The Party of the First Part

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Part 21

Phobos

Thom Yorke is afraid of the dark.

He would never admit it to anyone, of course. He imagines monsters hiding in the shadows, narrowed eyes following nervous fingers as he fumbles for the light switch in his room, clawed hands waiting to swipe at unsuspecting ankles from the gloom below the bed. He sits in the middle of his mattress with his feet tucked beneath him and never allows them to dangle over the side; they’ll catch him if he does, pull him down and eat his screams and work tendrils of horror into every dream he has. He’s glad for the streetlamp outside the window, leaving the curtains open and bathing the walls in its sodium glow. It keeps them at bay.

But he is nineteen now, and growing too old for such flights of fancy. Part of him, deep down, knows that there is nothing to fear; it’s dark, that’s all it is, and if it’s good enough for cats and owls he thinks it should be good enough for him. But another part of him is still compelled to check under the bed with a mirror before he gets up in the morning, and that part of him always breathes a shaky sigh of relief when it sees nothing more than the usual teenage rubbish of smelly socks and abandoned drinks cans and dirty magazines shoved out of sight of prying parents.

Jonny doesn’t have this problem, he thinks resentfully, when he yanks open the door of the wardrobe to stun the lurking demons into submission. Jonny loves the dark. But then, Jonny has problems of his own.

-----

Jonathan Greenwood is afraid of the light.

It reveals too much. Barely sixteen and painfully aware of the body he’s only starting to grow into, he sometimes wishes he could shut himself away from the harshness of the world by day. Light reveals the dirt in the fractures of this reality which is hidden by the night. It throws sharp relief on the death at the roadside and the filth in the gutters, all the ugliness and misery that turns gilt-edged in the dark. And light brings with it insecurity and guilt at who he is becoming. He keeps his mouth closed when he smiles and turns his eyes to the floor in the changing rooms because of the mirrors and the halogen strips overhead and the surrounding wealth of pale schoolboy limbs that do strange things to his insides. Light brings unwanted attention, he has found. Girls treat him with interested curiosity but his peers are wary at best and at worst outright hostile; in the viciously heterosexual world of English public schooling, someone like him is a threat, to be taunted from a safe distance and pushed to the boundaries of their self-contained community.

It was different for his brother, as he remembers. Colin, with his sunny disposition and quick wit, shrugged off the acidic barbs of his classmates and after a while they just accepted him as he was. Jonny is tarred with the same brush, yet he has no confidence or easy laughter to fall back on; however, he is a fast learner, and he knows now why they act as they do. It’s because they’re scared of him. And this knowledge brings him a special kind of power that they can never have.

This is another story – but Thom is scared of Jonny, too.

-----

The pair of them, the odd couple afraid of night and day, find an uneasy truce in the limbo of twilight. This time it’s Thom’s bed they’re sprawled across under the guise of a sleepover, but the house is empty and the door is locked and slim bare legs tangle together as semen soaks into the sheets and their heartbeats subside in slow tandem.

Thom raises his head from between Jonny’s shoulderblades, its habitual resting place. Jonny is on his stomach, arms folded beneath his chin while his gaze bores holes in the headboard. He hasn’t spoken since he came running up the stairs an hour ago with his shirt already half-off, dragged them both down on the mattress before rolling over onto his front in an open invitation for Thom to do to him what he always does. Thom can see a little of his profile, painted silver by the rising moon and the last gasp of January sun; his lips are pressed together in a thin line, a flush is creeping across his high cheekbones, and his eyes are full of winter tears. Thom doesn’t need to ask. He tucks a little of Jonny’s hair behind his ear, whispers against his jaw while their fingers clench simultaneously in the soiled sheets and they do it all over again. The teardrops on the pillow will dry out with time, and they don’t matter to Thom; what matters is that there is someone to love Jonny, because Jonny needs to be loved.

When it is over, with Jonny’s damp cheek nestled in the crook of Thom’s arm and sweaty-tacky skin clinging where they are joined, Thom admits to himself that Jonny frightens him. He is a paradox: quiet and unquiet, sure and unsure, innocent and guilty, so young but at the same time so old, older than Thom thinks he will ever be. And beautiful. Thom sees in Jonny what other boys don’t; that if you stare hard enough into his eyes they aren’t brown at all, that in the dying sun there are a million nameless colours in the blackness of his hair, that his lower lip pulled under a nervous overbite is one of the most precious things in the world. It frightens Thom that Jonny can’t – won’t – realise this for himself, and that his fragile spirit is crushed thoughtlessly by the whims of those who don’t stop to look a moment longer. Jonny, pressed against Thom’s side, thinks similar things of his older friend, but breathes in the smell of sex and smiles gently as he settles into Thom’s embrace. Thom is too predictable. Jonny will never be scared of him.

And, wrapped in each other, they’ll learn to leave their fears behind.

Oily Water

You're seeing someone else, and I know it. I see the bruises on your hips when you pull up your jeans, the scratches on your back when you step into the shower, and you take no pains to hide them. It's a slap in the face, an outright declaration of infidelity, a dare to me to say something. I know you think that I won't. Because in acknowledging it, I have to admit to myself that I can no longer hold on to you, and you are my world - the sun, the moon, the stars, are you - which is something I can't afford to lose.

We make love regular as clockwork in hotel beds, your mouth open under mine but silent, features painted in red and white and black like a tin soldier. I want to scream at you and shake you because you frighten me, so cold and empty, and I wonder if you indulge my desperation out of a sense of duty to the one who had you first. Sometimes when we used to go out I would see others looking at you in the way that I do now, and I always wanted to cling to you and scream mine mine mine because I needed the world to know that a bloke like you could fall for a bloke like me and it could be beautiful.

Now I'm not so sure.

You say ugly things, when no one else is there to hear them. Ask me to hit you, call you names, put it here, there, go faster, rougher, and I never can. Your mouth isn't made for those words. Your body isn't made for the tender abuse you crave. And when I can't give you what you ask for, I know you get it somewhere else, from someone who's not seen you open up like a summer flower under the gentle caress of years, someone who never knew you as a wide-eyed silly child.

When you were thirteen we danced in your garden, a New Order song playing on the kitchen radio. You were smaller than me, the last time I remember you being so, and giggling because you were so bad. I told you to kick off your shoes, and you stood on my feet, our hands and hips pressed together, as we moved in slow circles around the lawn. Your mum laughed at us, and when she turned her back, you kissed me. When you asked me if it was all right, if I liked it, I told you I did because I couldn't lie to you even then - you always saw straight through me - and we kissed again, lips brushing chastely against the other's until the song ended and your mum called us in for tea. We didn't speak of it for months, until you came to me in tears, just after your brother passed his university entrance exams. You asked if I remembered when we kissed, and I said yes, and we did it again. I pushed you back on my bed where I had lain and touched myself and thought of your lips, and we spread out like starfish, my limbs now too short to cover yours. I mouthed salt from your cheeks and pushed myself against you, past the point of thinking that you were too young and scared for this, so that when you shuddered and jerked beneath me you surprised me more than yourself.

You told me you loved me. I believed you, and I whispered the same words in your ear some weeks later, when you asked me to go inside you for the first time. I was reluctant - I didn't want to hurt you - but I did it, and you winced and bit your lip a little, fingers curled against the pillow, and your eyes were damp but you wouldn't let the tears fall as you tried to hide your pain from me. I love you, I love you, I murmured, stroking your sides. You smiled and asked if I would go harder, and I did, until a little broken cry was worked from your throat with each thrust. I stopped then because I knew that wasn't right, and I saw your smile falter until I told you I loved you again, and everything was better, if only for a while.

Looking back, I wonder whether our seeds of doubt were already sown.

Now you say that if I loved you I would do it, and I argue that if you loved me then you wouldn't ask me to. It's a vicious circle of shifting blame. I start to watch you when I know you can't see me looking. I know the way you press the bruises laid upon your body by foreign hands when you lie in the bed beside mine at night, and I know the satisfaction on your face when you do it. I know the way you tear your skin when I won't tear it for you. I know the glass bottles in your washbag and I know what the things they hold can do to you. I know the quaver in your voice and in your gaze when you have to see how sad I am for you. I still tell you I love you, but now I never hear it back.

I feel like I'm drowning. I would, if I thought it would make you want me again.

One day I screw up all my courage and tell you that I know I'm not good enough for you any more. I see you cry for the first time in years, because you understand that this means it's over. I expect harsh words, I expect your voice dripping venom, but I haven't prepared myself for tears. You hug me. I card my fingers through your hair as my shoulder grows wet with your sobs, and realise that the child in me who wanted to hold you tightly and shriek mine mine mine is just you, tucked into a corner of my skull. I murmur to you again that I still love you, and again you don't return my words.

The little bottles in the washbag are empty, now. You smile a brittle fractured smile and throw them in the bin.

Favours for Favours

Lately, when Jonny speaks, Thom hears other people's words coming out of his mouth.

They're in some godforsaken hotel room in the dark back streets of London, which is Jonny's idea. Just one night, to pretend that they aren't famous, that they aren't rockstars, that they aren't millionaires - that they're just Thom and Jonny like, once upon a time, they were. The curtains are stained with nicotine and the windows are dark with grime. The bed is barely wide enough for one person and Thom has already offered to take the floor, which is just as well because Jonny is folded like an oversized paper crane on the mattress with its yellow-grey sheets, his blue shirt darkened at the collar with hot sweat, and there's not much room for anyone else. Thom sits on the window ledge, looking out at the neon lights and sodium haze of the city, arms folded across his chest. Jonny has an ashtray balanced on one knee, the fingers of his left hand curled around an empty shot glass while the right is occupied with the cigarette Thom has passed to him.

"Would you fuck me, if I asked you to?"

Thom looks up. Jonny's watching him through sad eyes, pupils blown wide with the dim light and unseen things creeping through his bloodstream. Of all the people in the world who could have gone off the rails, Jonny is the last he would have thought of, but there you go. Jonny's as much a mystery as he ever was, and more.

"I don't know," he says honestly. And then: "Besides, you haven't asked."

Jonny's lips quirk into an artificial grin, and he holds out the shot glass. "More," he murmurs, like a child demanding sweets. Thom sighs, but he lifts the bottle of cheap vodka from the bedside table and pours it out. Some of it overspills and dribbles down Jonny's fingers, and his tongue darts out to lap at them as he drains the glass. Thom pretends he doesn't see the little coloured pills slipping from Jonny's palm to his mouth, because Jonny is twenty-five years old, enough to take care of himself, and Thom isn't his mother. The younger man puts the glass down beside the bottle, stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray and places it on the edge of the window ledge by Thom's bare foot.

"Come here?" he asks plaintively, patting the sheets. His hands are long and slim like empty gloves, and though he wants to resist, Thom clambers down from his perch and arranges himself awkwardly in the few square inches of available space. Their shoulders and knees brush together and he laughs nervously, but Jonny just gives that disarming grin again and ducks his head immediately to hide it. His hair is damp where it tickles Thom's bare arm, and Thom flicks at it.

"Y'need to get this cut," he says idly. "You look like a girl."

Jonny peers out from behind his fringe. His eyes are more green than brown in this light, though nearly eclipsed by inky blackness; he pouts a little, lips catching on crooked teeth, and his tongue pokes out to moisten them. "You don't mean that."

Thom looks at him, and frowns. "Yeah, I do. That's why - that's why you ask -"

"I haven't, though," Jonny says, eyelids fluttering dreamily. He bends towards Thom, and Thom can smell the alcohol on his breath, and other things, but what he feels is the warm hand that lands on his groin and squeezes gently, and what he hears is the low chuckle that escapes Jonny's throat at discovering he's hard. "But, maybe..." and his head drops to Thom's lap as clever fingers fumble with buttons and zips. His skin burns Thom through the thick denim.

"Jon, what are you doing?" Thom says. He should be stopping this, he knows, but his hands stay uselessly at his sides. He's a spectator in his own body.

Jonny's face is earnest and serious as he looks up at Thom. "This is me, asking," he says, plucking at Thom's waistband. His fingers hook inside and draw it down and something screams loud and red inside Thom's head - stop it, get off, tell him you can't - but his trousers are round his knees by the time he slaps Jonny's questing hands away.

"Don't. Please."

He hopes he imagines the tears in Jonny's voice. "Why?"

"Because - because you aren't you. You're someone else."

Jonny glances down at his hands, now lying passively in his lap, and shakes his head as though trying to clear it. There's a fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead which Thom tries not to worry about, because the room is cold and Thom's own hands are almost numb with it. "I'm me," he whispers.

"Do you even know who that is?" Thom knows he's being hard with him, but he can't help it. "Is that what all of this was about? Trying to find us again?"

Jonny doesn't look up, and it's an answer in itself.

Thom leans across and kisses him, and tastes chemicals on his lips. Jonny smiles a funeral smile as he falls back on the blankets, long lashes dusting his cheekbones, and Thom has an inexplicable urge to slap the expression right off his face. He doesn't. What he does is to roll Jonny over and tug down his jeans, dig one sharp elbow in the small of his back and pin him to the bed. Jonny mumbles quietly, words too slurred to make sense. His long limbs are limp and heavy when Thom pushes his thighs apart; he's too far gone now to struggle. Thom licks a line up his spine, salt and sweat and something that isn't Jonny at all; and then he spreads Jonny open and lets his tongue drag lower, with a sick thrill of satisfaction when the body beneath his shudders in protest.

"Thmmm -" Jonny begins. Thom raises his head and sees the familiar achingly beautiful face turned against the pillow, lips parted on a moan; Jonny's eyes are wide open but unseeing, fixed on middle-distance as his brow creases in confusion. He licks again, turning the moan into a high whine, and slips in his fingers where his mouth was before.

"Thom," Jonny hisses. "Hnnnnnhh... nnnnno..."

There's a small, vicious place deep inside Thom, and that's where he retreats now. "Shut up. You wanted this. Be fair -" and he kneels up, hands finding purchase on Jonny's wrists, and pushes into him in one long, slow stroke.

Jonny doesn't scream or cry like he would have done in Thom's head. He lies there, patient, while Thom settles against his back, and murmurs a soft 'oh' when Thom brushes that secret spot inside him. Thom lays his head between the other boy's shoulderblades, their racing heartbeats pounding in his ears, and feels unnaturally warm skin and the trembling of overwraught muscles beneath his cheek. Jonny's breath hitches with the tiniest of dry, broken sobs. It isn't love; it isn't sex; it's not even fucking like Jonny asked for; it's the sound of two people falling apart together.

Later - seconds, minutes, hours - Thom comes. Jonny doesn't. Thom helps the younger man to the cramped bathroom, sits him up beside the toilet, makes sure Jonny doesn't choke to death when he vomits, tilts a plastic cup of cold water to flushed lips, and realises this is enough for him. Just to watch as the other man puts one foot in front of the other, just to hold his hand through bad times, just to pick up the pieces when he breaks. He smiles when Jonny tells him he loves him, because he knows they're not Jonny's words.

They can go on pretending, just for a while.

Nox est perpetua una dormienda

There was a ray of sunlight cutting through one of the high gymnasium windows, falling directly onto his exam paper. He squinted at it while he finished his final line of writing with a flourish, a small inner part of him leaping in joy as he glanced at the big clock in the front of the exam hall, where the hands were ticking down the last three minutes until half past four and blessed freedom.

The boy at the desk in front of him had red-blond hair that caught the sunshine like spun gold. He was tapping a rhythm against the table leg with the side of his shoe, and Jonny surreptitiously underlaid it with the syncopated beat of his biro on the edge of his pencil case. A bee was buzzing lazily around one of the light fittings; some students who had completed their papers were following its languorous path with dulled eyes and slack mouths, their blazers abandoned over the backs of chairs and their ties loosened in a futile attempt to cool down. The almost intolerable heat of the room was barely alleviated by the open door onto the playing field.

“Please stop writing now,” came the voice of the invigilator from the front desk, and like a ripple spreading on the surface of a stagnant pond, a shuffle and murmur echoed around the hall as a hundred pens were set down and a hundred answer booklets were closed. Jonny sat back, stretching out with legs extended and arms folded behind his head, until papers were collected and they were dismissed; and then he unfolded himself from his chair, Latin anthology clutched under one arm, gathering his schoolbag from the back of the hall and discarding blazer and tie even before he'd escaped through the door and was haring off across the field towards the wall, and the road, and summer.

A small group of older boys waited for him in the shade of one of the trees that lined the avenue in front of the school. They looked like the kind of group that boys of his age were warned about: a Bad Influence, the Scourge of Society, lackadaisical layabouts who would Come To a Bad End. Jonny, of course, knew better; those boys had been his only real friends for the past four years. There was his brother, heading the little welcome committee, and his insides gave an uneasy jolt at the duality of emotions that seeing Colin always stirred in him. Colin's hair had already grown long enough during his first year at university that their mother had threatened to take a pair of shears to it when they'd greeted him off the train in Oxford, and he was wearing a stripy boatneck top that he'd pilfered out of their sister's wardrobe. Jonny, at two and a half years younger, already had to bend down into the brief hug that they exchanged, relishing the comforting sensation of the slim hard body pressed up against his, the familiar scent that both calmed him and quickened his pulse in a way that made his stomach churn.

“Ahhhhh, little Jon-Jon, all grown up,” Thom snickered, hovering at Colin's elbow and shattering the moment. He was the only one of the group who'd watched Jonny's gradual metamorphosis in the past nine months from awkward, gangly teenager into something more self-assured, having taken a year out from school; his hair was the same red-gold as that of the boy who'd sat in front of Jonny, and it caught the sun in the same way. Philip, on the other hand, the oldest of their group, appeared to have lost even more up top, and was hiding the fact under an ill-advised Indian-style hat. Ed, someone that Jonny had always regarded with something approaching awe, was slightly fuzzy in a vague cloud of pot smoke, but less coolly aloof than he'd ever seemed before. This was the first time they'd all been together since Christmas, and Jonny could already sense the changes happening, giving him a pleasant tingle in his stomach.

“Leave the poor boy alone, Thom.” That was Ed, he and his awful bowl-cut looming large over the heads of the others; he leaned over and plucked the Latin anthology from Jonny's hands, snorting as he did so. “Just think about it, Jon – no more Latin, ever!”

As they began to drift towards the town centre, Ed flipped through the book, with Thom adding snide interjections whenever they came across something that amused them.

“I like Latin,” Jonny protested faintly, aware of Colin's presence bristling at Ed and Thom's attitude.

“Yeah, but, it's dead, isn't it?” Thom reasoned. He had a cigarette out now, pinned between short nailbitten fingers, dragging on it furiously as they walked. “You seriously aren't taking it next year, are you?”

“Well, no, but -”

“Ha, see?” Thom interrupted triumphantly. “Dead.”

“It's not dead, Thom,” Colin said, reaching for the book, which Ed held out of reach until the smaller boy gave up. “You two are such philistines. And since when aren't you taking it next year, Jon?” he added in an aside to his brother. “You ought to study one foreign language at least, and I know it's not going to be French...”

Jonny blushed. He was notoriously awful at French, something which had been a constant source of irritation to Colin, and was dreading exam results day and Colin's inevitable disappointment at his French marks. “It was Latin or psychology, Cozzie,” he said pleadingly. “And, well, I thought psychology would be more useful in the long run...” He trailed off under Colin's searching gaze, holding his breath until Colin nodded and gave him a fond smile.

“I'm glad you're thinking of your future, Jon,” he said, reaching over and ruffling Jonny's hair affectionately until the younger boy ducked up from under his arm and hid behind Phil.

“Psychology?” Thom said curiously, pulling a strand of green licorice from somewhere about his person and chewing thoughtfully on the end of it in between puffs from his cigarette. “Does that mean you're going to start psychoanalysing all of us?”

“No one needs to psychoanalyse you, we already know you're a nutter,” Ed put in without looking up from the Latin book. “Hey Jon, is there any sex in all this rubbish? I've forgotten most of my Latin.”

Thom stubbed the cigarette out on the wall of the next house they passed, looking over Ed's arm at the book and rolling his eyes. “There's never any sex, Ed. They don't put that stuff in the O-level books.”

“It's GCSEs now,” Jonny pointed out quietly, and Thom grinned.

“It's all the same thing. Anyway, yeah, they don't put sex in books for sixteen-year-olds, you're not supposed to know that stuff yet. I bet Jon-Jon doesn't, he's still pure as the driven snow, aren't you? You should see him, it's hysterical, every time a girl talks to him he practically falls through the floor in mortification...”

Colin punched him on the arm hard enough that Thom yelped in indignation. “That's my little brother you're talking about, watch it.” But his eyes had turned to Jonny, questioning. “What's this about girls, Jon? What girls?”

Jonny could have sworn that time slowed down in the few yards that they walked between Colin's question and his own answer. He looked down at his hands, clutching his blazer and tie and the strap of his bag, feeling the familiar sensation of colour rising in his cheeks. “It's nothing. Just some townies.”

Thom was half-howling with laughter. “They think it's funny to ask him out and see his reaction,” he explained, the string of partially chewed licorice hanging disgustingly out of the corner of his mouth. “They're a bunch of ugly slags, anyway. Nowhere near good enough for our Jon-Jon. Anyway, maybe you'll meet some girls who are worth it at Ed's party tonight, he knows all the laydeez.” He nudged Jonny's side with the point of one sharp elbow and Jonny squirmed away, knowing that Colin was still watching him.

They had reached the pond where they'd frequently hung out the previous summer, sheltered from the worst of the afternoon sun by tall, broad-leafed trees whose branches waved languidly in the gentlest of gentle breezes. In the shadows, the occasional silver flash of a timid fish could be seen; Thom and Jonny had been in the habit of feeding them bits of bread back in the spring, when boredom gave them nothing else to do.

“Why don't you chuck the bloody book away?” Ed suggested, holding it out with one long arm over the still surface of the water. “It's not like you need it any more, is it?”

“We could burn it,” Thom said encouragingly, sucking the end of the licorice through his lips like a strand of spaghetti and licking his sticky fingers.

“I don't believe you lot,” Colin said huffily, as Jonny jettisoned his schoolbag and blazer and sank to the ground at the foot of the wall around the pond and Ed continued to leaf through the Latin anthology. “Just because he's finished his course doesn't mean he should chuck away all his material. If you're going to discard things as soon as you've learned them you might as well not bother in the first place.”

Jonny silently considered jumping into the argument to point out that although he liked Latin he didn't exactly plan on committing everything he'd learned to memory, but since Colin always acted so hurt if Jonny backed up any of the others instead of him, he decided that it wasn't worth the trouble, especially since Colin was already so worked up over the stupid book. He picked up a stick and sketched a flower in the dirt at his feet, pretending that he wasn't listening to the others.

“It's paper, it's biodegradable, if that's what you're worried about,” Thom was saying, as he kicked off his battered trainers and clambered onto the wall so that he could throw stones and skim his bare toes in the water.

“I don't think any fish ever died from eating Latin,” Phil added helpfully

“Hey, this one's got lesbians in it,” Ed piped up, squinting at one dog-eared page, and Phil and Thom's attentions were diverted. “Catullus 5...” He put on a dramatic voice. “Vivamus mea Lesbia... my lesbians?”

Colin gave a loud, long-suffering sigh. “Edward, if you'd paid any attention in Latin at all, you'd know that was a singular and not a plural. Mea Lesbia... my Lesbia, Ed. It's a woman's name.”

Thom sniggered. “A dykey woman's name.”

“No, it's not,” Colin snapped, snatching the book from Ed's hands and clearing his throat. “Lesbia was the woman that Catullus was in love with, and a lot of people think she was actually a woman called Clodia, who was the wife of a Roman senator. In the poem he's urging her to disregard the rumours in the senate, saying that they should live only for each other, because they have so little time in the grand scheme of things. Here, listen...”

And as he began to read from the book, Jonny found himself pinned against the wall by the force of his brother's gaze, the passion in his voice matching the cold fire in his eyes as his lips and tongue formed the strange, foreign words.

“Vivamus mea Lesbia, atque amemus,
rumoresque senum severiorum
omnes unius aestimemus assis!
soles occidere et redire possunt:
nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,
nox est perpetua una dormienda.
da mi basia mille, deinde centum,
dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,
deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.
dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,
conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,
aut ne quis malus inuidere possit,
cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.”

There was a brief silence after that; and then both Ed and Thom dissolved into helpless giggles.

“You're the gayest nerd that ever lived, Coz,” Thom informed Colin, jumping down off the wall, pulling on his trainers and grabbing hold of Jonny's arm to haul the younger boy to his feet. “Come on, up you get. Don't want to be late for the party, I know what you girls are like.” At which he and Ed started giggling again, and didn't stop until they had parted ways for their respective houses, leaving Colin and Jonny to complete the journey to their own home alone. Colin was cheerful enough, chatting away about things that went in one of Jonny's ears and out the other; but later, when they were home and Colin was fixing cold drinks and snacks for the pair of them, there was a calculated iciness to the hard glances he threw Jonny's way that left Jonny in no doubt of what that earlier display had been about. It was a warning; a warning to remember who he belonged to, to be certain that he wouldn't forget himself at the party. A reminder of where his loyalties lay.

A Collab in Three Parts That Has Yet To Be Named

[warning: contro]

Part One Of A Collab That Will Someday Hopefully Have A Name

“Your guitar?” Rob mumbled over a mouthful of Golden Grahams, without looking up from the telly.

“What?”

“Guitar. I thought you were leaving to go see Colin, who you’re in a band with. Maybe you’ll need your guitar this weekend.” Rob shoved in another spoonful of cereal.

“Right,” Ed said. “My guitar. Thanks.” He grabbed it from where it was leaning against the bed and put it in its case, long fingers snapping it shut.

“Anytime. Least I can do for letting me borrow your telly for the match tomorrow.”

“Just don’t get caught smoking in my room this time.”

“Hey! I’m a changed man from three weeks ago. I know the rules: No smoking in Ed’s room without Ed around to sweet talk our way out of trouble.”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Seriously, I don’t want to get back tomorrow night to find that I’ve been kicked out of school.”

Rob saluted in Ed’s general direction. “Aye, sir.” Ed grabbed his backpack and guitar and hurried to catch his train.

///

“Your toothbrush?” Mrs Greenwood said.

“What?”

“You’re going to see your brother this weekend and you need your toothbrush.”

“I was getting to that.” Jonny slid past his mother who hovering in the doorway. He walked down the hallway to grab his toothbrush from the bathroom sink, his mum two steps behind.

“No, you were trying to figure out how to carry all of your albums along with your guitar with no thought to the basic necessities like clean underwear and toothbrushes.”
Jonny waved the toothbrush at his mother. “It’s not like a toothbrush takes up any room.”

“Toothpaste.”

“Muuuuum, I can just borrow it from Colin. I spend the night at Thom’s house all the time, I know how to pack for an overnight trip.”

Jonny’s speech was rewarded with a crushing hug from his mother. He squirmed and whined, “If we don’t leave soon, I’m going to miss my train.” Jonny finally worked his way out of his mother’s arms, walked into his room and shoved his toothbrush down the side pocket of his overnight bag. He hoisted the heavy pack onto his shoulder and grabbed his guitar.

“I just can’t believe that my baby, my little Jonny, is going away by himself for the weekend.”

“Colin’s going to be there; it’s not like I’m on my own,” Jonny said, following his mum down the narrow stairs to car outside.

They drove in silence for the first part of the trip, but as soon as they were in view of the train station, she picked up where she had left off.

“Now, I know that your brother probably is going to take you out to the pubs and stuff, but I don’t want you out there drinking too much and getting robbed in some back alley.”

“Mum, I’m not stuuupid.”

“And if you’re brother is smoking cigarettes, I don’t want to hear about it and I don’t want you involved in that. Is that clear? If I find out you've smoked one cigarette, you're grounded until your birthday. Your 21st birthday!!”

Jonny rolled his eyes and opened his door.

“Jonathan?” she said sternly.

“I promise to not smoke cigarettes no matter how much Cozzie tries to tell me that it’s cool.”

“Or that, that! marijuana!”

“I’m going to be late.” Jonny firmly shut the car door and half-skipped into the train station.

///

Colin was waiting on the cold wooden bench when Ed’s train pulled up. Ed was always easy to spot, ducking as he exited the train. Colin stood up and waved at Ed, not wanting to give up his seat. Ed came over and plopped his stuff next to Colin, Colin sliding his backpack over to make room for Ed.

“Jonny not here yet?” Ed asked, carefully enunciating the name.

He and Colin shared a look.

“Mum rang a short bit ago to let me know that Jonny was on his train.” Colin checked his watch. “Probably be here in about 15 minutes.”

Ed settled back to wait. “Good.”

They waiting in silence as a couple more trains arrived and departed. Jonny's train arrived and Jonny was the first one off, looking thinning than normal as he lugged a huge bag and guitar. The two boys waved him over to their bench as Ed gathered his things.

Jonny hugged his brother and then grinned up at Ed. "I didn't know you were going to be here this weekend." His glance fell to the bench. "And you brought your guitar! Awesome!"

Ed looked at Colin, then answered Jonny with an "of course."

"Shall we head to my place?" Colin asked. They walked through the station and outside to the carpark. Colin dipped his hand into his bag, pulled out a box of cigarettes and opened it to Jonny.

"Thanks," Jonny said, grabbing one as he dug around in his jacket pocket to locate his lighter. He lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply. "Nothing is better than a smoke after a long train journey."

"Nothing?" Colin said, raising an eyebrow at his brother. Ed laughed.

Jonny felt like he had missed the joke. "So, what are we up to today," he asked to change the subject.

///

They dropped their bags off at Colin's room and Colin took them on a tour of campus, showing them some of the more historical buildings and entertaining them with stories about the sort of hijinks he and friends had gotten up to.

They stopped in Colin's favorite pub for an early dinner. Colin recommended the vegetable lasagne, so Jonny and Ed decided to split a pepperoni pizza. After their meal, Colin lit up a cigarette, leaned back in his chair and seemingly out of no where asked Jonny, "So, you've got a girlfriend yet?"

Jonny blushed. "You know I don't like girls." He started tearing his pizza crust into little bits.

"Boys, then, like your brother," Ed said, reaching across the table to ruffle Colin's hair.

"You're one to fucking talk," Colin said to Ed, smoothing his hair back into place. Ed smiled widely at Colin.

"Not boys, either," Jonny mumbled to his plate. "You know, if I wanted to be harassed, I could have stayed at home. At least Mum has the decency to mind her own business about my private life."

"Jonny, relax. We're just curious," Ed said. "We could probably find you a bird for tonight."

Jonny blushed an even deeper red and tried to say something, but nothing came out.

Colin put his arm around Jonny. "Edward, be nice. If Jonny has no interest in this, we can leave him to his monkish life."

"I'm not a monk," Jonny said. "For your information, I've kissed plenty of girls."

"You have not," Colin said.

"Well, I could have if I wanted to, but I didn't want to."

"You told Thom over Christmas break that you were afraid you were going to die a virgin."

Jonny stared at Colin. "That was private! Thom wasn't supposed to talk to your stupid face."

Colin continued calmly. "He said he offered to set you up with Angela Jones and you refused."

"Angie?" Ed chimed in. "She has always been a bit of a slut. She was my first kiss and gave me my first blowjob." Ed nodded to himself.

"What?!" Colin exclaimed. "You never told me that!" He spat on the floor. "That's disgusting. The places your cock has been."

Ed shrugged. "I'd claim that it was my way with the ladies, but really I was so drunk I don't remember much except promising her that it wouldn't taste that bad." Ed laughed. Both the Greenwoods looked sort of ill.

"See!" Jonny said. "I don't want my first time to be like that."

"It won't be," Ed said smiling at him.

"Thank you," Jonny said. "Can we go now?"

They got up and headed back to Colin's room, Jonny saying little and walking a few steps behind Ed and Colin. They tried to include him in their conversation, but he stubbornly refused to cooperate.

The Second Part Of A Collab That Will Someday Hopefully Have A Name, In Which Jonny Gets a Proposal

Colin's room had very thin walls, Jonny thought, as he curled his legs underneath him on the narrow bed and tried to ignore the high-pitched moans of the girl next door and the rhythmic banging of the headboard on the shared partition. He sipped a bit at the drink Colin had poured for him and grimaced. It was his third glass now, and it really didn't taste very much like orange juice, to be honest, although Colin had assured him that it was just rather cheap - he was a student, after all - before slipping out to the shop down the street, ostensibly to buy some more food. It occurred to Jonny that he'd been gone an awful long time for fetching a loaf of bread and some biscuits.

That left Jonny and Ed behind in Colin's room. Alone.

Jonny didn't really know what to say to Ed. As far as he knew, they didn't have very much in common, except for Colin - not that Ed would know about that, of course, unless Colin was spilling more of their secrets to undeserving ears, and in any case... well. He didn't know, it might be perfectly normal for an older brother to teach his younger sibling to kiss... or to wank... or any number of the things Colin had enlightened him to over the years. Jonny had always had a vague idea that Colin was slightly odd (he was pretty sure Thom had never done any of those things for Andy, for example), but that was just Colin. Open, selfless, generous, and completely shameless.

But he knew that Ed had been on sports teams at school, whereas Jonny couldn't even kick a ball in the right direction; he knew that Ed had been in the drama club and had seen him in a few school plays, whereas Jonny was shy enough that the mere idea of getting up on stage and talking was utterly mortifying; and he knew that Ed was handsome and well-liked and popular with everyone. It wasn't that Jonny was unpopular by any means, but Ed seemed to like being surrounded by people, all hanging on his every word, and that kind of attention had never appealed to Jonny.

So he was really at a loss for what to say to break the silence that had fallen over the room. Ed was flicking through a dirty magazine that had been in Colin's desk drawer, and Jonny blushed a little at some of the things he could see upside-down from his vantage point. Did Colin like that sort of thing, he wondered. He'd never talked about things like that - Ed squinted at a particularly flexible double-page spread and adjusted the crotch of his jeans, as though Jonny wasn't even in the room - when he and Jonny had discussed sex; it was all about what Jonny was interested in, what Jonny liked, or what Jonny thought he would like, because after all he really hadn't done anything of note in his sixteen years.

He blinked, a hot flush rising in his cheeks, as Ed shifted in his seat and the bulge in his trousers became very evident. Ed was... he... well, if Colin was getting that on a regular basis, no wonder he'd not had much time for Jonny this year.

"It won't be," Ed said smiling at him.

What had Ed meant by that? All those little nudges and winks between him and Colin, the whispered asides during their meal that Jonny hadn't been able to hear although they were done in plain view of him, and now Colin rushing off and leaving them alone like this, and Ed... Jonny wasn't stupid. Was Ed trying to seduce him? His initial thought was that the idea was ridiculous, because Colin would never let him, but on second thought Colin liked to share, and he was fiercely protective of Jonny and if there was any way that Colin was going to ensure Jonny's first time was everything he wanted it to be, it would be to leave him in Ed's very large and very capable hands.

Those hands which had not turned the page in the last three minutes Jonny had unconsciously been staring at them.

He jumped, and spilled half a glass of probably-not-just-orange-juice down his shirt. Ed was smiling at him in a very knowing way, the sort of way that said, "Crawl across the floor and suck me off right now, I know you want to." The sort of way that said, "I'm imagining you naked right now." The sort of way that when he actually said, "Colin wants me to be your first time, Jon", Jonny had to pinch his own arm hard to assure himself that he hadn't been imagining it.


The Third Part Of A Collab That Will Someday Hopefully Have A Name, In Which Jonny May or May Not Accept A Proposal

Jonny was still staring at Ed as Ed grabbed a roll of paper towels off the desk and walked over and sat on the bed next to Jonny, unrolling a handful and dabbing up the spilled orange juice from Jonny's shirt and where it had pooled in his lap.

Jonny sat perfectly still and made no move to assist in the clean up. He had no idea what to say. What does one say in a situation like this? He was conscious of the gentle way Ed was pressing against his chest, how he could hear Ed breathing, of how near Ed was.

As if Ed was reading his thoughts, Ed leaned to the side of Jonny and whispered a quiet "So, what do you think?" Ed's lips just inches from Jonny's ear.

"I don't know," Jonny confessed, even as the voice in his head was saying, "yes, yes, yes."

Jonny felt cool air on his stomach as his shirt was lifted up; Jonny automatically raised his arms to help. Ed got the shirt off and easily tossed it to the other side of the room. Jonny felt a large hand grasp the back of his head as another hand circled his waist and Ed was leaning in, tilting his head, closing his eyes, placing his lips on Jonny's lips. Oooh. Jonny felt his heart beating fast and he was afraid to move, worried that he would do something, ruin the moment. Ed's tongue was demanding entry between Jonny's clenched jaw and Jonny opened his mouth slightly and felt the alien feeling of another's tongue in his mouth. The feeling was odd and Jonny was scarcely aware of anything else: barely aware he way he was reciprocating his tongue in Ed's mouth, barely aware the building of pressure in his trousers.

Ed pulled back, Jonny arching his neck forward to try and keep contact. "What do you think now?" Ed asked.

"Yeth?" Jonny answered, afraid to go forward, too curious, too turned on not to. Ed's arm reached out to the desk and he opened a side drawer and grabbed out a tube, nonchalantly laying it on the bed next to his thigh.

Jonny froze again, his eyes glued to the lubricate and the realization of what he had just agreed to.

"It's ok," Ed said, lifting Jonny's chin with one hand to lick and kiss along his jawline. "I'll take good care of you." Jonny trusted what he had said and let himself be pushed back on Colin's bed, Ed on top of him, a comforting weight.

This time when Ed pressed his lips to Jonny's, Jonny found himself kissing back instantly. Ed slid to the side of Jonny, unbuttoned his trousers and slid his hand down, fingernails lightly raking across skin, his mouth never losing contact with Jonny's mouth.

The sound of a key in the lock startled Jonny out of the moment and he whirled his head to look at the door. "Just Colin," Ed said and used his free hand to turn Jonny's head back to him.

Colin, unsteady on his feet, surveyed the scene. "I was gone for three drinks; I thought you'd be done by now. You've barely started. I'll just go back out for another few drinks, I suppose." He turned to leave.

"Stay!" Jonny called out desperately to Colin's back. Realizing how he sounded, he tried to cover it up. "I mean, I don't care if you're here." For a split second, he wondered if Ed was going to be mad at him for saying that, but if Ed had any idea how good the sensation of Ed's fingers closing around Jonny's cock right then felt, he must have approved of the idea.

Colin closed the door with a heavy swing came and sat in an ungraceful plop onto the bed. He pointed at Ed. "You have far too many clothes on." Ed obediently slid off the bed to start taking off his shoes.

He turned to Jonny. "You, too. I know you're new at this, but I thought you'd have the basics down."

Jonny pulled his feet up and put them in Colin's lap, just as he used to do when they were little boys and Jonny wanted Colin to tie his shoes for him. Colin fumbled with the knots and eventually settled for just pulling off Jonny's shoes. Jonny moved his legs back to where they had started and brazenly pulled Colin down into a kiss. Colin kissed back and then broke off with a laugh. "Fast learner. Or maybe you're just an easy drunk."

Ed rejoined them on the bed, knelt by Jonny's hips and finished taking off Jonny's pants and trousers leaving Jonny laying naked on the bed, exposed and aroused. Ed then maneuvered his way so he was kneeling in between Jonny's bent legs. He applied the lube to his hands and gave Jonny's cock a few strokes before slowly sliding a finger up Jonny. Jonny had sort of known that it was coming - Colin was free with his discussions of such things - but Colin hadn't explained how it felt and Jonny wasn't entirely sure that he liked this. That wasn't quite right: he wasn't sure that he liked that he liked it so much.

Colin saw his discomfort and began running his fingers up and down Jonny's chest, as if he was counting and recounting ribs. "Are you ok?" he asked and Jonny nodded. He felt Ed grab his ankles and pull them up to Ed's shoulders. Then Jonny didn't feel anything but the sensation of Ed pushing into him.

"It hurts," Jonny desperately said to Colin.

Colin smoothed back Jonny's hair from his forehead. "It's ok. Relax." Colin reached a hand down and gave Jonny's cock a few strokes. "Better?" he asked and Jonny nodded. He should have said better and better because as much as having Ed inside of him hurt, it also felt good ... better than good. Amaaaaaazing, even, as his brother was fond of saying.

Jonny breathing increased and he heard unbidden soft moans coming from his own throat. "That's it," Ed was saying. "Yes, yes." Colin crawled down the bed and wrapped his mouth around Jonny's cock. With a small cry and a shudder, Jonny was coming into Colin mouth.

Colin raised himself up and pulled Ed closer to him, locking their lips together.

And as Ed tasted Jonny from Colin's mouth, he too came.

Currently Untitled Thonny/Beck Smexy Times Collab

It was 3 AM before Jonny finally dared to sneak away. Sharona had been sound asleep for a good hour, but the thought of waking her up, having to explain where he was going, was enough to make him stay until he was absolutely sure. He silently peeled back his corner of the sheets and rose from the bed, praying that neither of his joints would snap, as they often liked doing lately. Sneaking one hand around the bathroom door he blindly took a bathrobe from the hook and put it on, slipping a key card into the pocket. His heart stopped when he opened the door, but it hardly made any noise, like it hadn’t when he had tested it earlier that night. Sharona hadn’t moved an inch, and Jonny left their room, slightly less worried she’d wake up and find the bed half empty.

Despite the gig, the after party and the fact that this leg of the tour was about to end shortly after, Jonny was wired. Opportunities like this didn’t occur every day; in fact, the last one, which incidentally was Jonny’s first one, had been over a year ago. Just thinking about it made his knees go weak and caused a certain other part of his body to do quite the opposite. He went past the lift, deliberately choosing stairs so as to avoid awkward silences with other hotel guests gaping at a robe-clad rock star in the middle of the night.

The upper floor was a good five stairs up, and despite trying to stay calm Jonny arrived in the right hallway slightly out of breath. Standing in front of the door, he raised his hand to knock, decided to wait another minute to regain a steady breathing and halfway through just tried the door anyway. It wasn’t locked. Jonny couldn’t believe how reckless those two could be sometimes, and locked the door behind him. Turning around in the half-dark of the room, Jonny could hear laughter coming from behind a corner. As he stepped into the room, feet sinking away in the carpet, he smelled the sulphur and paraffin of candles hanging in the air. He turned around the corner and smiled.

There, all the way on the other end of the large candle-lit space, easily 30 feet away, a small jacuzzi was placed right next to the large window looking out over the beautiful canals below. In it were two men, one throwing his head back with laughter and trying to hold the glass of champagne in his hand upright as the other was speaking in a funny accent, the rubber ties of the goggles making his dripping wet hair poking out in various angles.

“A-and then you said… hahahahaha!”

“Safety first, that’s what I always say, safety first!” Thom squeaked, much like he had done earlier that day in front of 60,000 people.

“I nearly tumbled off the PA tower!” Beck yelled and again rollicked with laughter. Taking another gulp from his glass, he looked up and noticed Jonny standing there. He raised his glass and hooted.

“Theeere’s our lost musketeer! Come join us in our Love Boat, Mr. Greenwood! The water’s hot and the champagne a-flowin’!” He motioned towards Jonny with his glass, making half of the liquid spill into the other volume of bubbly substance.

Thom turned around too, pulled off the goggles and stuck out an arm.

“Heeey, Jon-Jon. What took you so long? The missus give you any trouble? Take your robe off and sit down, love,” trying to gesture towards a seat under water, hand splashing against the surface, “don’t worry, we haven’t started yet!”

Jonny smiled shyly and quickly slipped off his bathrobe, hanging it over a chair nearby. The other two clearly hadn’t felt the urge to do so. Clothes were scattered on the carpet, along with the first empty bottle of champagne.

“Boxers too, Jonny! Come on, hurry up, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back much longer,” Beck said, licking his lips as his eyes were sweeping over Thom’s features.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, you know,” Jonny said apologetically as he quickly slipped his body underwater, ignoring both sets of eyes looking him up and down.

“Don’t be silly,” Thom said as he handed him his champagne glass, filled to the brim. “You’re one of us now, so we wait until everyone’s arrived, like proper gentlemen.” He nodded his head for emphasis.

“Right you are, Yorkles,” said Beck, and raised his glass. “I would like to make a toast,” he announced. “To touring, to Amsterdam and to our secret ménage à trois. May there be many more meetups in the future!”

“Hell yes!” Thom chimed in, and clinked his glass with Beck’s.

“I would like to make my own contribution to this toast,” Jonny said. The others froze mid-toast and looked at him expectantly.

“To both of you, for letting me join in. I know it’s not easy, letting a third party in, and I hope you won’t ever feel obliged to invite me over, but thank you anyway. Cheers!” he smiled, and his glass joined the other two in the slightly steamy air. They drank simultaneously, and as if on cue, each of them emptied their glass before putting it down on the outer edge of the tub.

“I think I can speak for both of us when I say it is entirely, entirely our pleasure to have you here with us, Jonathan,” Beck said in a low, seductive manner, and Jonny felt a hand on his thigh as the words were spoken.

The atmosphere around them, where it had previously been jovial and humorous, had shifted as quickly as the flicking of a switch. Two pairs of blue eyes - one narrowed, knowing and calculating as they observed the scenario before them, one wide, dewy-lashed and positively crackling with lust - focused on Jonny as Beck leaned forwards, his right hand moving to mirror his left in resting on Jonny's thighs before sliding up with deliberate intent to halt at his hips. Such a gentle touch - the precursor, Jonny knew from his prior encounter, to something far darker and more fulfilling - was enough to send a shiver up his spine, for him to flinch back a little, a gesture that for his two more experienced counterparts was akin to waving a red flag in front of an enraged bull. As Beck closed the few remaining inches between them and seized his mouth in a bruising kiss, Jonny was suddenly and forcefully reminded of Thom's presence; not a physically active participant, as he had been the last time, but as much in control of both Beck and Jonny's actions as they themselves were. And it became startlingly apparent (one of Beck's hands leaving his hips to cup the back of his head, fingers tightening in steam-tousled hair and Jonny's own hands floundering uselessly at his side like dead fishes, Beck's teeth drawing hard enough on his lower lip to make him gasp) in those moments before Thom spoke (Beck nudging his thighs apart with one knee, that other hand sliding down between his legs to measure the strength of his desire, until the smaller body was pressed up against his, a tangle of limbs and lips and probing fingers and tongue) that tonight, they would be playing by his rules, and his rules alone.

Either Beck had been enlightened of this before Jonny had arrived, or he was more perceptive than Jonny had given him credit for, because when the wiry blond singer surfaced for breath, he looked over at Thom as though for directions. In the interim both of his hands had crept up to Jonny's hair and, half-lying in Jonny's lap as he was, he had effectively pinioned the taller man between the edge of the tub and his own body, with no escape route. "Should we move this to the bed?" Beck asked, his voice gravelly with sex. Jonny was almost too preoccupied with Beck's face to hear Thom's answer; eyes like wet forget-me-nots, cheeks flushed with heat and arousal made evident by his lower body thrust against Jonny's stomach, and perspiration or condensation that beaded on the barely-furred bow of his upper lip and across his forehead, a stray bead trickling slowly down the bridge of his nose.

"I don't think so." Thom's voice came as though from another world entirely and Jonny struggled in bringing himself back down to concentrate on it, wondering vaguely if there had been something in the champagne with which he'd been plied. Beck was smiling, dipping his head down until their faces were scant millimetres apart, his breath leaving a faint chill where it ghosted across Jonny's damp skin.

"You don't mind, love, do you?" he murmured, with a meaningful force behind the last two words. "Thommy's in one of his moods tonight, and... well, it's difficult to explain. I think you'll pick it up soon enough, you're a fast learner, aren't you? But - in lieu of Thommy's rather splendid performance this evening -" this was punctuated by a more than suggestive waggle of the eyebrows "- I'm sure we're both going to give him what he wants. Aren't we?" That meaningful force again; Beck was saying something more than could be communicated with words, and Jonny nodded. He knew Thom better even than Beck did, although perhaps not with the same degree of intimacy, and Thom was one of those people whom in the right situation would always get what they wanted, however demanding, without resorting to a tantrum.

This was clearly one of those 'right' situations. Jonny swallowed and briefly closed his eyes in an attempt to calm his jangling nerves, and when he opened them again Thom had moved to the other side of the tub and draped his arms over the edge, his head inclined slightly as though indicating that they should proceed. To Jonny, who believed he'd seen every aspect of Thom that inhabited his friend, this was something new; a novelty, but a shocking one. Thom was a physical person, someone who would act first and think of the consequences later and never content to sit on the sidelines and yet there he was, an observer in his own orchestrated floorshow and quite content to be nothing more.

Beck licked his lips and moved in for the kill.


PART II

Meanwhile, a few floors away ...

"What do you mean that 'Jonny saw you'?" Ed asked. "Why was he even up at this time of night?"

Colin shrugged and lit a cigarette. "I don't know. He used to sleepwalk and end up in my bed when we were younger, but he wasn't sleepwalking this time. He was looking like he had somewhere to go and he didn't want anyone to see him. Before I knew it was him, I tried to hide by the ice machine, but there's no way he didn't see me."

"Did he say anything?"

"Not a word ... it's like he looked through me, like he was so occupied that he wasn't seeing what was going on around him."

"Do you think it's drugs?" Ed asked.

Colin laughed. "No? Right? No way Jonny is on drugs. We would know."

"We should also know why he's getting up in the middle of the night acting all shifty."

They both paused in silence. Ed walked over and gave Colin a hug, Colin buried his face in Ed's chest, one hand delicately holding out his cigarette.

"I bet he's just meeting someone to buy a crumhorn or something," Ed said rubbing Colin's back. "There's no need to be worried."

***

Beck's voice was low and his words came feverishly fast as he straddled Jonny's lap fully, winding his hands (unusually large for such a slightly-built man) into Jonny's hair and tugging a little harder than Jonny's normal inclinations would allow to tilt his head back and worry at his neck with sharp, urgent teeth. "Thommy's been telling me all about fucking you," he murmured, his eyes flicking briefly to Thom's before locking again with Jonny's as he brought them face-to-face, noses and foreheads touching. "He was such a greedy boy last time, making me watch, wouldn't let me inside you..." He ran the tip of his tongue over Jonny's lips, coaxing them apart to whisper against Jonny's mouth. "But he's given you to me tonight, if I do what he wants to you... you don't mind, do you? Hmmm?" Jonny shook his head slowly, and Beck smiled like the cat that got the cream. "I didn't think so. He told me, you know, how fucking tight you were the first time he went inside, how you shivered and trembled so deliciously, love, and you tried to be so brave." He sat back then, resembling nothing so much as angel twisted by unspeakable debauchery; and really, having heard some of the things Thom had related to him, Jonny didn't think that assessment was so far from the truth.

"I told him other things, too," Thom said quietly, his voice scarcely audible over the sound of the water but easily loud enough for a bubble of panic to well up in Jonny's chest. Thom was his best friend, had been for years, and they had few secrets from each other... his mind was working overtime on the number of things Thom could have 'let slip' to Beck in order to be used against him at a time like this, and he shuddered involuntarily. Beck's eyes were sparkling wickedly.

"I bet you're wondering, aren't you?" he asked. "Don't fret, you'll find out soon enough." He slipped off Jonny's lap to sit back beside Thom, the pair of them regarding the younger man with what could only be described as a predatory gaze.

"Would you like to know what I'm thinking?" Thom said; the question was directed at Beck rather than Jonny. Beck turned his head slightly, but not enough for his eyes to leave Jonny's face, and Jonny shifted uncomfortably, feeling even more naked under that unrelenting blue stare.

"I think I would," Beck replied. Jonny was surprised at the lack of contact between the two; usually they would have trouble keeping their hands off one another, especially Beck, but either this was something motivated by feelings greater than physical desire, or Thom had given strict instructions to Beck before Jonny had appeared.

"I'm thinking that Jonny should get over here and suck you off," Thom said, a small smile curving the corners of his mouth. In the heat of the jacuzzi his lips were almost obscenely moist and red, as were Beck's, and Jonny realised it must also extend to him; Beck's knowing smirk all but confirmed it. "Look at his whore mouth. Sometimes when we're in the studio I'm this close to shoving him to his knees and fucking that pretty face, right in front of his brother and everyone. And he wouldn't even protest, you can just tell."

The harsh words pooled in Jonny's subconscious and sent a jolt through his groin. How could Thom know just what to say to wrap him around his little finger? The humiliation, the talking down to him, the tone of his voice... Beck's smirk had become a fully-fledged sharklike grin at the mention of Colin, and suddenly Jonny knew exactly what sort of secrets Thom had been whispering to Beck behind his back. His cheeks were burning even as he slid from his seat and waded clumsily towards Beck, Thom's subtle nod of approval only spurring him on.

070. Storm

Sometimes, Jonny wishes that he doesn't blindly obey whatever Thom says. Perhaps it's because he's naturally obedient. Growing up in a family with two older siblings and an overprotective mother and no father figure to rebel against, it's always been the most comfortable way to live, and in the end he always chooses what's easiest for everyone else.

Thom, on the other hand... he's the very opposite. The older child, a father who wants him to be everything he can't, an appearance and attitude that gets him into fights; he's risen up in the world and found it pressing down on him, and now he's kicking and screaming to be let out.

He takes a lot of pride in leading Jonny astray. Jonny just wants to be good and to make other people happy and it's exactly why Thom has him wrapped around his little finger.

And it's also why on his autumn half-term he visits Thom in Exeter and when Thom suggests skipping a couple of days' worth of lectures and taking a tent out on Dartmoor for a camping trip Jonny can only agree.

The weather has been bloody awful. When Jonny took the train down to Devon he sat beside the window and watched it turn into a solid shimmering sheet of blurred silver, his breath fogging on the glass. Thom met him at the station and they almost didn't recognise each other, both zipped up in anoraks with heads ducked against the wind and driving rain. Thom looks the same now as he resolutely trudges up the tor ahead, a splotch of bright yellow against the browns and greys and greens of moorland in October. He's insisted on taking the rucksack with the tent, leaving Jonny to stuff sleeping bags and groundsheets and saucepans into his own pack and stumble along behind the smaller boy. If it wasn't for Thom, Jonny would be wishing he was anywhere but here, but as it is he can't think of another place he would rather be in the entire world.

A trickle of cold rain worms inside his collar and slides down his neck. He adjusts his scarf, wipes at his wet face and shakes his soaking fringe out of his eyes, and follows Thom's lead.

Thom's already at the summit of the tor, having dropped his bag in a dry crevice of granite and scrambled up the rocks, goat-like. He waves down at Jonny as Jonny drops his own backpack beside Thom's and clambers up to join him, warily watching for footholds and handholds in the stone, until he's perched beside Thom, who grins broadly and offers him a square of Kendal mint cake from a wrapper in his voluminous pocket. He takes it gratefully and sucks on one corner, watching the long grass in the nearby bog rippling like waves in the gale and hoping they'll be stopping soon. They've been walking for most of the day, Thom loudly proclaiming the joys of the great outdoors and producing squashed peanut butter sandwiches at lunchtime, Jonny always a few paces behind and quiet, hearing music in the whistling of the wind. It's going to be night soon and the last thing he wants is to drown in a marsh or step off a tor in the dark.

Thom has one of those proper walking maps with the waterproof laminated sheets and he's got it out now, squinting through the half-light at the little markings and names on the paper. "Where are we?" Jonny asks cautiously, as a small piece of mint cake crumbles off the corner of his square.

"No idea," Thom says, but he doesn't sound at all worried. "We can figure it out in the morning. We should put the tent up here, if we're in the shelter of the rocks it won't be windy at all."

Jonny's insides leap joyfully. He crams the rest of the sweet into his mouth and imagines he can feel his teeth dissolving, and then joins Thom in getting the tent up. They don't make an awfully good job of it because there are a few pegs missing and they forgot the mallet and if the wind changes direction or it rains any harder they'll be drenched and blown away, but when they're inside with one of the torches set down on the ground to give them some light, taking off the wet outer layers of clothing and wrapping themselves in sleeping bags, it's not so bad. There's lukewarm tea in a Thermos flask (it was hot when they set off that morning) and more squashed sandwiches (Marmite or strawberry jam, and Jonny gets stuck with the Marmite because Thom claims he needs the sugar) and Mars Bars and cheese and onion crisps (mangled, damp and crushed, but still edible) and even some very bruised apples. Thom takes the skin off the apples with a penknife, pretending they're intrepid jungle explorers deep in the Amazon rainforest because it's definitely raining hard enough, and he claims that you never eat unpeeled fruit in the tropics. Jonny doesn't think you eat Marmite sandwiches or Mars Bars or crisps in the Amazon rainforest either, but he doesn't say anything.

Thom is an Outdoors Type. He likes climbing trees and walking in rain and snow and jumping in puddles. He smells like mud and grass-stains and sweat and woodsmoke. That's why he's always got on with Ed so well, Jonny supposes, even though on the surface they seem so different: Ed is an Outdoors Type, too, and he was on all the sports teams at school. Thom can't kick a ball to save his life, but it doesn't stop him from trying, giggling hysterically and getting by on sheer virtue of enthusiasm. Jonny wonders why Colin likes Ed so much. Colin likes Ed a lot, and Jonny knows that they regularly visit each other at weekends even though they're so far away from each other, and they write letters and talk on the phone like Thom and Ed used to do with their girlfriends. Thom hasn't had a girlfriend for a while, Jonny remembers, looking over at the other boy as he peels another apple, his tongue caught between his lips in concentration.

Jonny, like Colin, is an Indoors Type. He firmly believes there are two Types - except for Phil, who is everything because he can please everyone - and he's very certainly an Indoors Type. He likes bed, and squishy armchairs, and sitting in front of a roaring fire in December with a mug of hot chocolate cupped in his hands. He likes the radio (especially Radio 4, and Thom always laughs at him for this) and books and watching rainfall from the comfort of a warm sitting room. Normally the idea of a couple of days' camping on Dartmoor in October in such hellish weather would make him run a mile (if he liked running, of course, which he doesn't) but for some reason, it's not so bad.

It's not so bad at all.

And it's not the Thermos of lukewarm tea or the sandwiches and crisps and Mars Bars and tropical fruit. It's not the mint cake or the laminated map or the grass rippling in the gale or the music on the wind. It's Thom. Thom with his yellow anorak. Thom scrambling over granite. Thom tangled in a groundsheet 'cause the wind blew it up around him when he was trying to set it down. Thom peeling apples. Thom with his stubby bitten nails and small hands almost hidden by the sleeves of his sweater.

"I think that's thunder," Thom says, staring at Jonny.

Jonny swallows a mouthful of crisps and blinks. "What?"

Thom points at the roof of the tent. "Thunder." His eyes are bright and excited. "It's a storm, Jon, a fucking storm! We'll be right in the middle of it!"

"Oh." Jonny doesn't get why Thom's so happy about this. "Um... great."

Jonny doesn't think he's ever told anyone except Colin that he's absolutely bloody terrified of storms. He hates thunder. He hates lightning. When they were kids and there was a storm he used to go and crawl into Colin's bed, even after they had their own rooms. Colin would initially tell him to stop being such a baby, but then he'd always let Jonny under the covers and pat his head and whisper to him that there was nothing to be afraid of, really, that he'd grow out of it.

He didn't grow out of it. When there's a storm he keeps the light on so he doesn't notice the lightning and hides his head under the pillows and hums so he can't hear the thunder. He wonders what getting hit by lightning feels like. Ed once showed him a picture in a book of a man who was killed by lightning and he had nightmares for weeks.

"I'm scared of storms," he says, and doesn't realise he's said it out loud until Thom says, "Why?"

"Because... because." Jonny rolls over to stare at the wall of the tent, pressing his lips together very hard to stop them from trembling.

"That's stupid," Thom states bluntly. "There's nothing to be scared of."

There's a flash of lightning at that very moment, and they both shriek. Jonny rolls over again, and laughs at Thom's face.

"We could zip the sleeping bags together," Thom suggests. "If you're frightened of being alone."

Jonny searches his expression for sarcasm and finds none. He nods tensely. They've only just finished when the thunder comes again, louder this time, and Jonny claps his hands over his ears and starts humming. Thom pulls him in close, small arms wrapped around him, and murmurs something into Jonny's hair which Jonny can't hear because he's still humming.

The torch chooses that second to flicker and go out. Jonny screams. Thom curses, starts to sit up and rummage around for the other one, but there's another flash of lightning and Jonny shuts his eyes with a scream as Thom clings to him tightly, pressing their bodies together within the cramped confines of the joined sleeping bags. It's too warm, and difficult to breathe with his face against Thom's chest, and the humidity within the tent seems to have jumped up several hundred percent. This time the thunder is so loud that Jonny can hear it even over his humming, and the ground vibrates and the air shakes as though the world is coming down around them. Thom strokes his hair and cheeks and neck and Jonny's pretty sure that under any other circumstances he would be blushing furiously and pretending he didn't know what Thom was doing.

He's not sure how long the storm goes on for. It could have been five minutes or it could have been two hours. When Thom finally decides that there won't be any more thunder or lightning, and the wind's died down and the rain is reduced to a gentle patter, they're both drenched in sweat and Jonny's sure his face must be flushed. Thom's breathing is quick and shallow, and as he turns over and murmurs a 'good night' to Jonny, Jonny is sure that he doesn't imagine something hard brushing against his thigh through their trousers. He bites his lip as they both flinch and tense, but neither of them say anything. Jonny rests his head on a balled-up jumper and tries to go to sleep, ignoring the tightness tugging at his own groin. He isn't like that. Really.

He's jerked from a fitful doze a few minutes later by a strange noise. It's the rustling of fabric against fabric, he realises, blinking the fog of sleep from his eyes, but it's not the irregular sound of someone turning over or moving a limb to a more comfortable position. It's slow, rhythmic and steady and it's coming from the boy beside him, whose breath, however much he's trying to disguise it, is coming in a soft hiss through his teeth as though his jaw is clenched and he's attempting to be silent.

Jonny feels heat rise in his cheeks when he realises what's happening, and with it there's an uncharacteristic boldness. He did that to Thom... Thom did the same to him. And now Thom's... oh, God...

"Thom?"

The reply is too quick, too sharp, too guilty. "What?!"

Jonny swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. "I - I know what you're doing."

Silence. Absolute silence.

"It's - I want you to know, it's OK, really."

"You... what?" Thom's voice breaks. He sounds panicked.

Jonny clenches his fists, folding his arms across his chest. "It's all right. It happened to me too."

And then Thom's rolling over in the sleeping bag and there are hands travelling over his face, tracing the lines of his cheekbones and mouth and there are lips on his lips, hot and wet, and tongue against his tongue with teeth clashing sloppily and the smaller body of the other boy moving over his, straddling his thighs and grinding their erections together through their trousers. "Wha - Thom - mmmph," Jonny managed to get out with Thom swallowing his muffled cries, and tries to dislodge Thom as all the blood in his body seems to rush to the same place at once. Thom pulls back and although Jonny can't see his face he can feel the hot breath and smell the excitement, almost taste it in the air.

"Shut up, Jon, just shut up, please, and let me... I've wanted to do this for the longest time..."

And the small hands and stubby bitten nails are sliding over his stomach and under his waistband, pulling open his fly and pushing up his shirt, and then there's a hot palm closing around his hard cock and his mind goes completely, blissfully blank. Thom's mouth pushes against his once more, and he barely lasts ten seconds under the older boy's capable ministrations, but it's not over yet. Thom unzips and starts to stroke himself, rubbing and sliding through the slickness on Jonny's stomach until he convulses and adds to it and collapses across Jonny's body, their foreheads pressed together, just breathing and feeling their heartbeats subside in tandem.

Jonny thinks that it's going to be very different after this.

Maybe he can learn to be an Outdoors Type after all.

Bubbles

Jonny has one of those stupid plastic wands little children blow bubbles through, and the bubbles are floating on the warm night breeze, lit by the golden glow of their campfire. Thom keeps popping them whenever they drift near him, moodily clinging to his bottle of beer and ignoring the drunken giggles of Ed and Colin as they get progressively more stoned, and Phil's reproachful gaze resting on him whenever he jabs at another bubble. This night is supposed to be for Jonny, of course. It's the last weekend before Thom goes to university, the last weekend when they'll all be together, the first time Jonny's going to be left behind for good, and as the melancholy has set in with each September day crossed off the calendar, Phil suggested it might be a good idea to do something nice for Jonny.

They couldn't afford to go away camping, so instead they've set up their tents and their fire in Ed's back garden. Ed's dad doesn't complain, but brings marshmallows and beer, and they sit there until long after sundown, eating burnt sugar off sticks.

Thom doesn't know why he's so cross. Perhaps it's because Ed chose to share his joint with Colin instead of with him, and he can see Colin's sticky hands feeding Ed marshmallows and maybe there's just a twinge of jealousy as he remembers when he and Colin used to be that close. Perhaps it's because the summer has been too warm and he hates the hot weather. Perhaps it's because of Phil, sitting there and acting like an adult given the task of managing a kids' tea party. But it's probably none of these things. It's probably because he's going away to Exeter and he won't be near Jonny any more, and yet Jonny is happily oblivious to his turmoil, holding that wand between long fingers and blowing those bubbles out across the campfire.

He's getting rather drunk, he can tell. It's a pleasant feeling, numbing him slightly to the inanity of Ed and Colin's sniggering and their stupid jokes. No one really notices when he crawls into his tent and flops down on top of the sleeping bag and rests his eyes, just for a bit.

"Just for a bit" turns out to be longer than that, and Thom's next semi-conscious thought is that he really needs to pee. He can hear the sounds of sleepy breathing and light snoring and uses his lighter to give him enough light to climb over Ed and Colin towards the tent door. He doesn't look down to see Colin using Ed's arm as a headrest, knowing that would just add to that unpleasant feeling that he gets down in the pit of his stomach. After fumbling for a bit, he finds the tent zipper and unzips the door, the tiny zipper sound sounding preternaturally loud in the quiet night. He ungracefully steps out of the tent and the cooling night air is refreshing after the stuffy tent. He heads towards a tree to relieve himself. On the way back, he spots a dark lump of Jonny asleep next to the remains of the fire. No, not asleep. Jonny has his head propped up on his arm and he's watching Thom.

"Don't you want to sleep in the tent?" Thom whispers, trying not to interrupt the stillness of the night.
"Too hot," Jonny replies. "Don't you want to sleep out here?"
"Too cold," Thom says, smiling at the irony.
"I can share my sleeping bag," and Jonny lifts his arm, opening the sleeping bag, an invitation for Thom to lie down next to him. Thom wordlessly slides in next to Jonny, and they silently squirm against each other to find the most comfortable spot. Thom thinks he should thank Jonny for this, but decides that he's now waited too long to say anything. He falls asleep thinking that Jonny smells awfully nice.

***

Although Thom has procrastinated until seemingly the last minute to pack his belongings for the move to university, it only takes him a couple hours to pack. Afterwards, he finds no comfort in his room that has turned strange and foreign on him with the boxes and suitcases sitting around, his favourite things packed and hidden from view. He feels antsy and out of place and so both he and his parents are relieved when Thom announces he's going to go hang out at Colin's for the rest of the evening.

On the way to the Greenwoods, on impulse, Thom stops to climb the old tree. He has fond memories of this particular tree, mostly because Ed had been the one to suggest climbing it, but couldn't make it up to the first branch even with his gigantic legs; Thom, however, had nimbly climbed up and had to offer his hand to help Ed up. Thom sits in the branches for a moment, wondering how he can feel nostalgic for a place that he has yet to leave. He wonders if he'll be able to make friends at university and how hard the schoolwork will be. But he mostly thinks about Jonny. And the band. And Jonny.

A short while later, he, as usual, lets himself into the Greenwood home. He can hear Mrs. Greenwood telling Colin that he is allowed to take one box of records and one box of books with him, but no more. Thom decides to let them argue it out for a bit longer and heads to the bathroom to wash his hands, dirty from the tree. By the sounds of it, he knows he's probably going to have to help Colin sort his records and books and Colin's more than a little anal about the cleanliness of hands that touch his collections.

Thom opens the bathroom door and is startled to see Jonny sitting in the bathtub, surrounded by heaping piles of fluffy white bubbles. Jonny has also worked his hair into a Mohican of sorts, and Thom can't help but notice that Jonny has a very nice jaw line. He gets an image of his lips kissing and biting up that jaw line until his teeth meet Jonny's ear lobe, but pushes it away.

Jonny raises his hand as a form of greeting and Thom nods back, afraid if he says anything out loud that Jonny will know what he's thinking about. Thom raises his dirty hands back and points to the sink. Only after a meticulous washing of his hands does he turn towards Jonny.

"Baths are for babies," Thom says and although he's just repeating some words that have echoed through his head before, Thom sees the briefest look of hurt flicker across Jonny's face. Jonny draws his knees up to his chest and tilts his head to look at Thom. Quietly he shrugs his shoulders and says, "I know, but I like them. They're more fun than just a shower." Jonny raises a hand of bubbles and blows them at Thom. "And I can almost remember my dad giving me a bath, so …" Jonny trails off and now it's time for that look of hurt to be on Thom's face.

Thom usually jumps to the defensive with most people, but Jonny brings out another side of him. "It's …" Thom tries to explain. "When I was little, I wasn't allowed to take showers, only baths because," - and here Thom gestures to his eye; Thom will be better able to talk about his eye in the future, but for now a gesture is all he can manage – "… I guess I just associate them with bad things."

They both pause, their confessions weighing the air around them down.

Thom grins at Jonny and says, "So that's some nice hair you've got there." Jonny touches his hair and smiles. "Very punk of you," Thom says, and is again hypnotised by the thoughts of his mouth against Jonny's jaw. He wonders if Jonny's lips are as soft as they look.

Jonny is smiling. "Get in and I'll give you one." Jonny runs his hands up through his hair to demonstrate.
"Sounds better than helping your brother pack," Thom says and takes his shirt off. Jonny's eyes don't leave Thom. Thom notices, but doesn't know how he feels about this exactly and quickly takes off all of his clothes before slipping into the bathtub next to Jonny.

How often could things be remedied by a word. How often is it left unspoken.

You went away today, and now the inside of my skull looks like a letter to you. It spills out into the world between thought and reality, on the margins of books, on paper napkins and the skin stretched tight over the back of my hand. Colin reads my fingers and gives me a sad stare, but shakes his head, takes another drag on his unlit cigarette and steps outside into the February rain. His mouth makes a thin hard line that cuts too starkly through the paleness of his face, the hollows of sleepless nights living in his cheeks and below his eyes, and I should get up from the pew and follow him but the silent weight of vaulted ceilings presses down on me and I can't move. I gaze up at the stained-glass saints with their lead-lined haloes, turning over the ring in my pocket and in my mind crafting a lead-lined halo for you.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

The truth of things is that you went away years ago. You've been lost to me for so long that I was beginning to get used to the idea, and then you had to go and lose yourself for good. It was OK then, because the world was holding its breath and we could still pretend that miracles happened and you'd come back to us, but now you're gone and the cogs have started to grind again, time shifting beneath our feet and pulling us further apart.

There's a photograph of you on my mantelpiece at home. It laughs at me every time I see it. At least we won't see you get old, Colin had said to me on that morning, when he looked as though he had aged ten years overnight. You'll never look as old as we look now, and perhaps that's a small comfort, your eyes and hair and smile frozen where time can't touch them. That photograph laughs at grey streaks and wrinkles and skips over them because they aren't there. We don't think about you where you are now because it shatters the illusion.

Except at night when the words skitter through my brain, wormfood, wooden box, ashes to ashes, bones... cover my ears and think about something else.

Sometimes I pretend that I could have whispered one thing to you and it would have all been put to rights. So much was said, even then, but what was left unsaid was louder by far, and now the words have fallen through the gaps in the floorboards and gathered dust, perhaps too much to ever blow away.

I love miss love miss you.

Box in the attic

It was Thom who found the box in the attic. After taking a peek at the contents he knew it was too funny to ignore, so he brought it down to the kitchen where Jonny was making tea.

“What’s that?”

“Baby pictures. Well. Your baby pictures.”

Jonny lunged for the box but Thom was already taking things out of it. “Oh, bless. Baby Jon-Jon. Ickle woolly hat and everything. I love Cozzie’s mittens, by the way.” He cocked his head at the photo and smirked. “You were still hot even then.”

Jonny glared at him. “Don’t even go there, Yorke.”

Post-It Note

Jonny knew that Thom was angry with him, but Thom’s anger was the sort of thing that flared up and blew over quickly. Besides, Jonny had been angry with Thom. That was why he’d ‘accidentally’ rammed the headstock of his guitar into Thom’s crotch during their rehearsal that evening. By the time he got home, he was just looking forward to having make up sex with Thom, and going to sleep.

When he came into the kitchen, the first thing he noticed was the post-it note on the fridge:

“Don’t expect any sex tonight.

PS: Your dinner’s in the cat.”

Cold

Ed thinks very hard when he’s lying in bed at night. He’s thinking about cold things this time. Norway is cold, he thinks, very cold, especially in winter. Blue Raspberry Slush Puppies are cold, too, and he always drinks his too fast and swears and gets told off for it. Snow is cold, particularly when it’s shoved down your trousers by a malicious lead singer with a hysterical giggle. Likewise, frozen peas are cold when they’re pushed up the back of his t-shirt in Sainsbury’s.

But right now he thinks that nothing is as cold as Colin’s feet beside his.

The Red Room

They call it the red room. I call it the fireplace room. Colin tries to remind them to call it the fireplace room, but he forgets almost as often. As such, even I call it the red room, but it looks like any other room. The first time we walked through the house, Colin was going on about decorating and how colours can affect the mood of a room. He stood in the middle of this room and talked about how red stimulates passion, hatred and aggression and how this colour could raise blood pressure, speed respiration and heart rate.

I wasn't paying too much attention when Colin was going on about it. But I've been sitting here for a while with plenty of time to remember Colin's words and I think he may be onto something. Besides the sounds of an old house settling, all I can hear is my heart pounding and the sound of my breathing. I keep straining my hearing to figure out if I can hear someone coming, but this old house keeps playing tricks on me.

We hadn't set up any equipment in here. Maybe it was Colin's colour theory. Thom thought it might be haunted; then again, he thought every room was haunted. Besides our first walk through, I'd barely set foot in this room. To be honest, it kind of gave me the creeps. Of course he knew that.

They were all at the pub tonight. I hadn't wanted to go and before they left bundled from head to toe against the cold, he had pulled me aside and hissed in my ear that I was going to get what was coming to me. I knew better than to ask what that meant... could be anything, really.

I'd gotten the text a little while ago. "be in the red room by the time I get back" it read. I did know what that meant. Not knowing if he was walking up the path already or still planning on a few more pints, I had hurried to the red room. I didn't want to be caught disobeying a direct order.

Wanting to avoid sitting on the floor, I had dragged in a hardback chair in with me. Hopefully he wouldn't punish me as much as if I had dragged in a more comfortable chair. Or maybe he would punish me more. It was always hard to tell with him.

And so I sit in this red room and I wait for what's coming next.

----------

Thom was furious. Furious about two things. The first thing was the fact that Jonny had been gone for days, 'writing a computer programme', while everyone else here was working their asses off, and when he eventually came back, he spent the entire afternoon taking pictures. He didn't even give Thom a glance, let alone speak to him properly.

The second thing was the fact that Thom didn't like to admit that he had missed him. He'd been trying to tell himself for over half a year now that this was just a game, no real emotions involved. Just enjoying each other. In a perhaps rather twisted way. But everyone in his situation would definitely understand, wouldn't they. Sure they would. Jonny Greenwood was a luscious piece of arse, and the fact that he thought the same of Thom would have to lead somewhere in the end. But the empty feeling when climbing in his trailer alone, knowing that he would wake up in it, too, was more than just disappointment and lack of satisfaction.
So someone would have to pay for that. And he knew exactly who and how.

Of course Jonny had been planning this. He knew that Thom knew it. This was the part Jonny could predict. Making Thom angry, knowing that that anger would resolve in something involving him. Something bad. What he couldn't predict, was everything else. How enraged Thom actually was and how exactly he decided to take it out on Jonny.

This was probably the farthest that he'd gone. Just going away mid-session. Recording sessions had been their time. Something they could count on. Endless nights, some full of euphoria, when the music was going somewhere, some full of frustration. Those were the ones after which they had to wear longsleeves and sweaters. Thom had never been so at ease with himself during recording. The anger of the previous day was a mere annoyance the next. And only Jonny knew where that anger went.

Or so he thought.

----------

The anticipation was the worst part of all, he had decided.

He couldn't be sure what time it was. Dusk had not fallen when he'd taken the chair into the red... no, the fireplace room... and sat down, but now it was fully dark and he didn't dare to get up and turn on the light in case Thom returned while he was doing so. Thom would expect him to be ready and waiting to please him and making Thom angry was what Thom wanted him to do, so naturally Jonny was not going to oblige. He couldn't see his watch. He had been sitting in the same position for too long; looking right ahead, chin up and back straight, his hands nervously tucked between his knees to stop them from shaking too much. He was tired and his neck was starting to hurt, but at least it kept him awake. The tips of his fingers and toes were going numb from a combination of the lack of heating and staying still, but he'd learned that if he stayed still and didn't struggle it would make Thom happy, and now it was simply a force of habit.

He wished he'd chosen a more comfortable chair.

He wished he wasn't so confused about what Thom wanted.

He wished he wasn't so confused about what he wanted from Thom.

He wished he could just have a normal relationship with someone for once.

He let out a long breath and closed his eyes, which had been straining as they followed the patterns of the paper on the wall in front of him. And then he heard it. The soft crunching of gravel under booted feet, as someone walked down the path outside the window. The impression behind his shuttered eyelids of shadows passing across the dusty floorboards like leaves on the wind, harshly outlined in the moonlight. The quiet creak as the door at the end of the corridor swung open, and the gentle snick as it closed. And then the approaching footfalls, ratcheting the tension up with each step.

They paused at the doorway, echoing into silence around the four surrounding walls. Jonny held his breath, listening anxiously for the slither of a belt through denim loops, the hiss of a zip or the whisper of clothing falling to the ground, but there was nothing. He started to shake. He could feel the gaze on him, drilling searing holes in the back of his skull; he wanted more than anything just to turn around and see the slow, lazy curve of Thom's lips as he broke into a victorious smile, the dangerous flash in his blue eyes as he told Jonny in no uncertain terms of his transgressions and respective penance. But he couldn't. If he looked without being told to, Thom would probably leave him here all night to think about what he had done and he'd be begging for forgiveness by the morning.

And then a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and before he could stop himself, he shrieked.

A low laugh sounded from above him, another hand slithering around his neck and lingering too long on the delicate flesh before sliding over his mouth to silence him, and he froze. The laugh wasn't Thom's. It wasn't Thom standing behind him; the long fingers digging into his jaw hard enough to hurt did not belong to Thom; the huge, hot cock pressing firmly into his shoulderblade was not Thom's. He bit back a gasp as he measured the strength of the man's erection and his floundering brain finally identified the familiar, musky scent of his companion.

Warm breath tickled his ear and he felt the scrape of stubble along his jaw. "Thom told me I'd find you here," came the deep growl against his cheek, and Jonny could have fainted at the dark amusement in that voice.

"Ed..." he murmured, and suddenly an unspeakable sense of apprehension swept through him.

----------

Ed couldn't help but be impressed at the control Thom seemed to have over their youngest bandmate. When he stepped through the doorway and saw Jonny sitting on the chair in the middle of the dark, cold room, he wondered just what was going on between that couple that would force Jonny to do this.

He certainly wasn't stupid - he noticed what was going on. Phil might choose to turn a blind eye to curtailed recording sessions, stifled cries and thumps from either Thom or Jonny's rooms late at night, the raised red scratches clearly visible on Thom's arms when he reached for his guitar, Jonny's bruised cheekbone or cut lip; but Colin had pulled Ed aside on more than one occasion and expressed his concern. It was obvious that Thom and Jonny were at it like weasels whenever they had the opportunity - Colin wasn't bothered about that, seeming to consider it an inevitable eventuality given that they'd been that close for the best part of two decades. But neither of them could ignore the fact that more often than not Thom and Jonny would stumble down to breakfast in the morning looking like they'd been beating, rather than fucking, the hell out of each other.

Ed would never have told Colin this, but he thought about what Thom and Jonny got up to a lot more than was probably decent.

Which was why, when Thom had caught up with him for 'a quiet word' at the pub that evening and explained exactly what was going on and what part he wanted Ed to play, he had jumped at the excuse to act out one of his darkest, most private fantasies.

Jonny reacted in the most beautiful way when Ed laid a hand on his shoulder, and he'd had to cover his mouth in case he cried out again. Ed was already almost painfully hard, and when he'd bent to whisper in Jonny's ear and felt the dazed, murmured response against his palm, it took all of his self control not to come right there and then. But that was not part of Thom's plan, which, if he followed it, promised a reward for him that was too much to resist.

"Give me your hands, Jonathan," he said quietly, just as Thom had told him to. They were tucked between Jonny's knees in a way that reminded Ed of a nervous schoolboy sitting outside the headmaster's study waiting for the cane, and as he withdrew them and Ed took hold of the slender wrists, drawing them behind Jonny's back, Ed could feel that he was trembling uncontrollably.

----------

Ed pulled the handcuffs from his coat pocket and slowly placed the cold metal against Jonny's right wrist, causing a sharp, scared intake of breath from Jonny, followed by Jonny trying to steady his breathing. Ed was pretty sure that Jonny was counting in four counts and out four counts to keep his breathing steady. "Doesn't like the handcuffs," Ed made note to himself. Slowly he clicked the two pieces of metal together, until they were tight against the sides of Jonny's wrist. Clink. Clink. Clink.

Jonny was still shaking, but his unbound left wrist remained behind his back. Ed wondered if it was Jonny's courage against his own fear of handcuffs or the fear of what Ed would do to him if he moved his hand that caused Jonny's hand to stay behind his back. Either way, Ed liked it.

With a start Ed realised that Jonny was still wearing a jacket and t-shirt. This was simply not going to do. Ed fished about in his coat pocket and found the handcuff key. He twisted the key into the handcuffs and the metal sprang open. Ed took them fully off and walked around to face Jonny. Was that hope in Jonny's pathetic face? Ed laughed. "Take that jacket off," Ed said cooly. "Shirt, too."

Jonny slid out of his jacket and laid it on the ground next to him. He pulled his t-shirt off over his head and laid it on top of the jacket.

"Kneel," Ed told him. Jonny slowly slid off what he had begun to feel was the safety of the chair and kneeled down in front of the chair. Ed grabbed the chair and flipping it around 180 degrees, brought it to rest in front of Jonny. He took one of Jonny's arms and put it over the seat so his wrist was dangling out the back. He took the other arm and held it close to the side of the chair. He flipped both of Jonny's hands so they were facing up and were close together and then deposited the handcuffs into them. "Handcuff yourself to this chair," Ed told him.

Jonny did as he was told. Ed pulled out a piece of cloth to use as a gag, but realised that Jonny could be as loud as he wanted in the deserted house and so he stuffed the cloth back into his pocket.

----------

Jonny's mind was racing. Why wasn't Thom here? Why did he, out of the blue, decide to let Ed in on their private life? As much as Jonny had expected a severe punishment and, let's be honest here, craved for it, he hadn't expected any of this.

A large part of him was rather upset with Thom for not discussing this with him first, and just wanted him here, the two of them, like it always was. The other part was sickeningly aroused by it. Thom had always been his secret fantasy, but when that had eventually come true - as much as he gave him - he needed a new one.

It had been more of a response than a thought up fantasy. Since Ed was single again, he'd become very touchy-feely, and instead of laughing it off, like the others always did, Jonny never actually sent him away. He rather liked the attention, he learned. A more or less rational reason Jonny had come up with, was the fact that Thom was, although pretty dominant, very small in comparison to himself.
It made him feel too tall, too long-limbed, too ungracious, maybe. A hug from Thom was a cuddle, it wasn't a protective, reassuring gesture, and certainly not a very dominating one. Thom was a true master in mind games, but sometimes he just wanted the physical thing.

Which he saw in another bandmate. The difference in height with Ed was similar to the difference between him and Thom. Almost ashamed for thinking it out loud, he still couldn't take his eyes off of Ed's large, strong physique whenever he had the chance.
What a mindfuck. He decided that what he would like the most was for Thom to come and clear things up.
But that wasn't part of Ed's plan for now.

Ed, meanwhile, was still busy. He had now fished a blindfold from his pocket, which he was securing tightly around Jonny's head. It wasn't just a cloth, a piece of fabric. No, it was a proper silk blindfold that blocked out all light, even around Jonny's nose. When he was done with that, he spoke again.

"You may now sit on the chair, with your front against the back," he announced calmly. "Not that there's any other possibility," he added with a grin. Jonny could hear Ed leaving the room and coming back shortly after. He walked around Jonny and put something on the floor in front of him.
Jonny heard lots of shuffling and ticking against the hardwood floor, like wires or cables. Ed was slowly walking back out the door and when he returned, Jonny heard a click in front of him and then Ed was standing on his right.

"Don't move." He had said it as calmly as before, but Jonny's breath hitched and he shivered involuntarily. He had no idea what to expect, and jumped lightly when he felt something by his ear. Trying his best to stay obedient, he felt Ed inserting an in-ear into his right ear. Puzzled, he batted his eyelashes, which were making a soft sound brushing against the silk of the blindfold. He had absolutely no idea what was happening to him.

He heard Ed stepping back and a second later, he stopped breathing.
A low, familiar voice filled his ear.
"Hello, Jonny."

----------

Jonny jumped, even though he was not that surprised to hear Thom's voice in the earpiece. He turned his head towards the direction of the sound, without realising the pointlessness of this movement.

"Don't talk to me," said Thom quickly as Jonny opened his mouth. "I forbid you to. However, you can nod or shake your head when I ask you a question, as I can also see you. Through a videocamera. And you're facing me right now."

At these words, in a fit of shyness, Jonny instinctively attempted to protect himself from Thom's gaze, tugging at the handcuffs and lowering his head to let his hair block the sight of his exposed chest, that he was trying to cover with his arms in a feminine way. He heard Thom laugh.

"Now, what are you doing, Jonny? I've seen you naked a million times, and now you don't want me to look at you shirtless?" he said ironically. "Quit that. Straighten up now."

As Jonny didn't move, Thom sighed and spoke up.

"Here are the rules, Jonathan," he explained calmly "when I say something, you have to do it straight away without thinking. If I need to ask something twice, I'll just do... that."

A high-pitched, ear-splitting sound resounded suddenly in Jonny's ear, and he screamed in pain. He tried to bring his right ear to his hand to remove the earpiece, but a hand promptly grabbed his hair and yanked his head back. Three seconds later, the noise stopped.

Sat in his comfortable office chair, Thom smiled to himself. After all, all of Ed's reflexes had not changed for the worse with marijuana yet. He let a few seconds for Jonny's tinnitus to diminish and spoke again.

"Well, we can safely assume you'll do as you're told, now, can't we?"

Jonny nodded frantically. Being stabbed in the head certainly didn't feel any different, he thought. He sat upright and instantly felt Thom's burning gaze on him, as well as Ed's on his back, but forced himself not no fidget.

"Veeeery good." cooed Thom "Now, swivel this chair so I can see your profile... Haha, you're so clumsy, this is cute!"

Jonny would have sworn out loud, but his ear was still ringing and he certainly didn't want to kill his eardrum for good.

"And now," Thom continued "here is what you're going to say: 'Ed, please come here in front of me, and make me suck your cock. Put it all the way in and don't stop even if I cry or choke. Just force yourself in my mouth.'"

Under his blindfold, Jonny had started weeping as Thom was talking. Of course, he liked it when Thom was being kinky, but not when he was being spiteful.

"What are you waiting for, Jon-Jon?" Thom snarled. "I thought it was what you wanted after all! Did you think I had not noticed? I may have a lazy eye, but it doesn't mean I'm fucking blind! I can read you, Jon, you're an open book! And your pages say 'I'm tired of Thom, I wonder how it feels to be with Ed, the fucking tall, fucking gorgeous Ed O'Brien. How it feels to be fucked by him...'"

Jonny's shoulders and lower lip were trembling as he tried unsuccessfully to hold back his tears. How the hell had he given himself away like this? Was he so transparent? He felt ashamed of himself for his lack of fidelity and frankness, not to mention the naughty thoughts that had crossed his mind when he was looking at Ed.

"For heaven's sake, Jonny, stop it with those fake tears." Thom said bitterly "I should be the one crying. I'm not enough and you want more. I was really sad when I figured that out. Now I'm just offended, and angry. But I feel generous, too, and I'll let fuckingtallandgorgeousEdO'Brien play with my toy. I'll watch him gag you with his cock - and about that, Jesus, you don't know what you're letting yourself in for - and jerk off at the sight of you suffering. And now, unless you want to be deaf by the end of the day, I suggest you swallow your pride, and his come with it."

----------

"Say it."

Jonny kept silent. He didn't move an inch.

"Say it," Thom hissed in his ear.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a few salty drops leaking from the corners.

"Repeat after me: 'Ed, please come here in front of me, make me suck your cock.'"

Now Jonny lifted his head and turned it to the right, facing the camera. Thom couldn't see his glare, but he could see the way he stuck his chin high in the air, proud of refusing to obey.

"Fucking say it!" he yelled, and even before Jonny had the time to jump, the excruciating noise was filling his ears, his brain, his whole body. He started thrashing about, shaking his head violently from one side to the other.

"Alright!!" he screamed. The sound stopped abruptly. His chest was heaving with shaky intakes of breath.

"Alright," he said again, broken.

No reaction from Thom. Jonny swallowed.

"Ed..." he began.

"Yes, Jonny?" A low voice behind him.

"Please come here in front of me, make me suck your cock." The words sounded so even, so apathetic. Not strong, not defeated. Nothing.

He heard shuffling as Ed walked over to Jonny's front.

"God, you should've seen the look he just gave me," Thom whispered, voice dripping with sadism.

"Now open his fly." Jonny didn't even think about disobeying once more and brought his hands up as far as the handcuffs would let him.

He could barely reach Ed's belt and had to use the tips of his fingers to open it.

The sight of a helpless Jonny in front of him, blindfolded and struggling to open his trousers, along with the fumbling around his groin, was enough to arouse Ed to a decent level.

When Jonny finally had undone the zipper, a new order was given.

"Take it out," Thom encouraged.

Jonny swallowed, but slowly slid down Ed's jeans and then his boxers. The faint smell of arousal swirled in the air. Jonny felt like his insides had yet to decide whether they approved of it or not.

"Good boy. Now tell him to do it. And don't try that 'Thom wants me to say...'" Thom was whining childishly when he said it. "Just say 'do it'. Go on."

Jonny involuntarily licked his lips and he heard a faint reaction coming from Thom.
Something clicked, and he realised that it was actually him that was in control here. Not Thom, not Ed. He was the one that would make this work or not. There were two options, really. He could just do everything he was told in a cold, apathetic way, not caring at all and banning it from his memory as soon as he was done here. Or he could do it the opposite way. He could put up a hell of a show. He could make Ed quiver, make Thom moan. Perhaps he could enjoy it himself, even. It was all up to him.

"Do it."

----------

Thom was ready once again to torture Jonny with the loud piercing noise. From what he could see, Jonny wasn't cooperating. But what he couldn't see was the look in Jonny's sparkling eyes. Something in his mind was made up and he had a plan. Thom thought he was going to fuck with Jonny's head, but Jonny knew Thom better than that. He knew that Thom expected him to resist and struggle. In return, so did Ed. It was time to show them what Jonny was made of. Jonny used his shoulder to slip the blindfold off. He looked over at the camera, hoping that Thom could read the expression in his eyes.

Jonny shifted his eyes from the camera to the man before him, forcing his face up to analyse his eyes. There was nothing there but a giant's lust. Ed was good at playing along and he wouldn't speak to Jonny as instructed. But Ed was so very weak and so very easy. Jonny felt good about this.

"Being a bit difficult there, Jon," Thom said into his ear almost threateningly, giving him one more chance to do as he was told. But Jonny didn't need another warning. Ed's erection bobbled in his face as Jonny looked towards Thom, exaggerating a helpless, hurt, scared expression.

Suddenly, Jonny took Ed into his mouth, hot and quick and wet. Ed whimpered like a girl from shock and pleasure. He even took a step back out of confusion. "No Ed..." Jonny sighed. "Come back, please. I want you." Thom couldn't physically stop Jonny from talking, which was perfect. And poor Ed forgot all those intricate instructions from Thom and was overwhelmed with his animalistic sex drive. With an impatient grunt, Ed returned his huge cock into the warm safety of Jonny's mouth. Jonny drooled as much as he could, the only struggle was getting Ed's unhuman dick half-way inside without his hands. He moaned loudly, making a whore of himself and letting a thick string of spit dangle to the floor that even Thom could see from the camera. Jonny tried but failed in getting Ed to fit in his mouth. But that was fine too, it led to other options. He reared his head back and let the cold air lap at Ed's dick.

"Ed," Jonny moaned huskily. "Uh?" Ed moaned, jerking himself off rather successfully to the simple sight of Jonny. "I can't get your huge cock in my mouth alone. I need your cock. I hunger for it, I always have, desperately, my God you have no idea. I need you to help me. I need you to push it in. All the way. Slowly. Ok, Ed? Please? Oh God, please." Ed's head swam with desire, explosions going off in random places of his mind. He couldn't hold back. Fuck Thom, Ed thought. I have needs, too. When would I ever have this chance again?
"Jonny...do. Not. Speak. To. Ed. Unless I say you can." Thom wasn't playing around. He thought that Jonny would try to talk to Ed for sympathy, but not this way. "Don't forget about this." The shrill high-pitched sound blasted into Jonny's ear like an unexpected car accident. Jonny threw his head left and right, trying to throw the noise away, as impossible as it was.

"ED! DO IT! OHMYGOD ED PLEASE!" He screamed in pain. Ed gladly obeyed and guided his dick into Jonny's open, screaming mouth. Jonny started sucking hard, as if that would stop the sound. He was trying to swallow it whole, his jaw already beginning to ache badly from its size. Then the noise stopped. Hungry-Cock-eating-Jonny must have distracted Thom from torturing him for the time being. It was extremely hard, but Ed had gotten his dick halfway down Jonny's throat. Even if he needed to gag, he couldn't, as you would need room in your throat to do so. Holding his breath for longer than he should, he moved his head up and down on Ed's shaft. He was so hard that Jonny didn't have much skin to work with, but he made due. The Giant was very easy to please, and he allowed himself to moaned loudly and sincerely. He realised why Thom lusted after Jonny so much now. All of Ed's fantasies put together didn't equal the bliss he was feeling. His leg began to twitch as his orgasm neared. Jonny could hear Thom stifle his moaning as well. "You fucking whore, look at you," Thom hissed. "Is this what you wanted, Jonny? Is this what I couldn't give you?" Jonny decided to use his secret back up tricks, such as tongue swirling and that thing he does to the tip with his lips. He looked up at Ed and moaned down on his cock, vibrating into it. Ed looked and felt franticly close. He could tell Thom was close, too. Jonny should have just let them both cum and that was that. He should let Thom feel like he had some control. Ed Leaned back and prepared for it, Thom leaned forward to see better.

Now.

Jonny pulled his head away enough for Ed's cock to fall out. "Aurgh!" Ed growled. He was dizzy and angry and on the edge of an awesome release. "Ed! Ed, listen to me. -"

"What are you doing, Jonny?! Don't talk to-"
"Ed! please fuck me!"

There was silence all around at this point. Ed heard Jonny, Thom read Jonny's lips. Jonny felt both self conscious and self empowered. "Ed," he whispered, "Ed, please." Ed was breathing very hard, and he looked insanely confused. "But-"

"Ed. Whats gonna happen? Thom? You mean that camera over there? He isn't here. He can only watch. I mean, he wanted you to torture me for wanting you right? What better way than-" Jonny was distracted by the growl in his ear. "JONNY! I don't know what the fuck you are doing! But it stops now!" Thom was furious. "Ed. Take this thing out of my ear and fuck me."

"Jonny! I'm gonna beat you black and blue-"
"Take this thing out Ed. This is between you and me."
"Jonny! You! I'll-"
"Don't you want to cum Ed? Inside me?" Jonny's eyes were as glazed over as his words. His lips were full and red. He was sticking his ass out as far as he could. "Oh God," Ed mumbled. "Take this out of my ear, Ed." Ed nodded, giving in to his needs. He was now taking orders from Jonny. It didn't even faze Jonny when the sharp sound began rattling his skull again. Ed reached down and merely flicked it to the floor. "Can you get these cuffs off? It would be easier, ok Ed? I promise, I wont run. I want this." Ed nodded and carefully removed the cuffs.

Jonny stood up slowly, his back cramping a bit. "How do you want me, Ed? Its all up to you-"
"Hands and knees! Floor now!" Ed barked impatiently. Jonny smiled and he assumed the position. He faced the camera at first, looking right into it. His eyes were piercing threw the distance between them and right into Thom's soul. Jonny mouthed these words to his audience: Is. This. What. You. Wanted?

Then Jonny decided to give Thom a side angle. He wanted Thom to watch Ed pump his cock into Jonny's ass, into Thom's property. Jonny lowered his face to the floor, ass up high.

"Ed, put it in me." From where the earpiece lay abandoned on the floor, a voice shouted desperately.

----------

Take that, you son of a bitch, thought Jonny, turning his head and staring defiantly at the camera with a slight smirk. Thom wanted a show? Alright, he was going to get it.

"Come on Ed, and you better do it hard!" he said impatiently. "No, I don't need further preparation, you're wet enough and this is not my first time," he added before Ed's fingers reached his arse, "so fuck me already!"

He felt Ed's hands on his hips and his cock brushing against his opening and he purred teasingly, the sound of it driving Ed a little crazier, and he penetrated Jonny in one swift motion. Jonny threw his head back with a strangled cry. Ed was much bigger than Thom, and it hurt. But he was so furious he was not going to let it show. Instead, he happily rolled his hips to help Ed find the best angle and pushed backwards against Ed's rapid thrusts.

Ed was not brutal enough in Jonny's mind, but according to the shouting coming from the earpiece left on the ground, it was more than enough. Thom's screams were having a considerable effect on Jonny. It excited him to drive Thom mad with anger and frustration, and he was gloating over the fact that Thom could lose his twisted mind games. It had to be the first time Jonny was really in control, and he found it quite enjoyable. Especially now, with Ed's cock all the way up his arse, hitting repeatedly that spot inside him and turning pain into sheer pleasure.

Eyes closed and lips parted, Jonny began screaming Ed's name, loudly, in between filthy commands he didn't think he would ever have dared to utter. Wherever Thom was in this bloody house, he would hear it, and wish he were deaf.

As for Ed, he had trouble thinking coherent thoughts as he watched the muscles of Jonny's back tense under the fair skin and as he heard the dirty words coming from his mouth. He now had a hand on the younger Greenwood's shoulder and was pulling Jonny towards him, eager to obey his orders to enter him deeper, harder, faster.

Ed felt himself slowly losing control, and he didn't realise his fingernails were digging into Jonny's skin as his hand moved across his back, leaving five red lines on it. Jonny's eyes widened. Pain had never felt so good to him. He felt his skin burning and it was like Ed had put his signature on Jonny's back. As if Jonny belonged to him. Thom was going to be furious, and Jonny nearly came at this thought. He reached behind him to grab Ed's hand and placed it on his cock.

"Make me come, now, Ed!" he said hoarsely. He could barely make out the room now; his eyes were clouded with sex.

Ed obliged and stroked him in rhythm with his own thrusts. It didn't take long before Jonny came in his hand and on the wooden floor with Ed's name on his lips. Ed followed soon, shooting inside Jonny before pulling out, panting.

Jonny turned around and threw his arms around Ed's neck, pulling him into a passionate kiss that Ed reciprocated without a second thought. This is going to be the death of Thom, Jonny thought. He and Thom agreed that sex was related to lust, desire, but that kissing was an actual show of affection. As his tongue circled Ed's, he wished he could see Thom's devastated face at the idea he didn't mean anything anymore to Jonny.

----------


Just as Jonny and Ed were both relaxing into the kiss, they heard the sounds of a very angry Thom shouting at them as he stomped down the hallway. "WHORES!" he was screaming, getting closer. "YOU FUCKING BASTARDS!" Ed, still sluggish from the post-sex haze, had barely pushed himself up off of Jonny when Thom entered the room. "FUCK YOU BOTH" he yelled, grabbing the chair that Jonny had chosen just a short time before and throwing it across the room. The chair hit the wall with great force, leaving deep gouges in the already crumbling plaster. Ed winced from the violence of the act.

"Thom," he said, his voice carefully measured for the right mix of authority and gentleness, "calm down."
"Fuck off," Thom spat back. "This doesn't fucking concern you."
"I think this whole situation got a little out of hand and maybe we all need to go for a walk before we do something we'll regret," Ed continued.
"I said this doesn't fucking concern you, O'Brien, so why don't you go fuck off."
"It's alright," Jonny said Ed. "You can go."
Ed looked indecisive for a moment, but finally pushed himself up, pulling his trousers on as he walked out of the room.

Jonny was still laying in the middle of the floor. Thom walked over and stood above him. Jonny looked up at him.
"What did you expect to happen?" Jonny asked, his voice giving nothing away.
"I just wanted to give you a taste of what you'd have to look forward to when you left me," Thom said.
"I never said I wanted to leave you," Jonny said.
"You never said you wanted to stay."
"You never asked."
"You never asked either."
"I thought we were just about the sex."
"We were." Thom paused and corrected himself. "Are."
"Maybe I want more."
"More than what?"
"More than this," and Jonny gestured around the room, his gesture including the earpiece, the handcuffs and the broken chair.
"Fuck you," Thom said and took a step towards the door. Jonny grabbed Thom's ankle. Thom tried to shake him off, but Jonny caught him off guard and Thom ungracefully fell to the floor.

----------

For someone his size, Thom was unusually strong, but Jonny had the advantage of height and weight and was flying on the pure adrenaline rush of the moment, and had little trouble in pinning Thom to the floorboards on his back, both hands resting on the smaller man’s shoulders and one thigh pressed between Thom’s own, effectively rendering him helpless. Thom struggled wildly against the restraint, shrieking obscenities at him, but when Jonny decided enough was enough and cut off Thom’s cries by sealing his mouth in a firm kiss, Thom fell oddly silent.

This was different. In all the time they’d been together... well, together wasn’t the word, was it, because that implied some kind of permanence to the arrangement and what they’d shared was a whirlwind of lust and sex and little time for passion or affection... Jonny didn’t think they had ever kissed. Not once. Feeling the resistance of Thom’s mouth giving way under the pressure of lips and tongue to a meeting of hot breath and teeth and the scratch of Thom’s beard on his skin... the taste of Thom, beer and denial, and his smell like the outdoors, earth and bark and leaves... it was something he’d never taken the time to notice before, and now he had he didn’t think he’d be able to go back.

Was that why he’d done what he did with Ed? He’d tried to prove to Thom that, just as Thom wasn’t exclusive, so Jonny could behave too; but, in the end, all he’d learned from Ed, from letting Ed take control as he’d allowed Thom to do before, from letting Ed fuck him, and then kissing him, was that Thom was the only person he cared about in that way. To judge from Thom’s reaction, perhaps Thom felt the same. While he could be violent towards Jonny, it was only because he knew that Jonny liked it, and he’d never go further than he knew Jonny wanted: Thom could read him better than anyone and he’d quickly determined how far he could go before they crossed the boundary between pleasure and pain. Looking at the broken chair and the gouges in the wall, it showed what Thom was capable of, and yet he’d never directed anything like that fury towards Jonny, not even in their after-hours sessions when Jonny would pretend he didn’t want it and let Thom bend him over the nearest chair and put a hand over his mouth to silence his screams.

Jonny raised his head, staring down at Thom’s face. Thom’s bright eyes looked almost navy in this light, and they were studying him with a gentle curiosity, the anger he’d shown as he entered the room having dissipated completely.

“Jon... I’ve... we’ve...”

“I’m sorry,” Jonny whispered, cutting him off. “I thought I could... I don’t know. I just know that I want you... I want this to be something more. And... I’ll understand, if you don’t want the same, but I can’t do it like this any longer.”

He lifted his hands from Thom’s shoulders and leaned back, allowing Thom to sit up.

“I didn’t know,” Thom murmured, rubbing a hand through his hair and leaving it mussed and spiky. “I thought you just liked me to, you know, because you didn’t know anyone else who wanted that.”

“I still do,” Jonny said, as Thom stood up, dusting off his jacket and gazing around at the scattered pieces of the scenario he’d created. “But I’d like to go further, if you want the same.” Still sitting at Thom’s feet, he reached for the handcuffs where they lay abandoned on the floor and slowly secured them around his own wrists, his eyes never leaving Thom’s face.

Thom gently pushed Jonny onto his back. He picked up Jonny's right foot and undid the shoelace, setting the shoe down. Then he slowly removed Jonny's sock. Next were Jonny's other sock and shoe, which were placed next to the first shoe. Jonny's trousers were around his knees and Thom removed those, too, leaving Jonny naked and handcuffed on the floor. Thom then set about taking off his own clothes. Shoes, socks. He slid his shirt off with one practiced motion, leaving his hair sticking out at odd angles.

Thom saw Jonny bite his lip as Thom unbuckled his trousers and slid them off his hips to the floor, kicking them to the side, and thus stood completely exposed in front of Jonny. Jonny bit his bottom lip so hard it threatened to bleed; his eyes focused behind dark hair. Thom knelt down in front of him, knees hitting the hard floor with a thump and hands trailing up the outside of Jonny's legs, up past his knees. With a sigh, lips met and eyes closed. There were no teeth, no tongues, just lips pressed softly together and for a moment, that’s all that existed in the room. There was a gasp and a whimper, from who they didn’t know; maybe both. The small noise set fire to skin and teeth came into existence along with lips, biting and tugging and causing more whimpers and more kisses to ease the pain away. Thom’s fingers slipped against Jonny, landing on his arms and trailing down to the metal clasped around his wrists. Jonny groaned when Thom broke the kiss to fish through his trousers lying abandoned on the floor, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when he saw what Thom had been grabbing for, a tiny little key. There was another kiss and warm hands on his wrists, a snap and the metal came loose, falling to the floor in a pile.

“Thom, what – ” Jonny stuttered as he watched him pick up the handcuffs and bring them to his own wrists.
“Jonny,” Thom leaned in, brushing his lips against the younger man’s cheek to his ear, a trail of hot breath. “I want you to fuck me.”
Jonny shook his head. "Thom, no ... I don't ... no ... "
Thom took one of his handcuffed hands and ran it up Jonny's hard cock, causing Jonny to moan and bite his lip. As Thom leaned into kiss that lip, he whispered "your lips are saying 'no', but your cock is saying 'yes.'"
Jonny looked up at him, "Did you get that line from a bad porno?"
"Probably, but it's true, isn't it."
Jonny didn’t say anything. Thom moved so that his mouth had full access to Jonny's cock. He licked it up and down a few times, leaving enough saliva behind. Jonny, between small gasps, said "That's very nice; but we don't have to go any farther."
Thom paused and looked up at him, "Are you scared?"
"No," Jonny lied. Thom just looked at Jonny with a glance that said "oh, but I know."
When Thom was satisfied with his work, he straddled Jonny.
"Thom," Jonny gasped, goosebumps breaking out onto the skin at the feel of Thom's warm body on his. "Wait..."
"What's wrong?" Thom asked, hand running down the smooth skin on his chest. Jonny smiled, shaking his head, one hand coming to rest on Thom's side while the other took the key from the floor.
"Nothing, it's just..." he said, moving to unlock the cuffs from Thom's wrists. They clicked open and he threw the handcuffs aside to join the pieces of the broken chair.
“It’s just?” Thom breathed, suddenly nervous. “I want this time to be different.”
Although Jonny tried to hide it, the smile on his face was a give away that Thom was taking the right action.
"What if it hurts?" Jonny asked. Thom refrained from laughing.
He gave Jonny's cock a little squeeze, “I have a feeling this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you." Jonny looked aghast.
"In a good way," Thom explained. Just thinking about it was intoxicating. "Are you ready now?" he whispered. Jonny nodded, letting out a sigh as Thom leaned over and kissed him again, running his fingers through Jonny's hair, leaving it splayed out on the floor around him.
"It's almost like we're underwater," Thom thought to himself, taking in the sight of Jonny's closed eyes and pouting lips. He could feel Jonny's cock behind him and decided to waste no more time. Holding onto it, he slowly lowered himself down onto him, letting out a sharp hiss and Jonny twisting his head to the side, hair slowly moving with him. He paused, letting his muscles relax as soft hands and callused fingertips slid up his stomach.
"How's that?" Thom whispered. Jonny nodded.
"It's good," he smiled up at him. "It's really good. Erm..."
Thom wanted to yell at him to "Get on with it," but instead settled for a "What?"
"I think, if we want to do this proper, it needs to be the other way."
Thom could see he had a valid point, and with a nod they rolled over slowly, Jonny pressing himself down onto Thom.
"Much better," Thom agreed. "Now that you've got me here, what are you going to do to me?"
"Fuck your brains out," Jonny replied as he started moving in and out, groaning into the nape of Thom's neck. Although Jonny was hurting Thom more than he'd ever admit, Thom was getting more pleasure from this that he ever thought possible. Hands, now free from their restraints, trailed down Jonny's back, over each jaunting vertebrae. Hips pushing hard and raising and voices echoing in the empty room. Just as Thom started to gasp that he was coming, Jonny abruptly stopped.
"Fu-uuu-ck," he whimpered. "Jonny, keep going! Please, keep going!"
Slowly, Jonny slid out with a hum, "I don't think I want you to come yet, Thom." If Thom didn't know that Jonny wanted it as badly as Thom himself did, he would have killed Jonny with his bare hands at that moment.
"What do you want me to do?" he begged. Jonny thought about this for a while, eventually breaking itno a grin.
"Kiss me right here," he pointed to his neck, somewhat lower than his earlobe, "and I'll think about it." With a growl Thom grabbed him round the neck and brought Jonny's head down close to his, licking, then sucking, doing his best to prove his worth.
"Mmm, that's very nice," Jonny said. "Now, here." and he pointed to the other side of his neck.
"Uhg, Jonny, please." Thom whimpered. "Please...just..."
"Okay," Jonny said. "I want you on your hands and knees," Thom did not have to be told twice. In the blink of an eye he had flipped over and stuck his arse in the air.
"Good," he said breathlessly. "Now, tell me what you want me to do to you, Thom."
"I. Want. You. To. Stick. Your. Cock. In. My. Ass. Right. Now," Thom said in a carefully measured tone. Jonny laughed.
"And why do you want this?" he asked, practically purring.
"Because it feels so good," Thom said. Jonny laughed again and almost missed Thom's next comment.
"- and because I love you." Jonny didn't laugh this time, heart fluttering in his chest.
"What?" he asked. "What did you say?"
"I said," Thom continued, "I love you, and I want you to fuck me right now." Deciding the teasing had gone long enough, Jonny knelt behind Thom, planting a kiss on his lower back as he slowly entered him again, taking his time.
"Please, Jonny," he whimpered and with a grunt Jonny grabbed his shoulder and shoved, releasing a loud yelp from Thom.
"Yes! Harder!" he gasped and as they built up their rhythm again, Jonny reached around Thom and started stroking on his cock and within a few moments they both came together, moaning each other's names and collapsing down onto the hard floor, spent. Through gasping breaths lips met again, marking spots on each other's faces and fingers brushing hair from eyes.
"How was that?" Thom asked. With a blush Jonny bit his lower lip again, dark eyes still clouded over.
"Amazing," he smiles and Thom leans over to capture his bottom lip between his teeth, running his finger across one of Jonny's bruised wrists. Already the cold air of the house has find them lying naked in a pile on the floor, seeping into their bones and causing them to shiver against one another for heat.
"Shall we take this to a bedroom?" Jonny suggests. "I feel like I've spent enough time here."
"Hmm," Thom replies, getting up off the floor with cracking bones, holding out his hand to help Jonny up. They look at the mess they've created and decide with smiles that it can wait. As they leave the red room, Thom throws it one last glance over his shoulder before turning back to Jonny, informing him that he's quite glad they're leaving that room, because he's pretty sure it's haunted.

the end