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• Interlude (Thurston/Beck)	By : VinylTap Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Sonic Youth Views: 833 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
  Disclaimer: I do not know Beck or any of the members of Sonic Youth. This story is a work of fiction, and I make no money or profit from it.

• Chapter List
  • 1-Interlude (Thurston/Beck)
• • 1

• “Can you get it in more?” Beck watched with something like innocence, embarrassed by his own words. He was lain on his back on Kim and Thurston’s bed, dress shirt unbuttoned, chest partly exposed. The winding fabric of his undone tie off one shoulder, empty beer bottle in hand.

  At twenty-five, he still seemed too young to drink. Thurston had the receiver between his shoulder and ear, on the phone to Kim while holding Beck in place. She was away with their baby daughter, and Thurston was made to watch Sweetface, their cat.
  “Say hello, Beck,” Thurston said, and Beck murmured weakly, sounding more drunk than he was.
  “Kim says hi.”
  Beck smiled, somehow vulnerable, he spoke a bit louder, “…hi…”
  “He’s totally plastered,” Thurston said, and Beck called, “Dude, I am not…!”
  His lips were so red. His cheeks were so flushed, you’d wonder if it wasn’t scarlet fever, young as he looked.
  Thurston tried to hide the phone, turning slightly away, he murmured about having to take care of him.
  “Please,” Beck said, eyes closed, tugging weakly at Thurston’s sleeve, his fingertips trailed absently on his own naked abdomen. He was disrobed entirely from the waist down, Thurston’s wrist in his free hand, two fingers in him. He was practically crying, maybe because he was drunk after all, but you didn’t get that drunk off just one beer.
  He didn't really have just that one, though.
  “All right,” Thurston said, putting the phone away somewhere along the floor, together with the mess of items already there. “Where does it hurt? Right here?”
  He gently stroked him from the inside, Beck’s eyes were pure liquid. “It doesn’t hurt,” he said. He was hard against his own abdomen, one knee bent, the cloth edge of his dress shirt sliding just at his thigh.
  Thurston nodded, he asked, “You want more?” His voice infinitely gentle, Beck was so trusting somehow.
  “Yeah,”
  Beck said, he let go of the empty beer bottle on the mattress nearby, then reached for Thurston’s wrist with both hands. Eyes closed, he pressed him farther in, Thurston appeared like he’d meant to say something, but the words never came. He merely observed as Beck got the digits in all the way to the knuckle, like he really needed this, like it was painful without.
  “Easy,” Thurston said, voice very soft, “Has no one taken care of you?”
  “I don’t need to be taken care of,” Beck lied, but he clearly wasn't getting it right on his own.
  “You want this?”  Thurston asked, gently, he carefully stroked him inside; Beck’s lips came parted, the delicate lines of ribs visible at his chest with inspiration. Grip still too fucking tight. Beck had a way of appearing fragile, but Thurston didn’t underestimate him; there was mutual reverence between them never spoken in words, Beck appeared vulnerable either way.
  “What do you want me to do?” Thurston asked, and Beck didn’t respond straight away. His hips rose from the mattress, just a little, like he was fucking Thurston’s fingers in a useless attempt to be sated.
  “Can you do me,” he asked, it was simple and weighed with humility, with the naked implication he’d not ask if he could deal with it some other way.
  Thurston watched, eyes glinting, filled with compassion about this.
  “Yeah,” he said, “okay.”
  Beck wouldn’t let him pull out, though, he held his wrist tightly, and Thurston frowned. “Dude, I… you have to let go.”
  “Oh— ” Beck said simply, as though at a loss as understanding set in. “Sorry, yeah.”
   

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