"The Angel" 1
The second episode of "The Angel Stream":
Christmas morning at the loft.
By Gaedhal
Pittsburgh, Christmas Day 2004
"What's that sound?" groaned Justin.
At first Justin thought it was his heart pounding, but the noise was too loud and too metallic.
"Christ!" breathed Brian, lifting his head. "It's someone at the fucking door. Ignore it and they'll go away."
Justin clutched one of Brian's big pillows with both hands. "I don't care what it is! Only don't stop! Please!"
Brian grinned. "I wasn't planning to."
And he plunged his tongue back into Justin's ample ass with satisfied glee.
***
Michael had been worried before, but now he was alarmed.
He had been trying to get Brian on the phone all morning, trying both his cell and the loft phone. And now Brian wasn't coming to the door.
Brian was definitely home. Michael had checked to make certain that the Corvette was parked in its space in the garage. After he couldn't get through to Brian, Michael had called Emmett, who told him that Brian left Babylon early, alone, and in a hurry after a confrontation with some asshole on the dance floor.
Michael knocked harder and more frantically on the metal door.
It had only been a few years before that Michael had barged into the loft and found Brian dangling from one of the rafters, his hand on his hard dick. Michael had been terrified. What if he had arrived 10 minutes later? Brian might well have been stone dead by then! Scarfing wasn't exactly safe sex!
Brian had passed it off, claiming that a try at scarfing was his thirtieth birthday present to himself, but Michael didn't believe that for a moment. He knew that Brian had been depressed for a long time. His father's death from cancer, being turned down for a job at a prestigious advertising firm in New York, and leaving his twenties behind all came one right after the other, like triple knockout punches to Brian's fragile ego.
After that, Brian seemed to snap out of his gloom for a long time, but Michael still worried that despair was always lurking underneath Brian's smooth and icy surface. Then Brian was diagnosed with cancer and Michael knew that Brian was only hanging on by the skin of his teeth. Brian had almost gone over that edge on his last birthday -- his 33rd -- but that crisis had passed.
Now Brian was cancer-free and seemed to have recovered from the side-effects of radiation, but he wasn't the same old Brian. More and more, he had been avoiding his friends. Many nights when he ordinarily would have been at Woody's or Babylon looking for his next trick, Brian was drinking alone in his loft. Drinking and brooding over some dark thought or notion. Michael fretted about what Brian was brooding over. And what he might be thinking of doing.
Michael stopped banging on the door and listened. He didn't hear anything.
It was well after noon and Michael's mother, Debbie, was having her annual Christmas Day dinner for all of her 'Lost Boys,' as Michael's stepfather, Carl, called the motley collection of gay men his wife had virtually adopted. Brian was expected to be there -- no excuses.
Michael took out his cell and called Brian's number one more time. It went to voicemail. That's when Michael took out his key to the loft and unlocked the door.
Brian had taken Michael's key away a number of times before because he was sick of Michael snooping and butting into his life. The last time had been during Brian's radiation treatments when he had been so ill that he could barely stand. Brian didn't want anyone, not even his oldest friend, to see him so debilitated. But Brian had to give the key back to Michael a few days later because he could no longer cope with his illness alone. That had been a devastating admission for Brian to make, but it had been a necessary one.
Michael had promised Brian that he would only use the key for extreme emergencies -- and not for anything else.
And this was an emergency. Michael was certain of it.
He slid open the heavy loft door and walked inside.
Christmas morning at the loft.
By Gaedhal
Pittsburgh, Christmas Day 2004
"What's that sound?" groaned Justin.
At first Justin thought it was his heart pounding, but the noise was too loud and too metallic.
"Christ!" breathed Brian, lifting his head. "It's someone at the fucking door. Ignore it and they'll go away."
Justin clutched one of Brian's big pillows with both hands. "I don't care what it is! Only don't stop! Please!"
Brian grinned. "I wasn't planning to."
And he plunged his tongue back into Justin's ample ass with satisfied glee.
***
Michael had been worried before, but now he was alarmed.
He had been trying to get Brian on the phone all morning, trying both his cell and the loft phone. And now Brian wasn't coming to the door.
Brian was definitely home. Michael had checked to make certain that the Corvette was parked in its space in the garage. After he couldn't get through to Brian, Michael had called Emmett, who told him that Brian left Babylon early, alone, and in a hurry after a confrontation with some asshole on the dance floor.
Michael knocked harder and more frantically on the metal door.
It had only been a few years before that Michael had barged into the loft and found Brian dangling from one of the rafters, his hand on his hard dick. Michael had been terrified. What if he had arrived 10 minutes later? Brian might well have been stone dead by then! Scarfing wasn't exactly safe sex!
Brian had passed it off, claiming that a try at scarfing was his thirtieth birthday present to himself, but Michael didn't believe that for a moment. He knew that Brian had been depressed for a long time. His father's death from cancer, being turned down for a job at a prestigious advertising firm in New York, and leaving his twenties behind all came one right after the other, like triple knockout punches to Brian's fragile ego.
After that, Brian seemed to snap out of his gloom for a long time, but Michael still worried that despair was always lurking underneath Brian's smooth and icy surface. Then Brian was diagnosed with cancer and Michael knew that Brian was only hanging on by the skin of his teeth. Brian had almost gone over that edge on his last birthday -- his 33rd -- but that crisis had passed.
Now Brian was cancer-free and seemed to have recovered from the side-effects of radiation, but he wasn't the same old Brian. More and more, he had been avoiding his friends. Many nights when he ordinarily would have been at Woody's or Babylon looking for his next trick, Brian was drinking alone in his loft. Drinking and brooding over some dark thought or notion. Michael fretted about what Brian was brooding over. And what he might be thinking of doing.
Michael stopped banging on the door and listened. He didn't hear anything.
It was well after noon and Michael's mother, Debbie, was having her annual Christmas Day dinner for all of her 'Lost Boys,' as Michael's stepfather, Carl, called the motley collection of gay men his wife had virtually adopted. Brian was expected to be there -- no excuses.
Michael took out his cell and called Brian's number one more time. It went to voicemail. That's when Michael took out his key to the loft and unlocked the door.
Brian had taken Michael's key away a number of times before because he was sick of Michael snooping and butting into his life. The last time had been during Brian's radiation treatments when he had been so ill that he could barely stand. Brian didn't want anyone, not even his oldest friend, to see him so debilitated. But Brian had to give the key back to Michael a few days later because he could no longer cope with his illness alone. That had been a devastating admission for Brian to make, but it had been a necessary one.
Michael had promised Brian that he would only use the key for extreme emergencies -- and not for anything else.
And this was an emergency. Michael was certain of it.
He slid open the heavy loft door and walked inside.