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Thom/Beck	By : VinylTap Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Radiohead Views: 2950 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Beck or any of the members of Radiohead. This story is a work of fiction, and I make no money or profit from it.

Chapter List
- 11
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- 13
Who wants to do it?
It wasn’t something Thom would ask aloud, but the question remained nevertheless suspended voiceless among them, laden suggestive both with empathy and scandalous intent; now even Jonny was watching, aware he’d have to assemble some sort of excuse, in case they’d remember, in case he’d find himself realistically confronted about having succumbed to staring at Thom—
—touching himself like that—
If they’d asked him right then, he wouldn’t have an answer prepared. You don’t just stare at stuff, you don’t just stare at a bloke touching himself, but it was practically impulse, wasn’t it; you saw a bloke naked and your eyes went exactly one place without fail, you’d have to consciously stop yourself as not to look—
Mercifully, Beck had the benefit of not being sober. He could stare without qualms, he knew he owed Thom from last time; he’d suspected this would happen. Now? You want it now? It seemed inconsiderate not to share, Jonny had really been so nice—
Looks good, doesn’t it, he murmured to Jonny, absently stroking himself from outside his jeans, and Jonny thought he still could feel Thom on his fingers, from when he had actually touched him before; a comment like that would have left him feeling on the outside again, except it wasn’t intended that way, it wasn’t intended with predatory tension but something more like simple honesty, we’ve both transgressed now, he’s done it to us;
Thom hadn’t said so, but he liked watching them, both curious, self-conscious but powerless despite their own qualms, taking unspoken consolation in each other, deliberating in hushed tones about having at his cock—
—as though he really couldn’t hear them from only a short distance away—
Jonny was one of those guys who were helplessly tall, like he’d somehow got that way without ever meaning to, like he didn’t know what to do with the wiry span of his legs and his arms; he was sat with his knees almost too elegantly folded, politely, like it would help him somehow; like maybe it meant the time would never come that he’d finally have to endure being naked;
He appeared too mindful to lean entirely into Beck, because Thom was right there and clearly watching, and it would be rude, wouldn’t it, whispering about him like that; he only leaned partway, not really talking but visibly relieved he wasn’t alone, Thom enjoyed immensely the battle that played in both their faces— that they wanted him was clear, and also obvious was the excruciating difficulty they both had in actually acting.
Thom’s long fingers slid absently along the flesh of his member, a sequence of maneuvers so casually familiar to any bloke it might have had comfort if it wasn’t all the while decidedly profane. His hand was just a little wet, fluid glistening down and in-between the digits partway, “Did you fuck him,” Jonny asked, speaking to Beck though his eyes were transfixed—
Beck had a way of appearing innocent, even apart from how he appeared far younger than he was; it brought to question whether he really were innocent, and how much of it was just how a person looked, and how much was capacity to convey how he felt—
—and how much was a cult thing—
But it really were all there was to it then— that is, there was no hidden agenda, you’re not really terribly good at coming up with something so intricate when you’re drunk and consumed despite yourself in another singer, because he’s totally naked and unexpectedly compelling. “He fucked me,” Beck replied, voice hoarse and low, the way he sounds in interviews sometimes;
Jonny didn’t say That’s not fair, because Jonny didn’t say stuff like that, he asked what was it like, chin raised a little, defiantly, swallowing back whatever emotion had threatened to surface;
It was something foreign to Beck, the awareness he wasn’t being ridiculed for this, there was distinct intonation of envy; he regarded Jonny with humble curiosity, like whatever subversive emotional mess that lay beneath was too much for him to work out.
He could’ve lied and said it hurt— but it occurred to him that any input so graphically specific would have the same insensitive impact, regardless of good or bad. He tilted his head to regard Jonny for several moments, then, as though asking permission, took his hand in his; “Here, come on,” he murmured, together, and, despite being guarded, Jonny followed along;
Thom had waited for this. He accommodated, waited for them to touch him before neatly pulling his own hand away, Jonny fought back questions that would only make him feel worse to examine directly;
“Kiss him,” Beck murmured just at Jonny’s temple, “here—”
He guided Jonny’s hand to the place where Thom’s pelvis gave way to his thigh, now not so self-conscious when he understood what this was for Jonny; he could feel Jonny weakly fight back, out of impulse, out of just being who he was; Beck whispered to him so softly Thom might not have heard—
“You want to do this, don’t back out—”
There came finally a point where Jonny gave in despite his own reluctance. “Open,” Beck said, his thumb tugging on Jonny’s mouth to part his lips, both he and Thom watched with uninterrupted attention; Jonny’s black hair slid forth, obscuring his face, Beck’s hand over his on Thom’s member, There, it’s all right—
There came overbearing emphasis on obsession by primal impulse, irresistible and difficult to fight, Beck held back Jonny’s hair as he watched him have at Thom; there was touching, heart-wrenching vulnerability when Jonny finally let himself at Thom, painfully transparent in both his hunger and devastating longing to protect—
“Easy,” Beck said, his long fingers slowly raking through Jonny’s hair, lips absently parted, eyelashes batting; he heard Thom’s intake of breath, vaguely saw his abdomen go tight, even if he couldn’t quite see when Jonny took the member in his mouth.
It was apparent Jonny had never wanted to take care of anything so fondly. He was completely defeated, the angular articulations where his shoulders gave way to his arms elegant and youthfully strong, unmistakably submissive where the innocent white of his neck went obscured by his hair;
“That’s it,” Beck mouthed, gently caressing his cheek; he raised his eyes tentatively to Thom, like he only now remembered that it was about him, as well.
That Thom would like it was obvious. That had nothing to do with who or what was doing it to him. Clearly, though, there also was everything else, which remained an uncertain matter of cognitive inexperience, to what extent they’d inevitably suffer at the hand of their own emotional immaturity—
—penetrating wounds that would leave them resentful and scarred, longing perpetually for retribution that never, they'd come to see only with time, would be rightfully theirs to inflict—
—because it wouldn’t occur to someone like Thom that he was at all in the wrong, that he was at all being selfish— but what would really erupt the maddening clutches of vengeance would be how adamantly defensive he’d be without saying a word that he had no hand in it, and owed nothing in return for how he unintentionally made them suffer.
He was really such a good guy.
It was hard to think with your head so clouded, but Beck was aware even without knowing either of them terribly well that here was something dangerously fragile. It was easy for Thom to just like it, and be drunk and not think beyond that—then easily maneuver the next day to the ready explanation, we was piss drunk, was fun, wasn’t it?
Worst of all, Thom was beyond fully capable of feeling the weight of what he had done. He’d felt it inflicted on him in the past, after all, but he’d not made the connection. Maybe he could have, if he’d given it proper attention; if Beck had seen it in Jonny, Thom could have seen it as well, maturity is understanding that someone else’s accusatory cries of despair are not something to defend yourself from, this is not about you.
If you’d asked Jonny then, he’d have told you that it was all right. He’d really wanted Thom so much, he’d been too shy to touch him of his own accord, but now that he was at it, he was entirely smitten, he’d suffer helplessly under the arbitrary consequence of his own heart; when it occurred to him it was Thom’s hand stroking his cheek, he turned to kiss it on impulse, his lips red with exertion and wet; someone was holding back his hair so he could see, or so Thom could see, he didn’t care who it was;
“Jonny, you’re so good at that,”
Thom said, and even though Jonny knew they were words of arousal— no matter how tender Thom was capable of making them sound— it was even despite that something he’d never forget and which gave him genuine consolation, and if you’d asked him, he’d have to insist he wasn’t so stupid, he wasn’t so naïve as to think there was anything there beyond that, he liked hearing it anyway.
Thom gazed down childlike, eyes liquid, his thumb trailing just along Jonny’s chin; he traced the fluid on his lip, lightly tugging. You’re so pretty when you’re on your knees—
“Cozzer’s really gonna kill me, isn’t he,” he asked, his too-blonde hair swaying as he leaned a bit forth, and Jonny wanted to believe that here was why, Thom got with Beck and not him because Colin would have killed Thom if he’d tried anything.
Now all Jonny had to do was feel angry at Colin, then he wouldn’t have to resent Thom so much.
“I don’t care if he kills you,” he said, gently biting Thom’s thumb, and even Thom recognized that this was a gesture of courage; Jonny wasn’t one to reveal so much.
Thom wondered to what extent he, himself, wasn’t letting on, because he was profanely wet now, hot rivulets glistening down the length of his member from the slick head; he pressed involuntarily into their hands in a bout of frustration that was physical alone, he whispered please, his own hand was already partway to himself;
Beck actually slapped Thom’s hand back, despite it all grinning, boyish, Jonny turned his head at the sound of impact; he smiled a little before turning back, whispering for Beck to please move his hand from Thom’s member so he could take it into his mouth again;
Thom watched transfixed, holding back Jonny’s hair without shame; with his other hand he trailed the fluid that glittered just out Jonny’s mouth— like it were a compassionate thing, a show of heartfelt regard; “You’re so proper about it, I can’t even hear you,” he said.
(On to chapter 13)
Song: Sulk by Radiohead (The Bends 1995)
- 11
- 12
- 13
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Thom/Beck