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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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- 32
Justin played bass since age twelve, he played along with music videos on TV. By the time he’d met David Campbell at seventeen, he’d already crashed and burned a number of high school bands, he’d worked as David’s assistant.
He and Beck got very close, they hung out and jammed together, but, really, they each were busy with their own stuff; Justin had played the LA underground for two years as bassist for This Great Religion, he worked as musician for hire after that. He’d joined the band Medicine, and now they were recording, too.
He and Beck had a thing.
It went so far back it was something old and familiar, they were exactly the same age. They both started from not really anything; Beck got Justin into all kinds of music. They had the close sort of friendship where you could go a long time without talking at all, then get back to things exactly where you left off, and nothing had changed; where there wasn’t something like shame because you couldn’t be bothered, where you didn’t compete for stuff, because it didn’t matter.
Justin was the sort of guy who could talk openly about things like how hot some guy was, even though he was straight, he could go nuts on stage, it was something Beck could relate to and inwardly liked. He had this crazy white boy fro and bright blue eyes.
Sometimes, he was kind of a dick.
All in all, there was none among them who didn’t work really hard. You’d think he’d fall asleep like that, with his head in Beck’s lap.
Funny, the stuff you ease into when it gets you attention from someone you like. One year back, Beck would laugh at himself and say this was gay, now the fondness it won him from Leigh had become a knowing familiar. There was something about it that made his heart ache, though, because shouldn’t she worry?
Shouldn’t she be more possessive of him?
Beck didn’t get close to a lot of people, but the people he loved had his undying affection. His own schedule was exhausting; he’d forego sleep to be with her. He’d come to her work late at night, the air conditioning still blasting, lights fluorescent white, Leigh passed out senseless at her desk. Documents and sketches here and there, oily with her makeup from where she fell asleep on them. Her small back arched painfully forth, she was drooling all over her own arm, he’d wondered if she’d wake up on her own at all if he wasn’t there to get her. There were two styrofoam cups on her desk, one inside the other, a small amount of coffee just at the bottom, a ring stain on the tabletop.
He was very tired, himself. He knelt at her side and gently shook her shoulder, she was so deeply asleep it took a few tries to finally get her up. The right side of her face was red with the after-effect of having it pressed to her arm, she squinted against the halogen light and absently rubbed at the drool on her cheek.
“Fuck…” she slurred, disoriented, looking at her watch, “I fell asleep…”
Beck knew better than to tell her to go home and go to bed. She was gonna stay there until she got everything done. “Want me to run down and get you more coffee,” he asked, watching her rub at her eyes, and she murmured incoherently, then looked around her desk in confusion. “Oh, crap, I got makeup all over my stuff—”
Beck carefully pulled the document from under her arm and turned it around in his hands, he held it up to the light where you could see through the oily bit. “Do you need to hand this in?” he asked.
“That…” she mumbled, still sleepy but slowly coming to, “no, I’ll just run off another one…”
“When’s your deadline?”
“Thursday, day after tomorrow. Fuck, I have so much to do…”
The last bit came with strangled despair as she rubbed her eyes again, after that she began quickly to gather the documents on her desk to make some order of things.
“I’ll get you coffee,” Beck said, and she looked up briefly, “Oh— oh, no, you don’t have to, don’t you have that… that radio thing or whatever coming up? Dude, you should go sleep…”
“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ll go soon.”
They’d been together four years by that time; Beck knew when she was freaking out. He knew how important her work was to her, how afraid she was of failure. She didn’t make fun of herself ironically the way he made fun of himself, she was painfully aware of her own faults.
He went down to the gas station to get her some coffee and gummy peach rings, but he didn’t go home after that; he stayed beside her at her desk, fighting to stay awake so he could wake her in case she drifted off.
“Don’t drool on this, man,” he said with a little smile as he pulled the rest of the documents out from under her elbow, and she nearly spilled her coffee as she moved her arm to see, then quickly steadied it. “You dick,” she laughed, “I don’t drool when I’m awake.”
“You’re drooling right now.”
“Fuck off, I am not.” Her hand went absently to her chin, just in case.
Beck’s eyes glittered with tenderness; he’d got her to laugh. She became aware of this, too, and felt guilty he’d decided to stay up with her. She’d asked him to go home, and he kept saying he will. She was so profoundly unhappy inside.
“So you don’t have anything, say, next Tuesday,” he said.
She stopped, eyes rolling upward as she tried to remember. “I’m not sure, I have to check... why, what’s next Tuesday?”
He leaned back in his chair, balancing on two legs. Fingertips at the edge of the desk, carefully holding himself in place, long hair in a mess. “You wanna go camp out for Radiohead tickets? For the Hollywood Bowl.”
She smiled, the inside joke that required no actual acknowledgement hanging thick in the air between them. Dude, I’m working, she’d say, don’t get me going now. But she knew they really were going on sale, and it was a legitimate question. “I don’t even know if I can make the show,” her voice rang subtly with disappointment.
“Let’s get them anyway,” Beck said, “It’s cool if you can’t make it.” She’d always tried to make Beck’s own shows, even at the smallest, most crowded venues.
“Yeah, okay.”
There was a song Beck wrote a few years back, but it was crappy, so he left it off his record. Turned out people liked when he played it live, though, so now he was gonna put it out as a single.
It’s all in your mind, it’s all in your mind.
***
It had got later than they’d bothered checking. Outside, the rain came hard on the ledge, little bouts of sleet, the farther north you went, the rainier it got. The fresh hiss of cars on the distant highway, skimming through the sleek cold. If you’d got the window a little bit open, you’d feel the frozen air a good two feet into the room.
Beyond all else, Thom was helpless and subject to the arbitrary sway of his own moods. Arbitrary for all intents and purposes, because he didn’t understand exactly what it was he felt, and certainly not why— but no one usually does. He’d been overwhelmed that night with something like despair, a haunting, far-removed and hollow sense of isolation, there was no comfort that could penetrate beneath this.
“Take care of me, Jonny,” he said, eyes closed, head tilted back, hands vaguely along Jonny’s shoulders, his thighs went cold as Jon pulled off his jeans.
Jonny felt the complete span of his flesh go alive, he was undone and subject at Thom’s words, anguished, devastated despite himself by the weight they may not have had.
He felt himself a cumbersome presence. He worried he might ruin Thom if he didn’t touch him right, his hands were unnaturally gentle on him, I would take better care of him than anyone had. Like how he restrung his tele. Like how he arranged organs with computers with violins with other organs, with quiet, inquisitive care, something almost perverse in its secretive interest.
Band frontman, Thom was the smallest among them. He smiled good-naturedly at his fans, hand on the mic, his eye all wrong, like he knew he appeared he was up to something, even when the whole tour was too much. He was aware he ought to fight the encompassing uncertainty that consumed him, but wasn’t certain how, and he tried to be agreeable on stage.
There was nothing to be done; tomorrow would come in the regular number of hours it took for tomorrow to come. Jonny had almost been selfishly glad their merciless schedule had Thom so vulnerable at his hands, and he felt all the worse sort of animal for it. Either way, it was beyond his control, he had loved Thom so wretchedly he was bluntly aware of the careless things Thom said.
He went coy when he’d got him naked, even when Thom didn’t mind, even when Jonny remained with most his clothes on. He’d gripped Thom’s thighs so hard when he had at him, his lips red and inflamed, damp and tender, like he did it to satisfy his own desire, he thought Thom tasted so nice. He was vaguely aware of Thom cursing him, gripping his jaw and his hair, muttering, voice clenched through his teeth; he was saying, too much, and fuck, you’re so good at that, and you’re beautiful, Jonny, you’re so beautiful—
People say all kinds of stuff when they’re being sucked off. Jonny didn’t mind if that’s what it took, though.
His lips had long since gone numb with trauma, his hair swinging without grace, his hand slick on the member, loudly profane, the fluid trailing to his wrist, his chin, Thom’s thighs. Thom’s hand painful in his hair, he was asking him to do dirty things, he’d taken Jonny’s wrist too tightly, pressing his finger impatiently against himself, at his perineum, missing the entrance, muttering incoherent swears.
This what you wanted, Jon thought, trying gently as circumstances allowed to stroke his entrance from the outside, he gasped for air when he allowed the member out from his mouth and went instead for the small opening, fluid glittering from the still-hard insistence to his lips, to his cheeks; really, he was a right mess.
Thom had run out of swears and was on to half-sustained murmurs, by the time Jonny got his tongue in him, Thom had threatened him bluntly to fuck him already so he’d actually spend some time with his cock inside him before he came.
Jonny gazed up, lips and chin wet, eyes wide with surprise.
“—oh—”
he said after a silence, stopping for once, his hair messy and strayed all over his face.
“Oh— okay—”
Thom’s chest heaved with breath, naked, the ribs and sternum protruding; his head propped uncomfortably up as he stared with frustration at Jonny, visibly straining for patience. Jonny was aware he’d best get on with it.
***
“Dude, quit looking at me like that.”
Justin didn’t need to glance up from the tabs he’d been paging through to know he had Beck’s attention. “I’m not gay with you today,” he said.
Beck snickered, toying with two tambourines he’d been trying to string together. They jingled annoyingly in his hands, but Beck made annoying sounds all day and you got used to that after a while. You’d think he’d be able to find one flannel that actually fit him and didn’t have sleeves that rode over his hands, he’d always looked like he’d slept in the clothes he wore.
Last night, he actually did; he didn’t go home until four in the morning, when Leigh finally decided to call it a night, and he crashed on his bed in his day clothes, didn’t even shower before coming in to the studio the following day.
“I don’t wanna be gay with you,” Beck said, “I’m like… gay with these tambourines…”
(On to Chapter 32)
Song: It's All in Your Mind by Beck (It's All in Your Mind 1995)
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Thom/Beck