Sympathy for the Devils, part 12
Disclaimer: Something (fiction, of course) I finished writing some years ago and was posting here. Deserted it but then decided I should finish it. If you want to know what came before this, go here.
Summary: Seems Ruud's part of the entourage now, much to Marco's dismay. And Gigi might be on the verge of an important revelation. Only might, though... if not this fic falls down when it's just starting, lol. NC-17 for non-con, drug mentions.
Chapter XIII
Ruud woke up in what looked like another bus. God, he seemed to be waking up in a lot of buses these last few hours. He felt a little groggy, but better than what he had felt before. He looked out the window, and suddenly he felt the view was very, very unfamiliar.
“Eurostar, premier class. The entire lounge reserved for us,” a familiar voice said, and Ruud almost jumped-there was Ed, sitting by his side.
“Eurostar? What the-“
“Seems you’re feeling better,” the guitarist laughed. “Dr. Capello did a good job.”
“Of course I did,” snapped a stern-faced, white-haired man, with glasses. The doctor, Ruud guessed. “He had a reaction to the little pill you gave him. He’s alright now. But that better remind you guys, not to play with your bloody substances. Now, I’m going to my carriage, if you don’t mind.”
Ruud watched the doctor walk away to another compartment of the train-then turned towards Ed, who was smiling kindly at him. At other part of the lounge, David was having a glass of red wine and lying back on his seat, a satisfied smile on his face. Rio was stuffing his face with what looked as… well, something expensive, like lobster. Fergie was having a cup of tea, though he looked as if he was ready to go to his carriage anytime soon. Gigi and Pavel were sitting down too; it looked as if they had finished eating a while ago already. Pavel had a shirt on now. Wayne got up then-he had had a beer instead of wine with whatever he had eaten-and toasted Becks.
Ruud shook his head-a faint memory of another man was making its way into his mind. He remembered that man had been there at the hallway-but he wasn’t sure who he was, what was his role with the band. He had looked angry, for some reason.
However, all those thoughts vanished in a single, panicked conclusion. Why was he thinking about that man? It wasn’t his business. In fact, what was he doing on the way to France? He should be getting ready for work-he should be at the office right now! How many days had he been absent? What would his boss say?
“Edwin… I… I have to go,” Ruud said, sounding like a scolded child whose playtime’s over.
“Right now?” Ed’s smile was so nice the dark-haired Dutchman had to hold back a swallow. “You can’t jump off the train.”
“No, Ed-I mean, I can’t stay. I can’t go to France with you. I have to go back to my job and…”
However, Ruud stopped right then and there. The situation was so fucking crazy, he could not believe he was actually discussing it. How many times had he dreamed that Edwin would appear at his house, and take him away, save him from his routine… It was a stupid dream, but now that it had actually happened and that he was with Ed, on a train, to fucking France oh my god, he was thinking that things were not as simple as how he had imagined them.
…But wasn’t that his dream?
“Ok then,” Ed said, still as amiable and as calm as ever. “Then, when we get to France, you should eat something at least, and then I’ll buy you your return ticket. Are you ok with that?”
Ruud closed his eyes. What was he doing? People longed for dreams to come true. And he was throwing his overboard. Just for responsibility.
“You could stay, you know,” he heard Edwin whisper. “Be a roadie, just like Pavel is. If what you want is money, Fergie will give you some if you work hard. You’ll be working for us. Then you can go back. Or you could join another band. It could be your official job and you could quit yours. It would be nice, don’t you think? You play the guitar. You could join a band on the way.”
The guitarist’s words seemed to flood Ruud’s brain. They sounded good, really good. Even though he didn’t wish to leave the band, and this man. But, his job-
Ed watched his groupie attentively. He was playing against Marco, by taking him along, and he felt disappointed by the fact Ruud wanted to leave. The blonde knew well that, if Ruud left, Marco would unleash not only his anger on him right away, but also his sarcastic remarks. So there, your man left. What can you say about that, Edwin? God, he could almost hear that man’s voice, and that made him sick. Having Ruud there could keep Marco a little at bay, could perhaps persuade him to finally leave him alone. And well… the sex was fucking great. So, he needed this man to be with him. At least until the tour ended and he finally paid Marco and he was free…
“Can’t sleep,” came Pavel’s voice from some seats away.
“Perhaps if you went to your carriage you could,” Gigi answered.
“Some weed would do the trick,” the Czech retorted.
“You want weed?” David left his empty glass. “I have some.”
“No way!” Gigi got up and pulled Pavel down-the blonde was already standing up towards the drummer. “You can sleep, Pavel. You don’t need to be smoking or taking things to sleep! You already had enough yesterday!”
“Enough?” the Czech’s sweet voice raised itself. “What do you mean?”
“Enough’s not the word,” Gigi continued, staring at his boyfriend. “In fact, you have too much of that shit-“
“Oh yeah. Your friends here pop pills and have drinks, and I’m the one who’s treated like a junkie. Stop treating me like one, Gianluigi. Why don’t you go and lecture someone else? David, for example? Or… or… him?”
Ruud opened his eyes wide, for Pavel was pointing at him. However, Gigi sighed and made him sit down again.
“You know it’s not like that what I mean-“
“I don’t have a fucking problem, if you’re gonna insist with that,” the Czech snapped and walked away-Ruud turned around discreetly, just in time to see him taking out an acoustic-probably Gigi’s-from a case that was there, and slump down to the floor. Gianluigi didn’t join him: he just stayed at his seat, silent. Ruud looked around-Rio didn’t seem to have paid much attention to the argument: he was slumped on his seat, and snoring. Wayne had his earphones on, and was bobbing his head to some song. The Italian suddenly shot a glance at David.
“I don’t have the packet here,” the drummer somewhat apologized. “The stash is with my clothes.”
“Better,” Gigi snapped.
Ruud suddenly felt bad for the rhythm guitarist. He remembered the scene at the club.
“Hey,” he said, standing up and walking towards Gigi, “do you need any help?”
“Nah,” the Italian shook his head. “I think he’s okay now. He’s playing. Sometimes his hands are so shaky he can’t hold his guitar.” He sighed, suddenly, and told Ruud, in a confidential manner: “I know he’ll take a Valium at some point. He has them, hidden around, always changing hideouts so I won’t catch him.”
Ruud turned around. He could see some of Pavel’s hair, and he could listen. The Czech was playing some random chords, until finally he focused on some song Ruud was sure he knew.
“I seem to recognize your face…”
It was a Pearl Jam song.
David kicked Rio as he got comfortable on his seat as well. “Shut it, m’mate. Can’t have my beauty sleep with yer bloody snores.”
“Fuck ya, Becks,” Rio said, groggily, as he looked around and David put on his sunglasses. The lounge was too calm, thought the bassist-he saw Fergie had already left, and that the guy Ed had taken to the club was standing up and listening to a very sweet, sad voice singing Pearl Jam’s “Elderly Woman behind a Counter in a Small Town”.
“Hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away…”
Ed stood up too and placed a hand on Ruud’s shoulder.
“That’s yer boy, Gigi?” Rio asked, and the Italian nodded, perhaps expecting more jokes, but the bassist did nothing of the sort. “Damnit, the blondie has a voice! He really does! How come ya’d never told us yer boy was so talented, huh?”
Gianluigi smiled at Rio’s sincere words. “He’s a grunge fan, what can I say? He could be a big star…”
“Per’aps we could get ‘im in a studio once tour’s over, matey…”
Hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away. Ruud also lifted a hand and placed in on Ed’s back, feeling his shoulderblades through the wifebeater.
And, just like the song, he let his thoughts fade. Yes. He would stay. The world could go to hell. He’d figure out later.
The hotel in Paris was beautiful: once again, a complete floor waiting for them. Big suites: one of them could have housed half the band comfortably, but they were going to stay in twos-and that was just because Fergie knew leaving a room for each one was a disaster.
“Sleeping arrangements, then?” was the first thing Rio said when the entourage reached the first suite.
“If Waz here throws another party like the ‘un of earlier, I wanna be there!” Becks winked.
“Well, well…” Rio continued. “Lovebirds together, huh Gigi and Pavel?” He had been tempted to add something about “Ed’s groupie”, but a glance at Marco kept him quiet.
Edwin, for his part, already knew what would happen. So, pointedly ignoring Marco’s impatient stare, he walked on to Ruud, who was busy looking inside the suites, running his hand along the silken sheets, his eyes wide at the Jacuzzi inside the room, excited like a little child.
“Hey,” the guitarist’s voice spoke behind him, and the dark-haired man turned around, almost playfully. An image of Ed and him sharing that room had found its way inside his mind. So, so much better than his dreams…
“I know you must be used to this, Edwin, but… This is just out of sight! Indeed!”
The guitarist let out an amused smile.
“Nice you like it,” he said. “Get used to the good life, huh? This reminds me… you haven’t had anything to eat. And you don’t have extra clothing.”
The dark-haired man then couldn’t help a blush-it was true, so damn true, he was still wearing the same baggy jeans and tee (a vintage Queen one) he had worn at the club. Sure, Ed was still sporting his jeans and black wifebeater, but surely he could have a change of outfit soon enough… and he hadn’t thrown up on his clothes. Oh, damn…
“Tell you what,” Ed said, right then and there. “Why don’t you go out and buy some clothes? On me. Have some money...”
“What? No! Ed… I can’t… I couldn’t…”
“Yes, yes you can,” the guitarist insisted. “You can’t go around in those same clothes all the time, can’t you?”
Ruud had to admit the guitarist had a point, but he resisted. “No, Ed. Look, I have some money here on my wallet…”
Ed laughed. “Perhaps you can eat with that money, but not buy a new pair of jeans and a tee, not to mention underwear, huh? C’mon. Take it.”
Ruud’s heart was bursting when he received the money. No. It was just too perfect.
“At least you could go out and buy something nice too,” he still said.
“Nah,” Edwin refused. “I have my clothes here. And, you don’t need my opinion. I trust your fashion sense. Now, go. We have to rest before the gig.”
After Ruud left, Ed walked reluctantly to his room. It was no use putting the moment off. And, anyways, he had to take advantage of the fact he had managed to lead his groupie away from the hotel.
The guitarist opened the door. Marco was sitting on the bed, his eyes piercing him as soon as he entered the room.
“I think…” the older man started out, very slowly, “you certainly didn’t have to bring him along, Edwin. Just… not necessary.”
The blonde avoided the other man’s eyes.
“What did you want, Marco?” he asked. “Did you want him to-I don’t know, choke on his vomit or something?”
“Drop him off at some fucking hospital.”
“We didn’t have time. We had to leave and I couldn’t leave him alone-“
Marco stood up and punched Edwin’s gut.
“Please, Edwin. Don’t tell me you cared.”
Ed could not even answer. He was holding his gut, gasping for air.
“Don’t tell me you actually felt wrong for the guy. Some fan. There are thousands like him.”
Edwin finally managed to gasp out an answer.
“What… what if I did?”
Marco pulled the guitarist’s longish hair and slammed him against the wall. Edwin immediately raised his hand to his head. A small smudge of blood was on his fingers.
“That’s bullshit,” the advisor’s voice rang out.
Ed felt terribly weak once again, so when he was shoved onto the floor, he didn’t make an attempt to stand up once more. He was half-expecting to receive another brutal kick on his ribs, but, curiously, Marco didn’t do anything.
“That’s what it is, huh?” Marco seemed to be talking to himself.
Edwin managed to look up at the other man.
“I know what you want,” the older man pulled the guitarist up roughly and onto the bed. “Bitch. You want your personal fucktoy as well, don’t you think?”
The blonde bit his lip. Yes, it was true. That was why he had wanted Ruud to come along initially. The sex. Later had come the idea of him helping with Marco. But, it was all a matter of sex. If he found someone who was as attracted to him, as hot, but better in bed, he’d replace Ruud without thinking about it.
“What do you say…” Marco was crawling over him now. “I let you have your boytoy. No big deal. After all, it’s your recess time, right, baby? You can have your fun. Though… not for free…”
“What do you want now?” Ed gritted his teeth.
“Not much… just having you in bed everyday,” Marco licked the other man’s earlobe, in an animal way. “I’ll let you fuck that man… if you give me my daily dose of you… sexy thing… But, you’ll have to obey me in bed. Everything I want, you do it. If not, no little boy for you.”
Ed closed his eyes. Marco would surely humiliate him, fuck him till he couldn’t stand. But… it was worth it… he just had to wait…
“It’s a deal.”
“Good…” Marco said as he unzipped his trousers and shoved his erection into Ed’s mouth, fucking the guitarist’s mouth roughly, pleasure washing over his body… and a greater pleasure on his mind.
Why not… Let him have his fun, Marco. Let him do what he wants. After all, that poor bastard is just a fucktoy. He’ll dump Ed as soon as he meets any other rockstar who’s hotter. I’m sure he won’t last till the end of the tour. Poor fucker. And Edwin… hah. It doesn’t last forever… the show must end, sooner or later… And he’s mine…
Ruud came back from the shops a while later. The money Ed had given him had been a lot-Ruud avoided expensive boutiques nonetheless, and came back with two jeans, a pack of shirts, and mostly underwear.
He’d also wanted to thank Ed some way-yet, he didn’t want to buy clothes for him. He was sure Edwin, being a rockstar, was used to the latest fashion. So, he’d wandered around, thinking what would Ed like, and had finally settled for a studded leather bracelet. He was sure it would look good on those wrists…
When he got there, however, the first thing he saw was Gigi, smoking in the hallway. The door to his room was opened, and Pavel was asleep on the bed.
“The Valium?” the Dutchman said, when he saw the blonde figure.
“Yeah,” Gigi said, blowing out smoke. Then, he saw the bags on Ruud’s hands. “Need help with that?”
“No, thanks” Ruud smiled. “Just tell me where the room is.”
“There,” Gianluigi pointed to the room just across the hall. “Good luck with the snoring, by the way.”
Ruud laughed heartily. He didn’t remember Ed snoring.
“I think he doesn’t snore.”
“Who? Rio?” Gigi tossed the butt of his cig in an ashtray on the hall. “C’mon. The entire Eurostar heard him.”
Ruud’s face was confused now. Gigi noticed it and patted his back.
“Sorry, amico. I know what you think, but you’re not sharing a room with the Ice Prince, now.” And the rhythm guitarist lit another cigarette.
Ruud just stood there and said: “Well, guess I’ll take the stuff to my room then…”
“It’s the fucking bodyguard.”
The Dutchman raised an eyebrow. Gigi blew out some more smoke. He seemed to be on the verge of an important revelation.
“The one who’s sharing the room with your boy is his supposed bodyguard.”
Ruud heard the sentence and didn’t know what to think.
“Where are they?” he finally said.
“Unpacked, stretched for a while, then went out to eat. Perhaps an hour after you left. I decided to stay here with Pavel and order some room service.”
However, Ruud was still thinking. The bodyguard… who was him…
A vision of the very angry man he hadn’t know what his business was with the band flashed across his brain. Right. That was him.
Gianluigi, meanwhile, was waiting for some kind of reaction from the other man. He couldn’t believe Ruud didn’t find the sleeping arrangements suspicious. His Italian hot blood wanted to just shout it out, tell the Dutchie that he was an asshole if he couldn’t see what was going on-but Pavel had softened him. Some years ago, he would have called men like Pavel fucking hopeless junkies… now he was in love with one. So… let’s keep it calm…
“I would have never expected Ed to be so paranoid,.” That was Ruud again, and Gigi felt like swatting his head.
“C’mon, man. Do you really think that figlio de putana is a real bodyguard? I mean, what kind of a bodyguard stays behind while the man he’s supposed to protect is out with the rest of the band? Don’t you think he should be out there with them? Carrying a gun, at least?”
“What do you think he is, then?”
The answer Ruud was dreading came out.
“A… lover. And a jealous one.”
Ruud thought for a moment. Yes, he had definitely not liked the answer, but… if he had been Edwin’s lover, wouldn’t he have put up a fight when Ed had brought him here? Hell, if he was as jealous as Gigi was suggesting, he would have been with his ass in an airplane back to England now. In fact, if he was jealous, that man would have dragged Ed out of the club where he was being fondled by all the whores and models.
…Nah.
“Rio and David have this other theory,” Gianluigi went on, thinking the Dutchman’s silence was a shocked one. “They say that guy-Marco, his name’s Marco-is the stooge of some drug lord who Ed owes a shitload of money to. So, the guy has been following him around to make sure his debt is paid-and that, when the drug lord found we were going on tour, he sent this guy as well so he could make damn sure Edwin wasn’t going to spend money around.” Another cigarette drag. “Sounds a little bit like mafia to me, and I’m Italian.”
He laughed a little, and Ruud did too.
“Oh, Gigi. I know what it is.”
Gigi’s blue eyes opened wide.
“It happens in some really expensive rehab programs,” Ruud started out, sounding rather sure of himself. The clinic appoints a guy to follow you around so you don’t fall into drugs again. Surely Ed got one of those.” He laughed again, as if he had made a discovery. “Of course! That was why the guy was so angry! How could he not be, if Ed had a pill? Goddamn, he was surely thinking his neck was on the line. Poor guy. Poor Marco.”
Gigi scratched his head. Maybe the guy was right. After all, he wasn’t sure of it either. It was just a hunch. Ed didn’t seem to say anything about it, either.
The mysteries of the Ice Prince.
“I should go to my room, then,” Ruud said, more cheerful. “And perhaps I should buy some earmuffs for the snoring, right? Catch you later, Gigi.”
Summary: Seems Ruud's part of the entourage now, much to Marco's dismay. And Gigi might be on the verge of an important revelation. Only might, though... if not this fic falls down when it's just starting, lol. NC-17 for non-con, drug mentions.
Chapter XIII
Ruud woke up in what looked like another bus. God, he seemed to be waking up in a lot of buses these last few hours. He felt a little groggy, but better than what he had felt before. He looked out the window, and suddenly he felt the view was very, very unfamiliar.
“Eurostar, premier class. The entire lounge reserved for us,” a familiar voice said, and Ruud almost jumped-there was Ed, sitting by his side.
“Eurostar? What the-“
“Seems you’re feeling better,” the guitarist laughed. “Dr. Capello did a good job.”
“Of course I did,” snapped a stern-faced, white-haired man, with glasses. The doctor, Ruud guessed. “He had a reaction to the little pill you gave him. He’s alright now. But that better remind you guys, not to play with your bloody substances. Now, I’m going to my carriage, if you don’t mind.”
Ruud watched the doctor walk away to another compartment of the train-then turned towards Ed, who was smiling kindly at him. At other part of the lounge, David was having a glass of red wine and lying back on his seat, a satisfied smile on his face. Rio was stuffing his face with what looked as… well, something expensive, like lobster. Fergie was having a cup of tea, though he looked as if he was ready to go to his carriage anytime soon. Gigi and Pavel were sitting down too; it looked as if they had finished eating a while ago already. Pavel had a shirt on now. Wayne got up then-he had had a beer instead of wine with whatever he had eaten-and toasted Becks.
Ruud shook his head-a faint memory of another man was making its way into his mind. He remembered that man had been there at the hallway-but he wasn’t sure who he was, what was his role with the band. He had looked angry, for some reason.
However, all those thoughts vanished in a single, panicked conclusion. Why was he thinking about that man? It wasn’t his business. In fact, what was he doing on the way to France? He should be getting ready for work-he should be at the office right now! How many days had he been absent? What would his boss say?
“Edwin… I… I have to go,” Ruud said, sounding like a scolded child whose playtime’s over.
“Right now?” Ed’s smile was so nice the dark-haired Dutchman had to hold back a swallow. “You can’t jump off the train.”
“No, Ed-I mean, I can’t stay. I can’t go to France with you. I have to go back to my job and…”
However, Ruud stopped right then and there. The situation was so fucking crazy, he could not believe he was actually discussing it. How many times had he dreamed that Edwin would appear at his house, and take him away, save him from his routine… It was a stupid dream, but now that it had actually happened and that he was with Ed, on a train, to fucking France oh my god, he was thinking that things were not as simple as how he had imagined them.
…But wasn’t that his dream?
“Ok then,” Ed said, still as amiable and as calm as ever. “Then, when we get to France, you should eat something at least, and then I’ll buy you your return ticket. Are you ok with that?”
Ruud closed his eyes. What was he doing? People longed for dreams to come true. And he was throwing his overboard. Just for responsibility.
“You could stay, you know,” he heard Edwin whisper. “Be a roadie, just like Pavel is. If what you want is money, Fergie will give you some if you work hard. You’ll be working for us. Then you can go back. Or you could join another band. It could be your official job and you could quit yours. It would be nice, don’t you think? You play the guitar. You could join a band on the way.”
The guitarist’s words seemed to flood Ruud’s brain. They sounded good, really good. Even though he didn’t wish to leave the band, and this man. But, his job-
Ed watched his groupie attentively. He was playing against Marco, by taking him along, and he felt disappointed by the fact Ruud wanted to leave. The blonde knew well that, if Ruud left, Marco would unleash not only his anger on him right away, but also his sarcastic remarks. So there, your man left. What can you say about that, Edwin? God, he could almost hear that man’s voice, and that made him sick. Having Ruud there could keep Marco a little at bay, could perhaps persuade him to finally leave him alone. And well… the sex was fucking great. So, he needed this man to be with him. At least until the tour ended and he finally paid Marco and he was free…
“Can’t sleep,” came Pavel’s voice from some seats away.
“Perhaps if you went to your carriage you could,” Gigi answered.
“Some weed would do the trick,” the Czech retorted.
“You want weed?” David left his empty glass. “I have some.”
“No way!” Gigi got up and pulled Pavel down-the blonde was already standing up towards the drummer. “You can sleep, Pavel. You don’t need to be smoking or taking things to sleep! You already had enough yesterday!”
“Enough?” the Czech’s sweet voice raised itself. “What do you mean?”
“Enough’s not the word,” Gigi continued, staring at his boyfriend. “In fact, you have too much of that shit-“
“Oh yeah. Your friends here pop pills and have drinks, and I’m the one who’s treated like a junkie. Stop treating me like one, Gianluigi. Why don’t you go and lecture someone else? David, for example? Or… or… him?”
Ruud opened his eyes wide, for Pavel was pointing at him. However, Gigi sighed and made him sit down again.
“You know it’s not like that what I mean-“
“I don’t have a fucking problem, if you’re gonna insist with that,” the Czech snapped and walked away-Ruud turned around discreetly, just in time to see him taking out an acoustic-probably Gigi’s-from a case that was there, and slump down to the floor. Gianluigi didn’t join him: he just stayed at his seat, silent. Ruud looked around-Rio didn’t seem to have paid much attention to the argument: he was slumped on his seat, and snoring. Wayne had his earphones on, and was bobbing his head to some song. The Italian suddenly shot a glance at David.
“I don’t have the packet here,” the drummer somewhat apologized. “The stash is with my clothes.”
“Better,” Gigi snapped.
Ruud suddenly felt bad for the rhythm guitarist. He remembered the scene at the club.
“Hey,” he said, standing up and walking towards Gigi, “do you need any help?”
“Nah,” the Italian shook his head. “I think he’s okay now. He’s playing. Sometimes his hands are so shaky he can’t hold his guitar.” He sighed, suddenly, and told Ruud, in a confidential manner: “I know he’ll take a Valium at some point. He has them, hidden around, always changing hideouts so I won’t catch him.”
Ruud turned around. He could see some of Pavel’s hair, and he could listen. The Czech was playing some random chords, until finally he focused on some song Ruud was sure he knew.
“I seem to recognize your face…”
It was a Pearl Jam song.
David kicked Rio as he got comfortable on his seat as well. “Shut it, m’mate. Can’t have my beauty sleep with yer bloody snores.”
“Fuck ya, Becks,” Rio said, groggily, as he looked around and David put on his sunglasses. The lounge was too calm, thought the bassist-he saw Fergie had already left, and that the guy Ed had taken to the club was standing up and listening to a very sweet, sad voice singing Pearl Jam’s “Elderly Woman behind a Counter in a Small Town”.
“Hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away…”
Ed stood up too and placed a hand on Ruud’s shoulder.
“That’s yer boy, Gigi?” Rio asked, and the Italian nodded, perhaps expecting more jokes, but the bassist did nothing of the sort. “Damnit, the blondie has a voice! He really does! How come ya’d never told us yer boy was so talented, huh?”
Gianluigi smiled at Rio’s sincere words. “He’s a grunge fan, what can I say? He could be a big star…”
“Per’aps we could get ‘im in a studio once tour’s over, matey…”
Hearts and thoughts they fade, fade away. Ruud also lifted a hand and placed in on Ed’s back, feeling his shoulderblades through the wifebeater.
And, just like the song, he let his thoughts fade. Yes. He would stay. The world could go to hell. He’d figure out later.
The hotel in Paris was beautiful: once again, a complete floor waiting for them. Big suites: one of them could have housed half the band comfortably, but they were going to stay in twos-and that was just because Fergie knew leaving a room for each one was a disaster.
“Sleeping arrangements, then?” was the first thing Rio said when the entourage reached the first suite.
“If Waz here throws another party like the ‘un of earlier, I wanna be there!” Becks winked.
“Well, well…” Rio continued. “Lovebirds together, huh Gigi and Pavel?” He had been tempted to add something about “Ed’s groupie”, but a glance at Marco kept him quiet.
Edwin, for his part, already knew what would happen. So, pointedly ignoring Marco’s impatient stare, he walked on to Ruud, who was busy looking inside the suites, running his hand along the silken sheets, his eyes wide at the Jacuzzi inside the room, excited like a little child.
“Hey,” the guitarist’s voice spoke behind him, and the dark-haired man turned around, almost playfully. An image of Ed and him sharing that room had found its way inside his mind. So, so much better than his dreams…
“I know you must be used to this, Edwin, but… This is just out of sight! Indeed!”
The guitarist let out an amused smile.
“Nice you like it,” he said. “Get used to the good life, huh? This reminds me… you haven’t had anything to eat. And you don’t have extra clothing.”
The dark-haired man then couldn’t help a blush-it was true, so damn true, he was still wearing the same baggy jeans and tee (a vintage Queen one) he had worn at the club. Sure, Ed was still sporting his jeans and black wifebeater, but surely he could have a change of outfit soon enough… and he hadn’t thrown up on his clothes. Oh, damn…
“Tell you what,” Ed said, right then and there. “Why don’t you go out and buy some clothes? On me. Have some money...”
“What? No! Ed… I can’t… I couldn’t…”
“Yes, yes you can,” the guitarist insisted. “You can’t go around in those same clothes all the time, can’t you?”
Ruud had to admit the guitarist had a point, but he resisted. “No, Ed. Look, I have some money here on my wallet…”
Ed laughed. “Perhaps you can eat with that money, but not buy a new pair of jeans and a tee, not to mention underwear, huh? C’mon. Take it.”
Ruud’s heart was bursting when he received the money. No. It was just too perfect.
“At least you could go out and buy something nice too,” he still said.
“Nah,” Edwin refused. “I have my clothes here. And, you don’t need my opinion. I trust your fashion sense. Now, go. We have to rest before the gig.”
After Ruud left, Ed walked reluctantly to his room. It was no use putting the moment off. And, anyways, he had to take advantage of the fact he had managed to lead his groupie away from the hotel.
The guitarist opened the door. Marco was sitting on the bed, his eyes piercing him as soon as he entered the room.
“I think…” the older man started out, very slowly, “you certainly didn’t have to bring him along, Edwin. Just… not necessary.”
The blonde avoided the other man’s eyes.
“What did you want, Marco?” he asked. “Did you want him to-I don’t know, choke on his vomit or something?”
“Drop him off at some fucking hospital.”
“We didn’t have time. We had to leave and I couldn’t leave him alone-“
Marco stood up and punched Edwin’s gut.
“Please, Edwin. Don’t tell me you cared.”
Ed could not even answer. He was holding his gut, gasping for air.
“Don’t tell me you actually felt wrong for the guy. Some fan. There are thousands like him.”
Edwin finally managed to gasp out an answer.
“What… what if I did?”
Marco pulled the guitarist’s longish hair and slammed him against the wall. Edwin immediately raised his hand to his head. A small smudge of blood was on his fingers.
“That’s bullshit,” the advisor’s voice rang out.
Ed felt terribly weak once again, so when he was shoved onto the floor, he didn’t make an attempt to stand up once more. He was half-expecting to receive another brutal kick on his ribs, but, curiously, Marco didn’t do anything.
“That’s what it is, huh?” Marco seemed to be talking to himself.
Edwin managed to look up at the other man.
“I know what you want,” the older man pulled the guitarist up roughly and onto the bed. “Bitch. You want your personal fucktoy as well, don’t you think?”
The blonde bit his lip. Yes, it was true. That was why he had wanted Ruud to come along initially. The sex. Later had come the idea of him helping with Marco. But, it was all a matter of sex. If he found someone who was as attracted to him, as hot, but better in bed, he’d replace Ruud without thinking about it.
“What do you say…” Marco was crawling over him now. “I let you have your boytoy. No big deal. After all, it’s your recess time, right, baby? You can have your fun. Though… not for free…”
“What do you want now?” Ed gritted his teeth.
“Not much… just having you in bed everyday,” Marco licked the other man’s earlobe, in an animal way. “I’ll let you fuck that man… if you give me my daily dose of you… sexy thing… But, you’ll have to obey me in bed. Everything I want, you do it. If not, no little boy for you.”
Ed closed his eyes. Marco would surely humiliate him, fuck him till he couldn’t stand. But… it was worth it… he just had to wait…
“It’s a deal.”
“Good…” Marco said as he unzipped his trousers and shoved his erection into Ed’s mouth, fucking the guitarist’s mouth roughly, pleasure washing over his body… and a greater pleasure on his mind.
Why not… Let him have his fun, Marco. Let him do what he wants. After all, that poor bastard is just a fucktoy. He’ll dump Ed as soon as he meets any other rockstar who’s hotter. I’m sure he won’t last till the end of the tour. Poor fucker. And Edwin… hah. It doesn’t last forever… the show must end, sooner or later… And he’s mine…
Ruud came back from the shops a while later. The money Ed had given him had been a lot-Ruud avoided expensive boutiques nonetheless, and came back with two jeans, a pack of shirts, and mostly underwear.
He’d also wanted to thank Ed some way-yet, he didn’t want to buy clothes for him. He was sure Edwin, being a rockstar, was used to the latest fashion. So, he’d wandered around, thinking what would Ed like, and had finally settled for a studded leather bracelet. He was sure it would look good on those wrists…
When he got there, however, the first thing he saw was Gigi, smoking in the hallway. The door to his room was opened, and Pavel was asleep on the bed.
“The Valium?” the Dutchman said, when he saw the blonde figure.
“Yeah,” Gigi said, blowing out smoke. Then, he saw the bags on Ruud’s hands. “Need help with that?”
“No, thanks” Ruud smiled. “Just tell me where the room is.”
“There,” Gianluigi pointed to the room just across the hall. “Good luck with the snoring, by the way.”
Ruud laughed heartily. He didn’t remember Ed snoring.
“I think he doesn’t snore.”
“Who? Rio?” Gigi tossed the butt of his cig in an ashtray on the hall. “C’mon. The entire Eurostar heard him.”
Ruud’s face was confused now. Gigi noticed it and patted his back.
“Sorry, amico. I know what you think, but you’re not sharing a room with the Ice Prince, now.” And the rhythm guitarist lit another cigarette.
Ruud just stood there and said: “Well, guess I’ll take the stuff to my room then…”
“It’s the fucking bodyguard.”
The Dutchman raised an eyebrow. Gigi blew out some more smoke. He seemed to be on the verge of an important revelation.
“The one who’s sharing the room with your boy is his supposed bodyguard.”
Ruud heard the sentence and didn’t know what to think.
“Where are they?” he finally said.
“Unpacked, stretched for a while, then went out to eat. Perhaps an hour after you left. I decided to stay here with Pavel and order some room service.”
However, Ruud was still thinking. The bodyguard… who was him…
A vision of the very angry man he hadn’t know what his business was with the band flashed across his brain. Right. That was him.
Gianluigi, meanwhile, was waiting for some kind of reaction from the other man. He couldn’t believe Ruud didn’t find the sleeping arrangements suspicious. His Italian hot blood wanted to just shout it out, tell the Dutchie that he was an asshole if he couldn’t see what was going on-but Pavel had softened him. Some years ago, he would have called men like Pavel fucking hopeless junkies… now he was in love with one. So… let’s keep it calm…
“I would have never expected Ed to be so paranoid,.” That was Ruud again, and Gigi felt like swatting his head.
“C’mon, man. Do you really think that figlio de putana is a real bodyguard? I mean, what kind of a bodyguard stays behind while the man he’s supposed to protect is out with the rest of the band? Don’t you think he should be out there with them? Carrying a gun, at least?”
“What do you think he is, then?”
The answer Ruud was dreading came out.
“A… lover. And a jealous one.”
Ruud thought for a moment. Yes, he had definitely not liked the answer, but… if he had been Edwin’s lover, wouldn’t he have put up a fight when Ed had brought him here? Hell, if he was as jealous as Gigi was suggesting, he would have been with his ass in an airplane back to England now. In fact, if he was jealous, that man would have dragged Ed out of the club where he was being fondled by all the whores and models.
…Nah.
“Rio and David have this other theory,” Gianluigi went on, thinking the Dutchman’s silence was a shocked one. “They say that guy-Marco, his name’s Marco-is the stooge of some drug lord who Ed owes a shitload of money to. So, the guy has been following him around to make sure his debt is paid-and that, when the drug lord found we were going on tour, he sent this guy as well so he could make damn sure Edwin wasn’t going to spend money around.” Another cigarette drag. “Sounds a little bit like mafia to me, and I’m Italian.”
He laughed a little, and Ruud did too.
“Oh, Gigi. I know what it is.”
Gigi’s blue eyes opened wide.
“It happens in some really expensive rehab programs,” Ruud started out, sounding rather sure of himself. The clinic appoints a guy to follow you around so you don’t fall into drugs again. Surely Ed got one of those.” He laughed again, as if he had made a discovery. “Of course! That was why the guy was so angry! How could he not be, if Ed had a pill? Goddamn, he was surely thinking his neck was on the line. Poor guy. Poor Marco.”
Gigi scratched his head. Maybe the guy was right. After all, he wasn’t sure of it either. It was just a hunch. Ed didn’t seem to say anything about it, either.
The mysteries of the Ice Prince.
“I should go to my room, then,” Ruud said, more cheerful. “And perhaps I should buy some earmuffs for the snoring, right? Catch you later, Gigi.”