Thom/Beck

Thom had stumbled out of the shower sometime around ten the next morning, moderately hung over and diffusely sore. The ink never completely washed off, even if they’d not drawn directly on him. He was stood with his back to the door, still naked as the day he was born, when Colin helped himself in. Cigarette in hand, arms partly crossed.

Thom didn’t need to actually open his eyes; his head hung a little back, lips parted, too consumed by his headache to fully appreciate the preamble to whatever Colin had prepared.

“Fuck off, Coz, I’m pissing.”

Colin’s brow furrowed with mock amusement, he regarded his cigarette as he tipped it into the bin nearby. He nodded very slowly before putting it carefully back in his mouth, then leaned back against the wall.

He didn’t have to prompt Thom; here was the bit where Thom got to entertain him with his best approximation of a reasonable story.

“If you’re gonna kill me, mind doing it later? I feel utterly shite.”

Colin considered. He shook his head, eyes squinting against the smoke of his own cigarette.

“Nah,” he said, “Not really bothered if you feel shite.”

Thom sighed, shaking off the last drops before proceeding to the sink, he regarded the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror while the water ran. He looked shite, too. Maybe he could get some aspirin…

His eyes met Colin’s in the mirror, and he turned to glance at him briefly before proceeding to rub a towel in his hair. Colin followed in his tracks out of the bathroom, it was really quite annoying, Thom became rapidly aware of how much less he fancied dealing with this than he’d anticipated the night before.  He was already partway into his trousers when he finally threw his arms down in defeat and stared at Colin with a great show of exasperation.

“What…!”

Colin put out his cigarette and turned his full attention to Thom, arms crossed. The matter hung so heavy between them it was unnecessary to point out.

“You slept with Jonny.”

Colin lowered his tone, like it were too scandalous to say aloud; his voice issued with audible restraint through his teeth.

Before Thom could reply, Colin went on,

“In the stupidest conceivable way, what in bleeding fuck…!”

Thom rubbed at his eyes, taking his time, clearly not in proper form to deal with this.

Colin took a few moments to regard the traces of purplish ink on Thom’s naked abdomen, visibly disgusted, because he remembered it was Jonny they drew on.

“Piss off, you’re making it sound like I’m some kind of criminal.”

It was dangerous ground, Thom knew, as he was fully aware in advance how Colin would feel about this. Thom and Colin shared a long and knowing past of mutual adventures into transgression, Colin knew exactly the context of last night’s events.

Worse still, Thom had his own problems to deal with; he couldn’t well say Coz was worried over nothing, because what transpired between him and Jonny last night still weighed in his mind considerably.

Indeed they wound up in a fist fight, both inwardly knew it was fine because they were finished with shows for the tour, there wasn’t the concern of performing with bruised jaws and eyes.

It takes bruises time to form, so it wasn’t like the others could tell straight away that specifically was how Thom and Colin had dealt with each other, but everyone anticipated the venomous air between them following the night before. Jonny had awkwardly sat with them for breakfast, trying more desperately than usual to do something about his hopelessly towering height.

Despite the acrid sting of heartache, he was inwardly preoccupied with the rush that he really slept with Thom. Finally. He’d not realized it gave him dangerous hopes, which were pure pleasure to dream but which would become expectations even without his consent. Regardless, everything he did after that had been weighed as to how much potential it had to give Thom the impression he cared. The temptation to skip breakfast altogether to avoid him was nearly as great as to show up to be in his presence, but not showing up would make it too obvious.

Or maybe Jonny just told himself that and it was really rationalization.

He was even so adventurous as to make eye contact momentarily, but understood straight away Thom and Colin were still preoccupied with whatever clearly wasn’t yet over between them. He also became aware of the painful silence among the rest of them, what Thom and Jonny had got up to was a topic of conversation that warranted no actual words.



There was something degrading about it, but this was dwarfed by the encompassing thrill of achievement— even the humiliation of thinking back to his own daft confession would not reverse the absolute truth that he had slept with Thom. Even when he’d successfully hidden his smile behind his large hand, his eyes glittered bright at the thought, somehow the tension amongst everyone at the table was brilliant.

That Colin had things to say to Jonny was clear, but it was like he wouldn’t properly convey everything there was no matter which angle he’d approached from. Moreover, while the drama that had clearly transpired between them was amusing in its scandalous intrigue, it also was annoying for that same reason, and there were things in people’s lives other than the bollocks Thom got up to.

Colin glanced at his brother from under the swing of his hair, butter knife elegant between his fingers; he gingerly spread jam on his toast with something like aristocratic grace. The low scrape of knife-against-toast came drowned by Ed and Nigel’s conversation about the next record, but Jonny gazed timidly, aware Colin was now annoyed because he’d noticed the grin Jonny meant to hide.

Of Course Jonny had found it amusing. He had all kinds of expectations now. The fact that Thom fancied Jonny so much he slept with him on a whim and in the company of another bloke he didn’t even really know wouldn’t say anything about how serious he must be, would it. But now the damage was already done, once you already fancied someone you could do your best to suppress it, but you couldn’t very well change that it was there. That Colin couldn’t simply punch this part of the problem out of Thom was very annoying.

Jonny wouldn’t dare say he’s mine too now, Coz, because Thom was clearly Colin’s property— but the fact he’d slept with him was irreversible and spoke for itself.

Thom appeared to test the angular range of his jaw, he opened his mouth experimentally while fingering the mandible, and it was apparent then he and Colin had come to blows. Thom was also still hung over, he feigned no interest in the conversation about recording with Nigel. He was really quite overwhelmed with what had happened now that it was after the fact.

Nigel compassionately avoided asking Thom things, grateful for Phil and Ed’s company even while the others’ silence remained uncomfortably blatant. Thom could vaguely hear them. Something about recording dates. About what Hufford said. He was irritatingly aware in the back of his mind he should express his thoughts on all this, but couldn’t be bothered.  

“Shouldn’t we at least get home from this fucking tour before all this record bollocks?”

Five heads turned to face Thom now that he finally spoke.  He was rubbing his eyes with both fists, mouth open partway.

Nigel glanced warily at Colin, whose delicate fingers closed and then opened with dangerous intent on his napkin; he appeared to evaluate everything Thom said for potential to sort him out. Phil must have noticed Colin’s mouth unhinge in preparation for something that couldn’t be good, because he quickly replied,

“That’s right, we’ll definitely need some time off, not been back in ages.”

There followed the low discord of agreement and relief, Nigel mouthed a silent thank you. Thom leaned back in his chair, restless as always, visibly upset because of how he’d been sorted by Colin before. No thank you, I’ll not have more of that if that’s all right. It made Jonny feel bad, but the brilliant bit was that Thom really had instigated the whole thing.  Jonny watched from over his toast as Thom moodily pushed his food around his plate, not eating a thing as in personal protest against all the world.

***

Two weeks after the fact and back home in LA, Beck was out late with Leigh and Channing, and Justin, who went by JMJ. They were sat on the curb, the iridescent light of street lamps washing over tin hoods of parked cars, skateboards echoing throughout the open expanse from far off. Channing was testing Leigh’s skateboard, his hair whipping in his wake, jeans too baggy and long.

Beck had a bag of Pixie Stix, he tilted back his head and emptied a packet in his mouth, then stuck out his tongue to show Justin how orange it was. He’d already told Leigh about what happened on tour.  Showed her the vague bruises on his knees, explained what Jonny knew about turntables.

He threw the empty packet to the curb, and Leigh leaned to pick it up, smacking Beck’s arm lightly. “Don’t just throw it in the street,” she snorted, and he rolled his eyes, “Yeah, okay.” He grinned while taking it from her, watching Chan skid a little off the skateboard somewhere a few yards down. He played with the wrapper absently in his hands, creasing it with his nails, folding it smaller until it was too thick to fold.

Justin looked up from over the torn knees of his jeans. “You guys wanna go get tacos?”

(On to chapter 20)