Gotta Dance

Bryan buried his head in his pillow when the sunlight reached his eyes, Mark had pulled up the shades again when he got up. Bryan couldn't fathom how Mark could enjoy getting up before dawn, and yet he did. Every morning.

Bryan tried to succumb to sleep again, desperately seeking that nirvana of oblivion where he didn't have to think to much. It had been a late night last night, in fact, so had all the nights for the last week and a half. When the sun went down, it was like electricity started coursing through his body and Bryan just had to get out; had to relieve all the pent up energy and passions. Almost every night this week Bryan had hit the clubs; occasionally accompanied by on of the others, but mostly by himself. He never sought out anybody there, preferring to dance. And dance he did. Shifting styles as the music shifted. Bumping and grinding, swaying to a smooth jazz rift, or jumping up on a box and whipping off his shirt for the heck of it.

"You know, you wouldn't be so tired in the morning if you dragged yourself home at a reasonable hour," Mark said as he walked into the room, towel wrapped about his waist and freshly showered after his morning run.

"Can't help it," Bryan mumbled from under his pillow, "gotta dance." Bryan groaned as visions of Gene Kelley in a tux danced through his thoughts.