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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
- 25
- 26
- 27
Colin’s aristocratic hands, intrinsically gentle on Jonny’s thighs, with elegance that came to him second nature. Those days, Colin’s hair still was full and long, shimmering rich and black like Jonny’s, with a heavy swing on his eyes that was something like velvet. Colin made camp a stylish thing, and, those days, Jonny followed in his footsteps. He made smoking cool. He made poetry sexy and makeup worthwhile instead of superficial and daft.
In his mind there clearly was some troubled debate, eyelashes batting, brow furrowed, one slender digit most of the way inside Jonny, carefully urging the clear white fluid from inside him. Jonny’s long hair falling over his eyes in humility, his shoulders bony and slender, too tall for his own good. Expiration tender and silent. Really just Colin’s baby brother.
It became evident to anyone who’d witnessed what happened that night that Thom and Jonny had a thing. Colin’s eyes rolled up to gaze at his brother, then back to his hands’ ministrations, as though he were weighting it all in his mind. It wasn’t a thing to be prevented and stopped. Truth was, Colin wasn’t sure how he’d felt about it anymore. He didn’t like watching Jon sacrifice himself, but knew that’s what it was to be in love.
It wasn’t that Thom wasn’t a good guy, but Colin worried he’d take it all much more lightly than Jon. Either way, there was nothing to be done.
“Move your leg, please,” he asked, voice issuing soft and composed, Colin’s voice always was soft. Jonny complied, long limbs maneuvering, streamlets glistening wet down his thighs, inspiration air-soft as not to succumb to Col’s proficient hands. The quiet sounds of liquid. Ethereal intake of breath. Fluid rotation of joins beneath skin, Colin’s bassist hands at work.
He rested his head on Jonny’s thigh, hair pouring gracefully, words coming humid.
“Was he gentle at least,” he asked.
“No,” Jonny said.
They exchanged a knowing smile; they both had liked Thom very much. He was endearingly candid and really a lot of fun. It was easy to forget after suffocating in such close confines with each other over the past months, but Colin and Thom were best mates. Thom walked in casually, bottled water in hand, arranging himself on the couch nearby. He watched Colin and Jonny for several moments.
“Jonny tells me you wrote another song,” Colin said.
“That’s right.”
Colin backed a little, digit still moving in Jonny, liquid still glittering crystalline wet on his thighs. His hair obscured him in a cascade of black silk when he leaned forth to lap at the thin rivulets, is this what Thom did to you?
“Well, go on,” Colin said, “you slag, sing.”
Jonny had aspired to be like his brother. He hoped he had mastered the aloof way he’d batted his hair from his face, but he still was timid when he looked at Thom.
The thing about Thom, he was very cute.
He hopped from the couch, bottle sloshing in his hand, still visibly tired from before. He walked toward Colin, singing, settling cross-legged at his side.
You can force it but it will not come—
By the time he’d got to the third line, he and Colin were kissing, both between Jonny’s thighs, both tired of being angry.
***
Beck had promised Leigh he’d come bother her the night before a presentation, and he did. Not exactly the night before, but near a deadline, and she was moody and impatient. He’d decided it would be a good time to get her back and drop by. She said it wasn’t fair because he’d already annoyed her with the Barbie, but he showed up anyway, she used him as a model for the clothes she worked on.
She liked him grungy, it hadn’t really occurred to her to dress him in something else, and it was strange to see him in other stuff. He pulled off tight pants better than she'd expected, they were really very flattering on his ass— maybe because of his back— but they still looked really good.
She was serious about her work, too, and had rapidly realized he’d successfully got her distracted, through no fault of his own. Beck had such a way of standing there like a total dumbass, like he were oblivious to the weight of his sex appeal, except he wasn’t. Now take my picture in this cardboard box. Now in the back of this van.
For a fleeting moment, she thought to ask him to actually model the clothes for her at the show, but business and pleasure didn’t mix. She just wanted a reason to have him wear tight pants. She didn’t tell him how hot it got her, go back to your jeans and your flannel.
She did like him in a suit, though, like the ring bearer at a wedding, a boy dressed up like a little man. In her mind, she already was planning to design a suit just for him, her imagination ran ahead of her before she really noticed, and she wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of knowing how cute he looked cause then he would win. She didn’t tell him she could just as easily have put the clothes up on a mannequin.
Either way, by the time the evening was over, she’d quite learned her lesson on being distracted when you really needed to do important work. Beck may not have been coming on to her directly the way she and Justin had the other day, but she felt very compelled to play with him, and remembered she couldn’t afford to because of her deadline. She slapped his ass in the tight trousers but didn’t do more than that, and told him he could go take the outfit off. He mouthed a silent ow and rubbed absently at his behind before proceeding with the belt.
The way Beck worked in the studio was something like how a kid plays with his toys by himself, too far consumed by the story in his mind to look up when you asked what he was doing. You’d feel bad interrupting because he was playing so nice. But when you did, and you had some idea, he’d look up like he was thinking, and the next thing you’d know, he was taking your idea and doing something on guitar, or a keyboard, or the bottom of an overturned pan. You’d realize he was listening to you after all, even when he was playing by himself.
He was so mellow and laid back you’d almost forget everyone who was there was there because he asked them to be, and everyone was doing what they did because he told them. Like he was aware of the possibility of failure but wasn’t particularly afraid of knowing it may come.
Everyone told him his record would suck.
He came back from Santa Monica one day with a sitar he bought from some guy, and everyone watched, thinking now what as he sat on the couch and tinkered with it, explaining “the dude taught him to play.”
“Leigh not playing with you cause of her show?” Justin asked, straddled over Beck’s hips at his apartment, TV still on, Mtv Oddities The Head. Beck’s hands wandered lightly over Justin’s narrow waist, tugging a little at the pockets of his jeans.
“She only has a few days left,” he said, “I didn’t wanna bug her too much.” He yawned.
“That’s nice of you.”
“Nah, it’s crunch time, it really wouldn’t be cool.”
“You’re probably right.”
Beck reached toward him; they kissed lightly, a very casual thing.
“She had me model all this stuff for her show.”
“Isn’t that sweet.”
They kissed again. Beck stretched his arms to their full span, Justin’s hands on his cheeks. “I wonder… if she can make, like… ‘60s stuff…”
It was so gay.
“How come I’m in your lap?”
“Iunno.”
They started to tug at each other’s clothes.
“They’ll never let you sample that Barbie. It’s trademarked.”
Justin raised his arms over his head so Beck could pull off his shirt.
“Think they’ll care?”
“Maybe. I dunno.”
Beck pulled off Justin’s shirt impatiently and tossed it to the floor; then reached to kiss him again.
“That would suck, I was really looking forward to sampling it.”
“Yeah, I know.”
(On to chapter 27)
Song: Planet Telex by Radiohead (The Bends 1995)
- 25
- 26
- 27
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Thom/Beck