Chuckjd's Words

a convenient dumping ground for my writing

1991/03/11

11 March, 1991 – 11:13 pm – Newcastle Riverside

He could feel the rough brick wall through his thin, spray paint-stained t-shirt, the uneven and messy mortar digging into his pale, sweaty flesh. He was pressed tightly against it, the sandy concrete probably ripping holes in his shirt, if not his skin. But that pain wasn’t at the forefront of his mind at that moment (not that pain really got his attention anymore anyway), it was the crushing of lips and the crotch of his jeans becoming too tight to handle that he was really paying attention to.

Richey ran his fingers through Nicky’s hair, letting them catch in the few tangles and creating more as he pulled. With every tug on his hair, Nicky’s grip on Richey’s hips tightened. He held him against the wall firmly, grinding excitedly. He moved as if he didn’t know where to touch next, wanting to touch everywhere at once, unable to decide where to start.

Richey’s legs were tangled around Nicky’s waist, held up only by the pressure of their bodies together and Nicky’s large, spindly hands. He held so tight, Richey was sure he was leaving bruises. He liked the feel of his grip so much; he couldn’t wait to have Nicky kiss those bruises away. Later, he told himself. When they got back to their room, there would be time for everything, and they wouldn’t have to hide anymore.

Breathing labored, their mouths were fused together in a fevered war. It was an imperfect kiss, teeth clanging and the like, but the adrenaline rush from coming off stage was enough to make up for it. The gig had been good, but the audience was what made it. They were crazy, screaming along, jumping up and down, crashing into each other. These were the people that got them going. They made the rush all worth it, and with all of them screaming your name, you had to feel at least a little high from it.

They were in a dark corner backstage, away from hot stage lights and other people, cast, crew, or otherwise. They could still hear the crowd mumbling while the dull shuffle of feet went in the direction of the doors and outside.

Richey let his hand slip from Nicky’s scalp down to the front of Nicky’s jeans, sloppily attempting to undo the button fly. His fingers were fumbling. He couldn’t break his concentration from Nicky’s hot mouth and penetrating tongue.

Footsteps down the hall, coming closer, ended the messy makeout session all too soon. Both of them went still, looking into each other’s faces for what to do next.

“Nick?” came James’ voice over the dull drone of the main dressing rooms and roadies clearing out.

“Nicky? Have you seen Rich?” he yelled.

As if someone had set them on fire, Nicky and Richey disentangled, smoothing hair, clothes, and buttoning flies. The fact that there were matching bulges in the fronts of their jeans was not the main issue, it seemed. No sooner did they pulled apart than James rounded the corner. He stopped abruptly, letting his eyes wander back and forth between their faces before speaking. They were standing straighter than rails, nervously stiff, as if waiting for military inspection.

“I knew you’d know where he was,” was all that James could say. It was the only thing his mind would let him comprehend at the moment. In times of shock, the mind has great defense mechanisms, and James was finding out how well his worked.

Richey scratched his head absently, trying not to be obvious about staring at the floor. Nicky was too frozen to stare at anything at the moment. Richey scuffed his shoe against the floor absently.

The far off murmur of voices seemed to get louder as the uncomfortable seconds passed. Needing to clean up such a messy situation, Nicky snapped to his senses, threw an arm around James’ bare shoulders, and walked him back down the hall that he had come from, blithering about the gig and other nonsense, ignoring any reason why James may have come to look for him and Richey in the first place.

When they were gone, Nicky’s ramblings blending in with the undistinguishable voices of the crowd toward the stage, Richey let out the breath he had been holding. He rubbed his eyes and leaned against the rough brick. This was not something he needed to be dealing with right now. Shit.

“Tonight’s gig was a great gig. The audience was really into everything. I didn’t think that many people would show up. At least we put on a tight set for them. I really think we played a tight set, don’t you? Tightest one so far and they’re only destined to get tighter. That’s what they say, you know. I don’t know who they are, but-”

“Nicky!” James blurted, breaking Nicky’s careful concentration and one-breath-fueled run-on thought.

He stared at James, eyes wide and mouth pulled tight and small. He didn’t say another word, and actually looked as if he had stopped breathing all together. James almost laughed.

“Nick, you don’t have to do this-” James said, gesturing between them, “-this… nervous babbling. It’s not going to change what happened and make it go away.” James’ voice was in gentle mode, the tone he usually reserved for defenseless children, old ladies, and Richey. It was as motherly as the man could sound, which he was actually pretty good at.

Nicky’s eyes darted to James’ face, startled. He looked as if someone had just made him watch a puppy getting kicked. “What? What happened? Nothing happened.” He pulled his arm away, looking pale.

James shook his head and sighed. “You know what? We don’t have to talk about it. When you want to talk about it-no details please, because that would just be too much-you know where to find me. I’m going to the pub.” He smiled crookedly, reaching up to slap Nicky on the shoulder. “Tell lover boy to join me if he feels up to it.” He turned and walked away.

James paused for a second, then called over his shoulder, “Or doesn’t have previously made plans.”

Nicky’s face turned the brightest red a face can turn without causing a stroke or heart attack and his stomach plummeted the dizzying height from its regular position to his feet. He could hear James chuckle. Fuck.

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