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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
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There were meant to be two mirrors up in Leigh’s bathroom, but now there was only the one by the sink; the other remained a bare wooden panel where once the glass had inexplicably shattered. All by itself, when no one had been in the room. Leigh had told Beck about it, she’d come in one day to find shards all over the floor, with some glass remaining attached to the old adhesive that held at the frame. She never took the panel down. It became an old familiar, like the spaces between the shelf furniture and the painted pantry doors.
Beck thought he’d taken more of his showers at Leigh’s than he had at home, and maybe it was because he’d slept there more often, too, or maybe because, for all his independence, he liked being taken care of.
Low echo of water at the edge of the bath, Leigh with her sleeves rolled to the elbow, up on her knees on the rug, washing his back. Like he couldn’t do it on his own. Like she wasn’t too tired to do this. Someone who cared about you was invaluable, he’d felt tremendous consolation when he was with her; they both wanted desperately not to think about all the ugly things in their lives, but you never could stop tomorrow from coming.
Beck leaned his head on Leigh’s arm as she reached over his shoulder to wash his chest, his hair dripping wet, humid steam all around. She grinned, his cheek was puffy with youth, warmly familiar; she couldn’t move like that, and he’d got her all wet. There was one strand of her hair aggravatingly persistent in her face, she couldn’t shake it out, and now her clothes were wet, too, she leaned closer and briefly kissed the top of his head.
His hair curled a little when damp, somewhere between straight and wavy; not as curly as Leigh’s, but disheveled and wet, her whole top was soaked by the time he’d pulled her arms over from behind him, and gripped them to his chest. Her legs kind of hurt in that position. She smiled against his head, “Did you get with Justin,” she whispered, tell me something to make me happy, so I can forget about everything else.
She knew he was smiling back without seeing his face; “Yeah,” he said, a little bit shy, like it were an admittance of guilt, like he’d been caught getting in trouble. Leigh’d had her fights with Justin, but his devotion for friends went unspoken, this delved deeper than attitude or words.
Her arms slowly tightened over Beck’s chest from behind, her head at the crook of his neck. “Last night?” She asked, and Beck hesitated; he grinned sheepishly, and slowly shook his head. “Yesterday,” he softly said, “at the studio.” He knew it made her grin. She really liked to escape—
Justin could be difficult; even when he was playing nice, it felt like he was mocking you somehow, so you never could really let down your guard; but she knew firsthand he’d fucked Beck so good. The two of them had spared each other nothing, she could hear them from her bedroom while trying to work, biting her palm, listening intently despite herself to how they’d cursed and degraded each other, and threatened each other to dare try whatever indecent profanities they’d kick each other’s ass so hard for thinking to do.
Justin knew she heard them, he knew Beck did it for her, it was like a free pass for Justin to be a dick.
But he knew Beck liked it despite himself, the bastard, and Beck knew Justin got all cheeky and smug because of that.
“Fuck off, I’m not into guys,” Beck would say, while Justin had him up against the kitchen sink, hair swinging, fighting for balance, Justin would mutter, “I know.”
“At the studio?” Leigh whispered, lightly washing his chest, and Beck remained shyly quiet for a long time, sheepishly grinning; he turned partway to her. He laughed, eyes twinkling blue, humbly scanning her face. “Want me to tell you?” he asked, her face brightened, she laughed, her hair still hanging messy in her face.
“Yeah,” she said, “tell me.”
They both were so broke. So overworked.
The bath water swayed when Beck turned to face her, his hands dripping wet in her hair. She’d asked in a way that he’d learned to relax into; it had made her happy to listen, and it made him feel interesting to tell.
“If I tell you, will you fuck me, too?” he mouthed, lips parted with breath, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his forehead to hers.
“Yeah, I’ll fuck you,” she whispered, hands on his cheeks, steam clouding the bare wooden panel where there wasn’t a mirror anymore.
--
Thom had Jonny face-down on the mattress, the bloody tour bus, Colin’s bottom bunk. Truth was, Jonny didn’t care about the can’t you fuck my baby brother someplace else that would inevitably follow, cause it was completely worth it, the way Thom gave it to him. They had the bus to themselves, but the front door was open, and no one was gonna walk in because they all hated tour buses by then.
“Fuck—” Jonny breathed, gripping the metal banister, naked from the waist down, it didn’t matter that the whole bus rattled with impact. They’d started off with Thom giving it to Jonny, then Jonny wrestled Thom off and gave it to him, and now they were back at it like before. Jon hadn’t asked for it outright, but he’d been impatient to hear what it was like to meet Stipey, everyone had, Jonny made Thom tell him while they went at it.
And Thom was on about it like something that wasn’t Thom at all, like a bashful schoolboy, really very strange— he’d smiled while talking, like the very act of thinking about it was pleasure.
He laughed breathless, one arm round Jonny’s abdomen, lifting just that bit of him off the bed while he had him from behind. His voice hoarse with exertion, head buried in the crook of Jon’s neck, “Yeah, so we’re all gonna go in July, America and Europe—”
Jonny laughed, too, timidly elated, his voice came half muffled in the pillow, cause he was face-down. They both knew touring was shite, but they couldn’t help wanting this.
“We’re never gonna go back home, are we,” Jonny breathed, it’d been ages since their lives had been anything like normal. His fingers clawed at the metal railing, useless, Thom moved into him slow, all the way—
Thom hadn’t answered that bit, because that was the bit they all were regretful about. In a sense, he'd really been hoping they weren’t making a terrible mistake— but could he really conceivably have turned something like this down…?
He moved slowly out, low, wet sounds issuing, his member slick on Jonny’s thighs. Jon gazed up momentarily from under his hair, “That it?” he asked, and Thom laughed, toppling at his side, there really wasn’t any room for the both of them there.
“I’m knackered,” he said, and Jonny huffed with inadvertent irritation, he collected himself messily and pushed Thom sideward and unto his back. Sometimes, he’d be knackered, too, but he wouldn’t be done with Thom yet.
He was stroking himself, uselessly trying to swing back his hair, parting Thom’s thighs with one hand like it were matter of habit. Thom grinned, knowingly laughing, his forehead was damp and he brushed one hand through his hair. “All right, your go,” he said, tilting his head in a useless attempt to see, his own member wet against the flat of his stomach.
There wasn’t nearly enough room there for that, Jonny had to bend his head forth as not to hit the bunk above— but he was gonna do it to Thom anyway.
He didn’t stop when Colin and Ed walked in, and they didn’t care that it was happening, because they’d long since got tired of trying to pretend like it wasn’t going on. “Thom, we’re switching bunks,” Coz said nonchalantly while lighting his cigarette, and Thom began to whine he liked having the top bunk, but it came too ragged and cut off to be acknowledged.
--
In southern California, it didn’t rain when it should have, then it rained at weird times, like April and May. Then it would make the 405 freeway totally blocked, even more than it usually were at the area near La Tijera, when you got close to LAX. Driving Chan to the airport was adding insult to injury, but Chan held his arms out with exasperation, “It was your idea, dude…!” he said from the back seat.
“All right, you guys,” Bibbe sighed, sunglasses safely in place despite the overcast sky and the rain, she was gonna go with Channing, and they were taking little Aubrey, too, to meet his great-grandfather for the first time.
Everyone except Beck. Seriously lame.
“It’s like one big party without me,” he sulked with what he hoped was enough irony to make it not sound like actual sulking.
“It’s always one big party without you,” Channing shot back without missing a beat, and Bibbe raised one hand in warning. “Don’t make me deal with you, Channing.”
“Yeah, Channing.”
“You too, Beck…”
“He’s like, teaching his kid to be a little punk.”
“I am not...! You’re the punk!”
Young as he were, Channing actually took very proper care of his son. He had him strapped perfectly in a child-safety seat to his side, he’d read a lot about child care long before he’d ever been married; to him, it had really become a matter of pride.
Bibbe rubbed at her temples; it might not have been so bad were it not bumper-to-bumper traffic, with even the slightest drizzle of rain. “If you guys don’t pipe down in five seconds, neither of you gets to go.”
“Sucks for you, Channing!”
Chan reached from the back seat to pinch Beck’s arm.
“Ow! Mom! Chan, what the hell!”
“Don’t say hell around my kid!”
“Hell, hell, hell, hell, hell— ow! Dude, I’m driving….!”
“That’s it! Beck, pull over, I’m driving the rest of the way.”
“But Mom!”
“I said now!”
Beck sulked with nothing like irony as he proceeded to signal, beginning on what would be an annoying attempt to merge three lanes to the right shoulder through crawling traffic.
All throughout, Aubrey remained angelically well-behaved, watching peacefully as rain drops collected in trickling streams on the fogged window glass.
(On to Chapter 3)
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Thom/Beck - Part 2