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Thom/Beck - Part 2	By : VinylTap Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Radiohead Views: 1975 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Beck or any of the members of Radiohead, Sonic Youth, or REM. This story is a work of fiction, and I make no money or profit from it.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Michael’s hand firm in Thom’s, leading him from the bus to the backstage area like they were a newlywed couple exiting a wedding chapel. Fans reaching uselessly over security guards, crying for autographs, throwing invisible grains of rice. The Monster tour had been their honeymoon; after this show, there’d be a few days to take it easy on their time off.
They like us. They really like us.
Thom avoided Michael deliberately, just so he won’t make a fool of himself. Just so he won’t seem stalky.
He’d bite his hand watching him cover one of their songs, voice dramatic and clear, it coaxed forth all Thom’s emotions. Far past denying idol worship, he thought he’d follow this guy to the ends of the earth.
He and the others, watching REM on stage from the wings, compelled much as others in the audience to reach blindly for the band, even after Thom’s horrific experience on the other end of this.
After the show, Thom would hide, stupidly embarrassed, feeling more than ever inhuman and grotesque, but, weirdly, Michael liked the strange way Thom danced.
“Michael says to come out of the trailer,” Jonny said shyly, head leaning against the wooden door of their bathroom-turned-dressing room, and Thom shook his head, no.
Jonny’s hands came sideward in a gesture of surrender, he mouthed to Stipey, “No go.”
“Thom?”
Inside the dressing room, Thom froze, both hands on his mouth, eyes turned sideward.
Jonny let Michael step closer to the door, watching as he leaned in and tried speaking with Thom directly.
“I thought we’re getting dinner…”
Thom stared at the closed door, hands still clasped over his mouth, still unable to speak.
“Thom, would you like to come get dinner with me and Michael?” Jonny tried.
Finally, Colin cut through them both and knocked harshly on the door. He turned to Jon and Michael, “He wanking in there?”
“Fuck off.”
“See, that got him talking.”
Now that Thom was properly humiliated, he unlocked the door and opened it a crack; Michael and Jonny peered inside.
“Yeah, I’ll come to dinner,” Thom muttered, he glared at Colin and gave him a shove.
Michael nodded, eyebrows raised.
“I wasn’t wanking,” Thom called back for good measure as he made his way toward their parked cars.
“He wasn’t,” Jonny whispered to Michael in defense of Thom.
“Okay,” Michael said.
--
Older, wiser Thurston Moore. The big brother Beck never had.
My girlfriend wants to fuck you, Beck watched the gruesome things Thurston’s hands did to guitars. Beck liked taking things apart, too, actually, and he liked building things. He liked anything mechanical, and figuring out how stuff worked.
Kim and Thurston had this picture album on their dresser, where they posed next to supermarket signs. You’d never know there were so many different names of supermarkets cross the nation, with pretty cool logos, actually. They collected forks they swiped from diners, but the forks all looked the same.
“You ever end up at a Steak ‘N Shake, get me a fork,” Thurston said, carefully stacking them back in their shoebox, and Kim shook her head, “That’s a chain, though.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
Curiously, Beck felt somehow at home. He didn’t get close to people, but someone else who saw things this way—
They told him his band’s costumes were pretty sweet, and Beck went quiet after that. If he’d said his girlfriend designed them, there naturally would follow questions about that, and before he knew it his intimate life would be out in the open. He smiled, though, because it was a compliment. They remained on the carpet, Beck with one of their mutilated guitars, slowly strumming. All three staring at the ceiling on their backs, Thurston drumming a rhythm on his abdomen.
Funny, how chill it felt there with them; they were orders of magnitude above him, and Beck would love to tell you he didn’t care about that, but it was impossible not to be aware of what you weren’t.
“That’s pretty good,” Kim said, “Is that from your single?”
“Yeah,” Beck replied, strumming without words.
“Cool deal, you gonna do that one tomorrow?”
“Nah, probably not.”
Here, however, for once was someone who really would become his good friend, even if Beck couldn’t have known.
In truth, handling this sort of deranged guitar wasn’t bad. It felt like any other guitar, Beck’s fingers found their way to the strings and frets with ease. The sound was noticeably different, but not unpleasant.
“Is this where you—” Beck asked, back to the foot of the bed, is this where you took apart the bridge, Thurston looked up with mild interest. “Here,” he said, propping himself up, reaching over Beck to adjust the bridge that was loosening partway where he’d put it back together.
Beck thought of all the synthesizers he’d managed to break in the past half year. He stared out into the ceiling light until it went blue, then black, then too hard to stare at; he moved his gaze around the room, seeing visual imprints of the light filament from before. There Kim was quietly humming, focused mostly on her Game Boy, Thurston’s large hands on the bridge on Beck’s lap. Working like here was a familiar sort of frustration, a fight he’d had with this guitar before, when it didn’t quite agree to bend the convoluted ways he’d tried to force it.
His long, red hair soft on Beck’s face, Thurston finally took the guitar so he could get a better angle in his own lap; he and Beck both smiled when he got it to play in a way that made him satisfied.
“Sounds exactly the same, dude,” Beck lied, Kim snickered from a few feet away.
“Yeah, it does,” Thurston said, fantastically content, because the way it sounded exactly the same now was better. Beck and Kim watched him play for some time after that, Kim singing along, randomly changing the words, mostly consumed with her Game Boy. For a moment, Beck could’ve sworn he felt happy. He and Kim sang along absently, both making up words, Thurston totally going along with it.
When he and Beck kissed, it came totally natural. Kim’s voice issuing quiet and calm, still singing to the music that had stopped, like something nostalgic displaced and fragmented in time.
Quiet mechanical beeps from the Game Boy.
I would, for you.
Was this what Leigh would have wanted to do? Is this how she would have kissed him?
It made Beck painfully jealous, and impatient all the while. You wouldn’t have liked this, he thought, you don’t like really tall guys cause they make you feel small. Maybe she didn’t realize how tall this dude really was from up close. Either way, Beck had to remember exactly how this felt, so he could tell her after.
Was all that just an excuse, though? Could it be this was entirely right, and that it was because Thurston actually thought he was really happening?
Thurston had something like half Beck’s abdomen covered with one hand; Beck regarded Kim curiously from under his shoulder, and she laughed, like Beck only then realized the size of him. He held a guitar on stage like it was a child’s toy; he held Beck like it was interesting to see how this would go.
Beck remained silent throughout, trying to figure out what it was that Leigh saw in this dude, pretending he didn’t know. Liking him despite himself. Liking that Thurston was cool with not knowing everything about him, just like he was cool with not appearing sickly romantic in photos with Kim.
Liking that he was genuinely fond of him artistically when so many others thought that he sucked— but he wasn’t enough trusting to read into it further. Beck didn’t get close to people, but Thurston was cool with that. Maybe you had to be older and wiser to understand. Maybe it was because Thurston talked in half-dreams like Beck did, so he accepted half-dreams at face value without trying to figure out what wasn’t there.
He talked like his lips were too pouty to sound serious; he and Kim always sounded stoned.
“Does your band know we kidnapped you,” Kim asked as they escorted Beck back later on, and Thurston added, “Kidnapped and took proper care of you.”
“They probably forgot I was there,” Beck said, “they’re like, who’s the idiot who left those ugly boots?”
He got Channing hard against the wall when he returned, hands tight on his wrists, insistently seizing his mouth. Never telling him why Chan was meant to like it, how it was better than an autograph.
Thurston and Kim coolly made their way back through the moonlit park, hand in hand, the iconic rock couple who never would fall out of love. It’s cool, man; one day you’ll take proper care of me, too.
(On to Chapter 11)
- 9
- 10
- 11
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Thom/Beck - Part 2