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.

Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

1991/02/16

16 February, 1991 – The Buzz Club – In the loo

“Have you ever done this before?” Nicky whispered.

Richey stopped undoing Nicky’s button fly, shook his head, and shrugged. “No, of course not, but it can’t be that hard to figure out.”

Nicky covered his mouth, trying to hide a snicker.

“What?” Richey said, looking up at Nicky.

Nicky controlled his giggles long enough to say, “You said hard.”

Richey rolled his eyes and got back into the moment, his lips finding Nicky’s hip bone and covering it with kisses. When Richey began to nibble, Nicky’s laughter ceased totally and was replaced by heavier and heavier breathing. Richey yanked his trousers down farther out of the way, and followed them with Nicky’s pants. Nicky shivered at the feeling of the cool tile on his naked buttocks.

Richey stared at Nicky’s erection in front of his face. It was almost as if it was staring back at him. Somewhere in the back of his brain, a neuron was having second thoughts, but the rest of his brain, along with the chorus of his body and its miles of tangling nerves, was chanting, “Go, go, go!” He reached out chastely, slow and sure. He could hear Nicky’s breath slowing down, so he had to work fast to get it back to that fevered pace, the one that Richey had grown to love hearing panted into his ear, their bodies and lips covering each other. He gripped the base firmly and began to move his fist up and down, working up not only Nicky, but his courage as well.

This is it,’ his mind reminded him.

He leaned forward, glancing up quickly to see Nicky’s face looking down at him, his eye heavily lidded and his mouth slack. He couldn’t help but smirk a little, and let his tongue poke out of his mouth to meet the head of Nicky’s penis. The corner of Nicky’s mouth twitched in the idea of a smile, but didn’t fully form. He was too engrossed by watching Richey on his knees getting ready to give him the first blowjob he’d ever tried.

Richey pushed all of his hesitation behind him, and wrapped his lips around Nicky’s shaft. He sucked gently, only going a little past the head. He could see Nicky’s hands balling into fists at his sides and feel Nicky’s lungs working harder. He moved his left hand from around Nicky’s cock, grabbing Nicky’s hip tightly, his thumb caressing the smooth white skin there. Richey’s other hand started to move again while he tried to take more of Nicky in his mouth.

Nicky hissed. “Uh, Rich, ow, uh, watch your teeth.”

Richey could feel the blush creep across his stretched cheeks. He adjusted his lips to best fulfill Nicky’s request and moved faster, with more confidence. As he got a good pace going, he felt a hand in his hair. He wondered if he was doing something wrong again, but the hand only threaded through his hair, not hindering his movement.

He sucked harder, getting more adventurous with how much of Nicky he tried to swallow. He went a bit too far a couple times, but soon found his limits. Nicky’s hips didn’t help by coming off the wall and pushing too quickly. With a good grip, he kept Nicky in place. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his rhythm.

Nicky’s eyes were rolling back in his head. He couldn’t hold on much longer, and he tightened the fist in Richey’s hair to tell him that. He couldn’t form a coherent word if he tried. Only whines and soft moans emanated from his throat, echoing in the small space.

“Ri-, Ri-, Ri-, Rich, Rich, Richey,” Nicky panted, his voice hushed. All of his energy was being sucked out of him, quite literally. His hand was fully tangled in Richey’s disheveled black hair, curling tighter and tighter.

Richey’s jaw ached. He bobbled his head up and down, doing his best not to choke or gag.

“I-, I’m-, I’m gonna,” Nicky muttered louder this time, cutting off with a strangled cry.

Richey’s mouth and throat were suddenly invaded with foul-tasting liquid and he gagged slightly, trying to swallow as fast as Nicky was coming.

Richey sucked him clean and let him fall out of his mouth. Nicky slumped a little, still riding the wave of good feelings that come with great orgasms. Richey sat back on his heels, licking his lips and wiping his face. He massaged his jaw soothingly, happy to be able to close his mouth again.

“So?” Richey said expectantly.

“So,” Nicky replied, breathlessly with a dumb grin on his face. “Great first effort.” He took a few more deep breaths.

“Some of us need to piss, you know!” Sean yelled through the door, banging with his fist on the wooden surface for emphasis. Nicky’s instinctive reaction was to grab for his trousers, pulling them up and buttoning them hastily. He looked over at Richey nervously. Richey just smiled.

“He doesn’t know we’re in here,” Richey whispered, crawling over to Nicky and sitting at his feet.

Sean knocked again. “Wire, I know you’re in there!”

Nicky’s eyes were the size of saucers when he peered down at Richey. He slipped down the wall to sit face to face with Richey.

“Get the girl done and get out!” Sean shouted finally and walked away. His footsteps faded down the hall outside.

Richey couldn’t help but laugh. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Nicky scrunched his face and stumbled to his feet. “You be quiet, down there. We were just this close to getting caught.” Nicky pinched his fingers together to illustrate.

Richey climbed to his feet in front of Nicky. He pulled his head down and kissed him passionately, but cut it short. “Would getting caught really be that bad?”

Nicky turned around abruptly, standing in front of the sink and splashing water on his face. He raked his fingers through his hair and stared into the mirror. “I don’t know,” he sighed finally. He turned back around to face Richey again and leaned against the porcelain edge. “It would be weird. Do you really want Sean or James to walk in on us messing around?”

“No,” Richey replied, “not really. But it’d be a way to get things out in the open. This whole sneaking around thing can’t last forever.”

Nicky looked down at his feet, the previous glow of goodwill and happiness from a fantastic blowjob almost totally faded away.

“You know what, don’t worry about it,” Richey said, backtracking. “We’ll figure everything out later. Now get out there and stall them while I sneak away, yeah?”

Nicky nodded and unlocked the door, slipping out into the hall with darting eyes. Richey sat on the toilet, waiting for the clearing of the coast and thinking about how complicated things were going to be when they got home.

Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

1991/01/06 12:09pm

6 January, 1991 – 12:09 pm – Philip Hall’s house

Richey woke up unable to breathe. Or at least it was difficult to breathe. Nicky was mostly on top of him, pressing mainly on his chest with his arm and head. His elbow was digging against Richey’s ribs, as was his skull, and it was vaguely uncomfortable. Or actually really uncomfortable, if Richey was honest with himself. It would’ve been worse if half of his body, Nicky’s half, wasn’t partially numb. So much for small miracles. He also would’ve minded more if he didn’t enjoy the warmth of Nicky’s body next to his. It was comforting to wake up to, even if parts of him couldn’t feel it and only contained the sensation of pins and needles.

As gingerly as possible, Richey attempted to dislodge himself from the strange bodily tangle he was involved in. Richey picked up Nicky’s arm draped over him, and Nicky shot up and gasped as if cold water had been thrown on him.

Almost looking embarrassed at his sudden and unneeded movement, Nicky stared at Richey, his brows unfurrowing slightly. Now that Nicky’s head was off his chest, not only could he breathe again, but he could see the drool spot Nicky left on his shirt. Richey’s shoulder faintly throbbed, feeling and, therefore, pain returning to it.

Richey smiled at the stunned, yet injured wild animal look camping on Nicky’s face. He started to chuckle a “good morning” at Nicky when Nicky captured his mouth in a surprise kiss.

They both froze in the kiss, and then melted as the fire of possibility and memory was lit inside both of their minds. Their eyes slipped closed in comfort and their lips began to move against each other. It was almost familiar, the slide of their lips and the timidity of their tongues wanting entry, but too afraid to ask for it.

After the requisite eternity it felt like, they parted, staring into each other’s faces.

“I told you I was serious,” Nicky said with a straight face that lasted only seconds before it broke into a wide, mischievous grin.

Richey smiled back and laughed, “You could’ve at least brushed your teeth first.”

Nicky let his laughter out, resting his forehead on Richey’s chest. He could feel the vibrations of laughter through Richey’s rib cage, and they were making his head ache, but he couldn’t quite find the energy to care. He finally noticed the drying drool stain he left on Richey’s shirt, which just made him laugh harder. He lifted his head again to look back at Richey. Richey’s smile went all the way to his eyes, leaving a glitter there he hadn’t seen since they were children. He was almost shaking with the ideas of everything that could happen next. The possibilities had always been endless, but now that endless eternity seemed a little less bleak and lonely. He could feel the excitement in all of his joints, the electricity surging through his muscles and coming out through his skin where he made contact with Richey. He idly drew circles with his fingers on Richey’s stomach peeking out from under the seam of his T-shirt.

Knowing how to change or kill any mood, depending on how you felt about it, he chimed in on Nicky’s thoughts. “May I pee?” Richey asked, still pinned under Nicky’s weight slightly. Nicky let out a chuckle and released Richey from underneath him. “Will you still be here when I get back?” he added, trying his best to look serious.

Nicky nodded, careful not to jar his throbbing head too much.

“Will you be awake?”

Nicky rolled his eyes in response.

“It’s a valid question, you realize. This would not be the first time leaving has bitten me in the arse.”

Nicky sighed and nodded again. There was a hint of a smile hidden on his lips.

“Then I’ll be back in a minute,” Richey said, hopping off the bed as well as a victim of a slight hangover and a half-numb body could, and padded to the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Nicky silently stared at the ceiling for a moment, flashes of everything that had just happened racing through his mind. For only a moment, he happily flailed, letting out a muted squeal of joy. Things were looking up. Things were great. Things may not have been going according to a plan, but they were going in a nice direction, and Nicky was excited to cruise along with the changes that were bound to happen. Now all that needed to change was his blinding hangover, and everything would be perfect. Hell yes.

Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

1991/01/06 01:52am

6 January, 1991 – 1:52 am – Philip Hall’s house

To commemorate moving into Philip Hall’s cramped house, sharing two beds amongst four guys, and a recently new year, the only option was to go to every pub on the street and drink until they were broke or blind. Whichever came first, of course.

Nicky, being the lightweight, didn’t make it to all the bars they intended on going to. Richey took him home early, leaving James, Sean, and Philip, who was more their chaperone than a fellow drinker, to go where they wanted. Terri had gone to her sister’s for the weekend, opting out of the boys’ celebration.

Richey had a difficult time helping such a tall stumbler home, and Nicky laughed almost the whole way. Richey didn’t know what the joke was, but knew that if he had been as drunk as Nicky was, he might. He was only slightly drunk, just beyond tipsy. He tried his best to keep Nicky mostly quiet and upright while he guided him through the dark house. He succeeded in keeping Nicky standing, but how quiet he was could be disputed.

“Richey?” Nicky not so much whispered as he hoarsely yelled.

“What?”

“Richey?”

What?

“Hi,” Nicky finally said, giggling again.

Richey rolled his glassy eyes. Nicky was the happiest and goofiest drunk he had ever known.

“You need to go to bed,” Richey said as authoritatively as he was able to make his voice sound. It wasn’t very cooperative, wavering. “I’m going to help you, and your head is going to regret this tomorrow.”

Nicky snickered, “Oh, so you’re gonna bed me now? How nice.” He let the ‘s’ extend longer than the word, hissing like a snake.

Richey couldn’t help but smile a little. Nicky was drunker than he thought. He dropped Nicky unceremoniously on the bed, glad to be rid of the extra weight. Nicky may have been skinny, but he was still heavy.

“Come ‘ere,” Nicky beckoned with his finger while flat on his back. “I gots a secret.”

Richey leaned down toward Nicky, but Nicky wasn’t satisfied and he curled his finger to come closer. When Richey’s face was right next to Nicky’s, he whispered quietly into his ear.

“I di’n’t forget that night, you know,” Nicky said cryptically.

Richey cocked his head, confused. “What ‘re you talkin’ ‘bout, Nick?”

“You know, the one when you kissed me,” he said, his voice suddenly warm and deep. Richey was startled when he felt Nicky’s tongue trace the edge of his ear. He shot upward, as did his eyebrows. He looked back at Nicky, who had his hand over his mouth like a guilty child. It wasn’t a good acting job, though, because he was quietly chuckling.

Richey couldn’t believe his ears. He was just drunk. Nicky was just drunk. He was dreaming. There were so many possibilities that the sound waves were lying.

“Kiss me again,” Nicky instructed casually.

He couldn’t have misheard that one.

“Nicky,” Richey started, unable to think of what to say. Those were some good words to hear directed at him coming out of that mouth, but were they right to listen to and follow? “You’re drunk.”

“I’m serious.”

“But you’re still drunk, and… it seems wrong to take advantage of that.” Richey’s gentleman side was choosing a stupid time to show itself.

“I’m not that drunk,” Nicky lied. He tried to sit up, but fell back on the bed miserably.

A loud ringing from the kitchen stole Richey’s attention from the confusing situation at hand. It was the phone. He debated, but it kept ringing, and it was late, so it must’ve been important. He looked back at Nicky and said, “I should get that.”

“Fuck it.”

Richey ignored him. “I’ll be right back.”

Richey sprinted to the kitchen, proud not to knock everything over in his path.

“Hullo?”

“RICHEEEY!” It was James, and he was particularly inebriated. He was shouting into the phone and was still only barely audible over the rolling mumble of the bar patrons.

“Wha’s up?”

“Jus’ makin’ sure you got there,” James slurred distractedly.

“Yup, all good, gotta go,” Richey said quickly, hanging up before James could reply. He ran back to the bedroom, accidentally slamming his shoulder into the door jamb. Holding his shoulder, he stood over the bed looking at Nicky.

He was asleep. Son of a bitch.

Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

1990/12/31

31 December, 1990 – 11:22 pm – The Red Lion Pub

“A toast! To our Manics!”

Pints and glasses of Babycham were raised all around the back tables of the pub. The boys were surrounded by their friends for a New Year’s plus going away party. It was just before midnight, and the countdown would be underway soon. The pub was alive with an overabundance of patrons. Everyone had smiles on their faces, even if they had tears in their eyes. They were going to be missed. Who knew?

After the cheering died down, they dispersed, going back to be the lives of the party. They chatted up everyone that came up to them, always the charismatic bastards.

In the back hall by the toilets where it was only a little quieter, Nicky and Rachel stood. They had snuck away soon after the toast. They were gesturing fiercely, yet talking quietly. Richey peeked around the corner, eyeing the scene. He couldn’t hear them and he couldn’t read lips, so he was at a loss. But any trouble in paradise was something new because Nicky always made it sound like they were the perfect couple with no problems. He almost felt bad for spying, but since he didn’t actually know what was going on, he didn’t.

“You have things you need to do,” said Rachel, “and they don’t include me.”

Nicky sighed and wrapped his large hands around her sides. “But I love you. You know that.”

Rachel shook her head. “I love you too, but we’re going in different directions. We barely see each other, and that’s just going to get worse when you go away.” She studied her hands wrapped in the hem of Nicky’s shirt, then looked back up into his face. “No matter how cliché it sounds, we’ll find each other again if we should.”

Nicky looked down at her small hands wrapped in his shirt. She untangled her hands and grabbed his chin, kissing him on the lips. She pulled away after only a second, and smiled mournfully. “I think I’m going to leave. I’ll miss you.”

Nicky hugged her and then watched her go. Richey ducked through the crowd so Rachel wouldn’t notice him. When he was sure she was gone and not coming back, he peered around the corner again to see Nicky with his back against the wall, head back and eyes closed. He softly hit the back of his head against the wall a couple times and clenched his fists.

This was his chance. He took a deep breath and strolled down the hall towards the men’s room.

“What ‘re you doin’ back here, boy-o?” Richey said cheerfully, as if he hadn’t just seen the scene that may have just crushed Nicky.

Nicky sighed again. “She left.”

“Who left?” asked Richey, acting dumb.

“Rachel.”

“But the countdown is so soon. She can’t be tired yet.”

“No,” said Nicky seriously, “she left me. For good. Or, according to her, until we’re meant to be together again, whatever that means.”

Richey finally understood Nicky’s reaction. He felt sincerely horrible for Nicky because he knew how much he cared for Rachel, but there was a part of his brain, tucked in the far back, that was jumping for joy. She’s finally gone, it screamed. Richey hated that voice and ignored it.

“Shit, I’m sorry to hear that,” Richey said, rubbing Nicky’s arm consolingly. “You always said how well you guys were doing.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Nicky said, his voice close to cracking. “We’ve been having some bad times, but I never expected this.” He hung his head.

Richey patted Nicky’s shoulder and then threaded his arm with Nicky’s. “I know what you need.”

“What?” Nicky said weakly.

“Another Babycham.” Richey smiled goofily, trying to make Nicky smile too. It didn’t work, but he didn’t let that stop him from being the best friend he could be. “You’ll get through this. We’ll figure it out together.”

Nicky gave Richey a twitch of a smile. Progress.

They walked back out to the bar just in time for the official countdown to begin. With drinks in hand, they joined the count in the final ten. They caught the glances of James and Sean, all exchanging nods of good tidings.

“Well, you are supposed to spend New Years with the people you love,” Nicky said, grinning sadly, bumping his hip against Richey’s. Richey smiled back, his face suddenly warm.

Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

1990/12/14

14 December, 1990 – 1:49 am – Philip Hall’s house

“How’d it go?” Nicky’s voice was curious in the dark. A quiet ruffling of sheets signaled a shrug of shoulders in response from the other side of the bed.

Philip, the boys’ manager, opened his home for the night to the Manics, who would be living there full time soon after the new year. James and Sean took the first room on the left, while Nicky and Richey settled into the next room down the hall. It would be the rooms they would be coming home to after touring for the next few months.

Richey was slowly curling up into a ball, the sheets coming with him. Nicky tugged back at the sheets, turning over to curve around Richey’s small form. He could smell the vodka coming out of his pores, radiating from his skin. He listened for Richey’s even breathing, but couldn’t hear it. It was still erratic and drunk.

The Heavenly Christmas party was a weird series of events. They had all gone too fast and loose with the alcohol, meeting and surpassing their limits very early in the night. Nicky had lost track of Richey for almost an hour, something that rarely happened. James went around talking up all the girls he could find. Sean stayed at his side, looking around as if bored with everything around him. Nicky floated around the party, his head full of fuzzy, dizzy thoughts.

After an hour of his side being Richey-less, he went looking, finally finding him in the bog with a bird. A woman, really. She stumbled out, absently fixing her makeup with her daft hands. She went back to the party, straightening her dressing and acting like nothing had happened. Richey was still on the floor, his trousers unbuttoned and hair more of a mess than usual.

James knocked into Nicky’s shoulder, looking passed him at Richey on the tile.

“What’s the matter, Android?” James slurred.

Nicky cocked his head. “I think he just had sex.”

Richey looked down, fastening his trousers and fidgeting nervously.

“What?!” James yelped. He stormed out back into the crowd, cutting through the people towards his target.

Nicky bent down next to Richey. He held out his hand to help Richey up off the floor. Richey shook his head, pushing himself off the floor on his own.

“So?”

“So nothing,” was Richey’s reply. He went back to the party, leaving Nicky Richey-less once again.

Back to the present, back to their dark room, Nicky’s eyes were still wide and he still wanted to know everything Richey could tell him. “Come on, Richey. Come off it. What’d you think?” Nicky pushed. He was pushing harder that he would if he was sober, but he couldn’t help it. The sharp sting of alcohol on his tongue made him do it.

Richey turned over, his eyes dangerously close to Nicky’s wide eyed curiosity. The smell of stale cigarettes on Richey’s breath made Nicky’s stomach turn. “You want to know how it was?” Richey whispered. It smelled like he was breathing smoke. Nicky nodded and he continued reluctantly. “It was horrible.”

Nicky frowned. That wasn’t supposed to be the answer. He waited to see if Richey would go on.

“Why do you wanna know so bad? You get it all the time. With Rachel.” Richey’s voice became sharper and sharper as the words poured out. His eyes were wide, the pupils large by the time he spat to an end. He sucked his bottom lip in his mouth, inwardly shrinking. Maybe a bit took much venom had leaked out, more than he could think about dealing with in his vodka-soaked haze.

Nicky didn’t know how to respond. His thoughts were muddled by too many pints of amber- and honey-colored liquids pickling his brain. He could only stare blankly.

“It was horrible because it wasn’t special, I didn’t love her, and it wasn’t…” Richey’s voice trailed off into the dark.

“It wasn’t what?” Nicky finally asked, mad with curiosity.

‘It wasn’t you,’ Richey’s brain shrieked. He shook his head and shook it off.

“It was just bad, okay?” Richey cut him off before Nicky could ask again. “It was bad, and I won’t be doing that again for a while. Hopefully.” He tugged at the blankets and rolled over, shutting his eyes tightly. He willed himself to fall asleep, even if he could only will himself to look asleep.

Nicky was at a loss again, but alcohol always did that to him. He decided to follow Richey’s lead, rolled over, and fell asleep.

Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

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Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

1989/04/24

24 April, 1989 – The Bradfield living room

“Fuck you!”

“No! Fuck you! You tossers don’t get it. You don’t understand punk. I’m punk.”

“You’re about as punk as my grandma!”

“You know what, I’m going to be a rock god someday, you fucking watch.”

“You? You can’t even play your bass!”

“I play it like Sid Vicious, and he only had two strings.”

“You only have two strings because four is too many for you to figure out!”

James and Flicker (born Miles Woodward, but that name was deemed “unpunk”) were in each other’s faces at this point, shouting, spitting, and generally turning red in the face, pointing fingers and squaring shoulders. It was a very lucky thing that Mr. and Mrs. Bradfield weren’t home, because the language was hitting a new low.

Unlike James, Nicky had given up already, bored with the whole scene. He couldn’t wait for the damn thing to be over and done with so he could go home. He had already given Flicker a piece of his mind, but the part of his mind concerned with Flicker was very small, so he hadn’t had much to say. That was new for him. It didn’t matter, though, because James could hold his own better than anyone he knew anyway.

James and Flicker continued to stare at each other, nose to nose (well, as nose to nose as they could be), until Flicker visibly backed down. It was as if his chest had deflated a little, his nostrils ceased to flare, and he wasn’t quite as red anymore.

“Piss off,” he mumbled as he grabbed his gear and left, slamming the front door.

“Don’t fucking come back, you sod!” James called after him. He practically beat his chest in masculine triumph.

James turned to Nicky, a victorious smile still on his face.

“What do we do now?” Nicky asked, pointing out the obvious flaw in James’ conclusion to the fight.

James’ smile faded and he looked over to Sean behind the drum set for some sort of help. Sean barely shrugged.

“We’ll figure something out,” James finally replied, more likely to reassure himself than anyone else. He scratched his scalp, resting his arms over his head. “He was shite anyway. You have to agree with me on that one.”

Nicky stood up and began to pace slowly. Everyone was quiet now, all trying to think of what was next in their plan of world domination through Rock and Roll. The Bradfield house was eerily quiet. Nicky’s footsteps almost echoed, if it wasn’t for the carpeting. He stopped suddenly and looked over at the other two, still deep in thought.

“What about Richey?”

Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

1988/02/20 11:06am

20 February, 1988 – 11:06 am – Nicky and Richey’s flat

There were only a few shards of light making it through the blinds in the bedroom of their flat, but it was enough to burn Nicky’s retinas anyway. His head screamed and echoed with dehydration. He buried his head in the pillow, finding the wet spot from his drool with his cheek. He cringed, doing his best to keep whatever was still in his stomach down. His legs were tangled in the torn and frayed blanket, trapping him in the bed until help was sure to arrive.

He went still, listening for anything happening in the other parts of the flat. He could hear the toilet flush and the sink turn on. After the tap was turned off, he heard dishes in the kitchen knocking against each other, which drove his ears insane. It made his head pound, and he buried his head deeper. The tap in the kitchen turned on, and Nicky guessed Richey was doing dishes. Why Richey was doing dishes at-he checked the clock-ten o’clock in the morning, let alone at all, was a mystery.

He groaned, willing himself to sit up. A glass of water sat at the side of his bed, and he was thankful to have something for his dry mouth. After he finished the water, which was warm, but valued anyway, he ventured out of the bedroom to the bright world beyond. He shielded his eyes and sat down at the kitchen table, putting his forehead on the cool surface.

“Hey,” Nicky mumbled as a greeting to Richey, still dutifully scrubbing away at the dishes they had been letting pile up for over two weeks now.

“Hi,” Richey replied without turning around.

“Is there anything to eat around here?”

Richey finally turned around, wiping his hands on a stained dishtowel. His eyes went far off, mentally taking inventory of their fridge and cupboards. Finally he shook his head. “You want me to go get you something from the sh-”

“What the hell happened last night?” Nicky said, cutting him off and grabbing his head. His normal conversation abilities were not up to par this morning. He closed his eyes tightly as a wave of pain and nausea ran its course.

Richey wrung the towel between his hands, strangling the poor piece of fabric, trying to find the words. “Well,” he started, “we went over to Jones’ Pub down the way and drank until we couldn’t anymore. I haven’t seen you drink that much in… well, ever. Then you threw up and passed out, and I slept on the couch.”

Nicky looked up for a moment, sickly studying Richey’s face. “That’s it?”

Richey nodded slowly, “Yeah, that’s it. Well, you did make an arse of yourself in front of some girl, but that’s barely worth mentioning.” Richey made a bad impression of a cheerful smile, the angles all wrong.

Nicky tried to smile, but it made his head hurt, so he stopped and closed his eyes. “Can I just have a paracetamol?”

Richey got him a glass of water, set it on the table, and went to the bathroom to fetch him pills from the medicine cabinet. Nicky took the pills gratefully and set his head back on the table.

“I think I’m gonna head back to bed. Or hurl.” He seemed to think hard for a moment, deciding which option sounded like the most likely. “No, bed. And maybe try to remember how dumb I was last night when I was drunk,” Nicky said, pulling himself up from his seat and wandering back to the bedroom. All the while, Richey followed him with his eyes. God damn it.

Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

1988/02/20 3:43am

20 February, 1988 – 3:43 am – Richey and Nicky’s flat

Nicky and Richey’s flat was sparsely decorated and had only the bare necessities. They were poor, so only what they direly needed furnished the small space. There was the table, stolen from a trash heap like so many other things around the house; the “chairs” made of stacked crates; the well-loved book shelves, which were full, of course, made of bricks and boards nicked from a construction site late one night; the bed, which they either shared or alternated use; a very ratty couch that was on its last leg (literally); and the rest of the kitchen, which was there when they moved in. Of course they had other things, but not much else. Nicky had brought his record player from home, and Richey his television. It was the perfect compromise.

The money they saved was spent on food and booze. The food kept them alive, and the booze kept them living. They ate Fray Bentos pies, mostly, and had an order of fish and chips here and there. Primarily, their allotment of money for the day went to either food or booze.

Tonight was a booze night.

Nicky and Richey fell through the door, holding each other up and laughing. Nicky slammed the door behind them, the keys forgotten in the lock. They tumbled together onto the couch, hysterical over something. They couldn’t stop laughing and they were wheezing from trying to breathe at the same time.

They had gone out to the pub to celebrate a good mark or something. They couldn’t be arsed to remember now. It was just an empty reason to go out to the pub together and get drunk. They still needed reasons to get drunk, but it wasn’t hard to find things to celebrate or commemorate. Not with such creative minds working together.

Richey leaned his head on Nicky’s shoulder, unable to hold it up on his own. Nicky, in turn, leaned his head on Richey’s, his neck starting to feel like rubber. Their laughter died down, turning into happy sighs of contentment. Their collective breath could get someone drunk, there was so many alcohol fumes coming from their between their lips.

They stared at the blank television screen in front of them.

“We shou’ really turn on the telly or somethin’,” Nicky slurred. Neither of them made any move toward the TV. They sat there for a while, still. Though they were sitting quite stationary, the room was moving enough in their minds. The constant spin and swirl of their surroundings kept faint smiles on their faces. It was television without the effort.

Richey pulled his head out from between Nicky’s head and shoulder, doing his best to sit up straight. He glanced over at Nicky, who now had his head over the back of the couch, and smiled. They had more pints and shots than he could count, and he was surprised they had made it home in one piece. He looked over at the clock, noting the very late hour. Tomorrow, or today, really, would be hell.

Richey turned his head back to Nicky, now looking at him with his head still lolling over the back of the couch, and saw the room spin a little with so much movement. Nicky was smiling, his idiotic grin spanning the width of his face. His half-lidded eyes gave away his inebriation.

“What you smilin’ a’?” asked Richey, letting his head fall back too, keeping his eyes locked on Nicky’s.

“We drank a lot,” Nicky said simply, beginning to giggle like it was the funniest joke ever. His laughter settled down quickly, but his smile remained.

“Yeah, we did,” Richey agreed, only slightly more sober than his friend. He hadn’t seen Nicky this drunk in a long time, and it was almost refreshing. He knew he would have to brave the whining tomorrow, just like every morning after drinking, only worse, but he was ready. It was going to be worth it.

Richey sat up again, balancing carefully. He looked back at Nicky. Nicky’s smile had faded, and a serious, pensive expression took its place. Richey cocked his head slightly, confused. His drunken state was doing nothing for his thoughts and logic. Everything he was usually able to block out during the day attacked his mind with a vengeance with the aid of alcohol. And all it took was looking into Nicky’s face.

Suddenly, without realizing what he was doing, he was leaning towards Nicky. Nicky held his eyes, and didn’t flinch. Richey pressed his lips to Nicky’s softly and recoiled, frightened of what he may have just done.

Nicky’s eyes were wide, his lips parted slightly in a look of shock. Richey’s mind reeled, desperately trying to come up with something to say that could fix this fatal mistake. Words refused to materialize, and he was left looking like a fish gasping for water.

Then they were kissing again, deeper this time. They tugged at each other’s lips, timid with their tongues and hands. Both of them didn’t know who started the second kiss, everything whirling and blurring, but it was happening.

Not long after it started, it stopped. Nicky sat up rail-straight and then bolted from the couch to the bathroom, almost knocking the TV and himself down in the process. The door was still open a crack and Richey could hear him getting sick into the toilet. Richey put his head in his hands. He rubbed his face vigorously, willing himself to sober up. He stood and shakily walked over to the kitchen sink to get Nicky a glass of water.

When he got to the bathroom door, he could hear Nicky breathing hard, but he was no longer throwing up. He opened the door and kneeled next to Nicky in the limited space, handing him the water. Nicky took it gladly, sipping some first, spitting it out into the toilet bowl, and then taking a healthy gulp and swallowing it. Richey rubbed a calming hand up and down Nicky’s back, making soothing sounds and whispering meaningless sounds and words of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered quietly, sure Nicky couldn’t actually hear him. “Let’s get you to bed,” he continued, louder this time. He helped Nicky up and guided him to the bed. He was mindful enough to make sure Nicky got into bed with as few movements as possible. Nicky groaned as he turned over and Richey pulled the blankets over him. Within seconds, he was asleep, his mouth gaping open against the pillow and his limbs in all directions.

Richey sighed. He looked into the living room to the couch and dropped his head. This was going to be wonderful. Motherfucker.

Filed under: Timeline:Original/Nicky, ,

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