Date: Fri, 13 Aug 2004 02:57:51 EDT From: TragicRabbit10@aol.com Subject: Gay/HS: The Drama Club, Part Seven THE DRAMA CLUB, Part Seven 'Starlight Prince' [This 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.] Reminder: If/when the above email bounces, re-send to TragicRabbit11@aol.com. Please check out Drama Club and the many wonderful other stories at: http://www.awesomedude.com/ When you write to me (or to Angel), you are automatically added to the Drama Club mailing list and will receive new chapters as they are finished, before they are posted. Constructive critique welcomed, friendly fan mail adored and answered, mean stuff ignored. Is this a shameless hustle for emails? You betcha. Kisses....Tragic Rabbit 'I can see by your eyes you must be lying, When you think I don't have a clue, Baby you're crazy If you think that you can fool me, Because I've seen that movie too. The one where the players are acting surprised, Saying love's just a four letter word, Between forcing smiles, with the knives in their eyes. Well their actions become so absurd, So keep your auditions for somebody Who hasn't got so much to lose, `cause you can tell by the lines I'm reciting That I've seen that movie too. It's a habit I have, I don't get pushed around, Stop twinkling your star like you do. I'm not the blue print for all of your b films Because I've seen that movie too.' I've Seen That Movie Too (Elton John-Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, 1973) Gene put away the day's dishes, rinsing and neatly sliding them sideways into the dishwasher slots, then closing it for his mother to run when she got home. It was late and he was tired but there was too much to do for sleep to be an option just yet. That was for later; after Michael came over, after he fine-tuned his debate case, after he got things together. Gene picked up a sponge and began to wipe down the countertops, tidying the clutter as he went, working his way towards the sink. The kitchen was small and the linoleum was worn, especially near the dented chrome table where he'd just eaten his sandwich. Ruffled white curtains framed the darkness outside and Gene's reflection against it in the glass. His image didn't interest him, he knew he wasn't handsome, just average, and it seldom crossed his mind. Gene worked efficiently and quickly, thoroughly finishing each task before starting the next. He moved to the table, lifting color-tabbed debate folders in his left hand while wiping down the top and tidying the condiments, napkins, and plastic flowers in the center. His mother worked long hours at the hospital so much of the housework fell to him. Not that he minded, he appreciated what she did to make their lives easier and her long hours paid reasonably well. They couldn't afford luxuries but he always had what he needed. As he reached for the broom and dustpan, he thought about the college applications he'd sent off since the school year began. He was applying to a number of universities, all with competitive debate programs and a coach who'd expressed interest in him. Gene debated most weekends during the high school season, competing at a level that most could only imagine. He didn't always win his rounds, no one did, but his win-loss was far above average even among his peers at the better prep schools. Gene's partner Kerri, who'd just moved out of state, hadn't been quite as good, but she'd helped him grow from a fledgling cross-ex debater into a name that sometimes made debaters cry when they saw it penciled alongside theirs in the pairings. Occasionally, weaker or inexperienced teams simply forfeited, taking a loss in speaker points and record. It just wasn't worth it to let Gene shred their case in open round, word easily spread about weakness in specific teams and cases. In fact, some of the more devious coaches even went so far as to send actual spies into rounds; often they were newbie debaters, unknown and invisible, who would slip from round to round, flowing arguments and copying evidence. Now and then, something unique or crucial would disappear from a folder. Gene had seen it all and what Gene hadn't seen or imagined, Friedman had. Outsiders couldn't imagine how cutthroat it all was, they just saw debate as a bunch of kids in suits 'arguing'. Not quite, thought Gene sardonically. He bagged up the trash and set it by the door. He winced, thinking about that single bad weekend last year that had brought down his standing in the National Forensic League. His affirmative case had won until he hit a team from Jesuit North Prep who'd heard of him and put together an attack that just simply blew him out of the water. He'd never heard of the underpinning research, had nothing with which to counter it and, despite tearing like a madman through his kritik files, couldn't find a damn thing to use against it. He'd bullshitted like a presidential candidate but they lost the round and then the tournament, not even breaking from prelims. Lesser debaters counted themselves lucky to 'break' at that tournament but Gene couldn't afford to lose. He wasn't able to afford it in any sense of the word. While Gene and his mother never lacked the essentials, there was never any chance they could afford college tuition. His stellar debate record would make the difference between six years flipping burgers in his spare time at the local community college and six years at a top university that could take him into the law career he hoped for. He needed to win to get what he wanted for himself and his mother, a ticket out of a life of barely getting by. He was well aware of what this had cost him in time, in hard work and in maintaining the distance from others that allowed it all to happen. And he still felt guilt that some of this cost had been paid last year by his lover, as well as himself. Michael hadn't deserved that. And Gene was still trying to figure out how to make it up to him. When Gene finally agreed to be his boyfriend, after being followed around school for eight solid weeks of morning coffee and phone calls and little notes in his briefcase, Michael had apologized for two things. The first was the secrecy, he just couldn't let anyone know about them and wanted that clear from the first. He wanted Gene, he loved Gene, but no one else could know that they were more than just friends. This turned out to be easier than Gene had thought. Neither boy's teammates were surprised at their friendship, Michael and Gene were both smart guys after all, and both were competitive, their faces in the local paper regularly for some kind of win. And that was the second thing Michael was sorry for, the fact that football season took up so much of the time that you're supposed to give a sweetheart. Michael's weekends and evenings were devoted to football, leaving less time for love. He'd lost his first lover because of it and was worried. Two months later, Michael realized that HE was the one waiting on phone calls and rearranging his schedule to find private time, not his boyfriend. Gene was a star on the national debate circuit. The scholarships he wanted would require top grades, top honors and top effort. Love had to wait its turn. And somehow that turn never quite came around. They broke up finally, neither one angry, but they stayed friends. He should be here soon, in fact, thought Gene, turning off the kitchen light and heading for his room. He slid an Elton John disk into the shelf stereo and sat down at his computer, firing it up with a touch of a button. Musically, Gene liked a lot of the new stuff but often preferred to listen to his Mom's collection, all CDs of albums she'd listened to when she was in high school. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John was one of their favorites. As he listened, he logged in to his hotmail account, reading emails and chatting to kids he knew around the country. He also scanned through Lexis-Nexis, while he worked, using the current 'borrowed' code in use by debaters, looking for useful items he could add to his files. Gene's idea about ethics was that it was flexible; using devious means to access what shouldn't be charged for counted in that category. Anyway, it was expected in debate. The wealthier schools could provide legitimate access to their students but Northside just didn't have the budget. So Gene cadged the usual codes and links from others around the country in the same boat, debaters with talent but without resources. He got by, they all did, but learned a lot about lying while he did so. It was amazing to him, what you learned about telling lies in just getting by. He heard the apartment door open; Michael letting himself in with the extra key Gene's mom, Barbara, had made when they first started dating. She never blinked when they'd told her about it, just nodded and asked if Michael would like a key made. She bought his favorite foods right along with Gene's when she went shopping and always knocked before entering her son's room. It changed nothing, in her opinion, and she had no patience with prejudice. She loved her son in a quiet way; they never spoke of it but spent their time finding ways to make life easier for each other. He was her best friend, really, besides being her son and they shared what they could. She could hardly remember Gene's father, her supposed high school boyfriend, a guy who'd disappeared the day she told him she was pregnant. Small loss, she'd thought, and got on with the business of rearranging her life for a child. Gene loved her, although he seldom mentioned it, and Michael was just part of the family. And nothing had really changed when they broke up, things just went to the back burner and on low. Michael came into the room and dumped his backpack onto the floor. He walked to the computer and put his arms around Gene's shoulders, lightly kissing the top of his head. "Evening, babe, nearly done?" he asked. Gene smiled to his monitor without looking up. "Just about. Had anything to eat?" Michael shook his head. "No, not hungry, but thanks. When you're done, I really need to talk about something." He pulled out the folding chair beside the workstation and, unfolding it carefully because of the loose screw, sat down in it alongside the debater. Gene looked at his friend, noting the tired eyes and downcast expression. He had the general idea that the talk with Angel hadn't gone well. He logged off and powered down the computer, turning to face Michael. "Okay, Mikey, let's have it. You don't look so great. When I left you with Angel earlier, it looked good from where I was sitting. What happened?" Michael sighed and leaned back carefully in the chair. "Well...I asked him out." His voice was flat and he avoided Gene's eyes. This conversation was uncomfortable in so many ways. Gene studied his friend's face. "And?" "Hmmm. He, ah...doesn't date jocks." Michael's mouth turned down as he looked over at Gene, gauging his expression. Gene's face was impassive, his eyes calm. "Did he say that? What else did he say? Hell, what did YOU say, how'd you ask him?" Gene demanded. Michael put up his hands with a half-smile, as if to ward off the questions. "Damn, gimme a second, will ya, babe? I'm still kinda...I dunno, in shock, I guess. I can't believe I finally asked him...and...well, I'm not too crazy about the way it turned out." He exhaled heavily. Gene stood, pulling Michael up with him and drawing him over to the bed, pulling them both down across the neat bedspread; Michael on his back and Gene facing him, on his side. Michael examined the ceiling. Gene's arm across his chest relaxed him, let him calm his thoughts. "I know you're tired of hearing about this," he began and, when Gene moved to object, he shook his head, "No, I know, I've been talking about Angel for so long now and its not fair to you but...well, there's nobody else I can talk to about it. Plus, I trust you, babe. And I thought, yanno, when you left us like that...well, I thought...I thought things were all right, that he'd listen...that he'd like me, a little bit anyway. I even asked him this morning about studying, I told him I could tutor him in math." Gene smiled at that. Michael looked at him and grinned. "Yeah, I was obvious, I know it." Gene chuckled. "Anyway, yeah, he gave me his number and email; God, he's so cute, it was so cute, Gene, you should have seen him. He was blushing like crazy and kept staring at me. Jesus, Gene, he makes me feel...so, I dunno, so...well, so happy, I guess. I loved that smile, its like bright light just bursts out of him and hits you. Hits you hard in the heart, like a fist, but....well, yanno, nice." He smiled at the memory, gaze turned inward. Gene watched him carefully, stroking his friend's chest gently with his left hand, feeling the sleek material of the football jersey, listening. Michael sighed again. "The thing is, though, that he...I dunno, he doesn't seem to want me. He told me no flat out, for instance, but...I could swear he's interested, Gene. He blushes and all that stuff, he...I dunno, the way he looks at me sometimes, I'm not sure, I thought... I mean I thought he kinda liked me, a little bit anyway. Now, I don't know, I don't think he does. I mean, fuck, can I help it I play football?" He burst out suddenly, frowning, jaw clenched. "Its those fuckheads like Ryan, I know it, that's why he won't date a football player, won't even listen to me. He just said no and left. I know they're assholes but they aren't ME. What the fuck do I have to do so he'll know that?" He looked at Gene; imploring, anxious. Gene ran his hand across Michael's lips thoughtfully. "You wanna know what I think of Angel? Of Angel and you?" he asked rhetorically. Michael nodded, watching him. "Angel is...well, I've been watching Angel, too, ever since you said you liked him. He's...well, temperamental doesn't cover it, Mike. Hell, he's as likely to spit on me as talk sometimes. You never know what you're gonna get with Angel de la Torres. Definitely you have to go carefully and watch for signals. By the way, I'm pretty sure his birthday is this month. You should find out when and do something. I think you'll find a way to get his attention again...you're really good at that. As I have reason to know." He winked at Michael, who looked flustered, before continuing. "I think today was maybe a bad choice, bad timing, and that's partly my fault, Mikey, and I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, I guess, but when you came in and Angel was there and I saw how he looked at you....well, I just thought, fuck it, leave them alone, Gene Kuo, let Michael do his charm thing." He smiled down at his friend. "And, Mike, that charm thing really is something when you get going, I hafta say." He grinned and leaned down, brushing his lips across the other boy's. Michael blushed. "But as far as dating him," he continued, " Well, you have to remember about Angel and how he is. He doesn't HAVE boyfriends, he has friends, lots of friends, but I've never seen him serious about any of them, about anyone. I'm not even sure he wants a boyfriend but, well.." he smiled softly into Michael's eyes, "I know how that is, too, Mike, from personal experience. It doesn't make it impossible, just damn difficult." Michael laughed gently. "And Mikey, you're just the guy to take on that Mission Impossible, if I know you. And I think I do." They lay quietly for a moment, each lost in thought, growing relaxed, sleepy. "So...you think maybe I still have a chance? Even though he said no?" Michael finally asked. Gene took a slow breath. He wanted to see this happen, wanted his friend happy with someone. Even if it was Angel. So he needed to be careful what he said and how he said it, especially after guessing wrong earlier today. "Yeah, I think so but I can't be sure. I think you should keep on like you are, talking to him and I think the studying is a great idea, you should call him tomorrow and set that up. Act like nothing happened today, don't mention it. He's gonna be pissy for while, John made him quit smoking, and I guess you heard about Bobby." Michael nodded absently. The debater paused, laying his hand flat on his friend's taut belly. He felt himself responding and tried to ignore it. Little Gene's timing had always sucked, he thought ruefully. Michael smiled to himself, seeing his friend's discomfiture as he tried to adjust himself away from the other boy, unconsciously trying to minimize contact. "The thing about Angel is that he's never been in love, I think." Gene added, trying to stay on track. "Never even been close. My impression is that it's FAR easier to get into Angel's pants than into his heart. For that, you'll need a team of Navy Seals or a nuke-tipped SAM." Michael laughed and slid his left hand around his friend, pulling him closer. "Thanks...and thanks for listening. I guess you're right, I just need to work on it, work on him." He nuzzled into Gene's neck and put a hand on his hip. He heard a soft sound deep in Gene's throat as he kissed the skin of his neck. Gene grinned, drawing the hand on his hip down onto the bulge in his pants. "Yeah, but for now, Mikey, for RIGHT now, I need you to work on something else." Michael laughed and got up easily, walking to the door to lock it and turn out the light. He came back to the bed and stood beside it to pull off his shirt and toss it onto his backpack. Gene watched, feeling his cock grow, lengthening in response. Michael leaned down to untie and remove his sneakers, biceps and shoulders flexing as he did so, then slid his jeans off, folding them on top of the shirt. Michael wasn't exactly slim but had a firm body, muscled from football, and his pale skin looked smooth in the light from the monitor in the corner. Wearing only his briefs, he stood looking down at Gene in the semi-darkness. Gene smiled lazily up at him, curled on his side like a cat, and kicked off the worn sneakers he wore at home. Mike knelt over him, one knee on the bedspread, and reached for the buttons of Gene's cotton shirt, undoing them slowly, eyes locked on his friend's, both of them smiling. He pushed the shirt back and bent over to kiss the bare chest then run his tongue around a nipple, tweaking the tip. Gene groaned and pushed upward, feeling the need start to overtake his thoughts, his body. They were both breathing faster, heavier. Michael lay down across Gene, holding his weight off the lighter boy with his left hand on the bed. Gene circled his right hand around Mike's head and pulled him into a kiss, their lips touching, softly at first but fast becoming rougher, more urgent, tongues sliding against each other inside hot mouths. Gene moaned again. Michael broke away, panting. He reached for the button of Gene's faded bluejeans, undoing it and pulling the zipper down carefully over the bulge of his cock. Michael smiled, admiring the view. "I always did love seeing a future lawyer's briefs." he said with a grin. Gene groaned at the joke and then groaned in earnest as he felt Michael's hand on him, kneading through the white fabric. He pushed into the hand, feeling his shorts grow damp as fluid leaked from the tip of his aching cock. God, he needed this, had it really been over a month? He reached for Michael's body, running his hands across that hard chest, finding nipples in the near dark and pinching them first gently, then harder. Michael moaned, his breathing ragged, and slid his hands under the band of Gene's shorts, sliding them down, freeing the straining dick. Gene groaned aloud. "Mikey..." he breathed urgently. Michael needed no further encouragement. 'Sometimes you dream, sometimes it seems There's nothing there at all, You just seem older than yesterday And you're waiting for tomorrow to call. You draw to the curtain and one thing's for certain, You're cozy in your little room. The carpet's all paid for, God bless the T.V., Let's go shoot a hole in the moon. And Roy Rogers is riding tonight, Returning to our silver screens. Comic book characters never grow old Evergreen heroes whose stories were told, Oh the great sequin cowboy who sings of the plains Of roundups and rustlers and home on the range. Turn on the T.V., shut out the lights, Roy Rogers is riding tonight.' Roy Rogers (Elton John, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, 1973) Gene gathered up his scattered debate files, slipping them each neatly into the correctly tabbed sections of his 'tub' of evidence, the new items for his affirmative going into his briefcase. Today was a full day of debate, rounds starting at eight and Friedman would want to leave Northside by seven. It was a local tournament, a prep school across town, but Friedman was never late for debate. Neither was Gene Kuo. Satisfied that his files were all in order and ready for the first round of the day, he went into the kitchen to fix himself a snack. He seldom ate what others would consider a full meal, something that Michael and his mother often complained about. If he wasn't hungry, what were they worried about, he would ask. He was thin but healthy, something on the tall side and not too worried about his body's appearance. Clothing, on the other hand, had to look right. He ate his toast at the counter, standing to keep from creasing the slacks of his suit. His red tie lay beside him, ready to go around his neck when he was done eating and his jacket was neatly folded in the living room. There was an art to dressing for debate, a fine line between looking over-dressed and looking just 'professional' enough for a teenager; professional enough to win the confidence of judges before he even opened his mouth. Gene was famous for his impeccable dress, he always managed to look cool and collected. That this helped him win was something he understood instinctively. A knock at the door interrupted his last bites of toast. Surprised, he looked at his watch. He went to the door, opening it on Jaye Peterson. Jaye looked a little rumpled but that was understandable at this hour, thought Gene, as he stepped back to let the other boy in. Jaye sat down on the sofa without being invited, obviously a little worse for the hour of morning. Gene sat beside him, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket that lay across the side of the sectional sofa. He tapped one out for himself and offered them to Jaye, who took one gratefully. They lit their cigarettes in silence, each taking a long drag. Finally, Jaye spoke. "Listen, Gene, sorry for coming over so early but I knew you'd be gone until past midnight so...well, I just came by to catch you. It's kind of important." He seemed a little tired and leaned back as he spoke. "Sure, no problem. I was just getting things together to head out and meet Friedman." Gene flicked ash into the free-form ceramic ashtray on the table, a relic of his mother's teenage decorating efforts. It needed emptying, he noticed. "Okay, here's the thing. Angel wants to start one of those straight-gay things at school and I'm gonna help but we don't know where to start or anything. I figured you could find out, maybe, and if you want to help out, you and Friedman, that'd be even better. Either way, we could use some ideas on how to get started, who to call and all that. I've got a list here of ideas I wrote down, things we need to do. Can you look them over?" Gene's eyebrows went up in surprise. Jaye smiled. "Yeah, you, Gene. We know you're no homophobe, Friedman either, and you two are so great at organizing things, we just kinda...well, we hoped you'd help out. At least to get us going. We were thinking of calling PFLAG for help, Angel's mom is a member here in town and we've been to their meetings." Gene shook his head. "Its GLSEN who does that, the Gay-Straight Alliance thing, not PFLAG." Jaye looked surprised. Gene grinned. "Yeah, yeah, I know about it. I can download some things from online tomorrow and have it for you two on Monday, how would that be? I can't get to it today. I'm pretty sure all the information you need'll be there but I'll be sure and get some numbers you can call, just in case." Jaye grinned. "Cool! Thanks, Gene." Gene looked thoughtful. "Angel's doing this? I never thought of Angel as being...well, political." Jaye laughed. "He's not but he's gonna do it anyway. Or, at least, I think he is. If he doesn't, then I'll do it myself but I'm pretty sure he'll do it IF he can get some help, help figuring it all out and stuff." He paused, looking at Gene quizzically. "So whaddaya think of the idea anyway?" he asked the debater. Gene shrugged. "Hey, I think it's overdue, if you want to know the truth. After the other day in the parking lot..." His voice trailed off as he considered the possibilities. Jaye watched him and smoked his cigarette in silence. "Hey, listen, is it okay if I tell people about this? I might have some friends who want to help out, help Angel set things up." Gene asked. Jaye nodded. "Sure, fine, we need all the help we can get. Who?" Gene looked evasive. "Well, let me ask them first. I'll get back to you on that, too, okay?" Jaye nodded again. Gene looked at his watch and stood up. "Listen, I've gotta get my ass in gear. Leave the list and let me do some research over the weekend. We can talk about it again on Monday, hopefully Angel, too, okay?" Jaye nodded and stood. He stuck out his hand to Gene who took it, looking startled, and shook. "I really appreciate this Gene. Really. Can you ask Friedman, see if he's interested?" Gene nodded. "No problem." Gene said and walked into the kitchen to gather up the rest of his files and put on his tie. Friedman would expect him soon. Jaye stood looking after him, pleased as hell that Gene was interested. Jaye was starting to get excited at the idea; this Alliance thing could end up being a lot of fun to put together. He pulled the list out of his back pocket and unfolded the two pages. He looked around for a place to put them and hesitated. He knew Gene did most of his work at the computer so he walked back to the boy's room and pushed open the door. He'd been here a few times, two years back, but nothing seemed to have changed. The same Star Trek poster on the door; the same navy blue chenille bedspread. He put the list down on the computer and turned in the darkened room, ready to leave. There was a sound from the bed and a movement under the unmade bedspread. Jaye froze, watching, and held his breath. A body moved in the dim light, turned to get comfortable in the bed, and snuggled into the pillow. Jesus Christ, thought Jaye, I didn't even know Gene the Machine DID sex. Damn, this is embarrassing. He walked carefully to the door, glancing back once at the figure in Gene's bed and stopped short. He recognized the face. It was Michael Morrison. Jaye flushed; he was furious. He clenched his fists; breathing hard, gritting his teeth. That sonofabitch had had the fucking nerve to ask Angel out. AND that was just last night! What'd he do, strike out with Angel and so just decided to jump in bed with whoever? Jesus, I didn't even know Gene was gay, he thought. Somehow it wasn't as surprising as it should have been. But all that took a backseat to the main feature. He stood motionless in the bedroom, breathing hard, then snapped into action. Jaye stormed out of the room and right out of the apartment, blind with anger, forgetting to say goodbye to Gene and slamming the door on his way out. He really didn't want to examine all the reasons he was angry, some things he'd pushed back so far that they really didn't need to come out. Especially right now. Jocks! Fucking assholes think they can fucking do anything they fucking want, he fumed, starting the engine of his Mustang. Assholes! Michael may THINK he can fool around with some drama kid, thought Jaye; asking him out, fucking around, treating him like shit and getting away with it, the way football players can get away with anything, but if he did, he didn't know Jaye. Jaye had another idea entirely. He'd be DAMNED if Angel was going out with that prick! 'Sometimes when I'm lonely I sit and think about him And it hurts to remember all the good times When I thought I could never live without him And I wonder does it have to be the same Every time when I see him, will it bring back all the pain? Ah-ha-ha, how can I forget that name? Angeleyes, He took my heart and now I pay the price. Look into his angeleyes You'll think you're in paradise, Then one day you'll find out he wears a disguise. Don't look too deep into those angeleyes, Oh no no no no.' Angel Eyes (ABBA, 1975) [End of Part Seven]