Life's Pageant

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Terry had not a single soul to turn to. Not a soul that understood him, wanted him, loved him. But he found himself crying into Michael's chest.

They sat on the edge of his bed in his hotel room. Michael's arms were wrapped around Terry's shoulders and his face was buried in Terry's hair, whispering what he supposed were words of comfort into the top of his head.

Terry's arms were around Michael's waist and his face wet against Michael's shirt. He let the tears fall freely, the sobs coming one after the other up out of his throat.

What have I done wrong? cried Terry in all his heated tears. I'm alone, absolutely alone, my mum was the only love I had and she's gone...

Another loud cry shot out of him and stabbed the empty air of the hotel room.

He was almost certain he could feel Michael there in his arms but Michael was miles away. The warmth of his arms, his voice in Terry's hair felt so good... it almost made Terry forget why he was crying.

Then something changed in Michael's embrace that made him completely forget his grief.

One of Michael's hands had started to rub Terry's back, just under his shoulderblades very gently. His other hand had slid upwards and started to stroke Terry's hair even more gently. It felt... so wonderful... Terry couldn't believe it. He was sinking deeper into the embrace. He wasn't sure that Michael knew what he was doing, because there was something not quite platonic in the way he was touching Terry's hair.

In a sudden daring move Terry lifted his head up from Michael's chest, bringing his face level with Michael's, and without hesitating Michael pulled Terry's head close and placed a soft kiss on Terry's forehead. Both his and Terry's eyes closed.

Terry let his head sink back into Michael's chest, his cries fading into whimpers and sighs. His arms tightened around Michael's waist; there was love in his life. There was someone who still loved him. His mother was dead... but Michael was here. Michael loved him. Through all the misery and awfulness of Bavaria Terry saw something wondrous happening; Michael's fear was losing control of him.

The age of sexual repression had ended years ago but it hadn't left Michael unscathed. Terry knew he would have to help Michael the last few steps of the way. He would start by getting himself fit again. And he knew how he would do this. There was one solution, very simple, not even painful, and it presented itself to Terry in the form of a fine white powder.

He found Michael a much more willing subject these days but still infuriatingly shy. But it would pass... Michael had even warmed up to Terry's cocaine use. They did it together sometimes. Michael was spending less time with his family. Terry was spending more time with Michael.

Terry was aware that he was taking much larger amounts than he should but he found the results very pleasing. He had gone down from stocky to graceful and thin; his face was no longer round and his eyes and nose much more outstanding, his neck slender, his shoulders broad but thinner, his arms and legs much thinner, his torso now lean and delicately muscled. He felt alive again.

He had noticed a few negative effects, however. There were bodily reactions, like his mouth and throat going horribly dry, or his nose cracking and bleeding. Or frequent fits of inexplicable paranoia and intense misery.

Like the intense misery he was now experiencing.

He was lying on his sofa, curled up on his side, staring straight ahead at the thin white line on the table in front of him. He was feeling more alone than ever.

Michael had rang him up about an hour ago but still hadn't showed up. Thoughts of Michael betraying him, shagging his wife while Terry was waiting for him flew uncontrollably through Terry's vengeful mind.

Why am I waiting here? The bastard, Terry hissed inwardly. He doesn't care about me at all does he? Would he even bat an eyelid if I turned up dead tomorrow morning?

Would anyone miss Terry Jones?

There was only one way to find out. With renewed purpose he sat up and leaned over the table. He could take all of this; he could keep taking more and more and pretty soon his body would simply shut down.

He wanted to end the loneliness.

He started laughing and crying, both at once. It wasn't an easy admission... but he knew he couldn't do it. To never see Michael again was much too painful a thought.

Cradling his head in his hands, he let the pain drift back into the shadows of his mind. Then he cleared off the table and was about to finish when someone knocked on the front door. Terry rose automatically from the sofa and opened it. Michael grinned at him, then looked over his friend's forlorn appearance and the grin faded.

He asked whether Terry was all right and Terry gave his usual answer. The door slid shut and Terry's arms wound suddenly around Michael.

Michael's arms wrapped around his waist and hugged him back just as fiercely; a peaceful smile spread across Terry's face. Then he pulled away and offered Michael a drink. When the drinks were finished Michael asked him if he'd fancy going down to the pub for a few more.

They left the house in a pleasant buzz, arrived at the pub much the same way and slapped down an order for two pints. Terry drained his in record time much to Michael's amusement, as he sat back with his pint and giggled at Terry's gusto. A few pints later Terry was sliding off his seat at the bar. Michael's arm shot out and held him up again. Terry leaned over and put his throbbing forehead on Michael's shoulder.

"I think," he announced with all certainty, "... I'm pissed."

"I think you are too."

Michael laughed. Terry pressed his mouth against the collar of Michael's shirt. "Going to take advantage of me Michael?"

"Of course I am," said Michael in as serious a voice as he could muster. "But you won't remember any of it."

Terry nodded. "Mmm."

He felt Michael tugging him off the seat and dragging him out of the pub, then he collapsed. He knew he was still awake but he felt he couldn't walk any more. Michael's arms slid under his arms and his knees and slowly, laboriously lifted him up against Michael's chest. He was being carried back to the car. And he was enjoying this far too much to let it end; he let Michael sit him in the passenger side and fold his legs into the car and lean over Terry and pull the door shut. The car started moving.

His eyes opened blearily. "Mike?" he murmured, feigning confusion.

Michael eyed him worriedly. "Yeah?"

"Where are we going?" asked Terry as he stretched his limbs a little and glanced out the window. He slid over in his seat and leaned on Michael's shoulder again.

"Taking you home," said Michael. "So you can get in bed and go to sleep, all right?"

Terry shoved his face into Michael's shoulder. "Don't wanna."

He could tell Michael was smiling. "You'll be fine, Tel. You just need some sleep."

"Would you get in bed with me?" Terry couldn't resist. He breathed in Michael's mellow fragrance.

That was all Michael could take. He went still and silent; Terry could hear Michael's heart beating faster. The arm he was leaning into went suddenly rigid and pushed him back into his seat. Further away Michael's voice spat out the words "Nearly there."

Terry let his eyes close again and then he was being dragged out of the car, up the front garden and to the door of his house.

Michael knocked hard on the door and was deeply relieved when it opened to reveal Alison.

"I've brought you your husband," he said, grinning. Terry looked up at her; he was hanging off Michael's arm, one arm slung round Michael's neck, hiccoughing badly. One hand rose from his side and reached out for her.

She held her arms out and he fell into them. For some strange reason he wanted her to hold him, there in front of Michael, and he was very grateful for her arms. He clung to her as Michael bid them goodnight and left.

Terry let her take him into the bedroom and sit him on the bed. She started to undress him and suddenly he was overcome with another urge. He pulled her down onto the bed and put his mouth on hers. It was kind of a thrill, lying there on top of her, mind still in a drunken haze and body craving contact.

He drunkenly fucked her, again and again, misery returning to him. His blood boiled in his body. He wished Michael was watching this, the great prat, the great selfish prat, he wished Michael was still there, and he wished it was Michael's body under his.


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