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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
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Jonny had Thom on his back, with his head in Beck’s lap. It was odd, holding his legs up, Jonny could feel his discipline waver, he’d meant not to indulge in his own infatuation with Thom; his admirable self control spoke volumes that no one, no one would ever know. Bitter as he inwardly felt that it were a plain and absolute fact—Thom just didn’t feel that way— Jonny nevertheless relished in the opportunity to have at him with the most possessive greed.
More important than anything was that no one could ever know. That it were too late—that Jonny had stupidly told Thom aloud how he’d felt— to this there was no resolution. What he’d do about that, it would have to wait until later, it was too humiliating to spend time thinking about.
What was almost physically pleasurable was indulging in the knowledge he didn’t know why he was in love with Thom. Of course, it’s a useless thing to wonder, because there’s never a why, it isn’t something you can control or reason out— but it was nice to think of moreso because it were really a matter of acknowledging he were flawed, and that was comforting. He was far too pale. He looked even stupider with the bleached yellow hair, it made him even more pale. And that was before you even got to his eye and all that, and how he was short, and, really, thinking all that only made Jonny inwardly smile— because it was like when you pulled some girl’s pigtails in nursery when you fancied her.
Beck had long since come to terms with the knowledge that this sort of thing— whatever it was— got him hot. It was the sort of hot that made you dream and left you concerned about whether words were available that matched what your mind saw closely enough, so you had a chance to convey it. So you wouldn’t be alone in your mind, seeing the vivid emotions you saw— cause that’s how Beck was, and that’s how he saw stuff.
Someone else who saw stuff that way, that was a rare and precious thing. Thom wasn’t exactly like that, but Jonny—
You didn’t need to understand someone else completely, it’s a useless thing to wonder, after all; Thom had this unmistakable air of cool, you could try to make yourself feel better by saying he was a creep all you liked, but you found yourself halfway to smitten no matter what he did, no matter what opinions he had that you didn’t agree with, no matter how homeless he’d grow his stubble seven records down the line.
No matter how blatantly he’d let you know he just didn’t like you anymore.
Because of what you did. Because of who it turned out you weren’t.
He was really such a good guy.
Beck thought it was such a tender thing, having Thom in his lap, vulnerable, naked, legs bent profanely the way Jonny held them too rough, ankles white as the rest of him somewhere midair, his abdomen wet with the hot aftertaste of sex, he was almost innocent the way he gripped onto Beck’s hands, like he didn’t know what else they were for—
“That hurts,” Beck said with a smile, like they both had known this had been the intent, like he could just as easily have backed out because what hurt was merely the way Thom gripped at his hands, nothing like the kind of lewd implication it carried—
Thom tried to glance up, he tilted his head a little bit back, through the bounce of his hair, through the sway of his shoulders; he grinned toothily back and he winked, the fucker, Beck actually laughed aloud—
Jonny watched with combined relief and confusion— because it didn’t make him feel bad. It didn’t feel like Beck was stealing Thom from him, he felt oddly protected, in a way he knew he wouldn’t be once the tour was over, probably even the next day; it felt better to give Thom to Beck than to Colin.
Somewhere inside, Beck was strikingly human. It was the way imagination moved him. For all the discipline with which he’d been deceptively raised, he tragically succumbed to the opportunity for release in the vivid flux of brilliant colors streaming turbulent and rich from his words, his stage presence, everything he’d said nakedly to the public between the lines.
You could call it betrayal. You could call him Mister Scientology, and you would be right, but someone who saw stuff that way was a rare and precious thing. Here was the unmistakable presence of an artist in the truest and most fundamental sense, whose overwhelming proficiency washed you over despite everything you knew you shouldn't feel.
You almost felt embarrassed for him, because you weren’t certain he realized how vulnerably he’d laid himself out, and, worse still, how painfully blatant it were that he wanted badly to tell you.
It would take someone like Jonny, who could see beyond a lot of things, to remain a Beck fanboy eighteen years down the line. It would also take someone like Jonny to remain so intimately at Thom’s side through the next seven records, because Thom as well was very difficult to endure. There is always something worthwhile in others, but it’s so hard to see when you’re hurt and afraid.
Forgiveness is really a righteous thing.
Only kindness; only kindness
None of them are things you have to think about when you’re so young—
—right?
Just a bit of fun, Cozzer, we was piss drunk
If Jonny hadn’t said anything more, it was almost possible to forget what he’d said— how unmistakable his confession had been, it would be so much easier to melt into emotion, play with the both of them, play with Col tomorrow, maybe Nigel, he had it coming—
—but for all he might have understood of compassion, Thom understood with far greater clarity what he, himself, might lose.
I just wanna fuck you, Thom, that’s all.
Is that all.
Jonny was the pretty one. So early on, it hadn’t occurred to anyone yet, just as it hadn’t occurred to anyone Jonny was also the genius. They’d almost let him in the band as an afterthought, they’d let him play backup harmonica before anyone ever realized what they were dealing with. It wouldn’t be until then that Thom would really fall in love.
What Thom felt now was a curious hurt, inevitable rejection he couldn’t brush off even if he’d reminded himself consciously that Jonny fancied him. Jonny’s large hands, gripping his thighs with unintended elegance, even as he had at him, intrinsically careful, intimate the way he was with his guitar—
—if you’d ever seen him pull mercilessly at the strings on the bridge, you’d know—
Thom’s head in Beck’s naked lap, Beck’s hands on Thom’s cheeks, holding him up, making him look, like Thom wouldn’t have looked on his own; Thom didn’t know the meaning of shame. He grinned toothily from under his hair, boyish charm mixed with defiance, he was hurt, after all.
“That all, Jonny,” he asked, challenging, it came breathy and sulking and so plainly juvenile it made Jonny stop with a rush of pleasant surprise.
“That’s all, he hates you,” Beck murmured, you could tell by his voice he was smiling, or trying to hold a smile back, and, either way, he’d caught on to something that was going on—
“He hates me?” Thom gasped, and, hell, it was hot, his voice came hoarse and strained, because Jonny was fucking him and that made it hard to speak. Now it was even more useless that Beck was holding Thom’s face, because now Thom was staring on his own even more, cutely begging Jonny with his eyes to take back what he couldn’t have meant.
Jonny wouldn’t say he hated Thom, would he, except that he really did, genuinely, for how Thom had hurt him without ever meaning to.
But now that Jonny had laid bare his heart, it was dangerous ground. Hatred was a lot of emotion to feel for someone, you really had to care, and that was exactly it, Thom mattered tremendously. Jonny still felt the shock of awareness he’d given Thom too much. It still would feel entirely transparent however to say, well, I don’t care.
“Not said I hate you,” he replied, and it sounded defensive, but Thom probably wouldn’t pick up on something like that, because Thom didn’t care.
Except now he did. It was thrilling to Jonny, it was the sort of pleasure he’d indulge in time and again before learning later in life that ruminating over stuff like that only made you obsess and fall harder in love.
“You’d not said you don’t hate me,” Thom sulked, and Jonny’s eyes went bright, he restrained himself from smiling. He was awfully tempted to ask, what’s it to you, but then he’d be showing too much again.
“That’s cause he does,” Beck whispered, lips moving at the cartilage folds of Thom’s ear where he was bent down over him, and Thom chuckled, “Piss off.”
Jonny watched them kiss, Beck’s hair draping over Thom’s face partway, his long fingers still on his cheeks; there on Beck’s abdomen were still the blue scribbles from before, that he’d drawn on himself, Beck liked robots.
(That he did, just you wait)
Jonny felt both disappointed and relieved that the question were averted, he watched Thom snog the Third Act, aware he ought to share with Beck, now that he’d gone first. But he wasn’t going to. He thought he’d memorized everything, Thom good-naturedly receptive but unquestionably in charge, no matter how encompassing Jonny’s resentment, the fact remained he was really at Thom’s mercy.
“Reckon you ought to do something dirtier,” Thom said to Beck, “it’s a three-way, innit.”
Jonny flushed; he was inwardly fascinated that it somehow made him hotter.
I’m not sharing, he mouthed. Beck was really very nice, he winked and mouthed back, you don’t have to.
He wasn’t even drunk anymore. Thom reached curiously after him as Beck pulled away, carefully unfolding his legs and laying Thom’s head on the carpet. The what are you that came from both Thom and Jonny were to be expected, even though both already knew.
Fucking hell, Jonny sputtered, timidly looking aside— but not completely, because he was very intrigued, he watched Beck climb over Thom, his long hair swinging forth, so he was faced with Thom’s member. It made Jonny embarrassed to move so much, like he was afraid of hitting him, like it became something cumbersome and complex, but it was dirty without doubt.
“Not done this with a bloke before, have you?” Thom asked from somewhere beneath Beck, and Beck’s hair whipped as he turned his head partrway in useless attempt to face him properly.
“I do this with guys all the time,” he said, “Every chance I get.”
(On to chapter 18)
- 16
- 17
- 18
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Thom/Beck