Marsh/Wes Vignettes
Livejournal, how I hate you.
Started Dec. 21, 2008.
Some people are messed up financially. Some people are messed up emotionally.
Some people are messed up sexually.
Just take this man for instance. Some would say he has the perfect life; a beautiful wife, three little boys, one just born, and the career of his dreams. He stands now, looking out his back patio door to the little suburban backyard, the fence now white-he’d finished painting it right before the weather started getting cooler. The boy’s playground stands there as well, a proud monument to the American Dream.
Oh, and he’s gay. He just doesn’t know it yet.
The bus pulled into the drive, and he kissed Andrea on the cheek.
“Have fun.”
“We always do.” He grabbed the cake (still warm, just out of the oven) that he’d prepared and headed out, suitcase in the other hand.
“Heeeey!” Marsh called as Wes climbed onto the bus. “THAT’S what I like to see!” He took the cake from the man’s hands, relieving him of one duty.
“Works for me!” Guy grabbed the cake from Marsh, who stared at his now empty hands.
“I don’t think so!”
Wes smiled, walking to the bunks. It was good to be back.
On the other side of the door, Andrea hugged the boys to her.
“Mom! Let go!” Barrett attempted to wiggle out of her grip, and she allowed him to. Hudson stayed there, oddly subdued, in his almost hysterical mother’s arms.
You see, she knew about her husband’s past, even if he’d blocked it out of all memory; the fights at home, the fights in high school. When people asked about his dad, he simply said he “wasn’t sure”, and that his mother had separated his father fifteen years ago.
Over Wes’ high school crush, the captain of the football team.
Who knows how she knew that her marriage was in trouble? She certainly didn’t know, but she knew. She could sense the impending danger with every fiber in her being. Wes was slowly drifting away; she could see it in his eyes when he looked out the window, or looked at one of his band-mates. He may not notice it, nor his band-mate, but there was a look there, every time.
She let Hudson go, wiping her eyes and heading upstairs where Carden was crying in his crib. It was amazing how infants knew something was wrong. Just like wives.
“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit, look whose here!”
Wes and the others laughed, and Jeff held out an arm, waving them inside.
“Come on in! Come on in! The party’s already started, but you’re just in time for dinner!”
Bill walked over and hugged Jeff, then walked in. Jeff wrapped an arm around Marsh’s shoulder as he walked in.
“Howya been?” Marsh laughed, and put his arm around Jeff’s waist.
“Pretty good.” He walked over to Sheri. “How have you been?”
She hugged him gingerly. “Better.”
Wes produced what was left of the cake. Jeff cheered.
Wes walked Marsh down the hallway, Marsh’s arm around his shoulders, keeping him from swaying.
“Like I was saying-” Wes stopped him as they came up to the hotel door marked 209.
“Marsh, you’re drunk. Go to sleep, okay?” Marsh looked at him, indignant…and slightly cross-eyed.
“I am not!” His breath, however, contradicted the words. Wes sighed, and swiped the key card, reaching quickly to turn the handle before the green light stopped flashing.
“Bed.” He held the door open with his foot, and Marsh grabbed onto the door frame as he staggered in.
“G’night.” The door slammed shut.
Wes jumped as someone pounded on the door of his room, and he groaned.
“Weeeeees?” Marsh’s voice resounded through the hallway, and Wes tumbled out of bed quickly, trying to get to the door before Marsh woke the entire floor. He finally reached the door, and yanked it open, turning the lights on as he pulled Marsh in and quietly shutting the door. Marsh looked, open mouthed, at Wes’ room, which looked just like his own. Only to Drunk!Marsh, Wes knew it looked drastically different.
“Why do you get-?” Wes cut him off.
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
Marsh’s bloodshot eyes returned to Wes’ clear ones. He looked confused.
“Why are you in my room?” Wes pinched the bridge of his nose.
“This is MY room, Marsh. Yours is down the hall.” Marsh looked surprised.
“I get my own room? Cool!”
“Yes, and now you need to get back to it, drink a couple glasses of water, and go to bed.”
“But Weeeees…”
“Marsh...”
Marsh sighed, and was halfway out the door when he turned suddenly and kissed Wes.
Or, attempted to.
Marsh grinned goofily as he backed off of Wes’ chin, turned, and strode down the hall.
The blinking of the fire detector was going to drive him nuts-only if the thoughts running through his mind didn’t first. What HAD he been thinking?!
You see, as the two men had stood there, Marsh’s wreaking mouth pressed half to Wes’ bottom lip, half to his chin, Wes had the almost uncontrollable urge to pull the drunken singer into the room, pull him onto the bed, and ravish him in ways he’d never even thought of touching Andrea.
Instead, he turned over and half suffocated himself into his pillow.
This was not normal, that was for DAMN sure.
Marsh walked into the small room which featured the hotel’s “Continental Breakfast”, clutching his head in his hands. Wes handed him a hot cup of coffee, and Marsh took it gratefully in a shaking hand.
“How much did I drink last night?” Wes shook his head, staring at his own mug. Marsh looked at him over the top of his own. “You okay?” Wes nodded, still not looking at Marsh. Not daring to look at Marsh. Not wanting to know how he’d react to the messed up curls, the rumpled clothing- the bloodshot, tired eyes behind those glasses.
“I’m fine.” Marsh took another sip, still looking at him.
“If you’re sure…” Jeff stepped into the room.
“Heeeey ya’ll!” Marsh cringed.
“Please, Jeff, hold it down, wouldya?” Jeff looked at Marsh knowingly.
“Now now, Marsh. What would Bill say?” A wry smile appeared behind the steaming mug.
“I’d be more worried about Gloria.” Jeff nodded, grabbing a donut and slipping into the seat to Wes’ right.
“If I were you…” He glanced around, then stage-whispered, “I’d be more worried about what my wife thought.” He gestured exaggeratedly behind him, to the blonde-haired woman now taking a bowl and box of cereal.
On the bus, Marsh took a couple Advil and went to lay down after a long lecture from Bill and being laughed at by Guy. Wes sat on the couch, looking unseeingly at the TV. Guy was on the phone with Angie, talking about how he was “thinking of going on Sabbatical”, and Bill was in the back, “writing.” That’s what he kept telling them, but they all knew that with age (and surgeries), he was increasingly tired all the time. It had always been a topic of private discussion, whether to stay The Vocal Band after Bill had died.
Guy’s phone suddenly snapped shut.
“Well! How was your night? You look like something the cows brought home at four in the morning.” Wes chuckled.
“That’s about how I feel.” Guy cringed sympathetically.
“What’s up?” Wes sighed, sliding down the couch more and resting his neck on the armrest.
“Have you ever…” He looked at Guy. Was he really about to ask this? “Have you ever been tempted to do something with someone, and it really scared the living bejeeses out of you, but you just can’t get the image of the thing you almost did out of your head?”
Guy stared at him.
“Uh…” Wes looked back up at the ceiling.
“Forget it. Don’t worry about-"
“Yeah.” Wes was sitting up and looking Guy straight in the eye faster than he could say
“What?!” Guy was nodding.
“Once. But then I realized that it was only a twinge, an impulse. Did you act on it?” Wes flopped back into the couch. The TV’s noise seemed a million miles away.
“No. But God did I want to. It was there for an instant, just an instant, but it’s been on my mind ever since. Kept me awake last night.”
Guy looked at him, brow furrowed.
“Would it be too much to ask…” Wes looked at him, and Guy saw a shadow pass behind his eyes.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Guy nodded contemplatively, then looked back towards the bunks.
“I heard him, last night. Calling your name.” Wes nodded.
“He was plowed, and trying to get into my room. Then, as soon as he was in, he claimed it to be his room.” He rolled his eyes. “Note to self: Never bring Marsh to Olive Garden again. Give him a bottle of that Rosato and WOO! He’s gone.”
Marsh’s shirt rose up to show his stomach while he stretched as he exited the bunk area.
Not that Wes noticed.
He flopped onto the couch next to Guy, who looked at him, indignant.
“Hello? I think you just sat on something of mine.” Marsh reached between the cushions.
“I thought it felt weird…” He fished out a cell phone, and stared at it. “Nice, uh…” Guy rolled his eyes.
“It’s called ‘bling.’ Tyler thought it would be” (he held up his hands for finger quotes) “’cool.’”
Marsh snorted, then passed Guy the now-shiny phone.
“Oh, hey Wes. Feelin’ better?”
Wes looked up from his magazine, as though he’d just noticed the baritone.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I suppose.” He looked quickly back at his magazine, then sighed and put it down. “Marsh, how much do you remember about last night?” Guy took the question to be a cue to leave.
“I gotta call Ryan, see how he’s doing.” He left, Marsh and Wes’ gazes never wavering to his direction.
“Uh, well, I remember Olive Garden, and I remember you walking me to my room. Then I woke up, took some pills to help my head and came to breakfast. Why?”
Wes stared hard at him.
“You’re sure that’s all you remember?” Marsh thought and nodded.
“Why? Do you know something I don’t?” Wes looked at him. Should he tell him? Was it worth losing Marsh over? And what would happen if he told Lori, who knew Andrea so well? But why WOULD he tell Lori? He would only be incriminating himself! It wasn’t like Wes forced himself onto Marsh…even though he nearly had. He quickly pushed that thought away-that was the last thing he needed to be thinking about now! “Wes? Do you?”
He stared at Marsh, eyes wide.
The longer they sat there, staring, the harder it became to stay away. Wes could feel himself lean into the aisle before he even realized what was happening. But his eyes…Marsh’s eyes…so blue. How had he never noticed before? And his hair after he woke up, curled, yet still so perfect, as if the Baritone fixed it even in his sleep. And that shirt…that maroon Chicago shirt that was his favorite, and suddenly Wes realized his was his favorite as well, if only because Marsh did everything in it, did everything with him in it…everything with Wes…
And those lips…
Wes suddenly sat back, closing his eyes.
“Well, I did warn you to drink a few glasses of water on your way out.” Marsh cringed.
“Wish I woulda listened. Anything to get rid of this ridiculous headache.” He leaned back into the couch. “I couldn’t even put my contacts in--the light was killing my eyes.” Wes nodded, acting like he was listening, looking up at the muted TV again.
“Look…” he started, and Marsh looked at him again.
But he couldn’t force the words out of his mouth.
“What?” Wes looked into Marsh’s curious, still bloodshot eyes.
“Nothing. Nevermind.”
He fell asleep easily that night, considering the lack of sleep the night before. In the morning, he rolled out of bed and looked down at Marsh, who’s perpetual five-o-clock shadow was worse than normal. ‘His headache should be gone today,’ Wes thought, and blamed his half-asleep brain when he suddenly jerked up, brought back to real time the moment his fingers brushed Marsh’s forehead, halfway through a sweeping motion to tame the bleach-blonde curls dancing across his brow.
He strode quickly into the bathroom, barely stopping himself from slamming the door shut, and glared at himself in the mirror.
“We’ll be right back.”
Guy stepped down after Bill, closing the door and leaving the other two in the bus.
It was the first time Wes had allowed himself to be alone with Marsh, and he only allowed it now because he hadn’t realized the others were getting off before it was too late.
He looked down at his book, which had so enthralled him minutes before, but couldn’t make himself concentrate. Marsh sighed, shifting in his seat.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Wes looked up, startled.
“What? No I haven’t.” Marsh gave him a ‘don’t give me that crap’ look.
Wes stood up, if only to escape the accusatory glare from the baritone and retreated to the bunk area, fussing with his travelling bag. He felt rather than heard Marsh come up behind him.
“Why are you avoiding me?” He grabbed Wes’ bicep and turned him, forcing him to face him. But still, he just couldn’t look Marsh in the eye. “Look at me!”
Startled into submission, Wes did as he was told, and both men stopped when they realized just how close their faces were when Wes looked up. There was a pause, Marsh’s hand still gripping Wes’ arm.
This time, Wes couldn’t look away. Marsh’s blue eyes weren’t impeded by red, nor were they nearly as tired as they had been the first time. Wes licked his suddenly dry lips, and Marsh’s eyes traced them as well, his own mouth slightly parted. His eyes flickered back up to Wes’, and the tension between the two men was palpable.
Wes gripped the doorframe of the bathroom as Marsh turned and pushed him against the door, his mouth slamming onto the tenor’s with much better accuracy than the first time. Wes whimpered as the ferocity of the kiss overcame him.
Bill wasn’t sure what was happening when he came back onto the bus to find his baritone and tenor pressed against the bathroom doorframe, but he had enough sense to turn Guy around before he stepped onto the bus himself.
“What? What’s wrong?” Bill just shook his head and kept shooing the long-haired man down the stairs.
“Let’s go find Ernie and the gang.” He tried to shut the door with some tact, but Guy still wasn’t convinced.
“I left my phone on the bus.” He pushed past Bill and up the stairs, freezing at the top.
“Well. Uh… okay.”
Started Dec. 21, 2008.
Some people are messed up financially. Some people are messed up emotionally.
Some people are messed up sexually.
Just take this man for instance. Some would say he has the perfect life; a beautiful wife, three little boys, one just born, and the career of his dreams. He stands now, looking out his back patio door to the little suburban backyard, the fence now white-he’d finished painting it right before the weather started getting cooler. The boy’s playground stands there as well, a proud monument to the American Dream.
Oh, and he’s gay. He just doesn’t know it yet.
The bus pulled into the drive, and he kissed Andrea on the cheek.
“Have fun.”
“We always do.” He grabbed the cake (still warm, just out of the oven) that he’d prepared and headed out, suitcase in the other hand.
“Heeeey!” Marsh called as Wes climbed onto the bus. “THAT’S what I like to see!” He took the cake from the man’s hands, relieving him of one duty.
“Works for me!” Guy grabbed the cake from Marsh, who stared at his now empty hands.
“I don’t think so!”
Wes smiled, walking to the bunks. It was good to be back.
On the other side of the door, Andrea hugged the boys to her.
“Mom! Let go!” Barrett attempted to wiggle out of her grip, and she allowed him to. Hudson stayed there, oddly subdued, in his almost hysterical mother’s arms.
You see, she knew about her husband’s past, even if he’d blocked it out of all memory; the fights at home, the fights in high school. When people asked about his dad, he simply said he “wasn’t sure”, and that his mother had separated his father fifteen years ago.
Over Wes’ high school crush, the captain of the football team.
Who knows how she knew that her marriage was in trouble? She certainly didn’t know, but she knew. She could sense the impending danger with every fiber in her being. Wes was slowly drifting away; she could see it in his eyes when he looked out the window, or looked at one of his band-mates. He may not notice it, nor his band-mate, but there was a look there, every time.
She let Hudson go, wiping her eyes and heading upstairs where Carden was crying in his crib. It was amazing how infants knew something was wrong. Just like wives.
“Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit, look whose here!”
Wes and the others laughed, and Jeff held out an arm, waving them inside.
“Come on in! Come on in! The party’s already started, but you’re just in time for dinner!”
Bill walked over and hugged Jeff, then walked in. Jeff wrapped an arm around Marsh’s shoulder as he walked in.
“Howya been?” Marsh laughed, and put his arm around Jeff’s waist.
“Pretty good.” He walked over to Sheri. “How have you been?”
She hugged him gingerly. “Better.”
Wes produced what was left of the cake. Jeff cheered.
Wes walked Marsh down the hallway, Marsh’s arm around his shoulders, keeping him from swaying.
“Like I was saying-” Wes stopped him as they came up to the hotel door marked 209.
“Marsh, you’re drunk. Go to sleep, okay?” Marsh looked at him, indignant…and slightly cross-eyed.
“I am not!” His breath, however, contradicted the words. Wes sighed, and swiped the key card, reaching quickly to turn the handle before the green light stopped flashing.
“Bed.” He held the door open with his foot, and Marsh grabbed onto the door frame as he staggered in.
“G’night.” The door slammed shut.
Wes jumped as someone pounded on the door of his room, and he groaned.
“Weeeeees?” Marsh’s voice resounded through the hallway, and Wes tumbled out of bed quickly, trying to get to the door before Marsh woke the entire floor. He finally reached the door, and yanked it open, turning the lights on as he pulled Marsh in and quietly shutting the door. Marsh looked, open mouthed, at Wes’ room, which looked just like his own. Only to Drunk!Marsh, Wes knew it looked drastically different.
“Why do you get-?” Wes cut him off.
“What do you think you’re doing?!”
Marsh’s bloodshot eyes returned to Wes’ clear ones. He looked confused.
“Why are you in my room?” Wes pinched the bridge of his nose.
“This is MY room, Marsh. Yours is down the hall.” Marsh looked surprised.
“I get my own room? Cool!”
“Yes, and now you need to get back to it, drink a couple glasses of water, and go to bed.”
“But Weeeees…”
“Marsh...”
Marsh sighed, and was halfway out the door when he turned suddenly and kissed Wes.
Or, attempted to.
Marsh grinned goofily as he backed off of Wes’ chin, turned, and strode down the hall.
The blinking of the fire detector was going to drive him nuts-only if the thoughts running through his mind didn’t first. What HAD he been thinking?!
You see, as the two men had stood there, Marsh’s wreaking mouth pressed half to Wes’ bottom lip, half to his chin, Wes had the almost uncontrollable urge to pull the drunken singer into the room, pull him onto the bed, and ravish him in ways he’d never even thought of touching Andrea.
Instead, he turned over and half suffocated himself into his pillow.
This was not normal, that was for DAMN sure.
Marsh walked into the small room which featured the hotel’s “Continental Breakfast”, clutching his head in his hands. Wes handed him a hot cup of coffee, and Marsh took it gratefully in a shaking hand.
“How much did I drink last night?” Wes shook his head, staring at his own mug. Marsh looked at him over the top of his own. “You okay?” Wes nodded, still not looking at Marsh. Not daring to look at Marsh. Not wanting to know how he’d react to the messed up curls, the rumpled clothing- the bloodshot, tired eyes behind those glasses.
“I’m fine.” Marsh took another sip, still looking at him.
“If you’re sure…” Jeff stepped into the room.
“Heeeey ya’ll!” Marsh cringed.
“Please, Jeff, hold it down, wouldya?” Jeff looked at Marsh knowingly.
“Now now, Marsh. What would Bill say?” A wry smile appeared behind the steaming mug.
“I’d be more worried about Gloria.” Jeff nodded, grabbing a donut and slipping into the seat to Wes’ right.
“If I were you…” He glanced around, then stage-whispered, “I’d be more worried about what my wife thought.” He gestured exaggeratedly behind him, to the blonde-haired woman now taking a bowl and box of cereal.
On the bus, Marsh took a couple Advil and went to lay down after a long lecture from Bill and being laughed at by Guy. Wes sat on the couch, looking unseeingly at the TV. Guy was on the phone with Angie, talking about how he was “thinking of going on Sabbatical”, and Bill was in the back, “writing.” That’s what he kept telling them, but they all knew that with age (and surgeries), he was increasingly tired all the time. It had always been a topic of private discussion, whether to stay The Vocal Band after Bill had died.
Guy’s phone suddenly snapped shut.
“Well! How was your night? You look like something the cows brought home at four in the morning.” Wes chuckled.
“That’s about how I feel.” Guy cringed sympathetically.
“What’s up?” Wes sighed, sliding down the couch more and resting his neck on the armrest.
“Have you ever…” He looked at Guy. Was he really about to ask this? “Have you ever been tempted to do something with someone, and it really scared the living bejeeses out of you, but you just can’t get the image of the thing you almost did out of your head?”
Guy stared at him.
“Uh…” Wes looked back up at the ceiling.
“Forget it. Don’t worry about-"
“Yeah.” Wes was sitting up and looking Guy straight in the eye faster than he could say
“What?!” Guy was nodding.
“Once. But then I realized that it was only a twinge, an impulse. Did you act on it?” Wes flopped back into the couch. The TV’s noise seemed a million miles away.
“No. But God did I want to. It was there for an instant, just an instant, but it’s been on my mind ever since. Kept me awake last night.”
Guy looked at him, brow furrowed.
“Would it be too much to ask…” Wes looked at him, and Guy saw a shadow pass behind his eyes.
“I’d rather not talk about it.” Guy nodded contemplatively, then looked back towards the bunks.
“I heard him, last night. Calling your name.” Wes nodded.
“He was plowed, and trying to get into my room. Then, as soon as he was in, he claimed it to be his room.” He rolled his eyes. “Note to self: Never bring Marsh to Olive Garden again. Give him a bottle of that Rosato and WOO! He’s gone.”
Marsh’s shirt rose up to show his stomach while he stretched as he exited the bunk area.
Not that Wes noticed.
He flopped onto the couch next to Guy, who looked at him, indignant.
“Hello? I think you just sat on something of mine.” Marsh reached between the cushions.
“I thought it felt weird…” He fished out a cell phone, and stared at it. “Nice, uh…” Guy rolled his eyes.
“It’s called ‘bling.’ Tyler thought it would be” (he held up his hands for finger quotes) “’cool.’”
Marsh snorted, then passed Guy the now-shiny phone.
“Oh, hey Wes. Feelin’ better?”
Wes looked up from his magazine, as though he’d just noticed the baritone.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I suppose.” He looked quickly back at his magazine, then sighed and put it down. “Marsh, how much do you remember about last night?” Guy took the question to be a cue to leave.
“I gotta call Ryan, see how he’s doing.” He left, Marsh and Wes’ gazes never wavering to his direction.
“Uh, well, I remember Olive Garden, and I remember you walking me to my room. Then I woke up, took some pills to help my head and came to breakfast. Why?”
Wes stared hard at him.
“You’re sure that’s all you remember?” Marsh thought and nodded.
“Why? Do you know something I don’t?” Wes looked at him. Should he tell him? Was it worth losing Marsh over? And what would happen if he told Lori, who knew Andrea so well? But why WOULD he tell Lori? He would only be incriminating himself! It wasn’t like Wes forced himself onto Marsh…even though he nearly had. He quickly pushed that thought away-that was the last thing he needed to be thinking about now! “Wes? Do you?”
He stared at Marsh, eyes wide.
The longer they sat there, staring, the harder it became to stay away. Wes could feel himself lean into the aisle before he even realized what was happening. But his eyes…Marsh’s eyes…so blue. How had he never noticed before? And his hair after he woke up, curled, yet still so perfect, as if the Baritone fixed it even in his sleep. And that shirt…that maroon Chicago shirt that was his favorite, and suddenly Wes realized his was his favorite as well, if only because Marsh did everything in it, did everything with him in it…everything with Wes…
And those lips…
Wes suddenly sat back, closing his eyes.
“Well, I did warn you to drink a few glasses of water on your way out.” Marsh cringed.
“Wish I woulda listened. Anything to get rid of this ridiculous headache.” He leaned back into the couch. “I couldn’t even put my contacts in--the light was killing my eyes.” Wes nodded, acting like he was listening, looking up at the muted TV again.
“Look…” he started, and Marsh looked at him again.
But he couldn’t force the words out of his mouth.
“What?” Wes looked into Marsh’s curious, still bloodshot eyes.
“Nothing. Nevermind.”
He fell asleep easily that night, considering the lack of sleep the night before. In the morning, he rolled out of bed and looked down at Marsh, who’s perpetual five-o-clock shadow was worse than normal. ‘His headache should be gone today,’ Wes thought, and blamed his half-asleep brain when he suddenly jerked up, brought back to real time the moment his fingers brushed Marsh’s forehead, halfway through a sweeping motion to tame the bleach-blonde curls dancing across his brow.
He strode quickly into the bathroom, barely stopping himself from slamming the door shut, and glared at himself in the mirror.
“We’ll be right back.”
Guy stepped down after Bill, closing the door and leaving the other two in the bus.
It was the first time Wes had allowed himself to be alone with Marsh, and he only allowed it now because he hadn’t realized the others were getting off before it was too late.
He looked down at his book, which had so enthralled him minutes before, but couldn’t make himself concentrate. Marsh sighed, shifting in his seat.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
Wes looked up, startled.
“What? No I haven’t.” Marsh gave him a ‘don’t give me that crap’ look.
Wes stood up, if only to escape the accusatory glare from the baritone and retreated to the bunk area, fussing with his travelling bag. He felt rather than heard Marsh come up behind him.
“Why are you avoiding me?” He grabbed Wes’ bicep and turned him, forcing him to face him. But still, he just couldn’t look Marsh in the eye. “Look at me!”
Startled into submission, Wes did as he was told, and both men stopped when they realized just how close their faces were when Wes looked up. There was a pause, Marsh’s hand still gripping Wes’ arm.
This time, Wes couldn’t look away. Marsh’s blue eyes weren’t impeded by red, nor were they nearly as tired as they had been the first time. Wes licked his suddenly dry lips, and Marsh’s eyes traced them as well, his own mouth slightly parted. His eyes flickered back up to Wes’, and the tension between the two men was palpable.
Wes gripped the doorframe of the bathroom as Marsh turned and pushed him against the door, his mouth slamming onto the tenor’s with much better accuracy than the first time. Wes whimpered as the ferocity of the kiss overcame him.
Bill wasn’t sure what was happening when he came back onto the bus to find his baritone and tenor pressed against the bathroom doorframe, but he had enough sense to turn Guy around before he stepped onto the bus himself.
“What? What’s wrong?” Bill just shook his head and kept shooing the long-haired man down the stairs.
“Let’s go find Ernie and the gang.” He tried to shut the door with some tact, but Guy still wasn’t convinced.
“I left my phone on the bus.” He pushed past Bill and up the stairs, freezing at the top.
“Well. Uh… okay.”