Rocking Hard, Volume 2

by Samantha M. Derr

  Gabriel crawled out of bed and dug through his bag for a pair of jeans and a hoodie, and he gratefully accepted a coffee from Ariel when he got to the bus's lounge area.

  "How'd you sleep, tiger?" She ruffled his hair affectionately.

  "Good. I could sleep all day, though."

  She laughed. "Yeah, I bet you could." She took a drink of her coffee—which he noticed had whipped cream on top—and looked over at the calendar taped to the wall. "Ready for your first meet and greet?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be." Gabriel knew the fans didn't want to see him, but the meet and greet was a band thing—"The whole band," as Michael had pointedly said—so he was going. He'd just sit off to one side and watch. "Hey—where's Michael?"

  "Probably blow drying his hair or something—hey, Michael."

  "I heard that." Michael entered the lounge dressed casually—casually for him—in leather pants and a shirt that was almost completely open. "And I didn't blow dry my hair."

  "Did you put in hairspray?"

  He gave a small smile. "A bit." He sipped his coffee while Ariel laughed.

  "You're so vain."

  "Don't tell me you didn't put on makeup," he retorted.

  Ariel stuck out her tongue. "I'm a girl. It's different for me."

  "Only because society says it is."

  "Okay, okay," Uriel rolled his eyes. "No holier than thou art contests—or philosophical debates. Let's go do this thing."

  Gabriel followed the band off the bus, still clutching his cup of caffeine.

  *~*~*

  There was a group of about forty people at the venue, eager to meet with the band. They screamed as Fallen Angel walked in, all casual smiles for their fans. The others were used to all of it; it was like it didn't even faze them. But for Gabriel, forty screaming fans was a rush. He sat behind the table beside Michael and tried to suppress the rush that came from his closeness to him. He didn't fail to notice that one casual person could make him feel the same thrill that forty screaming ones could.

  Michael leaned closer and whispered, "I hope you're ready for this."

  Gabriel looked at him. "What do you mean?"

  Michael smiled. "You'll see."

  "Alright, who has the first question?" Ariel asked. The fans had already been given numbers for who got to ask a question and in what order. It was all very efficient amid the insanity, Gabriel thought.

  A blonde girl who had to be in high school stood up. "My name's Kelsie and my question is for Gabriel."

  Gabriel's eyebrows shot up. Seriously? A question for him? He had planned to spend the meet and greet watching the band, smiling and nodding with their answers. He hadn't expected anyone to ask him anything, much less ask him something right off the bat. What was he supposed to say?

  "What was it like kissing Michael?"

  Gabriel caught Michael's smile out of the corner of his eye. "Oh." Raw sexual passion? What was he supposed to say? What did the fans want to hear? What did he want to tell them? The truth? An elaborate fantasy? It felt like an eternity and the entire room was staring at him, and so he spit out the first thing that popped into his head. "Fireworks and magic." The truth, after all.

  Michael laughed. The fans cheered.

  The next question was for Gabriel too. "Why did you guys kiss? Are you guys together?"

  Gabriel laughed. They hadn't even known each other for three full days. "Raw animal magnetism. I mean, have you guys fucking seen Michael? Who doesn't want to kiss him?"

  More screaming.

  "Is he a good kisser?"

  "Amazing. He does this thing with his tongue—so hot." It was surprisingly easy to tell the truth, make it sound good, and hold back at the same time. And strangely, he wanted to talk about the kiss. He wanted to tell someone every amazing and confusing feeling inside him.

  Amid all the screaming, he caught Ariel grinning at him, and he grinned back.

  *~*~*

  They did a quick sound check after the meet and greet, which had taken place in a separate room at the venue.

  "Hey, Gabriel, I've got a question."

  Gabriel turned to Uriel. "What?"

  "What does Michael's skin feel like?"

  Sammael chimed in. "What does he taste like?"

  "Are you in love with him?"

  "Are you going to kiss more?"

  "Will you kiss now?"

  Gabriel blushed ever so slightly and the others roared with laughter.

  "My skin is silky smooth because of my regular moisturizing regimen," Michael replied in a stereotypically gay voice. "I taste like strawberries. And we'll kiss whenever we feel like it—but not now, because he didn't brush his teeth after his coffee."

  Gabriel laughed along with everyone else, any embarrassment at the others' teasing gone. He hadn't been embarrassed by the fans' probing questions, not really, but the band's opinions mattered to him.

  *~*~*

  After that night's show—and a revisiting of their soon-to-be-famous kiss—Gabriel trailed out after the band to watch them sign. To say he was surprised with the fans would have been an understatement.

  There were Gabriel t-shirts. Girls were screaming his name and wearing t-shirts with his face, sketches of him, or grainy images of the previous night's kiss. They screamed when he walked past. And it wasn't just girls. There were anxious boys begging for him to sign their CDs or t-shirts—or flexing pecs.

  "I don't think you're going to be able to hang out in the back anymore," Uriel teased with a smile as he went to sign a girl's bra.

  Gabriel was hesitant at first about walking too close to the screaming mob, not really sure what they expected of him. It wasn't the number of them—he'd spent plenty of time in scarier looking mosh pits—but at a mosh pit, no one really paid him any mind. Out here, everyone was screaming his name and wanting something from him, something he wasn't quite sure he could do without screwing up and letting them down.

  "Gabriel, Gabriel!"

  "Will you sign this?"

  A fan handed him a CD and a permanent marker and he quickly scrawled his name across it. He made a face—totally not a rockstar signature. And he'd written "Jackson Anthony" instead of "Gabriel." Geez. "Sorry," he said, handing it back, but the girl just squealed and thanked him as he moved down the line.

  He started experimenting with his signature as he signed various things. Cursive Gs were hideous—at least, his were. By the end of the signing, his signature had morphed into a loopy G, a squiggle, and a loopy l.

  "Cute signature," Michael said, coming up behind him and speaking in his ear to be heard over the fans.

  "Thanks." The way Michael's breath hit the shell of his ear left Gabriel a bit breathless.

  "C'mon," Michael tugged at his elbow. "Time to hit the showers. Unless you want to wear your makeup to bed—and I suggest you don't. Your pillow will look like a clown in the morning—a horrible, child-eating clown."

  Gabriel snorted, signed one last CD, and followed Michael back inside.

  *~*~*

  Gabriel couldn't sleep again that night, too wound up from the show and his fans—he had fans, he couldn't believe it—so when the bus driver stopped to pick up some caffeine, he tugged on a pair of shoes with his skull pajama pants and plain t-shirt and headed into the gas station, returning to the bus with a bag of sea salt and vinegar chips, hot sauce—the bus was lacking inproper condiments—and licorice. He curled up on the couch to watch a DVD from the band's community collection, a Japanese game show of some kind.

  He wasn't really sure what was happening—he didn't speak Japanese—but the barely dressed Japanese girls trying to look ten years younger than they were and the crazy host were pretty entertaining. Not to mention the crazy stunts the contestants were failing to perform.

  "We used to watch that and take turns guessing what they were saying."

  Gabriel looked up and back to see Michael in a pair of sweatpants. "Sorry, was I too loud?"

  Michael shook his head. "Nope. Can't sleep. Sti
ll hyped up."

  "Yeah, me too. Junk food?" Gabriel offered up his bag of chips.

  "Sure."

  He made room on the couch and handed Michael the bag.

  "Sea salt and vinegar?"

  "God's gift to mankind, trust me."

  "If you say so." Michael's tone was skeptical, but he helped himself to a chip.

  They sat in silence watching the game show. Gabriel wanted to talk to Michael—Michael was his idol, after all. There were a million things Gabriel wanted to tell him and ask him, not the least of which was what the hell they were doing. He wanted to ask himself that too. But the silence was comfortable and drawn out, and he didn't really know how to break it without feeling awkward.

  "I started working on this tour when I was in school," Michael said out of the blue.

  Gabriel looked at him, surprised. "Really?"

  Michael nodded. "I went to Catholic school. I couldn't really read anything I wanted to, but I could read the Bible all day, you know? So I read the Bible and all sorts of religious books. I loved Revelation, all that apocalypse stuff. And all the legends about angels and the supposed 'bad' guys, like Lucifer and Lilith and Eve. So I've been thinking about this stuff for more than half my life."

  "Wow." Gabriel could understand that, a little. He'd been playing guitar for half his life. But he'd played different things, tried different genres. He hadn't devoted himself to one concept for a decade.

  "Yeah. Sometimes, I wonder if people can see it the way I do, you know? Like, I get it. I have this vision in my head of what this album means, what this tour means, what the last album meant and what the next one will mean. I have all these ideas that I want to present, these really human concepts about love and struggle and living your life. And I have these angelic metaphors that fascinate me that I use to make the music more, make the story more. But sometimes I wonder if I'm losing people in translation, if they think I'm Bible thumping or anti-Christian or any number of other things that I'm not."

  Gabriel nodded. "I think … I think your fans are getting it. They're coming to your shows for more than just your good looks, you know?" He hadn't guessed there was this insecure side to Michael, who always seemed so strong and self-confident. Then he thought about how he himself had answered questions at his first meet and greet, and it made sense that Michael was able to play off his insecurities.

  "I hope so. Otherwise, it's all kind of just a waste, you know?" Michael looked at Gabriel. "Do you get it?"

  Gabriel paused, thought about it for a second. "I think so. I mean, I know what it makes me feel. It makes me feel … want. Need. That's what I really feel when I listen to it, or when I play it. Desire."

  "Yeah," Michael whispered, looking into his eyes. "Desire."

  It was an intense moment. Gabriel could feel it, just like the music. The want, the need. The desire for something more, for that one thing that he didn't know what it was but knew he wanted.

  "Is that licorice?"

  They jumped when Raphael walked into the lounge. Gabriel hadn't realized they'd moved closer together while they talked, like they were being drawn to each other subconsciously. He stared at Raphael dumbly, not sure what to say to make it look like something else, not even sure what "it" was that Raphael had interrupted. "Yeah, you want a piece?" Gabriel recovered and offered him the bag brightly, maybe with a touch more enthusiasm than licorice warranted.

  "Thanks, man."

  "Couldn't sleep, either?"

  Raphael shrugged. "Kim's working a late shift at the hospital and she said she'd call me after she got done." Raphael's wife was a nurse. Gabriel had heard that in an interview somewhere or read it in a magazine.

  Michael squinted at the calendar. "It's a Kim phone call night? Didn't you just have one of those?"

  "Like three days ago. You try making sure your girl knows you love her when you haven't seen her face-to-face in weeks."

  Michael grinned. "I'm just teasing. And I keep telling you, if you need time off to go see Kim, by all means—"

  Raphael rolled his eyes. "I know, I know. I'm saving up all your offers; I'm going to cash them all in at once next tour and stay home for the first three months."

  "These offers are non-extendable, are void in Puerto Rico, and cannot be used in conjunction with any other offer."

  "Yeah, whatever." Raphael's phone rang and he dove to answer it. "Hey, baby."

  Michael and Gabriel shared a look and then tactfully headed back to the bunks. They hesitated in the hallway. Was this the part where they kissed goodnight? Offered to share a bunk? Shook hands and ran?

  "Well, good night," Gabriel said finally, chickening out. He had no reason to think Michael wouldn't kiss him again, but no reason to think he would, either. This was no time to screw everything up, he told himself firmly.

  Michael nodded, not seeming put out, and softly said, "Good night, Gabriel."

  Gabriel didn't know why, but hearing Michael say his name like that made him shiver.

  *~*~*

  After signing that night, Michael tracked Gabriel down on the bus. It wasn't hard, really. Buses weren't all that big, especially tour buses. There wasn't really anywhere to hide. Gabriel tried not to think of what that meant, particularly regarding whatever it was that was going on between Michael and himself.

  "Photo shoot tomorrow?"

  "Say what?" Gabriel nearly dropped his drink—some fruity concoction Ariel had created and insisted he try. It was pretty good, really. Mostly it just tasted like strawberries.

  "Are you game for a photo shoot with me? You're the hottest thing to happen to this band since, well, me—"

  "I heard that," Sammael retorted from the other side of the room where he was digging a beer out of the fridge. "I swear, we could devote an entire tour to your ego sometimes."

  "'Songs About Michael,'" Uriel chimed in. "Lots of masturbation songs."

  "And skin- and hair-care product ballads," Ariel added, a teasing gleam in her eyes.

  "'In Love With My Reflection, Part II?'" Gabriel asked.

  Ariel laughed. "Now you've got it."

  "If you guys are done making jokes at my expense—"

  "They wouldn't be at your expense if you made one, too," Raphael said. "C'mon, you can do it. Who knows your love for yourself better than you?"

  "Who's going to put itching powder in your wardrobe?"

  "Touché."

  "As I was saying," Michael said, turning his back on the rest of his band, "the publicity is great. It'll go on the website, give the fans something to gawk at. And then you'll actually be able to sign photos of yourself. Win-win all around. And besides—photo shoots are fun." He grinned at Gabriel. "What do you say?"

  Gabriel hesitated, then nodded. "What the hell, right?"

  Michael grinned. "Great. 'Cause I already said you'd do it. Nine a.m. Be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed—I'll bring coffee," he added, seeing the despairing look in Gabriel's eyes. "Good night, all." He left amid a handful of well-wishes but stopped and turned back at the doorway to the bunks. "Oh—and the Songs About Michael cover will feature a naked me fucking a second me, while that second me sucks a third me's cock. It'll be done tastefully, of course, very artistic." He winked and then headed to bed amid a chorus of wolf-whistles.

  *~*~*

  "This your first shoot, honey?" the makeup artist asked as he did Gabriel's face. Michael had settled him in the chair before going to have his own face done, making sure that Gabriel couldn't get cold feet and bolt for the emergency exit—which Gabriel had been tempted to do. What the hell was he doing at a photoshoot with Michael? He wasn't even a real band member!

  "Yeah—you can tell?" Great. Everyone could tell he didn't have a clue what he was doing. What was the saying? "Fake it til' you make it?" Clearly, he had a ways to go on the "faking it" portion. What was he doing here?

  "Nah, I heard Michael say it earlier. Don't worry. Just have fun."

  "That's what they keep telling me."

  "Well 'they' have
done this a million times."

  That was moderately reassuring, Gabriel thought. He wasn't quite sure why he was nervous about the photo shoot; he liked the way he looked. He just wasn't sure it would transfer to film. Playing guitar was what he did, what he was. He couldn't put that in a photo.

  "Damn, you are fine."

  "Hi, Michael." Gabriel didn't open his eyes as the artist layered them with eyeshadow.

  Michael laughed. "Just about ready?"

  "Yup, just give me one … more … second … There!" The artist grinned brightly, surveying his masterpiece. "All done."

  Gabriel opened his eyes. Damn—he did look good! Slightly feminine and soft but still very strong and fierce. He felt very sexy.

  And confident. He felt confident. Everything else about the situation—the cameras, the publicity, Michael—all threw him off balance and made him self-conscious. But his makeup gave him a bit of a shield to hide behind, hiding the feelings that made him doubt himself. No one looking at him could see his insecurities; they just saw the beautiful face he was wearing. He could do this.

  He caught Michael staring at him thoughtfully, his eyes quiet and intense, and then the moment was broken.

  "C'mon, wardrobe time!" Michael tugged Gabriel along and then they were swarmed by a group of stylists holding shirts and other items up to them to find the perfect outfit.

  He ended up in tight pants and knee high boots with a thigh-length, high-collared jacket. It felt very Old World England, like some sexy demon hunter. When Michael walked in, dressed similarly but in a long velvet coat opened over a tight shirt, he had to swallow hard and remind himself to keep breathing.

  Michael's dark eyes raked over his body, lingering on Gabriel's neck. They both knew that the hickey Michael had given him was still visible on his skin but hidden beneath the collar. "Hot as hell, baby."

  Gabriel grinned. "You said it."

  They posed together in front of a beautiful post-apocalypse background of crumbling buildings and storm clouds. Gabriel took every direction he was given, trusting the photographer to know what looked good and wanting to give him what he wanted. Sometimes they were back to back, sometimes one was sitting or crouched ahead of the other one. Sometimes they were simply standing in the same scene, not even looking at each other. No matter how they were positioned or what they were doing, however, there was this undeniable connection. Gabriel could feel it, could feel the energy coming from Michael's body even if he was on the other side of the room. If only he knew what it meant! It was like the feeling on stage, except that this time, there was no screaming throng surrounding them with energy. It was just them, just their own energy, their own connection, and it was undeniable. It was like planets and gravity and suddenly Gabriel wondered if everyone else could see it. Or was it invisible? What was it?