Rocking Hard, Volume 2 Page 5

  Michael hesitated, then shrugged.

  "Get dressed," Gabriel ordered lightly, his desire to have "the talk" forgotten in this sudden urge to show Michael how to live. "Let's go out."

  "What?"

  "We're going out, to enjoy right now. C'mon."

  Michael hesitated, but then did what Gabriel said, tugging on tight jeans, loose boots, a t-shirt and a jacket. He looked damn sexy; he always did. But in that moment, Gabriel wasn't fighting the urge to jump him. He wanted to go out with him.

  There was a local pier not to far away, and they stopped for lunch on the way. They sat on the boardwalk, watching the boaters and parasailers while they ate hotdogs and chips.

  "I don't eat this kind of food very often," Michael said, swallowing a bite of hotdog. "Usually, it's all green food for me, veggie burgers and tofu smoothies."

  "Well, that sounds delicious," Gabriel replied dryly.

  Michael laughed. "You just need to find people who know how to cook it right. I've missed junk food though."

  Gabriel laughed and reached for his soda.

  "What kind of bands were you in before this?" Michael asked.

  Gabriel was a little surprised by Michael's asking him a personal question. "Umm … whoever would take me, really. Some goth, some metal, some punk. I don't really care what kind of music I'm playing as long as it's something I can get into."

  "What was your last band like?"

  Gabriel's face darkened. "Assholes."

  Michael's eyebrows shot up. "What happened?"

  Gabriel hesitated. He wasn't proud of the way bands treated him; he wasn't really sure he wanted to let Michael in on that particular secret. He didn't want Michael to judge him because of other people's treatment of him, or worse, for Michael to see him in that light—if he hadn't before. He sighed. What did it matter, really?

  "You don't have to tell me."

  For some reason, that made him want to. "The same thing that happens with just about every band that hires me. They see a pretty boy in makeup and tight jeans and think I'll bend over for them whenever they want to fuck. They expect blowjobs before shows and quick fucks afterwards when the adrenaline running through them makes them want to own someone, to take them rough and hard. And I said no. I'm not going to let them do that to me, even if everyone only sees me as a piece of ass."

  Michael was quiet when he said, "I don't see you as a piece of ass."

  Gabriel looked at him, surprised. "You don't?"

  Michael shook his head. "No. If I did, I would've fucked you and found another guitarist for the tour. I respect you."

  Gabriel didn't know what to say to that. Michael had never been that bluntly honest with him before. Michael didn't really say much, ever. Mostly it was just wanting to fuck each other's brains out but never getting the opportunity. That was probably a good thing, Gabriel decided. He didn't know what would happen if they ever finally did get the chance to go to bed together. And now that he knew it wasn't just sex, that Michael respected him as a person … That just made the desire more intense. Desire for something he shouldn't have, not with his bandmate. The forbidden didn't make it hotter; it just made him feel more conflicted.

  "What were your last bands like?" Gabriel asked finally to break up the silence his warring thoughts had created.

  Michael leaned back. "They didn't really get me. I had these grand visions in my head, and they just thought I was crazy. They wanted to play songs about love, sex, and taking on the world; they couldn't see that that was what all my songs were about.

  "And I'm not exactly the easiest person to write music with. I have this sound in my head sometimes and I'm not satisfied with anything less than that. But it's hard for me, sometimes, to transfer what's in my head into music. I get frustrated.

  "But Raphe—he gets it. He can get in my head and turn a bunch of rambling and hand gestures into real music." He gave a half smile, like he was laughing at himself, and shook his head. Maybe Michael didn't understand it enough to put it into words.

  Now that Michael was finished trying to explain the unexplainable, the silence was back. Honestly, Gabriel thought, how hard was it for two people to carry on a conversation? Surely he'd never had this much trouble before.

  "C'mon," Michael said, getting to his feet. "Let's walk."

  They strolled along the beach, looking slightly out of place with the stocking caps covering their blazing hair colors. They took off their shoes and rolled up their jeans—it was a little difficult in skinny jeans, but they managed—and felt the sand between their toes and the waves run over their ankles.

  "I grew up on the beach," Michael said. "Out in California. We lived five miles from the beach for most of my childhood. I spent all my time swimming and watching the surfers."

  "Can you surf?"

  "In theory," Michael replied, smiling. "But as soon as I get out on the waves, somehow my surfboard always comes up and hits me in the head. I haven't tried since I was fifteen, and honestly, I have no desire to."

  Gabriel grinned at the image in his head, of pro surfers riding the waves while Michael lay on his board and dog paddled.

  "Where are you from?"

  "Joliet, outside of Chicago," Gabriel replied. "No beaches for me. I wasn't out in the sun too much."

  "Vampire?"

  Gabriel snorted. "Night owl, more like. I got in a shitload of trouble as a kid. I didn't really have anywhere to vent all the shit going on in my life, so breaking the law was the only outlet I had."

  "Huh."

  "What?"

  Michael shrugged. "You don't seem like the jail bird type."

  "I'm not—not anymore. You do a little time, and it's enough to make you never want to go back. I'm not saying I stopped doing stupid shit. I just stopped getting caught."

  They didn't say anything for a minute, but as they trekked around a group of bikini-clad girls playing volleyball, Michael asked, "You knew about Gabriel when I asked. Are you Catholic?"

  Gabriel shook his head. "Not anymore. I'm not really religious. Spiritual, I guess, if anything. I went to Catholic school 'til I got kicked out."

  "You got kicked out of Catholic school?"

  Gabriel grinned. "Yeah. I guess your interpretation of the Bible and angels was more acceptable than mine."

  "Do I want to know what you did?"

  "Spray painted devils and angels in the school gym."

  "Jesus—why?"

  "They censored my art one too many times in art class—said it was 'inappropriate' and 'vulgar' and a whole load of other bullshit. So I figured I'd do some art that they couldn't take down."

  Michael looked at him for a moment, blinked, and then grinned. "That's brilliant."

  Gabriel smiled. "Thanks. I thought so."

  "So, are you excited for the GSA Awards?"

  "The what?"

  "The Gay-Straight Alliance Awards? We're performing—in three days."

  "What?!"

  "You didn't check the calendar, did you?"

  "I—no! Why didn't anyone tell me?"

  Michael laughed. "Oh, Gabriel." He shook his head, smiling. "Our manager keeps the calendar updated to a tee and we live by whatever's on it. It's become habit for us. You fit in so well, I keep forgetting you haven't been with us for years.

  "We start practice tomorrow at ten a.m."

  "How much practice do we have to do? We've got the tour down."

  Michael shook his head. "This is different. GSA is bigger than the tour."

  Gabriel gaped at him. "Holy shit."

  "Yeah. It's a big deal. And we're doing something totally different for Eve and Lilith. It's gonna be big. It has to be big."

  Gabriel swallowed. What were they about to get into?

  *~*~*

  "No, no, no."

  Gabriel cringed, waiting for the reprimand. He wasn't sure what he'd done wrong, but if Michael was stopping practice—again—something wasn't perfect.

  "It's one, two, three and four and, not one, two and th
ree and four."

  Gabriel heaved a sigh of relief. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Uriel doing the same. Michael went over to instruct the dancers on the proper dance count while Gabriel retrieved his water bottle.

  They had been rehearsing Eve and Lilith for six hours. They had scarfed down a sandwich on the way to a rushed soundcheck, and now they were back to rehearsals. The biggest change to Eve and Lilith was the addition of dancers: a dozen new faces were constantly swirling around the band and weaving between them. Gabriel had to learn their choreography—at least the gist of it—so he didn't crash into any of them. He'd crashed into three of them so far, and every time he did, Michael's frustration went up a notch. On top of trying not to walk into a dancer, Gabriel had to focus on the new arrangement. It wasn't too different from the one he played on tour, but the subtle differences were enough to trip him up.

  "Okay, from the top!" Michael struck a pose and they began the song again.

  Gabriel had a close run-in with one of the dancers, but he dodged her and managed to follow the chord progression, at least until—

  "Stop, stop!"

  "Uriel, I need a level beat. You keep speeding up—"

  "Because you keep speeding up. I'm following the band—"

  "Screw that! We'll follow you. You keep the beat to keep the rest of us in line. Again!"

  Finally, by the time they had to get ready for their regular show, they had managed to get all the way through the song a few times without mishap. It was a tremendous victory in Gabriel's mind. Then he saw Raphael's face when Michael suggested another chord progression and quickly intervened before Raphael beat Michael over the head with his guitar. He didn't want to see a good guitar get damaged, after all.

  "C'mon, guys," Gabriel said, already handing his guitar to a roadie. "Hair and makeup."

  "Leave it alone, Michael," Raphael said firmly. "The new arrangement is great the way it is. Don't fix it if it ain't broke."

  Michael glared but then nodded.

  "Thank God." There was a little too much relief in Gabriel's voice, but he couldn't help it. Practice had been exhausting.

  Michael turned on Gabriel. "Don't be too thankful—you're next."

  "What?"

  "Tomorrow you and I are choreographing the PDA."

  Gabriel groaned. "What about spontaneity?"

  "Spontaneity is good enough for the tour, not for—"

  "The GSAs," the band chorused and traipsed toward the makeup rooms.

  *~*~*

  "I want lust—pure need," Michael instructed, his eyes serious.

  Gabriel nodded. Not a problem.

  "But flirt first. The entire song is leading up to the point of no return. Make it hot. Make it obvious. Make it intense."

  "Got it."

  They started the song—and stopped twenty seconds in.

  "That's not it."

  "I didn't even get a chance to start anything!"

  "It's a four minute song—not a movie. You need to start before the song."

  "Fine."

  He made it forty seconds the next time.

  "Don't be so shy. Flirty, but controlled."

  "Okay."

  When he got stopped again, he snapped, "What? What is it this time?"

  "I don't believe you. I don't believe you really want me."

  "What?"

  "I'm not feeling it from you. I need more passion, more—"

  "Why don't you choreograph it and I'll do it?"

  "That's what we're doing!"

  Gabriel hissed out a breath—how he missed spontaneity!

  The moment of the kiss came and he bent back as Michael kissed him sensually. As soon as he pulled back, Michael made a cutting motion. "You're not supposed to be so shy. This is everything you've wanted."

  They did it again.

  "Be more demanding. You really want this."

  Then again.

  "The entire song has led up to this! Enjoy it! Make them believe it."

  And again.

  "The audience has been waiting for this moment—don't disappoint them."

  When Michael stopped them again, Gabriel growled in frustration.

  "Again! C'mon, Gabriel. We're talking pure lust and desire here. You're acting like you don't even want to kiss me."

  At the moment, Gabriel wanted to hit him a lot more than kiss him, but to prove a point, he strode forward, grabbed the lapels of Michael's jacket, and kissed him brutally. He was the dominant one; he controlled this kiss. He kissed Michael hard, all his frustrations pouring out in the kiss, and when he finally popped back, breathing hard, Michael had a new glint in his eyes.

  "Yes! That's it!"

  Gabriel rolled his eyes and moved back to his start point. Of course Michael had turned his moment of venting into a teaching lesson. He was no longer sure if he wanted to hit him or kiss him again.

  *~*~*

  Gabriel was uncomfortable in his suit. The suit itself was comfy enough. It was true what people said, that a well-fitted suit was even more comfortable than walking around naked. It wasn't the feel of the suit that was uncomfortable; it was the fact that he was wearing a suit—to an awards ceremony. As he stepped out of the limo behind Uriel, he suddenly wished he were wearing his stage costume, wings and all. Even as punked out and non-traditional his suit, ripped t-shirt, and boots were, he felt like he needed a suit of armor.

  Lights flashed everywhere. Fans screamed. Reporters called their names and shouted questions like an attack. Gabriel wanted to run for cover.

  He felt slender fingers slip between his and looked over to see Ariel smiling at him and squeezing his hand reassuringly. "Just smile," she said. "You'll get through this, believe me."

  Gabriel did as she instructed: smiling and posing for photos, ignoring questions thrown at him, and letting Michael answer anything important. Michael had a lot to say, and more than once, Raphael had to usher him forward, smiling and apologizing to the reporters.

  And then finally, blessedly, they were through the doors and being escorted to their seats. Gabriel heaved a sigh of relief and slumped in his chair.

  Ariel laughed. "You did a good job," she whispered, squeezing his hand once more before letting go.

  Michael leaned over Raphael to speak to Gabriel. "That's Adam Embry—he started the first ever gay-only private school." He pointed to a dark-haired man in a pristine, French-looking suit. "And that's Emelia Current, the founder of Closets R 4 Clothes magazine. Oh, and Jimmy Morran, the first transgender senator."

  Michael continued to point out important figures in gay history, and Gabriel was floored—by how many people they were and what they had done. He had never been a gay rights activist. His coming out hadn't been a big deal, and he had never marched in parades or done anything to help his community. He didn't even consider himself a gay artist—he just considered himself an artist. Yet here he was, surrounded by people who had been persecuted for years because of who they loved and people who had dedicated their lives to bettering youth and propagating the truth about gays and their fight for equal rights.

  Whenever someone went up to accept an award, their speech was always heartfelt and emotional. They all had bitter stories about harassment and prejudice and they were all equally adamant about moving forward and protecting youth.

  Michael disappeared halfway through. Gabriel wasn't really sure where he went.

  "And now, to present the award the Lifetime Achievement Award for Equality Advocacy, the frontman of Fallen Angel—Michael."

  As soon as Michael walked onto the stage, Gabriel could see something different in the way he carried himself, proudly, like a soldier. There was a burning light in his eyes, a look of strife and battle and determination to carry on in the face of blinding adversity.

  "It is a personal honor for me to present this Lifetime Achievement Award. When I was growing up, a confused little boy in Catholic school, gay advocacy was not what it is today. If I wanted a queer role model, he was either a drag queen or wearing
latex costumes on a stage somewhere. At that time, being proud meant you had to be loud and in your face.

  "And then I heard about Jonathan Marks. Jonathan was loud and proud but respectful, both of himself and the people he was representing. Jonathan made a career for himself as a respectable lawyer, but in the seventies, he threw that all away when he represented a gay man who was suing his employers for harassment. Jonathan won that case, and from that day forward, he became the leading representation for any in the LGBT community needing legal service. Not only did he represent the gay community, but he fought for them. Jonathan held public speaking events, attended rallies, and has written fourteen books detailing his personal fight for gay rights.

  "I think one of the most important things about Jonathan is that he's straight. All gays have a reason to fight for gay rights: it's self-service as well as a service to the community. But Jonathan isn't gay. His fight for gay rights wasn't so he could openly serve in the military or marry his partner. It wasn't so employers couldn't fire him or refuse to hire him because of his sexuality. He fought for us because he saw a world where people weren't judged by who they loved, but by what they did with their lives.

  "Tonight, it is my honor to present the Lifetime Achievement Award for Equality Advocacy to Jonathan Marks for forty-seven years of unwavering service to human rights."

  The room erupted with applause. Gabriel stood with them, but he couldn't speak. He could barely move. He was so moved by Jonathan's contribution to the community—to his community—that he was floored.

  Jonathan walked deliberately up to the stage. He looked pristine in a simple black suit and neatly trimmed grey hair and beard, but it was his piercing eyes that drew everyone's attention—that and his reputation. Despite his age, his eyes were still full of fire.

  He made a speech, speaking as deliberately as he walked, talking about a few of the cases that stood out to him over the years, about a few of the benchmarks he had helped along, and then listed several hopes for the future, encouraging young people to follow in his footsteps, to do the right thing without self-preservation.

  There was more applause; Michael rejoined them. Gabriel held Michael's eyes for minute, hoping to show him a bit of the overwhelming emotions raging inside him. He was utterly in awe of just how important the members of this community were and what amazing things they were accomplishing—not just for themselves, but for everyone. Michael nodded once.