Chapter Text
“So, like, how many dicks have you had inside you at once?”
Ivy splutters into the large pint glass of piss-weak beer he is sipping from. Bubbles burst out of his nose, frothy and bitter, as he coughs. Across the table, Three is frowning at him with an intensity that Ivy’s only really seen him direct towards playing shows and video games.
“You said we were going to a snake farm,” he croaks and Three shrugs.
“That is what we’re doing.”
To be fair, Ivy should have known something was up when Three led them to a nearby dive bar with a large hand planted firmly in between his shoulder blades after a hasty exit out of the bus when Two demanded to know where they were going. “Oh…” he says after a beat. “There is no snake farm, is there.”
“Duh.”
“The snakes are metaphors.”
“How many?”
“For dicks.”
“How many have you had, Ivy?”
“I don’t know, man.”
“Oh.” A thin eyebrow raises. “That many, huh?”
“No,” Ivy says hotly, the back of his neck flushing red. “It’s just that I’ve done it more than once.” He thinks. “No more than two, though.”
Three watches as he takes a hasty sip from his watery lager. “Figures,” he says suddenly and Ivy blinks.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, you were able to fit all of Vessel in your mouth first try, apparently. It makes sense that your other holes would be just as loose.”
“Whoa,” Ivy says, a bit stung. “Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?”
“You must have had a lot of practice,” Three says, a little mean.
“Not really, I don’t have much of a gag reflex, that’s all. It’s genetic.”
“Yeah, I had heard that about your mum.”
“Ok.” Ivy downs his pint and points a finger firmly at Three’s pointy nose. “That’s too far.” He watches as Three scowls at his own drink. “What is this, exactly? I’m always happy to have a pint with you, but you’ve been being a bitch all morning. If you’re gonna be a twat, I’m going back to the bus.”
Three glares at his drink and Ivy frowns. “Alright, fine,” he says, planting his hands on the table to rise to his feet.
He’s halfway up when Three mumbles, petulant and quiet, “I want to go home.”
There it is. Slowly, Ivy lowers himself back into his chair. “Right. Well, we can go back to the bus, but-“
“Not- no, you know what I mean. My home. As in my apartment.”
Oh, oops. “Right,” Ivy says sagely.
“I miss my things,” Three says, “My PlayStation and my pyjamas and a big Tesco. Fucking hell, I miss my mum.”
He hears that. He misses his mum too. And his dad, and the dogs. The farm, with their chickens, all named after famous people with stupid hen-related puns. Cluck Norris. Albert Eggstein.
His brother, and his niece and nephew. He missed his nephew’s birthday last week.
“It’s not for much longer,” Ivy points out gently. They’ve only got two weeks left of the tour. “And then we’ll be flying back. You can stick it out for fourteen more days.”
“I don’t know, mate,” Three sighs. “…To be honest, my head’s a mess lately. All the-“ He twirls a finger in a loop next to his temple.
“Have you tried… y’know, like, medicating?” Ivy mimes toking on a spliff. Three is one of the biggest stoners that he knows.
“I think the last guy I brought from gave me something dodgy,” Three mutters. “It didn’t help me relax, it’s just made me paranoid as fuck.”
Ivy frowns. “Maybe you just need a distraction?” he suggests, and Three’s head snaps up.
“Why, you offering?” he asks, unable to keep the quiver out of his voice.
Ivy pauses, wishes he hadn’t downed his drink so he had something to wet his tongue with, his mouth suddenly dry. “Why, you interested?” he parrots.
“I mean, maybe,” Three says. The mask has slipped back down. Not his stage mask, made of cloth, one of many because it gets so damp with sweat they rotate them on a cycle. The one that Three wears ninety six percent of the time, that’s all sly grins and shrugging shoulders and hey, yeah man, I’m super chill or whatever, normal human emotions don’t bother me.
He’s not as impenetrable as he thinks he is.
“You’re not worried I’m too loose for you?” Ivy asks, and something trembles in Three’s cheek.
“Ivy-”
“I’m just fucking with you, mate,” Ivy assures him quietly. “But, seriously; next time you want something, you can just ask for it.”
“Right. Yeah.” Three sucks in his cheekbones. “Sorry.”
“It’s all good.” Ivy taps the table with the flat of his palms. “It’s my round. You want the same again?”
“Yeah.” Three picks up his own glass and downs his beer. His face twists up in contempt for a second. “Actually, no, this tastes fucking rank.”
Ivy raises an eyebrow. “Whiskey it is then,” he grins.
They end up suitably sloshed at four in the afternoon.
Their management had been flexible with their time today; they’re due to drive to the next city that evening, because Two had militantly negotiated that everyone be given the day to have a semblance of relaxation. By this, he’d chewed the big bosses out over a very frosty Zoom call four days prior. There had been a very tense atmosphere on the bus the whole time. When he’d disconnected the call, Vessel had said, “That was fucking beautiful.” Then he’d snagged Two by the collar and dragged him into the rear bunks. They hadn’t reemerged for a while.
Even then, it’s not really a break. They can’t go far. Most of the crew end up taking it as an opportunity to sleep in a little longer; the odd few go sight seeing, where there are sights to see, or, in the case of Ivy and Three, they get exceptionally drunk.
“How was the snake farm?” Vessel asks as the two of them clatter loudly back onto the bus. He’s been to the gym, judging by the sweaty state of his clothes. When they tour, he tends to just buy a day pass to whichever gymnasium is closest to where they parked the bus.
He smells of salt and body spray, the scent of a man who is desperately missing his washing machine but is making do with what he can, stretching out the longevity of his clothes to the nth degree. It doesn’t really matter to Ivy; he would take Vessel freshly showered or fresh off stage. He still makes Ivy’s fucking mouth water.
“Enlightening,” he says, rubbing his fingers through Vessel’s hair as he trips past him on a quest for water. Three has flopped uselessly onto Two, who had been laid out on the couch with a wet towel over his eyes and a splitting migraine, by the looks of it.
“Oh, mate,” he groans, as Three wiggles around like an overstimulated cat, trying to get comfy on a sofa made for a man half his height. “Fucking hell, what’s got into you?”
“A brewery, judging by the smell,” Vessel says unhelpfully.
“‘M sorry…” Three says into the swab of tattooed skin between Two’s shoulder and jaw where his chin is tucked to his chest. “I’m sorry I was being a twat earlier…”
“It’s ok.” Two rubs his back awkwardly, brows pinched at Ivy. What the fuck, he mouths.
“‘M sorry about your socks.”
“What did you do to my socks?” Two demands, and Three rolls off him ungracefully with a groan, crawling towards the bunks. “Three, what the fuck did you do?!” Two barks, as the three of them watch the lanky bassist depart into the back of the bus where the bunks are.
Two gets off the sofa with his teeth gritted tight, one hand pressed against his throbbing temple as he limps after him.
“What’s up with Three?” Vessel asks, as Ivy glugs gratefully from a water bottle.
“How much time do you have?” he asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Wordlessly, Vessel opens his arms and lets him sink down onto his lap, enveloping him in a one armed hug so he can continue to play his game. “…He’s homesick, I think.”
“Right.”
Ivy wiggles his hips to get comfortable, feels the heat of Vessel’s junk against his arse. His throat is pleasantly sore from all the blow jobs he’s been bestowing on that magnificent prick.
Fuck, he’s getting distracted.
“I think he needs a little… distraction,” Ivy murmurs, eyelashes fluttering as Vessel’s fingers graze the smooth skin above his hip.
“You’ve got something in mind?”
“I mean…” Ivy swallows. He gets horny when he drinks. Vessel feels real fucking good pressed up against his arse.
They haven’t talked about it. Since the first night he and Vessel had spent together where all of Ivy’s hot-wet-dirty deep throating dreams had come true, he’s yet to talk to the other band members about the possibility of messing around with them also.
But, like. “You wouldn’t mind?” Ivy asks, that vulnerable note bleeding into his voice that he hates that gets stronger when he drinks.
“No,” Vessel says patiently, the tip of his thin nose pressing into the sensitive space behind Ivy’s ear. “You want to fuck around with Three?”
“Mmm…” He’s way too drunk to get any kind of hard, but the spirit is willing and Vessel feels real good plastered along his back, all long limbs and sticky skin and soft, comfort clothing that has his head rolling backwards. “You’ve fucked him, right?”
“I have.” Vessel’s voice rumbles up his spine. “Been fucked by him, too.”
“What’s he like?”
Vessel lets out a soft huff. On the TV screen, his avatar stands poised for battle, a great sword hoisted over its back while a mythical creature tramps about in the distance. As it stands, Vessel is more occupied by rubbing his lips over the notch at the top of Ivy’s spine.
“Well, he’s a mouthy motherfucker, as I’m sure you can imagine.” Kiss. “He’s got a big dick, and he knows how to use it.” Lick. “He’s verse, but he mainly tops.” Bite. “And he likes to please.”
“Ah…” Vessel’s large hand slides into his lap, big palm settling over the bulge of his dick.
“He likes oral. Not as much as you, but once he gets a dick in his mouth, he’s happy.” He squeezes, and Ivy moans weakly. “And he likes eating arse like no one I’ve ever met.”
Ivy whimpers. He realises, belatedly, that he’s been rocking the weight of Vessel’s cock between his clothed backside, rubbing up against the fabric. He slumps against him weakly, boneless and compliant as Vessel chuckles softly, patting him gently on one thick thigh. Ivy frowns, squirming. “You’re a twat,” he says without heat.
“Me?” He can feel Vessel’s trembling laugh against his back. “What did I do?”
“Trying to make me horny…”
“You asked,” Vessel reminds him, nips his earlobe for good measure.
“Too drunk to fuck.”
“Maybe you should go lie down for a bit?”
“I think I’m going to go lay down. Everything’s spinny.”
“I just-“ Vessel blinks. “Yeah, good plan, Ives.”
Ivy stumbles to his feet, leaning forwards to plunk a clumsy kiss on Vessel’s hairline. “Ok, you’re the best, bye,” he sings, lolloping down to the back rooms where the bunks are located.
He pushes open the partition, curses loudly when it gets stuck because it’s janky as fuck and the bus is, by now, in need of some major TLC. He pauses when he sees Two sat on the floor, his bag open next to him, furiously rolling up pairs of socks. Beside him sits a pile of pairs that are all mismatched. “Um-“
“Don’t.” Two snaps the elastic of a pair of bright blue socks with bananas on them. “Not a word.”
Ivy holds his hands up in surrender. Behind Two’s head, he can just see one of Three’s long, thin feet, poking out of his bunk. There’s a hole in his sock, his big toe twitching occasionally. Ivy hovers awkwardly until Two looks up at him. He lets out a very loud, put upon sigh, and shuffles far enough over on his butt that Ivy can squeeze past. “I’ll get you an ibuprofen,” he says, as Ivy starts to wriggle clumsily out of his clothes.
Heaving himself into his bunk, Ivy draws the curtains around him. He’s punching his pillow - the one he brought from home - when the partition opens again and Two hands him a bottle of water and a strip of painkillers. “Do you need a bucket?” Two asks. “Cos if you’re gonna be sick, I’ll get Vess.”
”That’s Three you’re thinking off.” Ivy shudders at the memory of the Great Cherry Sourz incident from their first show at Download Festival together.
“What’s up with him? He’s not usually this annoying.”
“He’s homesick. Maybe cut him some slack, yeah?”
Two sighs again. “Yeah. Ok. As long as he stays out of my things.”
”He’s just looking for a reaction,” Ivy mumbles, wriggling around on the lumpy mattress. It feels great today. “‘S in his own head.”
“Ok, Vessel.” Two rubs a hand through Ivy’s scalp, like he would a cat. Ivy hums in pleasure. “I’ll lay off him.”
“You’re the best,” Ivy proclaims dreamily. “Hey, Two? Have you ever been to a snake farm?”
“Huh?” Little hands scrub fondly at his curls. “The fuck are you on about?”
“How many dicks have you had inside you at once?”
“Ok, sleepy time.” Two steps back, closing the curtains. Ivy’s lids already feel heavy with boozy lethargy, so he doesn’t hear the sound of Two opening Three’s bunk. Nor does he hear him gently telling him that, despite the fact that he thinks Three is a twat, he’s got him water. That he can talk to him. That Two will listen if he needs it.
Ivy’s too busy drooling into his pillow.