Fic: Queer as Folk: So Come and Dance With Me 9/?
December 24, 1984
Michael sneezed, rubbing his frozen nose on the back of his numb hand. The alleyway stank of rotting garbage and Michael shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. ‘Brian picks great meeting places,’ he thought with irritation. Far above him in the night sky the stars twinkled. Out on the street couples passed by, bundled up against the cold, their gloved hands clasped. A gust of cold air whooshed by and Michael shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling the small plastic baggy he’d hidden there earlier.
He smiled, curling his fingers around the baggy, and leaned against the filthy brick wall of the building. His ma and Uncle Vic were visiting their sister, his aunt. They’d spend the night, his ma had told him, because neither of them wanted to drive all the way back from the Poconos when they were tired.
“In bed by midnight,” his ma had said, pointing a long red fingernail at him. Her bright red and green sweater, topped off by the huge gold bow in her hair, practically blinded him with its festiveness.
“He’s fourteen, sis, give the kid a break,” Uncle Vic interrupted, ruffling Michael’s hair.
“I don’t give a shit how old he is, he’s got a bed time and its midnight!” Debbie scowled, rummaging through her purse. “Now where the hell did I put my damn keys?”
“Here, sis,” Vic said, holding them up in front of her face.
“Shit,” Debbie said, snatching them away. “What about the food? Do we have everything?”
Michael’s gaze shifted to the three giant bags of food sitting on the coffee table, full of casserole dishes and Tupperware. If his ma’s cooking was a sign of her mental state, she was somewhere between anxious and panic-attack at this point.
“We’d better,” Vic said, hefting the bags into his arms. The slinky blue shirt he wore showed off his biceps, and Michael stared at them, wondering if his own skinny arms would ever look like that.
“Lock the door, don’t go anywhere, and call me if anything happens.” Debbie frowned and peered at Michael. “Maybe I should stay.”
Michael rolled his eyes, feeling very cool as he did it - Brian rolled his eyes all the time. “Ma,” he groaned. “Just go!”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Debbie asked, her voice softening.
Michael glanced down at the carpet, biting his lower lip. His aunt wasn’t his favorite person, no, but that wasn’t why he wasn’t going. He’d put up with his aunt if he had to, to spend Christmas Eve with his ma and his Uncle Vic, but there was something far, far more important he had to attend to.
Not that his mother needed to know any of that.
“I’ll be fine,” Michael finally said, glancing back up at his mother’s worried face. “Really.”
Vic smirked at Michael. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he said with a wink.
“Don’t say that,” Debbie huffed, grabbing her huge marshmallow coat from the closet. “There isn’t anything you won’t do.”
Michael laughed as Vic waggled his eyebrows at him. “Don’t listen to her,” he said. “There’s nothing she won’t do, either.”
Debbie smacked Vic on the back of the head and scowled at him. She glanced at Michael and sighed, wrapping her arms around his middle and hugging him so tightly he thought he might be crushed. “Call us if anything happens,” she said for the hundredth time. “I love you.”
“I will,” Michael replied, his voice muffled by the coat that was pressed into his face. “Love you, too.”
Vic took Debbie’s arm and practically dragged her from the house as she shouted more motherly concerns and threats and bedtimes. Michael stood in the doorway and watched until they got in the car and drove away.
Then before they could change their mind and turn around, he slammed the door shut and locked it. He took the stairs two-at-a-time, running up them as fast as he could. And then he was standing in front of Vic’s room, breathing hard, his hand shaking. He’d turned the door handle and entered.
The smell of man filled his nose. It didn’t smell like his room, sweet and fresh and of boy. The room smelled musky, dark, and familiar, although Vic only lived in it on holidays. Michael crossed the carpeted floor, holding his breath. His fingers brushed over the top of the dresser, over a hairbrush, bottles and containers of lotions and ointments and colognes.
His fingers plucked a small bottle from the counter, labeled something in French, or Italian, Michael couldn’t tell which. Either way, he thought, it probably meant it was expensive. He unscrewed the lid and sniffed, the manly scent filling his nose, goose-bumps rising up on his arms.
Michael bit his lower lip and glanced towards the bedroom door, waiting to hear his mother or Vic coming back inside, tearing up the stairs to find him. Finally he exhaled, his lungs burning as he took his next breath.
They weren’t coming back.
With trembling hands Michael applied the cologne, just a tiny bit on his wrists, on his neck. He wasn’t sure that was where you were supposed to put cologne, but he’d seen his mother put on perfume plenty of times, and that’s how she did it.
Michael glanced into the mirror above the bureau and stared at his reflection. His large brown eyes stared back at him, his rosy cheeks looked as young as ever. He was just a chubby kid. He lifted his wrist to his nose. He sniffed, then grinned. He might not look like a man yet, but he smelled like one.
Would Brian notice?
He saw his own face flush and he looked down again, unable to hold his own stare. He screwed the top back on the cologne and set it back down on the dresser exactly where it had been. His gaze shifted to the dresser drawers.
It was time to be a man. He smelled like one. So he had to act like one.
The drawer slid open with a squeak, and the small wooden box Michael had hoped to find was there, surrounded by his uncle’s perfectly folded and organized socks. Michael lifted the box from the drawer and sat on it on the top of the dresser. He glanced back up at his reflection again and took a deep breath.
This was stealing. Stealing from his Uncle Vic.
But Vic wouldn’t mind, he thought. Vic wouldn’t mind because he would understand.
Michael flushed, knowing that if his uncle really would have understood, he should have simply told him. He’d never been dishonest before. Was this worth it?
The priest at the church his mother only dragged him to on holidays flashed through his mind.
Would he go to hell? For stealing?
‘It’s all bullshit,’ Brian’s voice said in his mind, so loud and clear that he could have been standing in the room. ‘Those assholes don’t know God any better than we do, if there even is one.’
Michael smiled, remembering his shock at Brian’s words. He’d asked him questions, like how can you be sure, and what if? Brian hadn’t wanted to talk about it.
But his friend was right, he thought. Forget the church, forget the priest. Maybe he wouldn’t set aside God so easily, but he thought God would probably understand what he was doing.
Even if it was stealing.
With trembling fingers Michael lifted the lid on the small wooden box. An earthy, sweet scent joined the smell of the cologne, and he stared down at the little rolled white papers. Vic had explained about drugs a few years ago when Michael had begun middle school. The only thing he’d said about pot was; wait until you’re older, wait until your ma won’t kill you for it, and only get it from someone you trust. Michael took two, along with a lighter. He put the box back exactly where it had been, and slipped out of Vic’s room, his guilt weighing on him only a little.
Michael sneezed again, jarred from his thoughts. He wished he had a watch so he could check the time, but he’d left the Spider-Man one he’d gotten from the cereal box at home, thinking it probably wouldn’t look very cool. Not that Brian cared. Brian seemed to like him even when he was being completely un-cool.
As if on cue, the door next to Michael swung open with a creak. Brian leaned out of it, a cocky smirk on his face. “Well, look what we have here.”
Michael beamed at his friend and stood at attention, bringing his hand to his forehead in a salute. “Permission to board, captain?”
Brian snorted and stepped back to let Michael slip inside. “Permission granted,” he said.
Michael slipped past Brian, their bodies brushing as he came in from the cold. He sniffled and quickly wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, hoping he looked cool, rather than frozen. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he said.
Brian smirked and held out an arm, gesturing around the empty hallway. “I told you I’d get you in, Mikey,” he said. “Nobody ever guards the back door, especially not at crappy little theaters like this.”
Michael scowled. “It’s not crappy,” he said. He tugged off his coat and folded it over his arm, eyeing Brian, looking for bruises, for a limp, for any sign of injury. He smiled when he didn’t see anything.
“Looks pretty crappy so far,” Brian said, slipping an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Come on, since I actually paid for a ticket, I wanna see the movie.” He hesitated and then leaned in, his nose brushing lightly against Michael’s neck.
Michael shivered and froze.
“You smell good,” Brian mumbled.
Michael beamed and leaned into his friend’s touch as they walked to the third theater door, glancing around for any theater employees before slipping into the darkened room. The trailers had already begun, casting a ghostly light over the audience.
Brian began to walk forward to the front seats, but Michael grabbed his arm and pulled. “This way,” he whispered. He pulled Brian to the back, and up the steps to his favorite seats.
“Holy shit,” Brian whispered.
“Told you,” Michael said with a grin. He squinted, looking for anyone that might be hidden in the shadows of the balcony, but as always it was empty. “Nobody comes up here but me.”
“You mean, but us,” Brian corrected him. He slipped out of Michael’s grip and swaggered to the front seats, plopping down into the one in the very middle.
Michael sat next to him, watching the way the colored lights reflected off of Brian’s face. He looked even more beautiful like this, in the shadows, Michael thought.
“Want some popcorn?” Brian asked, glancing at Michael.
Michael blinked, forcing the thoughts from his head. “Yeah, sure,” he said. Then he frowned. “No, I don’t have any money.”
“I know, idiot, that’s why I snuck you in.” Brian put his hand on Michael’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Be right back.”
Michael watched Brian walk quickly back down the steps, his tall body and long legs casting a skinny shadow onto the wall. When he disappeared into the darkened room Michael sat back and took a deep breath. It had been his idea to do something tonight, on Christmas Eve. He’d had a feeling, a dark, nagging feeling, that he shouldn’t let Brian stay home for the holiday. It had something to do with the haunted look in Brian’s eyes lately, and the way he’d reacted to the Christmas decorations at school, ripping them down without a second glance. The midnight movie series at the theater just happened to be showing Temple of Doom, and Michael just had a feeling that Brian liked Indiana Jones as much as he did.
Michael reached into his pocket, his sweaty fingers gripping the plastic baggy clumsily. He pulled it from his pocket, frowning at the way the paper rolls had bent, and gently straightened them. He opened the bag and winced as the smell seemed to pour into the air. Another reason to be glad no one else ever used the balcony, he thought.
“And I thought you smelled good before,” Brian’s voice said from behind him.
Michael felt his face flush and he jumped, turning to see him. “Shit, don’t scare me like that!”
“Don’t let your mommy hear you talk that way,” Brian said, flopping back into the seat next to Micahel’s with a huge bag of popcorn in his hands. His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Of course, she’d also kill you if she knew you had weed. Mikey, you little stoner, you’ve been holding out on me.”
His immediate retort was to deny it, to refute it, to blush, to flail, to be completely and utterly uncool.
Instead, Michael grinned and handed the baggy to Brian. “They’re Uncle Vic’s.”
Brian nodded, picking up one of the joints and rolling it between his fingers. Then he glanced at Michael from the corner of his eye. “Since when do you smoke pot?”
Michael flushed, thankful for the darkness. “W-well,” he said, “I don’t. But… you do.”
Brian frowned and said nothing, and Michael felt his heart beginning to race.
Shit, had he done something wrong? “I just thought… it’s Christmas Eve, and…” And I wanted to give you something, Michael thought. I wanted to give you something, but I don’t have any money, and if I got you a comic book you’d call me pathetic, and if I got you a rose you’d never talk to me again. “Merry Christmas,” Michael finally said, feeling completely lame.
Brian’s expression darkened.
“If you don’t want them it’s okay,” Michael muttered, grabbing for the bag, trembling. He’d fucked up. He’d just wanted to seem cool, to seem like an adult, and Brian had mentioned pot, once. He’d talked about it like it was the holy grail, like it was the one of the only things that brought him happiness.
“It’s called being high for a reason, Mikey,” he’d said. “It makes you feel like you’re flying. Like nothing can touch you.”
He’d just wanted to give Brian some happiness for Christmas.
“Shut up,” Brian said, snatching the joints back. He brought one to his lips and flicked the lighter, the glow lighting his face for a moment before disappearing.
Michael stared at Brian’s lips, watching as the tip of the joint glowed red.
“Mmm,” Brian moaned, his eyes fixed on the screen as the movie played out before them. He exhaled, and a cloud of smoke rose up into the red velvet curtains overhead.
“Good?” Michael whispered, unable to pull his gaze from Brian’s face, even if Indiana Jones was bigger-than-life on the screen before them.
Brian slipped his arm back around Michael’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Try it,” he said, handing him the joint. “Just go easy.”
Michael took the paper between to fingers and leaned against Brian. He lifted the joint to his lips and inhaled, just a little. The hot smoke filled his lungs and scorched his throat. He coughed, burying his face in Brian’s shoulder to muffle the sound.
“Lightweight,” Brian said, chuckling. He ruffled Michael’s hair and grinned when Michael lifted his face, his brown eyes already red and bloodshot. “Try again.”
Michael coughed once more, then hit the joint again, inhaling deeper. This time he expected the heat, and the burn, and he only coughed a little as he handed the joint back to Brian.
“Whatcha think?” Brian asked as he hit the joint again, the red tip glowing as he inhaled deeply.
Michael blinked and shook his head, feeling a little hazy. “Okay, I guess,” he mumbled.
“You probably won’t get really high the first time,” Brian said, handing the joint back.
Michael hit the joint again, inhaling until he thought his lungs would explode. Then he exhaled slowly, carefully, ignoring the itching in his chest and throat.
“Good job, Mikey,” Brian purred, nuzzling his nose into Michael’s neck as he took the joint from his fingers.
Michael shivered, glancing at his friend. Brian was always sort of… touchy-feely when they were alone, but… this was more. If it was because of the pot, Michael decided that he’d be asking Vic for a regular supply.
“Are you wearing something?” Brian asked, his breath hot on Michael’s neck.
“Mm,” Michael squeaked, unable to get anything else out.
Brian grinned at Michael as he lifted his head, gesturing towards the screen as the music began to climax. “We’re missing the movie,” he said.
“I already saw it,” Michael mumbled. “Three times. When it first came out.”
Brian snorted. “Of course you did. You’re pathetic.” He hit the joint again, and exhaled a cloud of smoke before smirking at Michael. “I saw it twice.”
Michael was giggling before he could stop himself. “You’re the pathetic one,” he said between giggles. “At least I admit I’m a big nerd.”
“I’m not a nerd,” Brian replied, rolling his eyes. “I just pretend to be one to make you look cooler.”
Michael smiled widely and leaned in, pressing a kiss to Brian’s cheek. As soon as his lips touched Brian’s soft skin his heart skipped a beat. He flushed again and jerked back, eyeing Brian nervously.
They’d kissed. They’d kissed a few times. But even if it was just on the cheek, Brian always initiated it. Michael hadn’t ever kissed Brian first.
“Sor-“ Michael began to say.
“For what?” Brian asked, bringing the joint to Michael’s lips.
Michael closed his lips around the paper, brushing Brian’s fingertips. He inhaled, unsure what else to do.
“Are you going to get in trouble?” Brian asked, taking the joint back. “Didn’t think your ma would agree to a midnight showing, even if it is hunky Harrison Ford.”
“No,” Michael choked as he exhaled smoke. “Ma and Uncle Vic are staying with my aunt.”
“How come you didn’t go?” Brian’s eyes shifted to the movie screen.
Michael felt himself smile, giddiness filing his chest. “Because I’d rather be with you,” he said.
With a short laugh, Brian shook his head. “You really are a lightweight. And pathetic.”
“Okay,” Michael said agreeably, leaning back against Brian’s shoulder. He nuzzled his face against Brian’s neck, enjoying how soft he skin was, how warm he felt.
The movie continued in front of them. Brian’s eyes stayed fixed to the screen, but his arm stayed firmly around Michael’s shoulders. The joint got passed until it wasn’t anymore, and then Brian placed the huge bucket of popcorn between them. They ate in silence, completely absorbed in the movie, only pulling their gaze from the screen when their slick, buttery fingers brushed as they reached for more popcorn.
Cold air burned their lungs and the red and gold lights of the movie marquee lit their faces when they exited the theater two hours later. Michael pulled his coat tighter and shivered. “It’s cold at three in the morning.”
“It isn’t three,” Brian replied, lifting his arms over his head, stretching his thin, wiry body with a yawn. “But it is pretty late.” His coat hung open, as if he didn’t need it, as if the thin t-shirt he wore were enough to keep him warm.
Michael rubbed his eyes on the back of his hand and blinked up at the dark sky above. “Ma would be so mad,” he mumbled with a grin.
“Yeah,” Brian said.
Michael frowned and lowered his gaze to Brian, seeing how his friend stood with his jaw set, his shoulders tense, the red and gold lights making him glow with anxiety. He looked small. “Wanna sleep over?”
The tension drained from his body. “Scared to be in the house all by your lonesome?”
Michael hesitated, processing his sarcastic tone. Then he grinned. “Yep. Terrified. You’d better come protect me.”
Brian smirked and threw an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Well, if you need me that badly. Okay.”
“Promise?” Michael asked, shooting Brian a cocky grin.
The red and gold lights suddenly went out, leaving them in darkness. The shutters to the ticket booth snapped shut. “Only if you promise, too,” Brian finally said, his voice strained.
Michael’s eyes widened and his lips parted. He fisted his cold hands, then relaxed them. “I promise,” he whispered.
Brian smirked again and smacked Michael firmly on the ass before skipping ahead a few steps. “Did your ma leave you a ton of food?”
“Yeah,” Michael said, staring after him. He tilted his head and sighed. “Wanna go eat all of it?”
“Think we can?” Brian asked, his smile widening.
Michael’s stomach growled and he smiled back. “We can try really hard.”
Brian waited for Michael to join him and they walked down the sidewalk together, their breath coming in little white clouds.
“It’s really pretty out,” Michael whispered.
Brian snorted. “You’re high. Being high makes everything beautiful.”
Michael smiled and looked at Brian instead of the moon, and thought he was really beautiful, too. But he wasn’t so high that he’d say it.
“Y’know what the best part of that movie was?” Brian asked.
“Every part with Harrison Ford?” Michael mumbled, then he flushed, realizing what he said.
Brian just laughed. “Okay, what the second best part was,” he corrected himself.
Michael glanced at Brian, hopping over a crack in the sidewalk. “What?”
“KALI MA!” Brian shouted, grabbing for Michael.
Michael yelped and jumped away, his heart racing.
“I knew it! You’re scared!” Brian laughed, then held his arms out, moaning. “Kaaa-liiii Maaa!” he groaned.
Michael skipped back a few steps, avoiding Brian’s slow, exaggerated grabs. “Quit it!” he laughed.
Then Brian jumped forward, grabbing Michael’s coat. He yanked him close and pressed his hand to Michael’s chest, over his heart, and dug his fingertips in a little.
Michael felt his entire body tense and he inhaled sharply.
Brian pressed his lips to Michael’s ear. “Gotcha,” he said. Then he laughed and let go, racing ahead.
Michael took a deep, shaky breath, and touched his chest. He felt his pulse. He felt his heart beating. But he wasn’t sure it was there anymore.
“Mikey! You comin’? Or do I have to eat everything myself?” Brian shouted from the end of the block, his voice echoing down the silent street.
The next morning Debbie entered her home to find two teenaged boys curled up on the floor in a nest of blankets, surrounded by empty Tupperware and tins that had once contained Christmas cookies under the Christmas tree. Brian’s head rested on Michael’s chest, and Michael’s face was buried in Brian’s hair. Both boys held onto each other, smiles on their faces, cookie crumbs on their t-shirts.
“I’m going to have to get used to this, aren’t I?” Debbie asked with a resigned voice.
Vic smiled and kissed her cheek. “Merry Christmas, sis.”