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Title: Stages of Gale Disclaimer: This is only for fun. None of this is real nor
should any implication be made based on this manuscript that I have any insider
info on either of these two actors. The song snippet at the end is NOT mine, nor
do I claim any copyright to it. It is by Beth Orton and belongs solely to her. Complete:
no Stages of Gale- Part 2The next time was easier for him. The hiatus between the first and second seasons was drawing to a close and I was glorifying in doing some shitty little play in some shitty little playhouse so far off-Broadway that The Hudson River might have been nothing more than a faint dream. I was almost delirious with work, friendship and the pulse of the city. I spent most afternoons in the theater with my fellow actors, laughing and smoking too many cigarettes and talking about last night’s performance and tonight’s performance and I was sure I’d never be happier. Then he showed up. Fresh from some Indy film or another, looking like he hadn’t slept in three days or shaved in weeks, he came bouncing into my tiny walk-up and brought more sunlight with him than I thought the world deserved to contain. My god, how beautiful he was, how vibrant and slightly fucked up and utterly, spectacularly Gale. I threw myself at him and he caught me up in his arms, laughing and kissing my cheek, his whiskers leaving tracks of abrasion across my face that I never felt until later. He’d answered a wish I hadn’t even realized I’d made. For three days he slept on my couch and every morning I’d wake him up with hot coffee and another list of places I wanted to show him- the park, the zoo, the Guggenheim, Times Square, MOMA. I wore his feet out, but he never complained. He’d just laugh more and ‘ohh’ and ‘ahh’ in all the appropriate places. And every night I’d install him in a seat at the back of the house so I wouldn’t catch sight of him accidentally, and make him sit through my show. He’d rave about my performance and the costumes and the lighting design and I know he had to be sick of the damned thing after the third viewing but he never gave any indication that he’d rather be doing anything else. If I hadn’t been in love with him before then (and I’m not completely sure that I wasn’t), our time spent together in New York sealed the deal for me. ***************************************************************** I woke up on the fourth morning since Gale had been in town to the smell of coffee brewing. I blinked in surprise- I had always gotten up well before he did- wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked at the clock. It was still early. I stretched like a lazy housecat and then stretched again just because it felt so good. I sat up, yawning hugely. I was about to shove the blankets off and get myself into a hot shower when he knocked softly on my door. “Come in,” I called and he slipped into the room with a smile. “I made coffee, you want?” He held up a steaming mug. “Ummmm yes, please.” I nodded my approval, suddenly feeling very pampered. I took the coffee from him and he disappeared again, coming back a moment later with a mug of his own. I smiled and settled my back against the headboard, blankets and sheets pooling at my waist. “Thank you for this, Gale,” I took a small sip, “It’s wonderful!” “Least I could do.” He blushed and sat down at the edge of the bed, “After all, you’ve let me crash on your couch for three days and you’ve hosted me around the city. I think that deserves at least a cup of coffee, don’t you?” His eyes were twinkling and I noticed suddenly that he’d shaved. We fell into a companionable silence and sipped our coffee for a few moments, watching each other. Finally he broke the quiet and murmured, “You look beautiful this morning.” I sputtered into my mug, blushing and stammering, and tried to find a response that didn’t sound totally lame. “You, too,” was the best I could manage and I cringed as soon as it was out of my mouth, but his smile widened and that made everything good again. We went back to sipping our coffee, no words passing between us. Watching him sitting there, his hair rumpled and the old torn t-shirt he’d been sleeping in giving me deliciously frustrating glimpses of his flesh beneath, I couldn’t stop myself; I impulsively leaned forward and kissed him. As I angled towards him, I fully expected him to stand up, or pull away, but he didn’t… he sighed softly and pressed his lips to mine willingly. Within moments we were clawing at one another’s clothes, all lips and fingers and giggles and sheets shoved to the floor in our haste to get at each other. He seemed freer this time, more relaxed and less nervous than the last time we’d been together. His hands and tongue roamed my body with abandon, causing in me deep shivers that I didn’t even try to control, and he made no attempt to mask his moans and sighs. When he pushed into me, his eyes were clear, sharp and locked on mine, in stark contrast to the way he’d hidden from me in shame the last time. He gripped the back of my neck hard when he came, calling my name, his other hand bringing me off with him. He collapsed on top of me and we listened to each other’s panting breaths and the already heavy traffic outside my window as we came back to ourselves. I felt him shift above me, find his balance and begin to
slide off of me and my heart stuttered in my chest. This is when he’ll do
it, my mind was telling me, this is when he’ll get up quietly, look at
me as if he’s a little embarrassed, slip into his clothes and leave. I held my breath, inexplicably terrified. It wasn’t as if I’d never see him again, shooting for season two began in just a few weeks and of course he’d be there! But like a small child, I trembled, certain that I was about to be abandoned. He pushed up on the heels of his hands, smiled and kissed me once more and then shifted to lie down next to me, his head resting confidently on my shoulder, his arms slung carelessly across my chest. Letting out a long, shaky breath, I entwined my fingers in his and kissed his palm. A few minutes later we had both drifted back to sleep, the sun trying to find its way through chinks in the closed curtains. We parted later that afternoon when I put him in a cab, headed for the airport, at the curb outside my apartment. He had to return to Los Angeles and prepare for his seasonal move to Toronto. He hugged me hard, kissed my forehead, thanked me again and again for letting him stay with me and assured me he’d see me in just a few weeks. “Brian will be waiting for his blonde boy to come home from the hospital,” he promised, and slammed the car door shut. He smiled at me through the window and pressed his palm to the glass in farewell. I made my way back upstairs to my apartment, sat on the couch that now smelled of his cologne, held myself the way I wished he was holding me and cried like a baby. “So
long- The third time, he asked me to fuck him. The End of Part Two
Continue on to Stages of Gale - Part 3 |