Deleted scene (Pax 1, Just Playing)

First thing to be discarded in my ruthless revision.

***

Heart pounding, he lay on his bed and picked up his guitar. His hands trembled, but the feeling of the strings against his fingertips calmed him down. Doodling a complicated melody, he floated out of his body and let his voice dance around it. Humming to the low, vibrating notes from the instrument lying balanced on his crotch, he sang in blissful solitude to the improvised patterns, gave voice to nameless longings…

… until slowly, another feeling began creeping up on him: a presence of some kind, a shadow on his mind, as if… He opened his eyes and craned his neck. Someone was standing in the doorway! He sat up violently, a hot blush exploding in his face.

“Hi,” Jamie said softly. Was there a hint of knowing in his voice? Had he heard something he shouldn’t?

“Hi…” Michael swallowed, the guitar slipping dangerously in his sweaty hands.

“Were you singing just now?”

Michael fidgeted. Unable to read Jamie’s face, he made to put the guitar away, but Jamie held up a hand to stop him. Dropping a plastic bag he’d been holding, he picked up the acoustic. “Go on, don’t stop,” he urged, voice still impossibly soft and eyes innocently blue.

Michael hesitated for just a moment. He didn’t really want to talk anyway. Then, pushing his fear out of the way, he started picking at the strings, tried to find his way back to the ease of his earlier improvisation. The first tentative notes from Jamie found an instant place among his own, and he relaxed a little. This was safe ground.

Soon enough the hairs on his arms rose in quiet euphoria as he felt the light, sensual notes from Jamie’s guitar curl and twist inside the matrix of his deeper, heavier sounds. Not breaking off, Jamie sat down beside him. His mouth was slightly open, and Michael’s eyes snagged on the pink, moist pillow of his nether lip. Remembering that exact same look from the chemistry lesson, he felt his breathing deepen. He could smell Jamie’s aftershave, and the scent of it made him feel funny. As if he was high or something.

Eventually, Jamie’s melody trailed away and ended. Michael felt a vague sort of sorrow as silence took over, like cold air lapping at skin after a warm embrace.

“Why didn’t you sing this time?”

Michael shrugged. “Didn’t want to spoil it. So… what’s in the bag?” he added, eager to change the subject.

Jamie grinned. “Popcorn. Mustn’t waste good food, you know.” He went to retrieve the snack and they crept up into the bed to stuff themselves.

“How come your mother allowed you to leave?” Michael asked through the crunches.

Jamie laughed. “What makes you think she did?” He threw a handful of popcorn at Michael and he accidently caught one between his lips. Jamie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Before Michael had the time to react, he threw another one at him. This time, he missed, but Jamie continued throwing popcorn, laughing at Michael’s futile attempts to defend himself against the onslaught. Exasperated, Michael reached for a whole handful and leaned forward to shove them down Jamie’s shirt.

“Oh, you little–” Jamie lunged and wrestled him onto his back, holding his arms above his head and resorting to the unfair tactic of tickling him. Michael shrieked helplessly and his stomach muscles contorted, bringing his knee up between Jamie’s legs. With a sound like a tire bursting, Jamie doubled over.

“My God, I’m sorry,” Michael panted, and – acting on pure instinct – he reached forward to touch the place he’d hit. Jamie’s breath hitched and then he just stood there on his knees, staring blankly at his friend. Michael stared back, paralyzed, unable to withdraw his hand. Time slowed down and got all sticky, like treacle. He even forgot to breathe. Pulses flowed back and forth between Michael’s hand and Jamie’s crotch, like electrons, like water, like sound waves. He tried to speak, but only a croaking sound came out. And then he could see Jamie melt into his hand, as if his whole body folded in on itself, reduced to a single focal point.

It only lasted for a second. Then Michael yanked his hand back as if burnt. “Sorry. Jesus.” He forced out a chuckle and, flailing for a change of topic, he gestured at the radio – the way out of this, whatever it fucking was. “Want to listen to some music?”

Time stood still for just another moment, and then Jamie relaxed. “Sure.”