Adrian had never been so terrified in all his life. After paying his money at the door he felt this wave of elation/trepidation rush over him and it almost had him running for the bathroom but he calmed himself down and made his way through to the bar. The biggest crush of people was just by the entrance and he had no problem at all getting a drink. Gripping hold of the bendy plastic pint glass to stop it sliding through his fingers, he was suddenly scared for Quin. What if no one else came? What if they ended up only playing to the thirty or so people who were here? They’d be so upset and Roman would be mad and Quin would be in trouble for getting them booked here on a Thursday. Oh God, he was such a loser. He didn’t know these people. Quin wouldn’t even remember him, so why the hell was he wasting all this pity on them when it should most probably be put aside for himself for later on?
Slowly, to his relief, the club filled with a steady stream of pretty girls and prettier boys who pushed past him and on towards the stage. Finishing his second pint, he ran to the bathroom for a piss and then made his way to the front. What if he was here on the wrong night? It had said nothing on the ticket stub or outside. He felt sick all over again until he saw the band logo emblazoned on Ashley’s bass drum. On a scale of one to ten that rated an eleven for sad. He had their names etched into his memory already. He was just on the point of driving himself insane with this longwinded, internal commentary when the crowd pushed forward, power chords rang out and the show was on.
They were divine. Roman skulked moodily around the stage dressed head to toe in black, glaring impressively at the audience as he thrummed out the bass line with unerring accuracy. Ashley was a complete contrast to the brooding bass player. Bare-chested with sweat pouring off him, he threw himself into the performance, spinning his sticks and yelling backing vocals into the microphone with this shit eating grin on his face the whole time. But there was no one up there on that stage – any stage -- who could outclass Quin. Dressed in black PVC jeans and thigh high stiletto boots with a blue gauze shirt buttoned up all wrong, he was awash with chunky silver jewellery and scarves that weaved their way around his wrists and belt loops. He chugged out the riffs and fills on his guitar and screamed the vocals, enthralling the audience for the entire ninety minutes. Adrian hardly took his eyes off him throughout the whole set. They played every song off the CD, a couple of others that Adrian didn’t recognise and five or six covers and all the time Quin danced his way across the stage, running around like a wild boy then eventually giving in and lying next to the drum riser for a minute, ‘Just to get his breath back.’ He knew how to work a crowd.
When it was over and the stage had gone dark, Adrian was so depressed he wanted to cry. Just for a second he’d felt like a part of everything and had thought that, if he tried hard enough, he’d get that moment of eye contact that would make it all worth while, but there was nothing. He was just part of the circus. One more drink then he’d go back home to his squalid flat and his miserable job and Walter Mitty his way through life.
He was just about to order his fourth pint of the evening and was well on the way to being pissed, when he felt a sharp pain in the back of his neck.
“What the fuck?” Spinning around as fast as his head would allow him, Adrian rubbed at the sore spot and looked to see what had inflicted the damage.
“I’m sorry, he needs a muzzle,” said a soft Irish voice but Adrian wasn’t able to follow where it was coming from, because in front of him was a sweaty, smudged, bare-chested skinny guy with tangled, wavy blond hair who was hopping on one leg trying to pull off his boot and swearing graphically about what he was going to do if someone didn’t help him out of these fucking things soon.
“I apologise again,” grinned the Irish man, “I’m Roman, he’s an escaped lunatic and we’ll be out of your way as soon as I get him sedated with enough whiskey to shut him up.”
Quin wiped down the top of the bar with a towel and, ignoring the complaints from the staff, heaved himself up onto the sticky countertop as Roman struggled to remove the boots.
“Blimey, it’s my brown eyed boy from Camden. Hey, gorgeous… Oh fuck, that wasn’t you I bit was it? I’m sorry, I was gagging for a drink and I get all uncontrollable after a show.”
Just the thought that Quin’s mouth had actually touched his skin had Adrian all glassy eyed and grinning.
“Quin, there are three eye colours in the whole damn world and you cannot keep using them as a form of address. It doesn’t differentiate enough.” Roman finally succeeded in removing the boots almost falling backwards in the process. “And stop wearing these fucking things. You should see him later on when he’s trying to get out of the jeans. Stick to his arse like glue they do.” Adrian spluttered with laughter and relief and blushed as Roman gave him a conspiratorial wink.
“Oi, stop discussing my personal problems.” Quin reached up and clipped both men around their ears and the touch of those ring clad fingers was almost as exciting to Adrian as the thought of Quin’s lips against his skin. He’d got it bad.
“Anyway, Roman’s right for once. I’m Quin, in case you’ve forgotten me, and you’re?”
It was a simple enough question so why was he filled with fear? Maybe because he was talking to the two most beautiful men in the world with the coolest names and he was just plain old Adrian -- which sounded really dorky. He began to panic. “Ryan Griffiths,” he muttered in as casual a manner as a person who has just renamed themselves after eighteen years could manage.
“Ryan. Pretty name for a pretty boy,” said Quin, showing Adrian another hint of tongue, but then he became distracted and began to wave frantically at someone in the crowd. As the spotlight turned off him, Adrian wondered whether he ought to go but then a miracle happened and Quin introduced him to their drummer.
“Ash, this is Ryan. He’s the cutey who bought our CD.”
It was like being in the sun for the first time ever. Here he was, Billy-no-mates turned elite in the blink of an eye. Everyone would look at him and say ‘What the fuck are they doing with him?’
“Hi. Did you like the album?” asked Ashley nervously.
The drummer was American. He might even have heard of Hollister. Adrian tried to concentrate. “I love it. I play it all the time. I know all the songs.”
“Cool.” Ashley grinned happily but then the smile faded as he turned his attention to his friends, “Thanks for helping me put the gear away, guys”
“I’m sorry, mate, but Roman had to help me out of my boots and I needed medication for the pain from all the blisters. Buy me one drink and I’ll be happy,” begged Quin batting mascara’d eyelashes. “I’m totally skint, haven’t even got enough for a packet of fags.”
“You’re telling me one drink’ll do ya? That’ll be a fucking first.” Ashley looked thoughtful. “Just one drink and you’ll leave me alone for the rest of the night?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” said Quin.
“Okay, dude. Anything to keep you out of my face.”
“I’ll have a pint of Jack Daniels, please.”
Roman and Quin erupted into laughter and Adrian, Ryan, felt Quin’s bare feet brush against his leg and he inched his way closer. Tonight was the best night ever. He was in love with life.
“Shit.” The drummer handed over a fistful of notes to the barmaid, rolling his eyes as Quin and Roman smiled innocently at him. “You assholes just love fucking with my head.”
“Which head?” asked Quin with a snort of laughter.
Why wasn’t he like this? wondered Ryan. He had all the quippy quips and witty retorts right there on the tip of his tongue but he was never brave enough to say them aloud.
“I’m going while I still have enough money for take out,” said Ashley surveying the crush of people at the bar. “I don’t reckon much to the groupies tonight. Think I’ll pick up Jade and have myself a little fun in the back of the truck on the way home.”
“It’s a van not a truck. How many times do we have to tell you?” said Quin all poker faced.
“Damn Yankees,” sighed Roman.
“Dumb Yankees more like,” grinned Quin.
“Texan here, so quit with the Yankee talk. See you at rehearsal on Saturday.” Ashley slapped both his band mates’ hands then nodded goodbye to Ryan. “It was good meeting you. Don’t let them get you down.”
As if. Ryan had never been on such a high. He watched the drummer disappear off to the backstage area of the club and wondered how much longer it would be before the bubble burst.
Quin and Roman spent the next two hours blagging drinks off people, always including Ryan and making him feel like he belonged. Ryan didn’t remember how they ended up lurching along the street, crashing into walls and rubbish skips, heading in the direction of an Indian restaurant, but he was still there with them and that was all that mattered.
“Hello, gorgeous and gorgeous and gorgeouser,” slurred Quin as they meandered their way through a group of micro skirted girls who were obviously out on the pull.
It was like bees around a honey pot. Ryan hung back watching Quin and Roman flirt outrageously with the pack of girls, groping them and making out with them until they were panting. He felt so stupid and awkward. He’d never even kissed anyone, except for that one sad press of lips with Sam just after he had given him the earring. Feeling dizzy and overwhelmed by tiredness and alcohol, he slumped against the wall, wallowing in memory.
“Hey, brown eyes, what you doing down there?”
Ryan blinked and shook his head. He could see at least two Romans and three Quins and the more Quins the better as far as he was concerned. Laughing at himself, he took the proffered hands and was dragged up into the swirly carnival world of drunken London.
“Where’ve your girlsh gone then?”
“They went home, darling.” Quin hoisted Ryan up. “Dark haired one was nice, all red lips and big brown eyes. I’d have done her but she wanted to share me with her dog of a best mate and I was not putting my dick into that. Which one would you have screwed, Rome?”
“None of them kissed good enough for me, too young and inexperienced. I like women to know what they’re doing, the way my Chastity does.”
Ryan felt Quin’s grip on his arm tighten and it made him feel safe and amongst friends. “I’ve got something sad to tell you both,” he said mournfully. “I’m eighteen and I’m a virgin and I’ve never even been kissed.”
He was very very drunk but sober enough to regret those pitiful words as soon as they’d emerged from his mouth. A moment later however, he was lurching in a sideways direction then his back was up against a cold hard something and regret was the last thing on his mind.
“Oh baby, you’ve never been kissed? I don’t believe you.”
Ryan’s heart thudded inside his chest as a warm body pressed up against him and he breathed in the scent of leather and make up and pheromones.
“Who’d not want a taste of you?” murmured Quin.
Ryan was all confused now. He didn’t know who was gay or straight and which way was up or down. He didn’t know anything except that Quin was leaning against him, mouth two inches away from his and he wanted him more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, but he had to go and ruin it. “No one wants to kiss me ‘cause I’m a dork and a dumbass and I don’t know how to kiss anything that’s not flat. And anyway I don’t want to kiss ‘cause kissing’s for girls.”
“Kissing’s for girls and boys and everyone,” said Quin happily, his breath warming Ryan’s skin. “Lemme teach you how good it is.”
For the first time in his adult life, Ryan felt lips brush against his own. He tried not to pant and he tried not to panic, but when Quin sucked at his lower lip and locked his fingers around the back of Ryan’s neck, he couldn’t stop his knees wobbling like a geriatric.
“It’s okay, Ry, I got you,” murmured Quin, peppering his face with soft kisses then licking a path back to his mouth, tongue pushing demandingly between Ryan’s lips.
French kissing was better than Ryan had ever dreamed. If this was kissing, how good would it be to fuck? He let Quin explore his mouth, sliding his tongue over Quin’s, every now and then brave enough to take the lead and discover the inside of Quin’s mouth. He was now a fully paid up member of the kissing club and by rights he should be at the top of the league table having been orally deflowered by a rock god.
“Put the baby down, Quin, and let’s get going. I’ll starve if I don’t get a vindaloo soon,” said an evil Irish voice that was trying to interrupt kissing lessons, a class Ryan never wanted to graduate from.
He sulked when Quin held onto his hands and pulled him away from the wall, which was the only thing holding him upright. But then Quin was holding him up instead, all barefoot and sexy and there was more of the kissing, up against bus shelters and lampposts, cars and restaurant windows. Ryan was so happy.
****
Ryan was so not happy. He was huddled beneath a fleece blanket on someone’s
couch, but the worst thing was that he had no idea whose couch it was. His mouth
tasted as if he’d been drinking petrol all night and his throat was so
sore he figured he must have smoked at least two hundred cigarettes.
Moving shakily forward, he managed to get his foot stuck in a bucket that was strategically placed beside the strange sofa. Thankfully the bucket wasn’t full of sick, although by the feel of that stampede of elephants inside his head it might have been a good idea if he had vomited at least some of that alcohol back up.
‘Memory, please return to me, I promise I’ll never drink again,’ he prayed as he lay back down and pulled the fleece up to cover his shivering body.
“Fuck off, Roman,” said a voice which got louder and nearer and Ryan peered out from a crack between the blanket and a convenient cushion. This was scarier than the scariest horror movie. He was stuck in an unknown land with only a blanket and a bucket to protect him from… He peeped out for a little longer this time, his eyes on stalks. Apparently he was stuck here with only a blanket and a bucket to protect him from a naked sex god who was stood no more than six feet away from him. Everything came back to him in a flash of blinding light and it was a good everything, a great everything, the sort of everything that never ever happened to him.
“For fuck’s sake, Quin, I just asked you to get dressed before Chastity gets here. Is it totally impossible for you to show a little decency? I don’t expect your new groupie will want to see your bollocks first thing in the morning either. Although, on the other hand-”
“Leave him out of this, you cunt. This is about you showing me some respect in my flat. If you don’t like me naked then get the fuck out and find somewhere else to live.”
Ryan wasn’t paying attention to the argument; he was too busy watching Quin’s beautiful cock and Quin’s gorgeous ass to care about anything else. Naked man. His first real live naked man. He should grab this opportunity to play Caveman Ryan and take what he wanted. And he would if he wasn’t feeling so violently ill.
“Quin,” Roman’s voice had turned wheedling, “You know I don’t wanna move out but please put some jeans on, just for me.”
“I’m going for a shower. If she takes long enough to get here I might be dressed but if she’s too fucking keen then she’ll get to see my dick.” Quin stomped off just as Ryan dared to brave the world once more.
“Morning, Ryan. How are you feeling?” said Roman with a sympathetic wince at the look on Ryan’s face.
“Fine. I’ll be on my way as soon as I’ve… As soon as I’ve…” Where did words go when you had a hangover?
“If you want to wash you’ll have to stick around for a while. Quin’s in the bathroom at the moment and God alone knows how long he’ll be. He’s PMSing, you know. D’ya wanna cuppa tea?”
“Thanks.” Ryan looked up shyly wondering why he never looked as good in the morning as Roman did, then he stared around him stunned by his first taste of true rock and roll lifestyle. It was a great flat. A whole lot nicer than his basement. There was a big TV and a cool stereo system and if you looked beneath the surface layer of garbage you could tell that the carpet and furniture were expensive.
Roman handed him a mug of tea and then wandered off towards the bedroom exchanging a few quiet words with Quin who’d emerged wet from the shower and dressed in a pair of tighter than fuck black jeans and nothing else, literally nothing else. You could see exactly what was going on beneath those trousers.
“Morning, love,” he said sitting next to Ryan who mumbled something in reply and hurried to the bathroom feeling more worthless ever. He really wanted a shower but he’d never get those wretched pants off and if by a miracle he did they’d never go on again so all he could do was have a quick wash, going over all the important bits.
Please let the mirror be lying. He didn’t really have hedgehog hair and green skin and bits of rice stuck in his teeth, did he? Hunting through the bathroom cabinet he found a new toothbrush and an unused disposable razor and after ten minutes work he looked like a clean shaven, green alien with red eyes and plastered down hair. Oh fuck, how could he sit in that living room surrounded by Adonises? Adonii? Really attractive men who never got rice stuck in their teeth. Plan A was to climb out of the window but that seemed kinda drastic. Plan B was to politely say goodbye and retreat off to normal life inhabited by normal people who looked like crap after a night out the way they were supposed to.
Swallowing down a couple of painkillers, Ryan cracked his knuckles and dusted himself down then opened the bathroom door to peer into the living room. There was a small, semi-naked, blonde girl sitting next to Roman on the couch. Maybe sitting on Roman on the couch was a better description. If she was any closer she’d be inside his clothes, which was probably where she was heading any second now.
“Ryan, this is Chastity,” said Roman, proudly waving an arm at the girl as if she were a game show prize and he was the hostess.
Ryan wondered what was the polite way to address a groupie. Should he shake her hand or kiss her? Maybe he should fuck her in an introductory manner; she looked like she was used to it. He suppressed the grin and opted for a plain old insignificant ‘Hi,’ then he turned to Quin. “I better get home and phone in sick,” he said trying to ignore the sounds of passion emanating from the other couch, hopeful that he wasn’t looking as bashful as he was feeling.
“Don’t go, Ry.”
Uh oh. It should be illegal to be that pretty and that pouty all at the same time. He slumped down onto the sofa next to Quin, trying not to look at the slurping couple who were busy practicing clothed copulation.
“Bedroom!” yelled Quin, “Is it totally impossible for either of you to show any decency when we have a guest?” Roman turned to glare at him and no way was Ryan going to try and decipher that look. There was enough tension in the room to... fly a kite or do some other more appropriate tensiony thing that he’d be able to think of if his brain wasn’t pickled. Ryan gulped. He was an innocent in this brave new world and he had a funny feeling he was slowly doggy paddling out of his depth.
Once the prolonged look of death was over, Roman picked Chastity up and carried her somewhere more private. Ryan heaved a sigh of relief. “Christ, I thought we were gonna get a free peep show for a minute,” he said.
“I wouldn’t be bloody surprised if Chastity does the live action sex shows in Soho,” said Quin gloomily. “Thanks for staying, Ry. That bitch makes me so angry. I mean, we all fuck the groupies but you’re not supposed to get attached to a slag like that, are you?”
Ryan shrugged noncommittally. He’d definitely swum into deep water with a side helping of rip tide.
“Drink?” Quin asked, not waiting for an answer as he poured whiskey into the two empty tea mugs on the table. “She’s no good for him. She’s just out to take him for a ride. That’s why I like you so much.”
Ryan looked up in shock -- gay or straight, up or down, left or right, Motley or Guns shock. “You like me?”
“You’re so sweet and innocent and pretty and can I teach you how to kiss some more?”
“Mmmm hmmm,” replied Ryan, finding it hard to speak with such a wonderful tongue to play with. Kissing good. Kissing very good.
They slid down on the sofa, legs entwined and bodies rocking and rubbing as they made out to the screeches and yowls of Chastity and Roman sex. After one particularly bestial roar Ryan looked up.
“They’re very, um, animal aren’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Quin delving back into Ryan’s mouth and pulling a blanket and three cushions over their heads to muffle the sound.
By now Ryan was too confused and too hard not to ask the question that had been preying on his mind. “Quin?”
“Yeah, what do you want, gorgeous?”
Ryan was glad it was so dark under all the sound proofing.
“When you talk about shagging groupies, it’s always girls you talk about.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a girl. Do you ever screw boy groupies?”
“Nope, never.”
Ryan fell silent. He was more confused than ever.
“So I better employ you then, hadn’t I? Make you our tour manager so you can keep an eye on me and stop all those evil bitches trying to dig their claws in.”
Ryan was happily distracted by that skilful tongue and, as he was mouth-fucked by a warm and writhing Quin, he thought about his aunt and his bedsit. Then he thought about his job as a bicycle store trainee manager. After that he thought about rock and roll gods, then finally he thought, ‘Why the fuck not.’
“Did you mean it about that job?” he said, wriggling away from Quin and pulling back the blanket so he could look into those sinful blue eyes and try to read what was going on inside the blond head.
“Course I did. Can’t think of anyone I’d rather come on tour with.”
This time when Quin raised his eyebrow and showed him that naughty hint of
tongue Ryan knew exactly what it tasted like. The yowling from the bedroom increased
in volume and Quin covered them back up with the blanket and cushions. When
they began kissing again, Ryan listened to his hard cock nagging away at him
from the confines of his leather pants and wondered when would be the right
time for him and Quin to start learning the ins and outs of boysex.