fic: cut and weave (tsn, pg-13, andrew/jesse, au, 4148 words)
cut and weave
kinkmeme fill for this prompt. BANDOM AU. Clearly it is a work of fiction. Awkward sexy times ensue. All mistakes are mine. Wewt.
The van is cheap and broken down, the paint peeling off the fenders, and probably in need of an oil change, but Jesse loves it and so does Joe who swings an arm around his shoulders and bangs a fist against Jesse's chest.
"There it is," Joe says, sounding wistful. "Isn't she a beauty?"
Jesse thinks maybe it needs a little repainting first before it could be considered a beauty. Joe bought the van from his uncle who used to work in pest control back in '05, which is why the seats smell strongly of chemicals. Still, Jesse can't bring himself to care even though the van looks like one hell of a repairable and it may take them awhile to get the transmission going.
Jesse pats the hood affectionately. Dust coats his entire hand and he rubs two fingers together, feeling the grime settle in the lines of his palm. He never thought it would ever come to fruition, his dream, this van, and the promise of a summer tour looming ahead.
No more garage shows and pretending to be rockstars, it's finally, truly happening and it's here, right in front of him, this chunk of metal painted a rusty green with two busted tires.
"So, what do you think?" Joe asks, waggling his brows and crossing his arms. He's beaming, ear to ear, with this infectious crazy look in his eyes.
It's the same look Jesse remembers from middle school when Joe came up to him with this harebrained scheme to start a band mostly to score girls. They were thirteen and Joe had braces, bright red hair and a collapsible Transformers sports watch. Jesse was pretty much the same, awkward and friendless with his bad haircut and posture, always walking with his shoulders hunched, nose buried in a book.
"Well?" Joe says again.
Jesse grins and steps back to join him on the sidewalk. "This is great," he says.
So Andrew's the new guy.
He used to play bass for a band that mostly did Nirvana covers until Joe - who must've slipped something in his drink, a roofie maybe, - filched him from them, said some stuff about wasted potential and playing for a band that could actually produce their own material as opposed to crooning about the smell of teenage spirit and Andrew fell for it, hook, line, sinker.
Joe, despite his looks, has a way with words, which is why he writes most of the songs although often times Jesse has to double-check his spelling.
Andrew's English which gives them more sex appeal as a band, and Jesse's not just thinking that because he finds Andrew immensely attractive, even though yeah, he's pretty much front and center of every wet dream Jesse's ever had since he met him six months ago.
Jesse wants to keep him pocketed away, forever, especially from the wannabe groupies, these girls who throw their dirty underwear at the stage in hopes of getting Andrew's attention (or Armie's - but that never bothered Jesse before.)
It happened a few times in Baltimore and Jesse has been keeping close watch ever since. Max teases him for it, calling him jealous, but really, Jesse's just looking out for the band.
He doesn't think it's right for them to have groupies when they don't even have an album out yet. Not that they ever should have groupies. But, uh.
They're welcome, sure, but Jesse would rather they keep their underwear to themselves. Those girls probably have some venereal disease so really Jesse is doing Andrew a favor by protecting him from infection.
They probably really need Andrew's Englishness though, to boost their image. They have Armie who's like 6"5 and who hangs around mostly to commentate on the music and help out with the tech stuff when they need an extra pair of hands, but mostly he just shows up uninvited with free drinks and gas money even though none of them actually remember where he's from or when he first appeared.
But it was Patrick who came up with the idea of a summer tour.
"We can buy Joe's uncle's van," Patrick suggested.
They were all sprawled out on Jesse's living room floor, near their instruments, Joe flicking peanuts at Max and making a general mess of the living room.
Andrew was in the kitchen, taking a phone call and Jesse was watching his every move from his easy perch on the couch, feeling like a total pervert. He looked away when Andrew caught him staring, catching the tail end of Max's sentence.
"And turn into houseflies like Jeff Goldblum? Fuck no! There are probably dead animals under the hood, Pat. No freaking way am I going to get near that highly toxic chunk of metal! It's a health hazard."
"I lost my virginity in the backseat of that van and I turned out fine," Joe said.
Patrick made a disgusted face but laughed.
"Except for a few loose screws, I'd say that's a fair assessment to make," Max said.
Joe scooped a handful of peanut shells and threw it at him before collapsing on his elbows and dissolving into laughter.
The idea stayed for a few days, bidding time, until Jesse decided, fuck it, and cashed all his savings. Andrew decided to pitch in too, the few hundred dollars he had saved for that Gibson Les Paul guitar that he always wanted to buy.
"So," Andrew said. The Smiths played on the radio, low and barely distinguishable over the mad thump thump thump of Jesse's heart.
"So," Jesse echoed. "We're finally doing this," he said and then added, shrugging, "I guess." He expected more fanfare.
Andrew watched him curiously, patting his knee before shifting gears.
"Isn't this what you wanted?"
"I want a lot of things," Jesse said vaguely, picking at the thread unspooling from the bottom of his shirt.
Andrew paused, wrinkling his nose in thought. "No, I meant for the band."
Jesse shrugged again. "I'm not sure this is a good idea anymore. What if it's not in the cards for us?"
"What if it is?"
"What if it's not?"
Andrew shrugged and reached over, pulling him into a sideways hug and driving one handed. Jesse was sure that was illegal but he did nothing to shrug him off. Andrew gave good hugs, hugs that meant something and left certain things unsaid but transplanted good sentiments like, you're my friend and I'm here for you and you don't even have to ask.
Finally, Andrew released him and squeezed his knee in pulses. His touch, through the scratchy material of Jesse's jeans, was hot and electric.
They sleep in shifts.
Andrew's driving now and Jesse is keeping him company, watching cars rushing past them on the road. The first show was a total disaster, some technical difficulties and a bad crowd and Joe taking the brunt of it, stiff upper lip and all, and playing despite the boos.
Jesse sighs and rests his forehead against the window.
Behind him, in the backseat, Joe is curled up sleeping on Patrick's lap. Max and Armie are wedged together with the equipment, slouched uncomfortably around each other but looking otherwise at peace even with Max's foot propped up on Armie's shoulder. They're such heavy sleepers.
Andrew rolls over a speedbump and that's all it takes, the top of Jesse's head hits the ceiling and he feels like he's going to throw up.
"Can you stop for a minute? I think I need to-"
He doesn't get the words out because as soon as Andrew slows down, he's wrenching the door open with sweaty palms. He throws up on the roadside with his hands braced on his knees. Another wave of nausea hits him and his eyes water unbearably. Jesse lets out a choppy laugh, hoarse and gritty and unfamiliar even to his own ears.
"Hey," Andrew says behind him, startling Jesse into standing upright. Andrew steps closer, rubbing his back in soothing strokes and Jesse curls into the touch, like a starving cat.
Andrew doesn't tell him it's going to get better - he's a realist - which is one of the qualities Jesse likes about him. Andrew's arms go all around Jesse's shoulders and Jesse relaxes, instantly, closing his eyes and pressing his face against the sweaty material of Andrew's t-shirt.
Then he remembers his mouth is still smeared with vomit in places, and he tries loosening Andrew's grip, flailing a little bit in the process and stepping on Andrew's foot.
Andrew laughs and keeps him at arm's length. He rubs up and down Jesse's spine and the touch makes Jesse's insides unravel but at the same time it makes him want to fall asleep, pressed close to Andrew's skin like this, his smell everywhere.
"It's all right," Andrew says to him, biting his lip, "I can um, I can get Armie to wash this shirt or something. He seems to like doing laundry, anyway."
Jesse chews the inside of his cheek, thinking for a moment. "He does, doesn't he."
"He's our groupie," Andrew smiles.
Jesse laughs and his shoulders shake when he tries to muffle the noise into Andrew's shoulder. "Oh god, I can't believe I just realized that."
It makes sense too - Armie's really just there for moral support, hooting from the crowd and getting people rowdy, forcing them to participate and mosh in time with the music.
"Jess," Andrew says into his hair.
"Mm?" He turns and feels the rasp of Andrew's stubble brushing his cheek.
"There's a goat staring at us right now."
Jesse didn't like Andrew at first.
He wasn't sure what to make of him, this guy drinking orange juice from the carton in Joe's kitchen, but he tried to stay open to the idea of a new bass player especially after Josh had left for college for more scholarly pursuits.
Andrew was pretty much homeless after he got himself kicked out of his band so he crashed at Joe's place often. That was where Jesse saw him most of the time. If he weren't practicing bass, he was vacuuming Joe's apartment, which was, Jesse thought at first, kind of weird but he chalked it up to Andrew's Englishness which could or could not be racist, he wasn't sure.
Maybe Andrew was a neat freak. Maybe that was why he often reached out to flick nonexistent lint off Jesse's shoulder or his hair or brush invisible dirt off his arm. Andrew touched him a lot, smoothed out his shirt. Once, when Jesse was talking to him about his favourite Ween song, Andrew slipped a hand up his shoulder and plucked a tiny spider from his neck.
"Whoah! Has that been on me this entire time? That is just - that is just. Um. How do you even do that? Is that a weird talent of yours? Do you have like, super spider uh, detecting abilities?"
"Yeah, um," Andrew said, sheepish and flicked the spider off his fingers, somewhere. "Sorry. What were you saying again?"
Jesse laughed nervously. "Um," he said. He couldn't remember.
"Hey Jesse," Armie says. "Jess. J-Dawg."
Jesse blinks. He sits up and grabs his eyeglasses from the dashboard. "Don't call me that. It unnerves me."
Armie just laughs. "You've been asleep this whole time, man. When there's, like, a party going on around you!"
"Where's Andrew?" Jesse asks. He cringes, ignoring Armie's pointed look.
"Making out with some chick somewhere," Armie says. "Don't look so put out. I was only kidding. Hey," He nudges Jesse on the shoulder, squeezing him gently. The door to the passenger side is open and Jesse swings his legs over the seat so that the points of his shoes touch the ground. The back door of the venue is open. It's a club tonight called Henley's, owned and operated by someone Armie's family knows. They played great and the crowd loved them and Jesse knows he should be feeling the exact opposite of shit but he can't help it. He's not the festive kind.
"He likes you, you know," Armie says.
"Whatever."
"He does," Armie insists, sounding like a first grader. He takes a swig of his beer, wiping his mouth across the sleeve of his shirt. "You're just too blind to see it sometimes."
Jesse snorts. "Sure."
"Maybe if you stop slouching so low you'd actually realize he's head over heels in love with you and would like nothing more than to ejaculate on your curly hair."
"Wow," Jesse says, blinking, not sure whether to laugh or feel flattered. "Okay that was romantic, uh. Should you even be drinking? Where's Max? Who's driving tonight?"
Armie shrugs, grinning. "Does it matter? The night is young. And we are Jewish. Somewhere in between those two sentences I have lost my train of thought. Anyway," He waves a hand dismissively before disappearing through the back door. A second later, Andrew emerges, in a dark blue hoodie that's zipped all the way to his chin. He looks cold even though his hair is matted to his forehead with sweat. His eyes are liquid in the dark.
"Oh, you're awake now," Andrew says. He sounds particularly thrilled. "I've been checking up on you periodically for the past couple of hours. Do you want a beer?" He holds a plastic cup sloshing with frothy liquid up to eye level.
Jesse's not a big fan of beer but he shrugs and takes a sip, just to be a good sport. He grimaces and hands Andrew the cup back. He can never get why people drink this stuff.
"Take it," Andrew tells him, leaning against the side of the van, hands inside his pockets. "I got that for you, anyway." He's ducking his head shyly, looking up at Jesse through the tangled mess of his hair.
Oh, Jesse thinks. "Thanks," he says after a second. He dips his head, pretending to drink, when really, he's hiding a smile.
They were at a Denny's, having breakfast, when Max sauntered in wearing boots Jesse was sure belonged to someone else, maybe a prostitute. They were red and shiny and he wore them like a badge of honor, a badge of honor that was tacky and made him look like a complete ass.
"Ooh," Patrick said, raising his eyebrows and nodding appreciatively. He was the big brother of the group and also the least self-conscious so when Max swung his hips in a wide cant - purely for show - Patrick wolf whistled and made loud catcalls, ignoring the the room full of people.
Max pushed Joe aside to make room for him and flagged down a waitress to order pancakes. "Did you just get laid?" Joe hissed, voice lowered out of respect for the listening public.
"Joseph," Andrew said, aghast. "A gentleman never kisses and tells."
"I wouldn't call Max over here a gentleman," Jesse mumbled.
"Hey! Play nice," Patrick admonished. Jesse shrugged, ignoring Max's dirty look. Armie strolled in a second later with pillow marks on his cheek, looking equally debauched with his shirt missing a few buttons. He stole a sip from Joe's coffee and parked himself right next Max, curling an arm around his shoulder and grinning tiredly down at him. He looked smitten, a stupid, sleepy look on his face as he blinked down at Max.
"Shit," Joe said. "You two had sex. The air reeks of it," he sniffed. "Sex. Semen. The combined scent of your loins."
"Oh my god," said Andrew, laughing. "Shut up." He kicked Joe under the table, elbow resting near the edge of Jesse's thigh, making Jesse jerk upright in his seat.
"I didn't know you wore boots, Armie," Patrick said through a mouthful of bacon. "Red ones too." He waggled his eyebrows and grinned, pointing at the two of them with a fork.
"Oh, those aren't mine," Armie said, hiding a yawn behind his fist, entirely too casual about the situation. "I just stole those from a groupie and Max thought it would be cool to wear them."
They sleep in one motel room.
Easier said than done.
Joe and Patrick take the bed - it's their turn now, after driving nonstop for three days straight - while the rest of them curl up haphazardly on the floor, Max folded on top of Armie, Jesse near the bathroom door, eyeing them jealously.
Andrew's head is pillowed on his backpack. He sleeps with his hands tucked between his knees and Jesse totally pretends he isn't watching him all throughout the night. They take turns showering the next morning and then they're back on the road again, drinking coffee that tastes like cardboard, all jazzed up and ready to go.
Everything is fine until they stop for gas and Jesse finds Armie and Max making out behind the van, going all out. Jesse rolls his eyes, marching back towards the curb, his cheeks burning. He hates his life, sometimes. He kicks at a pebble on the ground, streaking the point of his shoe with dust.
"They make me sick," he tells Andrew who sits next to him on the curb and pats him on the head in sympathy.
"They're in love," Andrew laughs, making grandiose gestures at the word "love". "They can't help it."
Jesse shrugs. He feels like a little kid who has to be chastised. He tucks his face into his elbow, leaning forward on his knees.
"I uh, I hate it a little bit too," Andrew confesses, mouth twitching. "So it's not just you." He bumps their shoulders together and ruffles the top of Jesse's hair which is out of control and thick now and curling all over the place.
"Cheer up, emo kid," Andrew says.
"That is so 2006," Jesse tells him, smiling a little, turning his face so that he can peek up at Andrew through his hair. He's blushing too because Andrew up close looks so different, his eyes bright and liquid, and every tiny touch sharp and charged with electricity.
"Huh." Andrew huffs out a laugh. He looks at Jesse sideways, resting his weight on his hands. The sun beats down their backs, making Jesse's thoughts swim listlessly about in his head, like fish. When Andrew loops an arm around his shoulder, pressing their temples together, Jesse's eyes fall shut and he doesn't speak. He can feel Andrew's hair brushing his eyelids, the sides of their knees touching, the bony arc of Andrew's arm, warm where it circles Jesse's shoulders.
They sit together like that until Joe finishes up in the bathroom, slapping them on the back of their heads to and kicking up dust when he jogs towards the van.
"This shouldn't be happening," Jesse said. He paced the floor. "Our band is about to fall apart and we're not even halfway through the tour yet! One third of our band is sleeping together! Sleeping together! Why didn't I ever foresee this happening?"
"I really don't see what the problem is," Andrew said. He rubbed the bend of his elbow, leaning against the wall of the lighting booth, his ankles crossed.
"They're having sex, Andrew! Exchanging body fluids! This isn't Ancient Greece where that's considered a good thing. It's not productive."
"Armie's not even a part of the band," Andrew said. "So why worry? And I'm sure they'll make up soon enough, anyway. It's not like they haven't fought before."
"But what if this is the big one?" What if, Jesse thought, what if they lost their drummer?
"Relax, Jess," Andrew laughed, crossing the room and pulling him bodily forward, into his chest. His arms, when they came around Jesse, were sweaty and long and comfortable. Jesse moaned into the curve of his shoulder, rubbing his face there gently. He hated this. They shouldn't have gone on tour. It wasn't even a real tour to begin with, just a bunch of gigs out of town.
"Breathe," said Andrew softly, rubbing his back in slow circles. "Feel better now?"
"No," Jesse answered snittily. He really didn't. His mind wouldn't turn off. Max had gone and wandered off to god knows where and took the van with him. The van with all their equipment in it. What an asshole. And he wouldn't pick up his phone. If Jesse were the type to punch people in frustration -
"Now?" Andrew asked, looking down at him, his hand high up Jesse's sides, thumbs dangerously close to his nipples. Andrew smiled gently, squeezed Jesse to his chest when he didn't answer. He smelled like sweat and beer and skin and hair product, all those other good things that made it that much harder for Jesse not to pop a boner then and there.
"You're like a care bear," Jesse told him, crumpling under Andrew's petting. "Full of joy and love and giving everyone free hugs."
"Hey now, don't make me out to be some kind of hug slut. I don't hug everyone."
"You don't?"
Andrew laughed, squeezing Jesse again. Sometimes it was hard to figure out what went on inside that crazy brain of his. He was all wild hair and easy smiles and touches that lingered a second too long.
"No," Andrew said. His smile was huge. "Just you, Jess. Just you."
They watch the band play on stage. They're called the Young Upstarts or something. Jesse isn't sure.
"Your eyes are grey," Andrew says suddenly, not looking at Jesse, at least not directly anyway. "Under a certain light, anyway."
"They're blue," Jesse says defensively.
"I know," Andrew says, rolling his eyes. "I was just saying." He turns to watch the band again, hands under his armpits, shoulders hunched. The shirt he's wearing makes his posture more obvious. The muscles of his arms shift and Jesse looks away guiltily, biting his lip.
"Thanks," he says.
"For what?" Andrew asks.
Good question. Jesse shrugs. There's no more talking after that. He sneaks a peek over his shoulder, down at Andrew who smiles softly to himself and taps his foot to the beat of the music. Jesse smiles too and leans against the wall, listening to the hum of music reverberating inside his chest, rattling his ankles.
It's blistering hot outside.
They've stopped at a gas station and the ground is baking and Jesse is about to have sex. He supposes there should be more romance to it, six guys in a cramped van that smells a lot like sweat and week-old Cheetohs, a long dusty snake-like road ahead. But he can't summon enough coherence when Andrew's mouth is pressed to his skin, leaving wet trails down his ribs and rubbing his nipples through his shirt.
"Shit," Jesse says. He tries not to think about how the dirty the tiles are when they squeak underneath his palms and Andrew reaches below his shirt to undo his fly.
"God," Andrew says into his mouth, wet and warm and breathing down on him. "You're so precious." He says it over and over again until Jesse believes it to be true. Everything Andrew says right now makes his bones shiver, each word that tumbles out of his mouth breathy and sexy as hell, punctuated with a snap of his hips that makes Jesse's breath hitch in his chest.
They scrabble at each other, fists in each other's hair, Jesse's leg hiked up Andrew's hip as Andrew thrusts against him in achingly slow pulls that make Jesse moan and beg for faster and harder. Jesse wants it, all of him, but all he can do is tip his head back against the wall and pull Andrew in tight, kissing him until the rush of orgasm blinds the light from his eyes and his hips stop moving to meet Andrew thrust for thrust.
Their stomachs sticky with come, Andrew leans away and drops to his knees. He kisses the inside of Jesse's thigh and grins up at him.
Jesse touches his ear, and Andrew curls into his touch, closing his eyes.
"By the way," Andrew says gently, his voice hoarse, his tone light. "I happen to really really like you Jess. I hope you don't mind."
"What a coincidence," Jesse says, and he'd blush except it's too late for that now and he has Andrew's come on his stomach. "I happen to like you too."
Nothing that's worth having comes easy.
Jesse doesn't learn this the conventional way. He's in a band with these guys, and they're all insane when they're not having sex with each other. Patrick on lead vocals, Max on drums, Joe and Andrew on bass and Jesse on lead guitar. Armie? Armie cheers for them from the audience, calling out to the supposedly sexy drummer who winks and returns the favor, calling back.
Jesse laughs and shakes his head. The lights dim as Andrew steps closer to the mic, adjusting his guitar strap and grinning. His eyes, where the light shines over them, are bright and brown and smiling.
"This one," Andrew says, voice low as he prepares to strum the first chords, "is for a boy I know called Jesse."
"Fuck yeah!" Armie says from the crowd, pumping a fist. "Woohoo! I love this song!"