No Distance Left To Run

Title: No Distance Left To Run
Author: Heather
Pairing: Damon/Graham
Era: Parklife
Rating: PG (I think anyway)

A/N: This is the first-parter to what I hope to be a multi-chapter story, telling the story of our favorite group of lads throughout the last few years of their Blur career and after. I've tried to keep everything in as chronological order as possible, but forgive me if I get spotty with the dates. Yes, some of it will be fluffyhappyheartsandyay, but other parts or it will be angstybroodingdark as well. So consider yourself warned.

Also, if you read this, please leave me a comment! It's always good to know if someone read anything. That, and it'll give me inspiration to write another chapter.

Alright, so, that said. Off with the clothes, on with the show!

Chapter 1 - May, 1994

"Sooooo, as I was saying, Dave..." Graham pointed at his bandmate, as if he were saying something very extraordinary that every one in the bar should hear. "THAT is exactly why bourbon is a much better drink than your shite vodka." He pointed again to the drummer's drink before lifting a fresh shot glass to his lips.

"Unless, you like Russians. Do you like communists, Dave?"

Dave open his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything, a very blurry and red-eyed Damon patted him on the back. "Oy, Dave. I'm off to the loo. Make sure no one steals my drink unless they're pretty, yeah?" Damon slurred, smiling at the both of them. Dave nodded, then turned his head back to Graham.

"Look, Graham," the drummer began. "I can see your argument. You know, with the Russians and all. But honestly, I think you're full of shite, mate."

Graham rolled his head around a bit. "Yeah, well, at least I'm not a silly gingerhead who likes vodka," he retorted, slamming his shot glass down on the table.

"Bartender!" He yelled, coughing a bit as he said it. The bartender looked at Graham as though he was something that had just washed up on shore. It was almost pity, but not as forgiving.

Dave motioned with his hand to his neck, then Graham, and shook his head the bartender who then nodded and turned his back on them.

"Look, Graham..." The drummer patted him on the shoulder to get his attention. "I think you've had enough for tonight. We need to have you alive to play guitar for the show tomorrow night."

"Imma go to the loo." Graham said, ignoring him entirely. He stood up shakily. "Be right back."

He only made it two or three steps, however, when Damon ran into him, full-fledged, knocking him backwards and onto the ground, his glasses flying off his face and across the floor with a noisy clatter.

"Graham! Sorry!" Damon shouted, over the noise of the music playing. He reached out to Graham, pulling him up onto his feet.

"Jesus. Did you not even see me coming?" The singer laughed, exasperated.

Graham shook his head slowly, as if still wasn't quite sure what had happened. "Um, where are my glasses?" He reached his hands up, touching his face.

"Oh." Damon frowned, and looked down at pair of specs on the ground next to him. He picked them up, in two different pieces, each hand delicately holding the broken frame. The right side of his glasses was missing, the arm of it snapped off and in Damon's other hand.

"Shit, Graham. I'm so sorry," he said, a look of immense guilt on his face.

"Look, I can fix it," Damon said brightly, trying desperately to redeem himself. "I think that I might have something back at the hotel that'll work."

He looked over at Dave who was looking at the both of them. He was yawning and pointing to his watch. "Can you take him?" he mouthed, and pointed to Graham.

Damon nodded back at him, looking a little bit displeased to be Graham's babysitter for the night, but guilty enough to feel he owed it to him for breaking his glasses. He put his shoulder under Graham to steady him. "Looks like the party's pretty much over anyway."

On their way out, he motioned to Alex, who winked back at him distractedly, far too involved with the charming red-lipped young woman sitting next to him at the bar to care about either of them leaving.

It wasn't long before the cab they'd managed to hail reached their hotel, and Damon patiently guided the both of them up the three flights of stairs to his room. The hallway was deserted. It had to have been very early in the morning, Graham thought to himself.

"Shit. One sec," he mumbled as they reached the correct number. There was a minute of frustration as Damon patted his pockets, searching for his keys.

"There we go," he said as Graham heard the sound of keys jingle and the door opening.

Everything was still a blur of shapes and voices for Graham. The whiskey he'd been drinking had worn off a little on the way there, but not enough to keep him from immediately stumbling over the doorside table in Damon's hotel room.

"Ouch," he said rather distractedly, his hands reaching out tentatively to figure out what type of furniture he'd fallen into.

He could hear Damon laughing at him. He then felt someone with very warm hands grabbing his hands pulling him up and navigating him blindly over side of the room.

"I'm sorry. I keep forgetting you can't see anything," Damon said, guiding the guitarist over to the foot of the bed. "There, now just sit there and I'll see if I have anything to...ehm...temporarily tape these up with," he said, in a voice too drawn out to be normal. It was good to know Damon's drinking wasn't much far behind him either.

"Um, here," Damon said as he placed something hard and black into Graham's hands. "Maybe there's something on the telly you can watch 'til I get back. I'm going to go down to the office and see if they have any tape."

Graham nodded, still only being able to see the fleshy blurry outline of his band mate and the room around him. "Right," he said, rather drunkenly.

He waited until Damon had left the room before blindly feeling for the power button on the remote. After a few seconds of troublesome eye-hand coordination practice and confusion, he finally managed to find the "On" button and heard the television buzz and click as it came on.

He squinted his eyes, trying to make sense of the pink and white shapes on the screen but failed to see much of anything despite his efforts. The sound coming through the speakers was confusing as well, a mixture of what sounded like grunts and men lifting heavy things. He wondered if he was watching one of those late night advertisements for an all-in-one body building exercise machine.

It didn't seem like very much time had passed before he heard Damon's hurried footsteps in the hallway, his keys jiggling in the lock, and the door opening loudly. Judging from his shortness in breath, it sounded as though he'd ran the whole way.

"Cor! Graham, I found some tape for your glasses--oh God." Damon's voice became very quiet very abruptly. Graham noticed he had stopped a few feet away from the television.

Quickly, he reached for the remote and turned off the television. "Graham, what were you watching?" he said slowly, as though he weren't really asking it.

Graham was confused. Couldn't Damon see what he was watching? He himself very well couldn't.

"I don't really know," he said, surprised that his voice was starting to sound a little bit more sober. "I couldn't see anything, but I figured it was probably an advertisement for a body-building what-cha-ma-call-it."

He watched as Damon's silhouette sat down on the bed across from him. He was acting rather weird, Graham thought. A few seconds passed as they sat together.

"Day?" Graham said quietly, breaking the silence between them. "Is something wrong?"

He watched as Damon fidgeted a little bit on the bed. "Graham," he said, clearing his throat. "You didn't notice you were watching porn?"

Graham's eyes widened. "Ehm....no." He felt very confused.

Damon paused. "Well...you were."

"I didn't hear any women, though." Graham pointed out, his other hand keeping his balance on the bed.

"Graham," Damon said quietly. "It wasn't the kind women are in."

"Oh."

There was another long, particularly awkward pause between the both of them.

"Well that's kind of awkward," Graham finally said, not really knowing how to respond to Damon's silence.

"But. I guess it's only makes sense. I mean, you know." Graham's hands reached up to rub his eyes, which seemed annoyingly dry from all the bourbon. "Gay people having porn too and all." He blinked, irritated that his eyeballs felt stuck to the inside of his eyelids.

"Did you fix my glasses?"

"Oh!" Damon jumped up a little bit from where he was sitting, as if he'd finally remembered why they were there. "Yeah, sorry. Here you go," he said, handing the folded up specs back to him.

Graham unfolded his glasses and put them on, blinking a couple of more times as he waited for his vision to focus.

"Damon, why are you blushing?"

The singer looked back at him coyly, not saying anything.

Suddenly, a wave of embarrassing realization swept over Graham. "Wait, you weren't watching that before we went to the bar, were you--" But he stopped as Damon turned even brighter red.

"Oh," he said, his face turning almost as red as Damon's. The light from the window behind the both of them was getting brighter, the warm glow of a red sun emerging over the horizon in the distance. Strangely, he thought the way the light spilled into the room made Damon look like he was glowing.

"Well, look. I'm no judge of other people's choices, you know," Graham said, his mouth finding it difficult to find the proper words. "I mean, if you want to eh...watch men have...or whatever...I don't think that's weird." He sniffled a bit. Now his nose felt really dry.

Graham watched as the singer opened his mouth a couple of times, but stopped mid breath, as though he couldn't find his voice. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded scratchier than usual. "Ehm, I'm sorry you had to see that. I didn't really want you to find out this way, if you know what I mean." He looked down at his feet.

Graham scratched the back of his head. He knew it would sound weird, but he had to ask. "So how long have you...?"

"Since college," he said abruptly, as if he already knew what Graham was going to ask. "Well...a little bit before that, but mostly it started at Goldsmiths."

"Did you ever...?" Graham was finding it very hard to finish his sentences.

"Date anyone?" Damon asked, looking up at him.

"Well, yeah."

"Um. A couple of people, really quietly," he said, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Though none of them were very good. That, and I didn't really want to attract much attention, if you know what I mean."

"So you never ended up really being with anyone?" Graham furrowed his eyebrows, feeling a little bit sad for him.

The singer shuffled his feet. "Well, the one person I really wanted to date kind of ruined me, I guess." He looked up again, but not at Graham, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"Was it anyone I would have known?" Graham couldn't help but be curious. He'd always had a sneaking suspicion that one of his peers at school had been hiding something, and the fact that they might have been Damon's crush made perfect sense. I mean, after all, it was an art school.

Damon moved his head side to side, as if he was contemplating something, then nodded. "Yeah, you knew him."

Graham grinned. "Well? Who was it? Was it Jamie?"

Damon coughed, a sound that was almost like a cross between a laugh and someone clearing their throat.

"No." Damon shook his head, smiling. "Although he does seem a little bit like a gay kid, doesn't he?" He chuckled.

Graham laughed and nodded his head. He was happy that the mood between them had started to pick up a bit finally. Behind them, he could see that the sun had already passed the horizon and was making blue and purple wisps of clouds in the sky. His heart and his eyes felt heavy. It was already morning and neither of them had slept at all.

Graham put his head in his hands, balancing his elbows on his knees and looking straight at Damon. "So? Who was it then? Who did you have a crush on?"

Damon looked up, and his eyes were sparkling. Graham couldn't tell if it was the sun or booze that made Damon's eyes look so bright, but he quickly forgot his train of and realized something very terrible. And several short seconds thereafter, exactly how much of an ass he had made out of himself.

"Um." Graham got up to his feet, suddenly very embarrassed and very pink. "I don't feel very good. I mean, I think I'm going to be sick. Excuse me--"

And with that, he quickly ran out the room, leaving Damon all alone, by himself.

**