything I say."
Michael shrugged the best he could from his position, lips curved downwards in a display of indifference. His calm only served to further agitate Ben.
"I just don't feel like going out tonight. What's the big deal?"
"The big deal, Michael, is that you haven't felt like going out for two months. Ever since Brian left. We knew this would happen."
"'We'?" Michael bolted upright, eyebrows almost jumping into his hairline.
"Yes, 'we'. I knew, too. And if not for me, you would've found out."
"What the hell is this, Nazi Germany, Pittsburgh style? Everybody suddenly sticking their big noses into my life and deciding what I do and do not need to know? Even my husband?"
"It's called looking out for someone you care about."
Michael snorted. "When did you turn into my mother?"
Ben jerked his head to look out the window - not that there was alot to see out it, but in a ruse to avoid eye-to-eye connection - and visibly bristled. Michael was surprised to find that he was unable to read his expression, but saw without question the sadness that ghosted across the ocean blue of Ben's eyes.
"Why can you not just...let go, Michael?"
"Twenty years of love and loyalty is alot to just 'let go of', Ben. He's my best friend."
Ben nodded his head in quiescent understanding; but the gesture was abound with reluctance. The best friend line was growing cumbersome and weary.
"It is also alot to hold onto. Everything comes to an end."
"Not some things," Michael said softly, his eyes shifting to gaze out the window that held Ben's attention.
"You're still in love with him."
"I never stopped being in love with him. Falling in love with him." The boldness of Michael's response seemed to startle them both into silence as brown eyes locked onto cerulean blue. Snowflakes began to flutter past the window, melting to glistening teardrops of icy liquid as they touched the temperate surface of the window pane.
The silence lingered, somehow deepened by the peaceful fall of silvery flakes. It seemed that neither was particularly anxious to confront those things that remained unspoken.
"Then why did you marry me." He did not break his gaze when he spoke. The words were not questioning, merely stated with almost weary resignation; as if from the very beginning, he held no abiding faith in their pledged coupling.
"Because I love you," Michael snapped, not bothering to conceal the depth of his wounded feelings as he gaped at his husband.
"You are the one who told me it was okay to be in love with two people. And, if possible, I loved you even more for saying it, for understanding. Because no one else would. But you did."
"But this, Michael...this..," he gestured at some unseen force, "cannot go on. Even a blind man could see that you love Brian with every fiber of your being. When Brian left; a part of you went with him. You're not the same man I fell in love with. Instead of turning to me, you've turned away from me. That is not true love, Michael."
Michael felt an enormous weight settle over him, and was sure it was reflected in his eyes from the way Ben blinked rapidly and shifted his feet, small movements Michael had come to distinguish as apprehension.
Michael couldn't stifle the sad smile that curved his lips. "Everything is always a textbook description with you."
Ben let out a classic huff and puff - the kind that impertinent children got spankings over - and shifted to lean a forearm against the doorjamb.
"I'm human too, Michael. I have my fears, my weaknesses. I don't suppose you ever stopped to think that maybe I'm afraid of loosing what I've looked for my entire life, and have finally found."
"You have so little faith in me?"
"It's not you. It's...a bond that I can't touch nor comprehend. It has nothing to do with you; my fear is something that has been part of your life, your heart, since you were fourteen. Something I can never compare with."
"So that's why you didn't tell me Brian was leaving? No wonder you were so compassionate that night. Your little manipulative scheme prevailed." Michael was unwilling to keep the icy edge from his tone. Ben, his husband, the man who had vowed to honor him forever - had essentially lied to him.
"It was NOT manipulation," Ben said, his voice rising to match Michael's.
"Really? Self-preservation, then? That what they call it at Carnegie Mellon?" Michael abruptly surged off the bed, turning his back to Ben as he grabbed the wadded lump of sheets from the foot of the mattress, jerking them with a flick of his wrists that created a soft pop as the fabric settled smoothly over the expanse of the bed. He went on with his task, ignoring the other man in the room. Quietly seething.
Ben realized a trifle too late that he had awakened the very pissed, fiery side of Michael's persona that few knew existed, far beneath the infinite patience and good-natured aplomb. For the first time, it wasn't a turn-on.
"Michael, look - I understand you're upset that Brian moved away, but you've been - "
"You have NO idea how I feel. You always think you do, but you don't."
"When have I EVER - "
"Christ. For starters, how about the fact that you must remind me at least every month that I don't know what it's like to be positive."
"That has absolutely NOTHING to do with what - "
Michael, blessed with the sharper hearing, heard the creak of the front door and shot Ben a sharp gaze of warning, the message delivered loud and clear as Ben immediately silenced. We're not going to do this in front of him.
But it was done too late.
"Do I sense the rumblings of a domestic disturbance?"
Hunter's face, alight with a mischievous grin, peered around the corner, cheeks flushed a rosy pink from the chill of December air. Snowflakes still clung to the mop of auburn hair, melting almost instantaneously with the warmth of the apartment.
"No, Hunter," Michael said, arms crossed and eyes boring pointedly into Ben's stoic features, "Ben and I were just discussing some things."
"Well, put your hormonal spit-spat aside. Look what came in the mail!"
Hunter sauntered into the room, waving two manilla envelopes in front of his face. He shifted one to each hand, outstretching his left arm to Michael, "One for you," and his right arm to Ben, "And one for you," forcing the riled men to walk towards each other.
They snatched the envelopes from his hand simultaneously, not exactly refraining from sharing not very subtle glares. Hunter withdrew his arms to his chest, a satisfied smirk pursing his lips. They stepped back, examining the respective addresses.
"It's from Brett."
"It's from my publisher."
"Well, open them, before we fossilize!" Hunter was almost bouncing.
Nothing but the sound of ruffling paper filled the room for several moments, as both Michael and Ben stood staring down at the contents with mouths agape and eyes wide.
"You go first," Ben said, visibly gulping as he offered a weak smile.
"It's...it's...I don't believe it. Ten thousand dollars...and he wants me to start on the script. He wants me to write the script!" Michael grabbed Hunter in a fierce hug, jumping up and down with unadulterated joy.
"Dude!" Hunter drawled, matching Michael jump for elated jump.
The decision of whether Michael, or an experienced, professional screenwriter would develop the script for Rage had been pending. Brett had been pulling for the former, the studio the latter. Michael hadn't entertained high hopes, knowing that the inner workings of Hollywood didn't exactly favor the small guy.
"Damn, what a rush," Michael said breathlessly, face still wreathed in a huge smile as he stared down at Brett's slapdash handwriting with childlike wonderment.
Hunter shook the hair from his eyes, peering over Michael's shoulder. "We're gonna be rich! And famous!" They exchanged gleeful smiles, but the sparkle in Michael's eyes promptly fizzled as he lifted his gaze to that of his husband's and was met with a smile that was markedly strained; unenthusiastic and procacious.
"Congratulations."
"Thanks," Michael replied softly, disconcerted by the nagging feeling that Ben had not entirely meant it. "What did your publisher say?" He had a idea that it wasn't all that grand. He walked over to Ben, resting an encouraging hand on his bicep, innate unconditional support and compassion negating any remnants of anger.
"They...rejected it."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah."
"But you can try again, right? With a different publisher? I read that very few authors make it the first try."
"That's not the point, Michael. I went to college, studied literature for years - preparing for this. I guess I would've been better off with no college education, no experience at all. Nothing."
Ben didn't hang around to witness the pain he had so flippantly been the giver of. As soon as the embittered jeer left his mouth, he turned on his heels and stormed out the door, leaving the appartment heavy with stunned silence. It was difficult to tell who was the more astonished; Hunter, or the raven haired man who stood eerily still, no emotion discernable on his face save for the flicker of pain deep within eyes that revealed everything, and hid nothing.
The silence seemed to stretch and thicken. Was is possible to hear the fall of snowflakes?
"Hunter." The teen flinched at the hoarseness of Michael's voice, finally mustering the courage to bring his eyes away from the window and to Michael's face. He flinched again.
"You better go do your homework." Michael's gaze was unfocused, fixed on something only he could see. Hunter briefly wondered if he was thinking about Brian.
He was snapped out of thought when Michael suddenly leapt to his feet, in the manner of a man who must move - or explode where he stands - lifting his t-shirt over his head and pulling a purple tank from the dresser in one combined motion. Black jeans were soon to follow, along with his watch and tennis shoes. Hunter remained frozen in place, staring at one of the two men who had changed his life, wondering what was to happen, what had just happened.
Michael looked up at him with a tremulous smile as he stuffed his wallet into the back pocket of his jeans.
"How's Algebra coming along?"
"Fuck Algebra, where are you going?"
Michael placed a reassuring hand on Hunter's slim shoulder, another flash of pain ripping through him when he glimpsed the raw fear in eyes wide and glossy; heightened when he felt a slight tremor shake the lanky frame.
He leaned forward - not having to lean down, since Hunter was nearly as tall as he - and placed a chaste kiss of solace on the cold brow, seeking to assuage quiet fears.
"Haven't I told you not to use that word?"
"I can't help it. It was imprinted on my vocabulary at birth." His eyes tracked Michael as the small man walked briskly from the bedroom, yanking on his jacket with a haste Hunter rarely saw him subsume.
"You didn't answer my question: where are you going?"
"To think."
"Cosmo, please."
Emmett flashed his most enthusiastic smile. Fidgeting with anything in reach, the bartender was obviously new and decidedly young. Might as well put him to good use.
"I can't believe we're actually going to do this. It's like something out of a fairy tale," Emmett said, a quiver of excitement jumbling his words. He leaned over and kissed a mellow Theodore Schdmit on the temple.
"Excited?" Emmett prompted when Ted merely smiled, gazing out at the dance floor with a thoughtful expression.
"Yeah. Just worried, I guess." Ted shrugged.
"About us? Honey, if you don't think its a good idea, then..."
Ted heaved a sigh, turning to face the bar. "No, it's not that. I'm worried about Michael."
Emmett nodded. He was worried about Michael, too - but he thought it best not to say so, or else Ted would really start to worry in earnest. And that was not a good thing.
"I wouldn't worry too much, Teddy. Michael's going through alot of adjustments right now. Getting married, raising a teen, working on Rage, realizing he's gonna be a daddy soon..."
"...life without Brian...," Ted singsonged back at Emmett.
"Yes. That too. But it's been two months. I think it has less to do with that and more to do with life in general. Everyone has their down times."
Ted was in no mood to be consoled. "They're not even speaking to each other. And it's affecting him, Em, affecting him bad. He's not the same Michael."
Em could hardly argue with that, nor could he insult Ted's perceptiveness. His thoughts briefly wandered back to that night in Michael's apartment; on how lifeless Michael's eyes had been, the vivacious spark replaced with a chasm of emptiness. Now that Brian was actually gone, well...Emmett suppressed a shiver.
"He's strong Teddy. He just needs time."
Ted regarded him solemnly. "That's what I'm afraid of."
"What do you mean?"
Ted shook his head in reluctant dismissal, but Emmett prodded. "C'mon, we're all men here, tell me," Emmett said, trying to bring back some of the levity they had indulged in earlier. He didn't particularly like this subject, nor the insinuations it imposed.
"I just can't help but have this feeling that one day, it's all going to be too much for him. That there'll be this one thing that will be the catalyst." Ted paused, as if dragging - with great effort - the words from himself. "And he'll crack."
Ted wouldn't meet Emmett's gaze - and Emmett silently thanked God for small mercies, because he knew his expression belied the comment already flowing from the tip of his tongue.
"Ted, honey - you're blowing this completely out of proportion."
"Who's gettin' blowed out of proportion? That's gotta hurt."
Emmett spun on a booted heal, instantly and thoroughly nonplused by the sight of a grinning Michael Novotny. He found that his facial muscles had suddenly gone slack, because he couldn't find the inclination to grin back - for there was something very wrong with Michael's grin.
"Oh! Er...um...Michael! What're you doing here?"
"Anything but what most people come here to do. Get laid. Get drunk. Get high."
Emmett tried to conceal the extent of his surprise, thus delaying his brain's to proficiency to correctly interpret Michael's reply. He did say he was coming here not to do those things, right?
Michael leaned against the bar, supporting his weight with an elbow as he signaled to the bartender with a wave of his hand. The grin on his face had vanquished; replaced with...nothing. A blank. He didn't seem to notice Ted and Emmett's shared glances of unease and concern, or the way they observed him as if he'd suddenly sprouted horns in the middle of his forehead.
"I thought you and Ben were going out, to celebrate?" Ted raised his voice to be heard over the heavy bass that dominated the opening riff of a new, racier song.
Michael's head snapped around to look at him, brown eyes afire with something not quite scrutable. "Nothing to celebrate." He snorted a short, embittered laugh. "Seems his publishers rejected him."
"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, sweetie."
Only a few times had Ted and Emmett ever felt uncomfortable around Michael, or stood at a complete loss for words. This proved to be one of those times.
"What's a guy gotta do to get a drink around here?" Michael snarled, turning his head away in agitation to scope the dance floor.
"New kids. Look's like their recruiting third graders now," Emmett said with a rueful shake of his head, leaning forward to peer behind the obstructing line of human heads, only to find not a buff bartender in sight. "Probably making trips to the back room between mixes."
Ted grimaced. "Ugh. They better wash their fuckin' hands."
Michael sighed, and without a trace of pretense, leaped with fluid grace over the counter, landing nimbly on the opposite side. He prowled along the shelves, eyes scanning, until he stopped and grabbed the desired bottle with a triumphant smirk.
Ted and Emmett could only watch, dumbfounded, as Michael poured himself shot after shot, hardly pausing, downing each glass of amber liquid with reckless fluidity. He slouched lazily against the bar, one hip unmindfully moving to the balmy rhythm.
Emmett shook himself from his stupor, and gently grabbed Michael's wrist,
"Michael, don't binge drink. You'll make yourself sick."
"Yeah, yeah, the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration says it's dangerous, risky, irresponsible...I know. So. What've you guys been up to?"
"We'll tell you if you get back over here...without the bottle."
Much to their dismay, Michael downed three more shots before hopping back over to the other side, stumbling slightly as his feet met solid ground. He was suddenly happy-go-lucky; gazing at them with curious eyes - but they knew it was simply the potency of the alcohol, already beginning to take effect.
"Resorting to blackmail is dirty play, Em." Michael laced his hands behind his neck, shaking his head in mock admonishment.
A hesitant tap on Emmett's shoulder rescued him from the absurdity of Michael's drastic mood change - momentarily, at least. The young bartender shyly scooted the cosmo across the bar, the liquid within tinged entirely to red. Emmett repressed a sigh. Too much cranberry juice.
He glanced back over at Michael, who's glass was being hastily refilled by the jittery twink, perhaps trying to atone for his prolonged absence. Michael shrugged as he caught Emmett's cautionary glare.
"Don't want it to go to waste," he raised the glass in a toast, then downed it. That had to be at least the tenth one.
Emmett frowned. This was wreaking havoc on his nervous system. He turned to make sure Ted was still breathing and conscious.
He was; and reached out a tentative hand to sweep across the top of soft, gelled spikes.
"You changed your hair."
"Yep. You like?"
"Well, it, uh, definitely makes you look younger, which around here is a blessing and a curse," Emmett said wryly over the lip of his cosmo, cringing as the tangy liquid swirled around on his tongue. This was undeniably one of the weirdest nights at Babylon he'd experienced in quite some time.
"Changed your clothes a bit, too," Ted mumbled, running a thumb down the buttery softness of Michael's leather jacket.
"Not really. Ben got this for me while we were in Boston. Never really thought of it as my style. Until now."
"Oh?" Emmett crooned with an arched brow, "and why is that?"
"Dunno. So are you guys gonna tell me what you've been up to, or are we going to keep playing Twenty Questions?"
"Actually - ironically - we're kinda glad you're here. See, Teddy and I have been thinking about something for quite a while now. We're not one hundred percent sure yet, but still, we wanted you and Ben to be the first to know, since you were the source of our inspiration."
"'Inspiration'?" Michael's tone held a note of disbelief.
"Mmm hmm. So where is Ben, anyway?" Emmett cast Michael a sidelong glance, gauging his reaction.
Michael shrugged, affecting an air of nonchalance. "I don't know. He got a little upset over his rejection and left. Said he needed time to think." No harm in stretching the truth a little. Might as well indulge in a little self-preservation.
"That's understandable. He must've worked very hard."
"It's not the fuckin' end of the world," Michael groused, jerking his head away angrily.
"No, it's not. But still disappointing, I'd imagine." Emmett was startled by Michael's lack of compassion, for his own husband no less. Something must have happened, had to have happened, for Michael to be so uncharacteristically harsh.
"And?"
"Hmm?" Emmett hummed through his cosmo, startled from his thoughts.
"Aren't you going to tell me what this divine inspiration is?" Michael said lightly, his tenor a complete three hundred and sixty degree turn from seconds prior. Emmett blinked. This was like a Michael with double personalities - and you never knew which one you'd get next.
"Ohhh, okay - I think you've waited long enough. You know how I love to create a little dramatic suspense."
"I've got plenty of that in my life, thanks," Michael replied dryly.
"Jesus Em, will you just get to the point already," Ted hissed, finally able to break his traumatized silence. Having his speculated prediction come alive before his very eyes - THIS one, in particular - was NOT an emboldening thing.
"Mrrr-OW," Emmett drawled, raising a curved hand in simulation of a particularly miffed cat. "You two must be on the fag rag."
He received a scowl from either side. "Okay okay! So I'll dish already." He made a show of clearing his throat and popping his knuckles. "Teddy and I have decided, after much consideration, and after witnessing an amazingly beautiful and inspiring example - that we want to get married."
Ted continued with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. "Not a big deal, but similar to what you and Ben did. We'd like to have some kind of ceremony afterwards, though, here in the Pitts. For friends and family. And for sentimental purposes." He smiled fondly at Emmett, who emitted a touched 'awwww' and leaned over to peck Ted on the lips with an emphasized 'mua'.
Michael's smile was bittersweet. They were perfect for each other. But then; he had thought the same of he and Ben.
"I'm happy for you." He looked away, closing his eyes against the nausea that threatened to rise within him. Where had he gone wrong? Why did he keep failing?
He firmly told himself that it wasn't over with Ben. But how could he stay with someone who manipulated him? Insulted his intelligence? Used illegal drugs behind his back? And most hurtful of all, doubted the entirety of his love?
The painful truth was : he couldn't. Still, the insistent and ever cynical voice inside his head mercilessly taunted him, mocked him. How can you bring yourself to break the vow of marriage? It's supposed to be forever, remember? Where's your virture? What's so noble and holy about a divorce?
He felt the prick of tears as he rolled the gold wedding band around his finger, marveling at its metallic coldness.
Then, everything faded away, the music dulling as the desultory movements of blissed out-dancers slowed and blurred. His mind played over the moment Ben had slipped the band over his finger, his smile so bright and his eyes so content, looking down upon him as if he were the center of the universe. The way he had kissed him; so slowly, so gratefully, as if he were the luckiest man on the face of the earth. And Michael had soared with him.
Then he saw Brian, felt strong arms wrap around him, pull him tight, encapsulate him in a warmth that emanated from two joined souls, two halves of a perfect whole. He felt soft lips graze his ear, heard a silky voice whisper in the shell with desperate urgency.
Does he make you happy?
Kiss it, touch it...just don't fall in love with it.
Nobody's too good for you Mikey, your better than anyone.
Then, as quickly as it had began, the barrage of two distinct voices and sensations deliquesced, and the cacophonous blare of Babylon's lights and sounds crashed down upon him with smothering force, and he was left with the revelation - and headache - from hell.
What have I done? I've lost them. Both of them
He realized, through the haze, that someone was repeatedly and adamantly calling his name.
I did exactly what I told myself I would not do.
"Michael!"
Snap.
"Wh-at?"
"Don't scare us like that! You just...blanked out. Where did you go?!"
"To hell," he whispered, his words lost amongst the tactile vibration of an erratically thumping beat.
"What?" Emmett quirked a brow, shaking Michael's shoulders lightly, forcing him to meet his gaze. "Sweety, what's the matter?" Beads of sweat dotted Michael's forehead and upper lip, and his skin was almost translucent. But most disturbing of all - were his eyes. Emmett couldn't begin to describe them, and he didn't think he wanted try.
Michael returned Emmett's grip, clasping the taller man's biceps and staring into his eyes with unrestrained urgency. "I want you to do something for me. Before you get married, think long, and think very, very hard. Because you were right. It changes everything."
And with that, Michael vanished into the oscillating mass of sweaty flesh, never once looking back.
NEXT DAY - TORSO'S
Emmett strutted from the storage room, folding a fabulous little pink tank and humming along with the latest from No Doubt. It was a slow day, but Tuesday's usually were, not to mention the weather was more than a determent - it was practically an Antartic blizzard. So far, there had been only two people in the store; a charming old queen who had asked for assistance in finding something modest for a impromptu date, and a young man who seemed to take especial liking to the winter leather collection.
He was pricing today; moving reduced items to the clearance racks and laying out the new shipments in the most eye-catching arrangements possible - a task he was rather good at, if he did say so himself. He loved being assigned this particular chore, for he always stumbled across an alluring, sexy top (no pun intended) that had been hiding on the back shelves, or a flattering pair of jeans that were just too enticing to pass up. He also had the added bonus of receiving a discount - being an employee and all - so he didn't feel nearly as guilty on those occasions he found himself splurging unexpectedly and going home with three new shirts in tow that he really didn't need.
Boxes around his feet, Emmett's nose scrunched up in chagrined distaste as he wiggled an exceptionally tacky shirt over the front of a mannequin. He wouldn't be caught dead in such a fashion humiliation. It was downright gaudy (and if anyone knew what constituted gaudy, it was him) sporting a splattering of lime green polka-dots against a base of tarnished brown, embellished with claw-like tears along the upper abdomen portion. Very unflattering colors for one's complexion. He angled the mannequin, inspecting the back of the shirt with a critical eye. Oh my - quite unflattering. The back was adorned in frilly ruffles, assuring the wearer a very unbecoming Quasimodo physique. However, he mused, it might work for the outlandishly skinny twink.
A ringing in his ear piece jarred him from his critique.
"Torso's, how may I help you," He chirped, his intonation the epitome of a chivalrous salesman.
"Yeah," the voice growled, "I need to speak to an Emmett Honeycutt."
"....This is he," Emmett replied, a nuance of wariness in his voice.
"I'm from the Pittsburgh Police Department. We've received allegations that you and a Mr. Theodore Schdmit were seen publicly engaging in lewd and lascivious acts in the back of a 2001 Ford Convertible. We have a warrant for your arrest."
"Oh...Oh my God..." Emmett raised a hand to flutter over his heart.
The deep, burly voice barked a choked, hacking cough. Emmett suddenly had the vision of a luridly hirsute, three hundred pound homophobic straight man with beady eyes and a permanent scowl, tapping a nightstick in his palm as he sneered through the jail bars. He shivered.
"Officer, Sir - this has to be a mistake - "
"No mistake, Honeycutt. Get your ass down here...pronto." The gruff voice paused, but an entirely different voice resumed. "Oh, and bring Bullwinkle while your at it."
Only one person called Ted Bullwinkle, and only one person belonged to that voice.
"Brian!!! You ass!" Emmett allowed himself an indignant stomp of his foot. He couldn't count the number of times Brian had duped him like this - must've been hundreds just when he and Michael were still living in the apartment together. Those had been fun times.
He waited for the peals of laughter to subside, occupying himself by folding a box full of navy blue sweaters into a stack of neat and tidy squares.
"That was a really asinine thing to do, Brian," Emmett pouted, not quite succeeding in keeping the laughter from creeping into his own voice.
Brian feigned seriousness. "I know - you and Theodore really should refrain from sex in vehicles. No wonder that car of his keeps breaking down. And you wouldn't want some poor unsuspecting cop with clogged arteries and a faint heart to drop over dead, now would you? Could be Horvath."
"Hardee-har-har. The wit must really be dry out there in the Golden State," Emmett drolled. "So what the fuck are you doing calling me? No one's heard a word from you in months. I'm the last person I'd expect you to call."
"I needed a pick-me-up."
"Riiight. You mean you needed someone to humiliate."
"Same difference. So how are things in Frostbite Falls, Moosylvania?" Brian queried with characteristic smugness, falling back on their inside Rocky and Bullwinkle joke.
"Hmph. Colder than a witches tit. It's been snowing non-stop for nearly twenty-four hours."
"Emmett, if I wanted to know the weather, I would've consulted the Weather Channel."
"Oh yes, I forgot you don't engage in....what's the word? Small talk."
"I like to occupy my mouth with something other than lesbianism."
"So who else have you called?"
"A few. I thought I'd see how Liberty Avenue's favoritest Nelly bottom was doing first."
"How should I know. He's there with you."
"Was here with me."
"You two broke up?"
"You sound so shocked, Honeycutt. Surely you don't believe those sappy assed jewelry commercials, 'true love is forever'?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. And don't call me Honeycutt. What happened?"
Brian laughed. "I guess you could say he moved on to greener pastures."
"Oh...well...sorry." He knew from bitter experience not to press the issue.
"How's Michael?" Brian queried, almost tentatively.
The question was so out of the blue that Emmett dropped a sweater he'd been folding.
"Don't you think you should call and ask him yourself?"
"I don't think he'd appreciate it. Besides, I might cut in on some extra-marital activities."
"I think he'd really like to talk to you, Brian. He needs to talk to you."
"Why?" Brian barked, not bothering to disguise his concern.
"You know," Emmett said casually, "he's got alot going on. Rage, Hunter, married life," Brian snorted, "not to mention that his mother's not speaking to him."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. It's none of my business."
"Are pigs flying?"
"But I think it has something to do you with you. Always does."
Little did Emmett know that thousands of miles away, Brian winced. The last thing he had wanted to do was cause unneeded friction between Michael and his mother. God knows there was enough already.
Brian's sigh was very gentle. "Always is a pretty strong word." Very strong, he silently added.
"Well, usually, then. You do realize how badly you've hurt him."
The pained silence was almost tangible, and for a moment - just a moment - Emmett wished he could take back his words.
Brian's voice was tenuous when he finally spoke. "It was for the best." His tone was one of someone uttering a remark made so often it had become rote.
"The best for YOU, maybe, but not for him. You could have at least had the decency to say goodbye."
"But I have a beastly, indecent reputation to uphold."
"I bet thats not a hard thing to do in the City of Sin," Emmett replied dryly.
"That's Las Vegas, Emmett," Brian said, with an unmistakable note of amused pity.
"Whatever. I hope it's all what it's cracked up to be," Emmett snapped, patently annoyed.
"It's not."
"Color me surprised," Emmett replied sardonically; but in truth he WAS surprised - that Brian had actually admitted it - and to him, of all unlikely people.
"You're lucky you left when you did, because I was planning to pay you a visit." His ominous tone implied that it would NOT have been a visit of the friendly sort.
"Aww, Emmett, how sweet."
"I'm not joking, Brian. The night after our get together at Babylon...Michael was very upset."
"He told you didn't he." There was no doubt nor question in Brian's words, nothing but a firm certitude. Maybe even...relief?
"He tells me more than you think," Emmett shot back, knowing that behind his statement was the connotation that he was one of the few who knew exactly the reason for Brian's rash decision. He could almost see this fact registering in Brian's eyes; see the wheels turning and the defenses raising, that scathing tongue sharpening for battle. The silence was nearly deafening, and for a moment, Emmett feared Brian had hung up.
"You never answered my question. Why aren't you talking to him?"
"Mind your own business."
"Me can do," Emmett mumbled, his words muffled as he held a sweater between chin and chest, tucking the hem up beneath itself. It suddenly dawned on him how...uncharacteristically unhappy Brian sounded. Shouldn't he be having the time of his life? Fucking all the bronzed and beautiful studs of California?
"I just want to know how he's doing," Brian whispered, so soft Emmett could barely hear him.
"Well, if you wanted to know how Michael's doing, you should consult Michael," Emmett replied, throwing Brian's sarcastic words of earlier back at him.
"C'mon Em, you love to gossip. So tell me some juicy bits," Brian said, affecting the voice of the cliched 'nosy old woman'.
"No. I mean it. Get some balls - call him yourself. You sound like you need to."
A surprised pause. "And just how DO I sound?"
"You really wanna know?" Emmett said, halting his folding.
"I wouldn't have asked, would I?"
"Miserable. Lonely. Hurting. Now I wonder if any of that has to do with Michael?" Emmett said, more to himself than to Brian, emphasizing his words with plenary inquisitiveness.
The bell over the door jangled. Damn! What timing.
"I do miss him, Emmett."
"Really? I hadn't noticed."
"You don't notice much, anyway," Brian said with a chuckle.
"Oh shit," Emmett hissed, "well I just noticed this. Brian, I gotta go. There's a kid swinging from the front display."
Brian snickered. "By all means, I shall let Captain Honeycutt go save the day. But Em - one thing. You won't tell him I called?"
Emmett sniffed. "Wild horses couldn't drag it from me," he said, in a tone that blatantly implied the exact opposite.
"Cut the shit already," Brian growled.
"I'm through keeping secrets for people," he said pointedly, grimacing from the memory of Debbie's raving sermon the morning Michael had left for Boston, followed by her befitting insistence that he take an oath on the Bible, swearing that he would NOT tell Michael.
Brian heaved an impatient sigh. "Fine. Just tell him that...I'll see him soon."
The line clicked before Emmett was able to enquire further, and he stared at the mouth piece with a furrowed brow, as if it might offer an explanation.
Never had he dreamed that befriending Michael Novotny twelve years ago would have made his life so interesting, if not nerve-rendering, he thought, thinking back on the weird events of the night before.
He shook his head, and went to save the display from certain doom.
TBC....
Author's Note : And their journey towards each other continues. Not long now. Thanks for coming along for the ride. :)