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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
- 7
- 8
- 9
A year or so back, some Canadian dude named Nardwuar really pissed Beck off. To be fair, he’d pissed off a lot of celebrities, cause he was very obnoxious, but also, very disconcertingly, he really knew his shit. He’d come up to some unsuspecting band or singer, and know shit about them that made them wonder who the hell this guy was and how could he possibly know?
This was the mid-‘90s, mind, he knew stuff without anything like the internet. Most folks he’d interviewed didn’t consider Nardwuar was just like that to everyone, because it always felt personally directed at them.
Beck had been taken off guard in particular, because Nardwuar had called him on the phone, and Beck had no idea who he was. He’d been too forceful, too interrogative, and, worst of all, he’d got too close and asked Beck stuff he didn’t want to be asked.
Beck took it very personally. He was very young at the time, he’d never really let it go, but a lot of celebrities responded in a similar way. You, the listening public, didn’t really know how to feel about Nardwuar; you wanted to hate him, but you couldn’t help respecting him all the while, in a very peculiar way. Or you’d want to stick up for him, for the way some celebrities had got upset.
Beck, for one, left the phone interview licking his wounds, wondering what he’d done wrong to wind up in such a position, wishing never to deal with something like that again.
He never really liked being interviewed in the first place. Folks would ask him what his life was like, and he’d wanna say, recording, like he had no life outside that, and, mostly, he really didn’t— and what else there was felt too cheapening to tell, as to satisfy intrusive interest by others.
“I don’t wanna go on tour, Channy,” he said, stood at Chan’s bathroom mirror, naked as the day he was born.
It wasn’t like him, really. Beck had gone where he needed to go, and had decided what he’d wanted to do. He’d decided he wanted to do the festival ages ago, however, and didn’t see ahead to how he’d feel about it now.
Chan, he knew, was in the same boat; they’d both been devastated by the same thing, and while both were surrounded by loved ones who understood, to really know what it were, they had to be each other.
“Tough shit for you,” Channing said from the bedroom nearby, it came laden with tenderness you’d not recognize without years of brotherly taunts along the same chord.
“Yeah,” Beck said quietly, “Tough shit.”
Beck and Channing were so thin you’d think it were a thyroid condition, if you thought that sort of thing; and if you didn’t, you’d think they were going to break, and you’d be afraid to touch them if you didn’t know them well enough.
They had no qualms with each other that way, they’d been beating each other up for years. Being made to share a room growing up had them at regular practice of delineating which half of everything belonged to whom. My half of the room. My half of the car seat. My half of the bedroom window.
Leigh had started working with Justin at the café, it did her good to keep busy, she worked on her business plan when she got home. She’d never pressured Beck about recording, she liked having him around, and understood why he was in a slump.
Take care of him, Justin, she’d said, but Beck had gone to Channing when he’d been left alone at home. They both were grieving, really. They’d not really spoken of it outright.
Chan had got a pretty sweet deal as a stay-at-home husband, he’d worked now and again, but his life didn’t depend on it. He was a fantastic cook, and kept the house in order while Lisa worked at the museum. Usually, anyway— these days, he’d also been in a slump.
They couldn’t be very loud with Aubrey asleep two doors down the hall, they hadn’t had the stamina to beat each other proper in weeks. There were no words exchanged between them, Chan’s palm flat against the wall, Beck gripping him round the abdomen, hair whipping at the crook of his neck. Both wanting harder, like hard enough would undo the ugliness only the two of them saw in reality those days.
“Dude, you done?” Chan would breathe, forehead damp against his arm against the wall, when Beck had stilled behind him, breathless and raw;
“No, I’m not done,” Beck would grip Channing harder, possessively, bundles of hair adhering at his temples, he’d press Chan backward into him, bite his lip in exertion as he’d start again.
When he would be done, they’d switch, sparse words now and then; both physically exhausted but emotionally dissatisfied. They took no mercy on each other, and no mercy on themselves. Chan would have at Beck with the fluid still running hot down his own thighs, the flesh of his behind still red with impact, getting him back for what he did to him before.
“Fuck, Channing,” Beck would breathe, catching his own reflection somewhere in-between the damp strands of his hair, “where did you learn to be so— such a—”
“From you,” Chan’s voice came breathless, strained as he gripped harder at him, “I learned from you.”
--
Colin could get out of Thom’s grip if he’d tried; he wasn’t really struggling anymore, though he wasn’t exactly okay with it. Thom had his wrists weakly in place, neck stretched forth, reaching with one hand to slide Jonny’s hair aside so he could see.
“Your brother’s so fucking beautiful,” Thom said, and Colin snapped back, “Don’t say that while he’s doing that…!”
“Maybe I meant you,” Thom batted his eyelashes theatrically, and Colin huffed, “Prettier than you,” he said; Thom made a show of being hurt.
It did look good, though, while Jonny did it. He was attentive, careful somehow, until he remembered Thom was watching. For Thom, he tried to be dirty. He met Thom’s gaze deliberately, leaning into the palm in his hair, intentionally loud on Colin’s member so his lips glittered wet.
“Knew you lot got up to this,” Thom said, staring directly, his thumb moving at Jon’s lower lip, and Jonny wanted to make more a thing of it than there really was. He withdrew slowly from Colin’s member, streamlets glistening from his mouth to the tip, he grinned toothily at Thom.
“Come here, Thom,” he said, and Thom smiled back, amused now. He’d been absently reluctant to let go of Col’s wrists, but mostly certain that Colin wasn’t trying to get out of it by then.
“Right here?” he asked, crawling over the mattress toward Jonny’s side, still grinning knowingly while he took Jon's face in both hands. He kissed him slowly, humming in approval as he licked at his lips, then brought one hand to Col’s member and wove his fingers in Jon’s.
“Fuck,” Colin said, now brushing Jon’s hair back, himself, “you’re crap at that, Thom, you’ll ruin him.” His breath came hitched, bony outline of ribs visible at the skin of his chest— though, at that point, he’d be very sore if they stopped.
Thom was very good at that, actually. He laughed, still kissing Jonny, the both of them having at Col’s member in-between, like they were doing it for each other, like watching each other do it got both of them off.
They'd got so messy; they were fighting each other with their fingers, wetly getting the digits in each other’s mouths and missing, cursing each other inaudibly between ministrations.
“Cozzie likes it here,” Thom breathed, mouth still on Jon’s, he took Jonny’s hand and slid it wet along the perineum to the balls, and Jonny softly laughed, I know.
“You know?” Thom laughed back; Jon smiled good-naturedly, “Yeah.”
They both went at it after that, lapping at him, Colin swore them and tugged at Jon’s hair, Thom whispered, See?
They really were loud, trying to out-perv each other, daring Coz to protest. Thom kissed Jonny against Colin’s flesh, let me taste him on you, just loud enough that Colin could hear.
Jonny would stop so Thom could, his eyes fluttered shut, lips parted as Thom had at his mouth. Thom wasn’t even drunk anymore.
(On to Chapter 9)
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Thom/Beck - Part 2