Thom/Beck

All around the atmosphere dimmed down in decibels so there only was turbulent blood flow, pulse superseded by pulse, heart rate in slow motion, geometric depictions of time; Thom wouldn’t be able to hear the others anyway over the music, but they’d mostly been stunned into silence like him. Life began gradually etching back in, soon there came here we go, Colin said not again, there came a few hands on Thom’s chest and shoulders as he proceeded into the room. They held him back with far weaker incentive than back on the tour.

They all were floored. No one could really blame him now.

Colin and Nigel stumbled back into the hall when the door slammed behind Thom, the music going low all at once and leaving them in displaced awareness of reality, like they’d woken deliriously from a dream.

Jonny didn’t see Thom approach; he still was bent over the organ, one hand on his guitar, he never knew anyone paid him a visit at all. There came the metallic scratch of strings abandoned mid-note when Thom’s hands came on him, he gripped him hard on the shoulder and forced him around.

Jonny didn’t get a chance to be properly startled. You’d never have heard him gasp over the sample loop, you’d never hear the successive thuds of equipment and instruments crashing to the floor, Thom pressed him hard to the wall and seized his mouth without preamble. Tele still between them. Electric crackles with a clumsy garage sound.

The start of an era.

There were no words exchanged between them, their hands ran gracelessly over each other with tension that gnawed at them both over several months. It wasn’t just kissing, soon it was sex with clothes on. Jonny didn’t need to be told, his hands were already at his own fly, skilled at the buckle and belt, Thom was going to fuck him, he knew.

They kissed with restless impatience, both ready to kill, Thom’s hands came on Jonny’s hands on Jonny’s tele and forced them hard on the frets, you know exactly what you’re doing, you clever little fuck.

What life had drained from Thom in the course of recording had surged back like water, there were whirling sunbeams flickering fire and impact and charge, trajectories steady but lightning fast; someone else who saw things this way was a rare and precious thing. It had to be Thom and Jonny. They had converged on each other in life so this moment would come.

On the other side of the door, Nigel and John still held their arms idly midair, like they were blocking the rest of the band from the trampling they never actually did.

“Guess Jonny finally got his sound the way he wanted,” John said.

 

***

Beck always had a beat in his head. He had a pen in his hand, tapping to the beat while mouthing lyrics, writing stuff down. Headphones on with stuff they recorded before. Justin to his right with his bass. Leigh to his left, working on her own stuff. Mike over by the control board at the computer, Ross Harris and Joey Waronker speaking over by the door, Joey with a donut, wiping powdered sugar on his jeans.

Beck glanced sideward at Leigh behind his hair, she was feeling him up under the table. Justin was, too. Each with one hand on him, fingers brushing each other’s, fingertips wet.

I can’t work like this. You guys are horrible people.

You’d never be able to tell if he were blushing or not, because his cheeks were so inherently pink; Beck was deceptively serious when it came to his work. He didn’t want to screw around, but he was helpless— not just physically, but because he’d become very conscious of his relationship— he was afraid Leigh would slip from him, what with all that had happened between him and Justin, and all the time he had spent at the studio working of late. Was she happy? Was she resentful? Was this what she really had wanted?

Was it because Thurston was almost a foot taller than he was?

It’s funny, the stuff you’re willing to do when it gets you attention from someone you like; what he was concerned about though was how well he could hold himself restrained. Beck was never a guy who could really keep his feelings separate, he just never let you know.

You, the public.

He could say he did it all for her, but he wouldn’t have done it if he didn’t want to in the first place; and it was dangerous ground.

He snickered, visibly fighting for calm as he whispered to both, Please, later—

Justin leaned forth just enough so Leigh could see him from Beck’s other side. “You heard him,” he smirked without moving his hand, “Later.”

His fingers slid wetly over Leigh’s on the member, Beck tapped his pen on the desktop, helplessly annoyed. His long fingers combed through his hair, both Leigh and Justin stifled a grin as they could see they had won, he was mumbling into his hands about how he was trying to work on a record.

They were now murmuring to each other on either side of him, as though he weren’t there, about the things they thought should be done to him, deliberately trying to rile him up. They both knew him well enough to be aware he didn’t actually like doing something like this in public, no matter the shit he got up to on stage. This, this was real, and he was painfully aware of everyone working with and for him all around. On stage, that was a show.

Sometimes, though, he really forgot he wasn’t on stage.

He couldn’t help it. It was just how he was; maybe this was why it came to him so naturally. It was a beautiful thing, but also somehow sick, depending on the circumstances and on who was watching.

What happened offstage was too personal. Too close to home. On stage, he would dream—

Leigh gazed subtly around the room to gauge whether they were drawing attention, then slowly withdrew her hand. She whispered, Be quiet, then gripped Beck at the nape of his neck and brought her other hand to his mouth. He didn’t struggle, but his eyes went big, you could tell he half wanted to play and half wanted to tell them to quit it. She grinned toothily at Justin, her fingers pressing slowly in Beck’s mouth, all three of them looking around to make sure no one saw.

She leaned in very close, so her voice hovered just at the cartilage shell of his ear.

“Channy told me,” she whispered, and you didn’t need to see Beck’s cheeks to figure out how embarrassed he was; she didn’t need to say more than that.

His long fingers froze on his pen, his eyes went big and very blue. His airway squeaked at the back of his throat. He was vaguely aware of her incisors grazing his ear, he was so gonna kick the living crap out of Channing later that day.

When he finally found his voice, he stammered very softly,

“Does anyone else know?”

No, she whispered, and he sighed with half-relief, she had seen him even at his most wretched hour, after all— but even she wasn’t supposed to know this, because that made it real.

“Bet you think this is all really hot.”

He was now past the point of keeping guard on how humiliated he appeared, nakedly fighting for the curious dignity of ridiculing himself. On his other side, Justin was aware he was on the outside of something, and didn’t want to intrude. He felt protective of his friend, but knew what not to come between. He was gentle when he pulled away his hand, and rough when he hit Beck on the back, “You guys want donuts?”

There was a hint of relief in Beck’s eyes as he watched him depart, Leigh whispered to Beck,

“I wanna fuck you—”

Over by the door, Justin was leading Joey and Ross away from the room and into the hall, he really cared about Beck; so did Leigh. Beck was surrounded by people who loved him, even if his parents were divorced. Even if he’d always been really strange. He liked having people he cared about close to him.

He had a nostalgic fondness for retro stuff he grew up around. He liked how his mother had bangs.

He shook his head at Leigh and laughed, still embarrassed, aware he’d not recover for some time from the fact that she knew, he promised and swore to her he’d get her back when she was busy with her work. That he’d come and distract her on a stressful night before a presentation, and she chuckled, you wouldn’t, she started on about how she wasn’t distracting him during a particularly stressful part of his work, it was all in good fun, she was sorry.

Under the table, her fingers wove through his and closed around his hand, protective and warm. “I’ll buy you one of those plastic hammers you hit people over the head with,” she offered, “you like those.”

She was delighted to see he was now fighting to appear like he wasn’t excited to hear that. He finally laughed with innocent defeat. “I like those,” he said.

(On to chapter 25)