|for mcfeste - fic - Mr. Right [Emmett/George]
||[Mar. 30th, 2005|01:06 pm]
Summary: One night between lovers
The bright swirling lights of Babylon pulsed with the beat of a thousand bodies: gratuitous flashes of sweaty, tantalizing skin, much shameless groping, countless eyes lit dull by the latest in designer drugs... and Emmett Honeycutt was in the middle of it all.
He was here to forget. Forget about lovers who turned from best friends into monsters, lovers who were frightened of their own sexuality, lovers who died...
Emmett took another tab of E, a surprisingly generous gift from Brian, and kept dancing. He lifted his arms high and swayed enticingly, inviting any and all comers to join him, waiting for the drug to sweep him away.
On the catwalk, oblivious and ignored, stood two men. And if they stood out, it wasn't because they were older than most of the other clientele by a few decades.
It was because they were dead.
"That poor kid," Vic Grassi sighed. "Debbie used to call Michael's friends the Lost Boys, but I always thought that Emmett was the most sensible of the bunch."
His companion sighed in return. "I wish I could help him find someone," George Schickle said. "I hate that Emmett isn't happy. He deserves to be loved."
Vic slowly turned and raised the Amstel Light to his lips. "I don't know what you can do about it, especially now," he said, after a long swallow. In some ways, it was nice to not care about having to take a dozen different meds, and taking care of yourself, and eating right. He took another satisfying pull.
"I didn't mean to die," George said mildly. "It's not like I wanted to. You think after finally having a boy like that, I would willingly just up and croak?"
"Well, I guess we're supposed to do something," Vic replied. "That's why we're here, right? It's not like I know you from Adam." He gave his partner a smirk. "I don't think we traveled in the same social circles while we were alive."
"Believe me, I think you and I are together because we're meant to be together," George said. He gripped the railing tighter and stared out onto the dancefloor where Emmett was dragging his latest trick away, toward the backroom. "His life should be better than this. And you're going to help me."
Vic raised his bottle in mock salute.
"Emmett, I'm leaving! There's coffee and bagels on the counter!"
Emmett remained quietly in bed, eyes closed but fully awake. For all her piss and vinegar attitude, Debbie Novotny was probably the warmest, best mother-turned-roommate a gay boy could ever ask for, not to mention that she made the greatest coffee this side of the Mississippi. Having a conversation with her first thing after waking up, however, was just too much for a body to take. Luckily she understood, and always left sustenance without complaint or comment.
Waiting until he heard the slam of the door, he wearily opened his eyes and sat up, wincing as parts of his body made themselves known. He yawned, scratched at his side and reached for his robe. "Another day, another... day alone," he sighed.
"You don't have to be, Emmett," a voice said. "I mean, you don't have to be alone."
Emmett gave a high pitched gasp and fell back onto the mattress. "OhmyGod! Who-?!"
George Schickle came forward, out of the corner where he'd been watching Emmett sleep. "Good morning," he said, smiling. "You look like you had a hell of a night. Not," he added hastily, "that you don't look gorgeous." He sighed, remembering their nights together. "You always looked gorgeous in the morning."
"G-George?" Emmett rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. George was still there, still wearing his red cardigan over those damn Brooks Brothers chinos he'd loved so much. Not a dream then. He pinched himself. "Ow."
"Emmett, stop that. I'm really here. It's really me." George laughed then, and oh it was that laugh, kind and sweet and a little hot, considering it came from a really old guy...
Who by all rights should be dead.
"No. This can't be happening. It's the E, right? Goddamn Brian, no wonder he was so quick to give it to me..."
George sighed, and it was that sigh, too. "Emmett, listen to me," he said gently. "I don't know how long I have. But I do know that I was given a chance to help you-"
"Help me?" Emmett rubbed his eyes again. "Help me do what?"
"Find love, of course," George said, smiling. "Come on."
"Wait, wasn't I just here?"
The sight and heat of Babylon pulsed through Emmett's body with familiar warmth, but something still felt... off.
He and George were standing on the catwalk, looking down at the writhing bodies below, but the music wasn't anything he had heard before (and he knew all the latest dance songs); just beats and occasionally, an eerily disembodied voice.
"I'm still asleep. I'm dreaming," Emmett said, looking down at George, who nodded.
"Well, yes. I don't have access to my limo anymore, and you don't have a car. And also, you left Babylon at around 2am." He smiled. "But details don't matter in a dream, and we can look for your Mr. Right at our leisure." He pointed toward the floor below. "How about that one over there?"
Emmett turned away from the railing, confusion clear on his face. "Um, not that I'm not grateful for this sort of attention to save my sad love life, but I don't really think that Babylon is the ideal place to find Mr. Right."
George shrugged. "Babylon has more gay men per square foot than any other place in Pittsburgh," he replied. "Although I've heard that the Liberty Baths come pretty close-"
"Ah, no," Emmett interjected. "We can stay here. This is fine."
"Wonderful." George smiled again, looking strangely pleased with himself. "So, see anything you like?"
"Hm..." The scene below looked strangely bright -- Emmett could see every man's face, down on the dancefloor, and every face looked familiar. "Oh my goodness, there's Dijon, like-"
"Yes yes, the mustard," George said. He leaned in eagerly. Too eagerly. "Did you like him?"
Emmett laughed. "For about thirty minutes," he said, with an airy wave of his hand. "Never mind that I was cheating on Teddy while I was with him." Speaking of which...
"Ted's down there, too! Okay, is this his dream, or mine? Because he can't dance that well in real life."
Ted Schmidt was indeed on the dance floor, along with all of Emmett's other close friends: Michael and Ben, even Brian and Justin. And Blake...
"Uh, no formerly tweaked out twinks for me, thanks." Emmett sniffed and lifted his chin imperiously. "After everything I went through with Ted -- and not that I don't love him now in a friendly, purely platonic way -- I think I want a clean man. Chemically speaking, of course."
But George shook his head. "That's cutting the population of available men down by about sixty percent," he warned. "Are you sure you want to do that?" he leaned over the railing, apparently spotting someone interesting. He pointed. "What about him?"
Emmett found the man George pointed to. "No! Had him. And his partner," he said, rolling his eyes. "Let's just say they give monogamy a bad reputation and leave it at that, shall we?"
"Oh Emmett," George sighed. "You're not making this easy for me, are you? Why must you be so picky? I saw you drag about four boys into the backroom tonight alone. Surely you find men you like-"
"Backrooms are for 'wham bam thank you ma'ams'... er, sirs, not for romance," Emmett said, frowning. "And you were spying on me?"
"Not... really." George looked a bit shamefaced, until he broke out into a massive grin. "Can't blame an old dead man for his thrills, though, can you?"
"This is hopeless!"
Emmett felt that he had been there for hours, rejecting every suggestion that George threw at him. Too skinny, too chubby, too many muscles, Brian said he had a pencil-dick, etc. etc. etc. And who knew dead guys could be so tenacious? George patiently pointed out man after man, tireless in his pursuit to find Emmett a suitable lover.
There was one man George overlooked, however...
"Oh my God, now I know that I'm dreaming," Emmett exclaimed. "There's Drew!"
George nodded thoughtfully. "Drew Boyd is a good quarterback on an even better team," he said, "I had my own box for thirty years, you know. Saw the Iron Men go the Super Bowl five times." He gave a sad smile. "He broke your heart, didn't he." It wasn't a question.
"No. Yes... maybe." Emmett stirred his rapidly diluting Cosmo (how did THAT get there?) with one finger and sighed. "I'm drawn to impossible men, I guess." He took one last sip. "But now, I think I'm tired of this dream. What say you and I take a turn on the dance floor?" At George's dubious look, he added. "Please? It's my dream, and you're here, and I want to dance with you."
George allowed himself to be lead to the ground floor, putting his arms around his lover with a smile. "I've missed this, you know," he said. "But this isn't going to help you find true love."
"No," Emmett agreed. "But part of the fun of searching, for me, is the actual searching." He wiggled his hips suggestively. "I don't want to talk about true love anymore. Ah," he added, when George opened his mouth to speak, "No. I appreciate you coming tonight. I really do. But I'm a big boy, and when Mr. Right comes along, I'm sure I'll know." He leaned in close, next to George's ear. "I had him once already, so I know what it feels like," he whispered. "Too bad he died on me."
George's eyes were over bright when Emmett pulled away. "You were the best thing to happen to me in many, many decades," he said huskily. "I just want for you to-"
"Shhh, don't ruin this moment. I have a good career ahead of me, good friends, and I was loved by a very good man. No one can ask for more than that." Emmett twirled, capturing George's fingers with his own, and led his lover off the dancefloor. "How 'bout we make one final stop?" He grinned. "This is MY dream, after all. I want everything.
George followed into the dark recesses of Babylon's backroom. "Only if I can fulfill my dream first," he said. "But actually, I don't know if my knees-"
Emmett stopped and leaned against a wall. "This is a dream, and you're dead," he replied, smiling. "How is your arthritis going to stop you?"
George belatedly realized that Emmett was right. He felt no twinge in any joints anywhere, no background aches and pains that he'd had to live with for years before death took them away. There was one good thing about being dead, he thought. Then he went down on his knees and took out his beautiful young lover's cock and made a final realization that life had been pretty good to him, too.
Emmett woke up with a start and bolted upright.
"Oh my God," he panted, staring at the wet stain on his sheets. "I *have* to cut back on the Xanax!"
He fell back onto his pillow, the sticky wetness between his legs a visible reminder of the fantastic blow job in his dream. It had felt so real -- George had felt so real. So alive. And it was a doubly terrible shame that he had died when he did, because who knew that a man his age could give such great head?
Emmett reached for the photo on the nightstand. Throughout his life, he'd had been shown that fairytales weren't real. Happily ever after never applied to boys like him. Until George.
"You were the best lover I ever had," he said with a little sniff, lovingly caressing the glass with the tips of his fingers.
In his little corner of Michael's old room, George gave a watery smile. The pink rays of sunrise coming through the windows gave him a more ethereal quality than he already had, given the fact that he was dead. "Oh, Emmett," he whispered sadly. "We were lovers for what, a few months? And I was too old for you, so wrong-"
"The best ever," Emmett said again. "And I miss you so much."
George started toward the bed, but Vic suddenly materialized and held him back. "Wait," he said.
"But you're gone," Emmett continued, "and no amount of wishing and hoping will bring you back to me." Scrambling out of bed, he quickly pulled off the soiled linens and gathered the bundle to his chest. "Good bye, Georgie," he said. "I don't know what the afterlife will be like, but I hope we find each other again. I love you." He blinked rapidly, willing the tears to stay back. Life was too short to dwell on the past. He'd found love once, and he would again.
In his corner, George turned away, tears forming in his own eyes. He accepted Vic's awkward pat, and disappeared.