Date: Tue, 24 Aug 2004 21:50:09 EDT
From: TragicRabbit11@aol.com
Subject: Gay/HS:DRAMA CLUB, Part 11

THE DRAMA CLUB, Part 11 'Blinded by Rainbows'

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:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TragicRabbit/?yguid=195216952

When you write, you are automatically added to the Drama Club mailing list
and will receive new chapters, as they are finished, before they are
posted.  Let me know what you think of the characters, the storyline and
anything else you like or dislike.  All emails are answered. Tragic
Rabbit's email has CHANGED to TragicRabbit11@aol.com.  Please do not send
emails with imbedded files or attachments.  Thanks again for all the
support!

Drama Club is a work of fiction and all characters are imaginary.  The
story involves sex between teen boys so if that's illegal or offensive for
you to read, don't.  Author retains all rights. DO NOT download, copy,
post/link to any site or otherwise reproduce this story without written
permission from the author.  Author does not mean the story to condone any
activity or group the characters are involved with.

 Please check out Drama Club and the many wonderful other stories at:
http://www.awesomedude.com/

Constructive critique welcomed, friendly fan mail adored, mean stuff
ignored.  Is this a shameless hustle for emails? You betcha.


              '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:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TragicRabbit/?yguid=195216952