When It Rains, It Pours

Emmanuel, cosmopolitan boi that he was, was becoming lonely of late. He still frequented his usual haunts, errant impersonal coffeebars, bookstores, independent record vendors... the like. He knew exactly what pixie faces he would see... he'd already had his choice between most of them, and there would be no surprises there... he was a pretty fag... the metro boys and girls that surrounded him all wanted to know where he got his scarves. Emmanuel had tired of them though. There was no challenge in them; they all had familiar, willing mouths. Of course, while this was temporarily gratifying, he desired something more... something that would really thrill him in this tiresome corner of the earth, something significant, unique, an intimate moment with someone who could emancipate him from his jaded disenchantment with life.

He sauntered into the Kelsey Nines, a foppish pseudo-intellectual brothel of whored philosophers spewing rationalized banter over expensive beverages. The cyberpunks, the wanton goths, the occasional Buddy Holly type with his nose in a book... a nose that usually surfaced from said book when a countenance such as Emmanuel passed, to scrutinize with condescending eyes the obvious visual perfection they beheld. He knew he was pretty; thick curly black hair cropped at a jagged length, coiling just below his ears, olive skin of non-descript European descent, high cheekbones, predatory jawline, dark, deep set eyes to inspire poetry, full of inquisitiveness, sensitivity, assertion, a trim torso and defined hands.

With heavy eyelids he ordered a caramel mocha, glancing at the day's headlines and his watch, sadly considering the prospect of another uneventful evening of drinking coffee, reading, and feeling empty within the perimeter of his beauty: He was apparently so intimidating that no one ever approached him. He took his coffee and sat down. The K-Nines was the same. A void. He sipped, unamused.

After an hour of reading and re-reading an ancient issue of OUT!, pretending not to hear the comments of the boisterous libertine queens at the bar or feel the stares of the shy insipid mumblers, Emmanuel decided to clamber up and out of the bad pop art and teenage conjecture. He arose and strode to the counter, and oddly enough, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a fellow he had never seen before, sitting alone... an aura of lucidity seemed to emanate from him, he seemed familiar... the way two likeminded people recognize one another when their spheres of consciousness collide. The man glanced up to meet Emmanuel's gaze, to which Emmanuel responded by averting his eyes quickly and continuing to walk out the front door. After exiting and breathing in the moist night air, he paused. Every molecule in his body willed him to turn around, to look back. But instead he suppressed the impulse, trying to ignore the electricity of excitement coursing through him... he mumbled to himself about always being contrived in public... inhaled... exhaled... felt the moisture of his lips begin to evaporate and grow taut... and felt like he needed a cigarette.

Facing out into the street, he fumbled through his jacket pocket for the familiar box of Nat Shermans, heart racing in confusion. There was something metaphysically compelling about the mysterious fellow, but he couldn't place it... it seemed unfounded, the actual look of the guy wasn't terribly unique or assaulting, but yet here he was, raising a cigarette nervously to his lips, with the alarming notion that the anonymous other was somehow present by fate.

He placed the cigarette in his mouth, alighted on his lower lip, and as soon as the paper moistened and affixed itself, he was startled by a voice behind him: "Light?"

Emmanuel spun around. "What?"

It was the fellow. Standing equipoised, holding out a lit match.

"Yes, appreciated, yes... thank you." He plunged the cigarette into the flame; the paper recoiled in embers sending a flood of thick, heady smoke into Emmanuel's gasping lungs. After he exhaled a lazy whitish cloud into the falling dew, he looked up into the stranger's gaze. Silent, transfixed, temporal.

"Beautiful out, isn't it?" The stranger's voice was melodious, somber and weathered, aware of the bleakness of the world, and yet still hopeful. A voice of culture, of varied experience. An articulate, deliberate voice. A reassuringly familiar voice. "You seemed a little taken aback, I'm sorry if I surprised you," he chuckled, good-naturedly.

"Oh, no, it's OK. I'm just a bit... you had me kind of... it's late. And I just spent an hour detached from reality in that magazine."

"Understood. That place can become so tedious. I saw you on your way out... I figured I'd better catch you before you disappeared... you seemed so familiar, but I couldn't place you. I hope I haven't... bothered you, have I? I mean, you weren't in a hurry or something, were you?"

He was bewitching. The music of his voice, the curve of his eyebrows, the way he paused with knowing hesitation... there really wasn't anything conspicuously spectacular about him, he was just purely himself, genuine... or effacing a convincing façade of being genuine.

Emmanuel pulled in the smoke, looking downward, focused away from him. This fellow, whoever he is, must be queer. This isn't the sort of exchange I'd expect between two breeders, and here I am thinking about this, and I don't even know his name...

"My name's Todd, by the way. I do graphic design out of my single loft a few blocks downtown. And your name is...?"

"Emmanuel." He uttered it heavily, exhaling the smoke as he did. For all the times he'd wished to meet someone who made his pulse quicken in this all too familiar scene, he still felt uncomfortable. The tension, the anticipation... it wasn't like when they ogled him. He had no idea where this was going.

After a few more cigarettes and casual conversation out at a patio table (specifics on work, school, lifestyle, family, other such mundane drudgery), the crowd of townies and regulars who made the K-Nines a regular haunt ritualistically trudged out, around 1 a.m. A sense of apprehension rose in Emmanuel's stomach as he noticed the exodus; either he would shuffle off home alone, cursing himself for not offering to share his last joint with Todd, or he would retire to the aforementioned Loft, for whatever debauchery might follow their acquaintance. Both prospects seemed unpleasant somehow... he obviously didn't want to go home alone, but he disliked the uncertainty of going home with this guy. He'd done it many times, but Todd seemed significantly older than his usual quarries and things seemed to have gone almost too well.

"You should really come check out my place," Todd said, vacantly signing the receipt and handing it across the counter to the barrista. It wasn't until Emmanuel watched him replace his wallet that he noticed that he had taken care of both of their bills.

"You didn't have to-"

"Force of habit." He smiled warmly. "You'll love the art nouveau I aspired to in the aesthetic. It's a really interesting space, come on back, I've got a ton of old movies."

Emmanuel looked out across the bustle of the traffic. As he glanced at his watch, he had a noticeable change of heart as his weight fell on one hip and he let his hair trickle over his face. He looked up, summarily squinting his eyes in a way he probably imagined looking cuter than it actually came off, and whispered, "Yeah, sure. I didn't have anything special lined up."

After a precursor of heavy dew, a light shower swept through to refresh the staleness of the evening air. Emmanuel lagged slightly behind with his boyish gait, leisurely swinging his arms and amusing himself with his imaginings, while Todd briskly carried the lead with a stoic sense of purpose, hands in pockets, weaving efficiently through the downtown pandemonium of inebriates. Standing at the top of a short flight of stairs, he rifled through his pockets, jerking out a key and shoving it into the door with one habitual motion. After thrusting the heavy steel gate behind his shoulder, Todd beckoned for the slightly dissociated Emmanuel to come and join him in the foyer.

They stepped inside, and Emmanuel couldn't help but be in awe. The place was posh. Random period advertisements for fresh brewed coffee, razor blades, winter coats, and various other utilitarian commodities called out from every wall with the frigid and tacky verbal enticements of a simpler time, a simpler people. Antique chaise lounge. A quirky custom bar that looked inspired by a primary-hued Mondrian painting. A large wire and metal mobile hung from the ceiling, gently swaying in the newly enlivened air. And over in one far corner of the floor, looking very unfabulous and rather out of place next to the red Ikea couch, was a pillowless full size mattress with black cotton sheets splayed out in disarray.

Todd collapsed into a languid pose, half-lying, half-sitting on the sprawling couch. Emmanuel stood placidly in the middle of the room, looking unsure of what to do with himself, arms wrapped around his sides and unconsciously swaying back and forth. Todd having made no suggestion to him, he simply squared his shoulders and dug through his messenger bag until he grasped the familiar smoothness of his stash case. He clicked it open, removed the joint he had rolled earlier, and looked back down to begin the search for a lighter, when he snapped back up, realizing Todd was standing right in front of him, holding a Zippo.

Emmanuel peered up, the joint hanging flaccidly from his lips, expectantly. He then righted it and jutted it out, gesturing for Todd to light it, not merely provide the use of the lighter. Todd looked sheepish and held the lazy flame up to the tip. Long steady drag, with a heady pause before the smoke leapt out of Emmanuel's lungs and meandered around Todd's face, who then reached out to grasp it before it was even offered to him.

"I didn't know if you smoked or not, but I felt like it," Emmanuel effaced.

"Actually, I'm rather fond of it. Particularly fond. Hold on a sec."

Todd bent down behind the bar and then held up an elaborate glass bong.

"Ahhh, well, you seemed sort of corporate, that's all."

"I am sort of corporate. But pot's proven to be a terrific painkiller for me the past six or seven months now, as well as a few other choice entheogens."

"The pain of boredom? Or actual pain?"

"No, actual pain. I have a chronic disease. I'd rather not get into it though."

"Ummm, not to offend you or to be presumptuous, but you're not poz, are you?"

"Poz?"

"You know, HIV positive."

"Oh, dear no," Todd chuckled, "but I'm flattered that you needed to ask, of course. No, nothing contagious I promise. I'd just rather not think about it though." Predictably changing the matter at hand, he smirked; it was the sort of knowing smirk people share when they know they're going to have sex in less than an hour.

"That's cool with me. We don't have to talk. Let's just enjoy this moment," Emmanuel waxed poetically, again offering the joint over to Todd's waiting gaze.

The next ten minutes passed uneventfully, the two strangers sharing the bond in silence, communicating only through minimal eye contact. They lost self-consciousness, became liquid and feline and relaxed, splayed out on the couch, gradually leaning into each other. Todd reached over for a small rolling table that turned out to be an antique mobile ashtray, and picked up the pack of Nat Sherman's that had found its home there.

"Nat Shermans, nice choice. May I?" Emmanuel pouted over at Todd, manipulatively. Then, without waiting on a specific affirmative, he chose to help himself anyway, collapsing down to rest his head in Todd's lap. As his head plopped down to face the television, he realized that Todd had put on The Red Shoes without his even noticing.

"You don't waste much time, do you?" Todd whispered.

He feigned boyish innocence, looking through a few flattened curls. "How so?"

Without answering, Todd lifted the cigarette away from Emmanuel's lips and bent down to kiss him. As their lips met, he felt a wash of euphoria overtake him, realizing also how aroused he had become with the weight of this cherub's head on his crotch. He slowly began to smooth his hands over the boy's chest, lightly exploring his sinewy physique, when he felt his hand roughly jerked down to the front of his jeans, a warm hard knot pushing out to be touched. Still kissing him, gently pushing his tongue into Emmanuel's succulent mouth, he massaged the eager groin in the anticipation of exposing it.

Emmanuel gently began to writhe, pushing himself into Todd's groping hand, feverishly rolling his tongue around the tongue of this fellow whose intimidatingly confident charisma now had him reeling. A piercing, almost audibly buzzing need for these hands to touch him made him hastily yank off his shirt. As he immediately rushed to unbutton his Diesels, he almost groaned as he fumbled with the zipper in a seeming panic to get them off. He sucked in urgent breaths as he felt Todd's teeth gently pinching his nipples, and was driven to palpitations by the experienced hand clutching and squeezing his starved cock through his briefs.

Shifting and rising up onto his knees, Emmanuel turned to look back at Todd. After looking at him for a second, trying to convey his need, he finally breathed, "Please take them off." Todd obliged, taking a moment to gaze at his graceful back before slowly pulling the black briefs down, inch by inch, revealing the décolleté of his pert narrow ass, then down the backs of his lanky thighs to his knees. Emmanuel gasped as his huge erection sprang forth into the chilly air, free from restraint and suddenly enticingly vulnerable. Jumping up, he clumsily dove over to the corner and kneeled on the unkempt bed with his briefs still hanging around his knees, resting his palms on the wall and looking over his shoulder.

Hurriedly tugging down his khakis, Todd sighed as he heatedly dragged his cock back and forth across Emmanuel's buttocks, pressing his heaving chest against the youthfully smooth skin, and began biting his shoulders. Sliding down his back, amorously exhaling his hot breath on Emmanuel's goose bumps, he continued to bite and suck his shoulder blades, spine, and then his lower back. Todd then briskly pushed Emmanuel forward to land on his forearms, jutting his ass in the air and exposing his testicles, which he began to fondle and roll in his left hand, leaning forward to gently spread his ass with the right. He then gingerly placed his lips on Emmanuel's asshole, kissing it tenderly, and then pushing his tongue out to lick it, lapping it and slowly dragging his tongue down and across his balls, also taking them into his mouth and suckling them.

Quivering violently, Emmanuel turned around to search Todd's face, to see his intentions. Todd sidled closer to him on his knees, and leveled his arms out to hold Emmanuel's shallow shoulders. Kneeling, facing one another, he allowed himself to be pulled into Todd's embrace, grasping out to squeeze his cock, as Todd let himself tumble down onto the bed, lounging casually below Emmanuel, who then stalked over to let himself hang engorged in front of Todd's face. As Emmanuel mercilessly teased him with his zaftig lips and occasionally his teeth, he occupied himself with suckling Emmanuel's cock and slipping his index finger inside him.

After having remained silent and primarily submissive, Emmanuel reticently suggested very quietly that he wanted Todd inside of him, but he didn't have any condoms. Todd, still remaining silent and aloof, referred to the small brushed chrome chest of drawers beside the bed, opening the second drawer and removing a metallic case, within which he had a bottle of silicon based lubricant and several varieties of protection. Emmanuel reclined on his back with his knees bent, staring into the corner of the ceiling and errantly scratching the side of his thigh whilst Todd rolled the condom down and lubricated it, leaving an excess on his fingers.

"It's been a little while, Todd."

"Since what?"

"It's been a little while since I was bottom, so... just go slow, please."

"Oh? Sure. Course."

Todd had seemed endearingly awkward at first, but Emmanuel had attributed it to their being slightly stoned. He realized now that it wasn't awkwardness as much as disassociation from the situation at hand. He seemed preoccupied, perhaps distracted. More than anything however, he seemed to have become somber, not outwardly melancholy, but definitely bittersweet, reflective.

Todd slid over and kneeled between Emmanuel's lengthy svelte legs, resting his calves over his shoulders and pushing two lubricated fingers into him. As he slowly manipulated them, Emmanuel gazed compassionately into Todd's eyes.

"Is there something wrong?"

Todd continued to massage Emmanuel's prostate in silence for a few moments before uttering an unarticulated "no." Emmanuel softened and said, "Okay, hun. I believe you," as if to convince himself, and then leaned his head back and closed his eyes, sighing wantonly as he felt Todd press the tip of his cock against him. He tried to relax, breathing deeply and slowly, while Todd arched his back forward to purposefully slide the head of his cock inside, stretching him millimeter by millimeter until it finally bridged the gap to be held fast, Emmanuel letting out a muted gasp. Todd remained motionless for a few moments while Emmanuel breathed heavily, until gradually he was relaxed enough to allow Todd's full length to fill him up. Again, they remained motionless for a few moments before Todd began to withdraw. Then only after doing this a few times did they eventually build up frequency.

Emmanuel, enjoying himself immensely and keeping his eyes tightly squeezed shut in the extended throes of their passion, began to moan lightly, entrenching his fingernails into Todd's shoulder blades. Radiations of color materialized behind his stiffly clenched eyelids as he felt himself become drenched with perspiration, his muscles growing more slack and languid with every deepening thrust; ecstatic sensations flitted in the depths of his body he had thus far never experienced. Lost in the anticipatory inner static of an impending release, he faintly heard Todd opening one of the drawers to his right with a free hand. He finally opened his eyes to find himself locked into an intense gaze with Todd, whose face was contorting with the approaching brink of orgasm. Just as Emmanuel began to feel Todd's body shudder with his climax, he numbly witnessed a flash of chrome glint in Todd's hand as he saw the pistol point towards his sweaty temple. Before processing what he was seeing, Emmanuel's body involuntarily recoiled at the soul-piercing din of the blast, and when he opened his eyes, he began to feel his own body shudder violently in horror.

Gore was splattered across and dripping down the wall next to him. Emmanuel felt his face itch and reached up to find a sticky moisture, and as he drew his hand back and looked at his bloody fingers, he began to scream uncontrollably. Still stunned, it took Emmanuel a few moments to realize that although the bullet wound had thrown Todd's body back, he was still inside him. Now shrieking, Emmanuel shoved Todd's limp body off of him and against the wall, leaping out of the bed but still transfixed on Todd's mangled, lifeless face. He felt something trickle down the back of his thigh, and reaching behind to ascertain what it was, realized that it was Todd's semen, still warm, and dripping out of the forgotten condom that Emmanuel pulled out of himself and hurled across the room to land on a domestic fan palm. The shrieks were deafening and they surrounded him, erupting out in mortified bursts.