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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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The Radiohead show at the Hollywood Bowl was sold out, tough shit for Leigh and Beck. So were all the other shows, more or less. Leigh was a cool kind of girlfriend though, she knew how much the show meant to Beck and she wasn’t gonna give up so easy. She was gonna whore her boyfriend out for the tickets, cause she knew who he slept with last festival.

Thing was, with whom did you talk? Thing was, she was nobody. She was just a gal.

She sat cross-legged on the living room rug with a bag of Fritos, hair up in a bun. “You need a hotter look than that,” she said with an air of knowing wisdom, and she pointed and winked, and Beck looked up from over his carton of milk. He asked, “Yeah?” and you could tell from that one word he didn’t really like where this was going. “Like what kind of look?”

Leigh wasn’t happy very often these days. It was a wretched existence, working for your survival, being broke, trying to make it when you felt you had nothing to show for your hard work but an endless trail of blunders and faults. In that moment, though, her mouth stretched in a wide, toothy grin, laugh lines round her eyes. Moments like these, Beck was something of which she was fond.

“I’ll hook you up,” she shot him with her pretend-gun of a finger, like she’d been waiting for an excuse to try out her skills as a designer for real. It was something she’d debated over in her mind for some time, because she liked his style. Which was really no style at all, which was the way all the kids dressed nowadays. I don’t give a shit about my hair, you know? Beck had said to Nardwuar the Human Serviette when spontaneously tormented on the phone one year earlier.

He’d looked so good in tight pants, though. He’d looked so good in a suit. Beck had such a baby face. Ain’t no such thing as a pretty boy who don’t know it, don’t fucking kid yourself. They all fucking know, and they’re all fucking arrogant. They all fucking pick out the women they want cause they know they can, only difference is, they each have a different idea of what kind of woman it is they like.

Beck wasn’t always full of himself, though, cause it’s a shitty thing being mistaken for a little baby your whole life when you take yourself seriously as he had. It wasn’t till later that girls started telling him he was so pretty and so hot, and his eyes were so beautiful, like they thought it would mean so much to him, and like no one had ever told him so before, like it wouldn’t just boost the ego he’d already built from all the times girls had already told him.

So yeah, he was kind of a princess. But he was also really introverted and strange, and before he was a princess, he’d been a nerd. And he’d been a nerd during the years that the groundwork is set in your brain as to how you feel about who you are. If you looked close enough, you’d find the artist still inside.

And you’d find the nerd, too.

Beck was also knocked down a few pegs by the fact that he was only 5’7”, ain’t no such thing as a tall guy who doesn’t have an ego about it somewhere inside. Dudes like Thom didn't give a fuck about being short; they didn't give a fuck about everyone knowing they made out with a guy, either. Beck wasn’t quite so secure in himself, but that was what he was.

It occurred to him from over the half-open door of the fridge that Leigh’s eyes had glittered with what must have been devious ideas of what to do with his look. “Just… just don’t make it too…I dunno…” he mumbled the way you’d say just don’t spank me too hard, I have work.

--

Justin and Leigh had exhausted the topic of who had done Beck better.

“What are you gonna, like, whore him out to Ticketmaster or something?” Justin asked, picking at stray blades of grass where they were sat out on the dried patch of lawn by her workplace.

Leigh shook her head, squinting against the sunlight. The hum of traffic went louder and softer nearby intermittently, sometimes they could hear each other in-between. There were tiny ants crawling over the worn material of her right Birkenstock, she stopped a moment as to evaluate whether it was worthwhile to worry about something like that.

“Beck doesn’t like being whored out.”

He’d tried to steer clear of big record labels, hadn’t he, but you can’t make it anywhere if you don’t whore yourself out at least a little. Either way, it wasn’t like you could just write the guys at Radiohead and go, hey, you boned my boyfriend last year, can we come to your sold out show?

Justin squinted at Leigh, the frizzled ends of his fro swaying a bit in the breeze, like you forgot they were meant to move at all. “I dunno, can you write them that?”

He tossed forth dead stems of grass, too-long legs bent half-crossed before him, his trousers riding a little low in the back. “Can’t he be all like, hey, well, I’m Beck, so I can go?”

Leigh stared out into traffic, where the heat radiating from the blacktop made everything wiggle in an unreal steam-like wave. She wasn’t laughing. Where once it seemed kind of interesting and cool that Beck was making it, it didn’t quite rub her the right way now. She wanted him to accomplish his dreams as much as she wanted to accomplish her own, but the whole I’m Beck so I can go attitude sort of sucked.

Even if he never once said so to her.

...was it all in her mind? Was she just tired of what sounded to her like aren’t you a lucky bitch, your guy is so great— where Beck never showed arrogance to her, personally?

“You whore him out, then,” she said to Justin finally, “since you’re so much better at doing him.”

“Yeah, all right, I will,” Justin said, unfolding to a stand far sooner than she anticipated, he was brushing the grass off his butt as he made toward the parking structure.

Naw, no one could really whore Beck out, cause he liked doing shit his own way, by himself. No one but his best friend and his girlfriend, that is.

--

The Liverpool show didn’t go well for Thom. He really wanted to be nice to his fans, he really did, but he and the others had dutifully composed themselves through not just the length of this tour, but ever since starting work on The Bends, and it had been ages since life had been normal, and since it had been anything other than hectic and exhausting. And it didn’t look like it was gonna let up any time soon, either, you had to have this nose to the grindstone attitude or you’d never make it.

Jonny watched pensively as Thom got Greaves on the phone, pacing and biting his nails, mumbling again like a frightened boy to be allowed to go home. Rubbing one hand through his hair.

Jonny wasn’t certain what to do in situations like these, too timid to act, too aware of the sub-Thom position in which he imagined himself. He’d tried to gauge in mind how likely it were that Greaves actually consented for once, and their tour would be off, and they’d all be back home. They all hated it, really, Jonny loathed those evil acoustic sets in particular, but the stress was largely on Thom as band frontman.

Jonny could vaguely hear Greaves on the other end as he tried gently to convey the voice of reason, he could make out a word here and there, but not much; but by the way Thom had responded you knew it was no go.

“I’m ill, I swear…!” Thom pleaded, “I’ll be sick all over!”

Jonny wondered if it really were true. If Thom was ill, he’d get them all ill, seeing how tightly packed they were on their bus; Jon didn’t fancy being ill, really, but also he’d grown accustomed to Thom’s assorted attempts at negotiating his way out of this tour. He couldn’t really be blamed, truth be told— going home sounded brilliant, the whole band felt shite.

The receiver was ultimately passed toward Jonny, who wasn’t certain just what to do with it. He answered tentatively, brushing the hair from his face, uncertain where he stood between Greaves and Thom, and agreed with them both in the end. He tugged the phone cord in a way more characteristic of Colin, he rolled his eyes at Thom as to indicate that Greaves was talking bollocks and there was nothing to be done. Then he cupped the receiver and mouthed to Thom, Mate, you really ill?

Thom looked upward to Jonny, hands on hips, nodding with appreciation that at last he’d been acknowledged. He looked aside, then back at Jonny, and sputtered, “Yeah…!”

--

Justin had Beck over the edge of the sofa, both of them with clothes mostly still on, Justin’s arms were long all around Beck’s front in a way that reminded you how much taller he was, the veins visible slightly under his skin. Beck’s trousers down to somewhere mid-thigh, his boxers just barely under his behind so that the blue cotton fabric was all bunched in the elastic that was bunched in itself.

“Go in the kitchen, let’s go in the kitchen,” Beck muttered hoarsely, Leigh likes to watch, but Justin shook his head, the muscles in his arms went tight when he held hard to Beck’s chest, like to keep him restrained in case he got ideas. “She’s working,” he said, “on your new getup.”

Beck snickered at that, it came breathless and choked, like he couldn’t quite get his voice out. “Fuck that shit, man,” he said, with tenderness that made you understand he’d succumb to whatever she wanted to make him wear on or offstage.

“For your videos,” Justin smirked, the last word coming strained as he pressed in against him, hard and slow, and beck laughed from under the sway of his hair, “Are you guys like out on some sort of mission to destroy me,” he breathed, and Justin promptly replied, “Yeah.”

“Can you guys keep it down?” Leigh called from the kitchen nearby, and Justin called back, “Come watch this, Leigh! Beck says to tell you…!”

“Fuck off,” she called back, tightly crossing her legs, trying hard to focus, because, at the end of the day, this really was work. She fought against the urge to go see, because it really sounded hot, but work took precedence over that. She really wanted to come up with something good.

“Screw her,” Justin said, and Beck spun partway around, pointing with intent to accuse before Justin bent him fully double over the end of the couch, hands clawing at the denim edge of Beck’s jeans and the tangled elastic of his boxers. It was a very inelegant setup, Beck didn’t land with anything like grace on the couch and the cushions went partway out of their position, his hair went all over his face and he was telling Justin to just fuck off and go home, but not at all fighting him off physically.

“Fuck, dude, I’m sick of you being on top—”

“I’m taller,” Justin helpfully explained, and Beck sputtered, “So…?!” but it came mumbled into the flannel of his sleeve, where the button was somehow undone even though he’d never unfastened it. Justin had both hands on Beck’s hips from behind, still having him bent over the edge, the tangled mess of Beck’s boxers and jeans and belt too baggy over white span that reached around the middle of his thighs.

He had his tongue inside him all the way, his mouth pressed so tight on him he made slick, profane sounds.

Beck was so not trying to get him to stop. “Dude, you are such a dick,” he muttered, and whatever Justin said after that came incoherent and humid because he was still at it. He pulled away, transparent streamlets glittering from his lips to the flesh beneath, his lips were completely red with exertion; “Let’s get Leigh to help out with this,” he breathed.

“Fuck you, dude, she’s working,” Beck said defensively, “that’s serious, you want me to, like, make you come watch shit when you’re doing whatever with your bass?”

“That’s exactly what I want.”

“Dude, fuck off.”

I’m so not going out there, Leigh thought, brushing strands of her hair behind both ears, I’m so not going out there. Justin was such an asshole sometimes, he was totally doing this to screw with her work. She willed herself not to succumb to whatever the hell the two of them were up to, she finally collected her papers and made for her bedroom to work there instead, sighing with relief that self-restraint won. It may be a cool idea to come up with crazy getups for your boyfriend, but it was still work, after all.

(On to Chapter 34)
- 32
- 33
- 34
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Thom/Beck