Chapter Text
“Have a wonderful night, everyone. Thank you.”
Roaring applause and cheers rang through Thom’s ears, sounding muffled and echoey in his head as he waved to the crowd and walked offstage with his bandmates. As they all made their way backstage, Thom could practically feel the energy he had built up over the past few hours dissipating. He had desperately been hoping to ride the high of his performance through the night, but now that he was back with his thoughts, exhaustion and negativity threatened to take over. At that moment he really wanted nothing more than to get to their hotel and sleep off the kaleidoscope of worries and obsessions creeping up on him now that his moment was over.
“Thom?” The singer felt a hand on his back; startled, he whirled around to see one of those very obsessions standing behind him with a guitar slung over his shoulder. “You alright?” Jonny asked, a worried look now crossing his face. Thom felt excitement surge through his body like electricity at the guitarist’s touch, then internally cursed himself for it, shifting a bit uncomfortably.
“Yeah… ‘m fine. Just a bit tired,” Thom muttered. Was it that obvious? Once upon a time he would have been grateful for—on a bad day, at least tolerant of—Jonny’s close and sometimes clingy presence after shows. But now it only served to drive him mad. It felt like the universe was dangling a reward in his face like a cat toy, only to yank it away before he could even think about catching it. The spot on his back Jonny had touched still tingled slightly, and now Thom felt downright shameful. Stop it. He’s just trying to look out for both of you. He’s always done this.
But the damage had been done. After they cleaned up and put their instruments aside, the band filled out into the area backstage which had been set aside for celebrations. They were immediately greeted by a horde of excited people, some familiar but mostly strangers. Thom headed straight for the refreshments table in the corner in search of something to drink, Jonny following close behind. Colin and Ed’s voices were the loudest as they enthusiastically chatted away with the crew members - did those two ever get tired of all this? - while Phil had found Nigel over by the entrance.
Nursing an overflowing glass of champagne, Thom finally turned to look at Jonny, who was watching him as though for guidance on what to do next. He was about to say something, anything to hear Jonny’s voice in response when he heard someone call out his name.
“Thom!” A familiar-looking man—one of the venue organizers, maybe?—waved Thom over from where a small group of people were gawping at the singer as if he were Jesus himself. He gritted his teeth a bit, truly not in any sort of mood to make nice with so many strangers. He glanced at Jonny apologetically and topped off his champagne glass before walking over to the group, wearing his most convincing patient smile.
During a period of less-than titillating talk– oh yes, the show was great, the sound crew did a wonderful job, we’ve just been having the time of our lives making this record, of course I’ll sign your daughter’s CD – Thom’s eyes once again landed on Jonny. The guitarist was now engaged in conversation with two pretty young women who had approached him at the table, one of whom was standing awfully close to him. He said something Thom couldn’t make out from his position across the room, and the girl closest to him laughed loudly, placing a hand lightly on his arm and letting it linger for a moment too long.
A queasy feeling crept its way up Thom’s body, detaching him from his surroundings and making his breath catch in his throat. Why were women so fucking irritating around Jonny? He was seized by the sudden urge to storm over to the refreshments table, grab his bandmate by the arm and yank him away from the girl, take him anywhere but there.
“My dear brother’s got his hands full over there, hasn’t he?” Thom hadn’t noticed Colin sidle up to him, an amused and easygoing expression on his face that sharply contrasted with Thom’s own feelings. It was sobering – shame flooded over him like a rain cloud as he realized he had no one to blame for his ridiculous feelings but himself.
“Looks like it. You’d better go save him,” Thom jested, perhaps a bit more sullenly than he had intended, because Colin’s smile seemed to falter ever so slightly. And now he was giving Thom a look, one of his neutral, searching looks that Thom hated because it was the look his oldest friend gave him when he knew something was up and was trying to figure it out.
Well, there was no point, was there? Not when Thom could barely figure it out himself.
After what felt like hours, Thom was finally able to round the others up from their various positions around the room. Hurriedly saying his goodbyes and practically dragging an increasingly tipsy Colin away from his posse of friends, Thom led the band out a back door to where their bus and manager were waiting outside. He waited by the doors for everyone else to get on, briefly holding eye contact with Jonny before bounding up the steps.
“Sorry to pull you away from all the festivities so soon, Thom. You seemed to be having a great time!” Ed teased from his seat near the back of the bus, his words slurring together. Thom rolled his eyes and sat down next to him, playfully pushing his impossibly long legs out of the way with his own so he could fit in the neighboring seat.
“My only regret is not getting drunker before it all kicked off, mate,” Thom said dryly as Ed lit a cigarette. He offered it to him and he took a long drag, watching the smoke curl from his lips and waft up to the ceiling of the bus.
“That’s the spirit.”
As the bus rode through the night, Thom looked over at the small table diagonal to him where Jonny was sitting and solving a crossword, having just taken off his white arm brace. He always had to be tinkering with something, even at inopportune times – if that something wasn’t an instrument, then it was a puzzle, machine, or piece of media. Thom was suddenly overcome with admiration for the brainy guitarist. Where would the band be without his idiosyncrasies and innovations? Certainly not performing in front of massive audiences of fans or appearing on magazine covers. Probably still stuck in Oxford playing cheap gigs at the Jericho Tavern for life.
Though he hadn’t always been perfect at showing it, the vocalist had cherished his working and personal relationship with Jonny above any other… long before he had complicated it. Jonny’s brow furrowed in concentration as he filled out the puzzle, far too engrossed in his work to notice he was being watched.
Suddenly unable to reel himself in, Thom observed the way Jonny’s tight black t-shirt and pants clung to his body, leaving little about his skinny figure to the imagination. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear, lips parting ever so slightly as he shifted in his seat . Thom wondered how those lips would feel against his own, and how it would feel to run his fingers through hair that soft. And as good as those clothes looked on Jonny, he would really fucking love to see him without them.
Well, shit.
Thom stood up and made a beeline for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him harder than intended. He sighed deeply and buried his face in his hands, realizing he was too far gone now. All the thoughts and fantasies he was constantly forcing himself to repress were flooding in as though a dam had been broken. Fragmented images were conjured of Jonny’s full lips wrapped around his cock, of touching every inch of his body—taking the shy guitarist in his hand and jacking him off until he was coming all over himself.
Thom felt a tightness growing in his pants and grit his teeth, resisting the urge to indulge himself any further. God, what was wrong with him? How would Jonny react if he knew Thom was having these thoughts? He knew Jonny looked up to him—majorly—and was rapidly becoming the person in the band he understood and relied upon most. Not only was he jeopardizing band dynamics with his selfish perversions, he was betraying the trust of one of his closest friends.
So why couldn’t he just fucking stop himself?
Thom looked into the mirror above the sink, studying his own features as though trying to recognize the man they belonged to. Spiky hair, flushed skin, uneven eyes, full, scowling lips. A tiny cut on his chin from shaving hurriedly that morning. He looked as tired and pitiful as he felt. For a moment he was seized by the urge to slam his fist into the mirror and shatter the glass, shattering with it the image of the man whose obsessions and unpredictable emotions were always getting him into trouble. Instead, he inhaled deeply and waited for his hard-on to go away.