kickstart my heart - 2
Title: Kickstart My Heart [2/11]
Author: RaeLouise
Rating: NC17 for later chapters
Pairing: Joe/David Henrie, with mentions of Joe/Nick
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with, any of the real people involved in this story. Fiction, folks- this didn’t happen. Plus the title & cut text belong to Motley Crue.
Warnings: Incest, sex, drugs, rock n roll & swearing [A LOT more in future chapters]
Summary: An AU loosely inspired by Motley Crue’s The Dirt. Joe is a fuck up with big rock star dreams, a bitch of an attitude alongside his drug habit and a glam rock wardrobe, who's tossed out on his ass by his despairing family once he makes it totally clear that he cannot, will not, live by their rules. Luckily, he manages to propel himself into the life style he always dreamed of and has a sleazy Sunset Strip adventure all of his own, though his passion for his brother manages to dim even his most infinite chemical highs and sold out shows.
A/N: I’ve been struggling with writer’s block so much it’s been entirely depressing- everytime I open up a word document my brain falls asleep. This chapter has taken over a month and I’m still displeased with it but I needed to get it out there in order to ease myself back into this fic. Sorry if it’s a disappointment.
Prologue
When Joe turns up at David’s basement backdoor at about midnight, kicking at it rather than knocking because of the way his fingers have gone painfully rigid around the handles of his bags, David doesn’t ask any questions. He pulls open the heavy red metal, flashes Joe a concerned half smile and then ushers him inside. He takes his bags and lays them by his own closet, rather gently since he’s well aware of how ridiculously Joe treasures his wardrobe, and then he pulls Joe close. He administers a manly slap to Joe’s back at first but when Joe doesn’t seem to have the energy to shift off of his best friend’s chest, David wraps him up in a bear hug and forgoes his mask of manliness. For at least five minutes they stay that way- until all they can hear is each others even breathing- and then David takes a step back, uses his calloused thumb to rub away the tears that have collected on Joe’s cheek and smiles a little brighter-
“Need a pick me up?”
“Always!” Joe winks and roots around in his pocket until he finds his lighter, sparking the flame before he tosses it at David. He shrugs off his leather and denim, whips of his glasses too and lets them land atop the puddle of his dirty clothes.
Joe looks younger, sweeter, when all he is jeans from the girls’ section and an artfully torn up t-shirt; eyeliner remnants smudged towards pink cheeks; a whole heap of tangled bracelets loose on his wrist [half of them gifts from Nick]. He is angelically, yet devilishly, pretty and gold skinned; hours after his flat ironing has worn off his hair reaches his chin in loose and untidy half hearted curls. David is buffer, broader all over with short spiked hair and he usually just sticks to slicing the sleeves off of his band t-shirts to reveal his biceps and the tattoo scrawled across his upper arm. They fit though, it’s in the dark excitement in their eyes and the legends emblazed across their chests.
David has a smoking draw. Crushed half cartons of Marlboros and Luckies, even a couple of Camels belonging to an ex girlfriend he keeps or unfathomable sentimental reasons, along with papers, his grass, of course and any cardboard he can lay his hands on. He also has a bashed up Sex Pistols tin full of anything he manages to roll and not smoke. Currently there are two fresh spliffs and he plucks out both, passing one to Joe and lighting it for him. He ruffles Joe’s hair as his eyes roll back happily and then lights up his own, gesturing for Joe to clamber into bed with him.
****************
Both boys have jobs [and supposedly school, but since Joe’s a registered homeschooler he pretty much gets away with that one, and David turns up six times out of ten and usually gets away that] but, when they’re not serving up subs or selling over priced music merch to gullible hipster teens, they choose to spend their time curled up close, entwined limbs and merging shoulders. They share smoke and mouthfulls of whatever drink they manage to find the cash for, talk until they lose the ability and then they lay still, slack jawed, gazing at the cracks in the ceiling. They’re a little lazy but they’re young boys left to their own devices. It’s a constant sleepiness born of their good supply of weed; amber contentment and the skittering of fingertips over the pulsing beneath warm skin. When they can barely keep their eyes open they press closer, litter little kisses between back bones and settle down. They seek out freckles and grip hips and barely moan. Everything blissful but a little too slow, all of it tasting of soured alcohol.
Sometimes, they prop up David’s laptop on a practically concave stomach and share music suggestions- punk covers by British glam legends, American hard rock and furiously fast metal. Joe sings pretty well which earns him lazy throat kisses, cigarette smoke winding it’s way through the song lyrics Joe loves like magic and David grabs his drumsticks to accompany Joe, tapping out his rhythm against the peeling paint of his wall with his eyes closed and his smile sharp. Joe introduces David to T.Rex, babbles on about how Marc Bolen’s hair almost reminds him of Nick’s glorious curls; David is determined that Joe will listen to more Metallica, a little Motorhead, as well as his KISS and co. They find new bands on the glam scene, all with awesomely huge hair and half naked girls plastered all over their Myspaces and they get news on nearby gigs which they almost always attend.
They become familiar faces on the underground NJ scene; manage to score conversations with local rock stars. Even the skinniest runt of the litter, the bassist in the worst warm up band, seems like an Axl Rose to them. They learn to swagger and they kiss the prettiest girls [and boys] up against walls beyond bars, sweaty after pits, sticky from chucked glasses of draught beer [at least they like to believe is Bud and not piss]. They feel alive, right down to the very tips of each of their ten toes [and as boys will, their cock too]. Once they realise that they’re wanted- when they’re invited backstage for free swigs single malt whiskey and cans of imported lager, when their opinions are asked and they get dragged along to shitty little amazing after parties- they start to crave more. They watch performers and they soak it all up- sponges for sex, drugs and rock n roll. The cocky smirks and suggestive winks, the wiggle of a front man’s snaking, lyrca hips. Joe can picture himself and his best friend, all done up like it‘s nineteen eighty five.
Whenever they’re high, Motley Crue’s rendition of Smoking In The Boy’s Room gets them particularly hyped up, giggly. Whenever they’re coming down, Joe gets much quieter. He buries his face against David’s neck as his giggles die and closes his eyes, pretends like there‘s nothing of the real world beyond the comfort of David‘s skin. David starts to smell like home, familiar scraps of sweat and aftershave, warmed whiskey and smoke they can’t shift, but David doesn’t smell like Nick and confusion flares up and twists it’s self up in Joe’s gut. David always asks Joe is he ever wishes he could go home and Joe always answers an honest no, but then David asks if he misses Nick and Joe just slumps as he shrugs, murmurs and cards his fingers through his hair hopelessly. He sometimes wonders about turning up at the Jonas family home and demanding that he has some time with his baby brother, but the bottle always wins out in the end. He’s better at drinking than finding courage.
Joe finds himself imagining Nick no matter who he’s kissing. He could have his hand up under a girls’ tank top, palming the silk cup of her bra, the delicious rounded flesh of her breast, and he’d still be moaning for Nick as he sucked on her tongue, flicked at her pebbled nipple. He could have two fingers crooked inside of her, have her writhing up against the tiles of a bathroom stall, and he’d be longing for the suffocating heat of his brother. It’s not a new desperation [the cuts healing and bleeding on his right wrist tell that tale] but it’s magnified when he seems so far from his brother in every other way. It had been much easier to wank over him when he’d been snuggled close playing video games for hours before bed. Back then Joe could let Nick’s name slip when his fist wrapped around his erection and it would be less heartbreaking, more of a risky thrill.
****************
“Joey, Joey, Joey,” David flops down beside Joe on the edge of their shared bed, once he‘s kicked off his Converse. He curls his thick arm around Joe’s slim shoulders, pulling him close. He’s got a half left but he holds the lit cigarette an arm’s length way from Joe.
Joe had been meaning to head out and buy a pack of smokes for about four hours but for some reason heaving his skinny frame up off the bed and had seemed painfully unappealing. He’d felt entirely listless since he’d awoke at around midday but he smiles, managing something honest and wide for his friend despite the gnawing in his lower stomach [and him being denied David’s lasts]- “Hey, Davey baby,” He turns to brush their lips, hand squeezing his thigh as he settles against him, “How was school?”
“Fucking sucked!” David laughs, reaching across to drop the cigarette butt in an empty can. When his second arm is free he wraps that one around Joe too, cocooning him, nestling against the hum of him, “You look low though- just staring at the wall like that.”
Joe shrugs emotionlessly but he’s close to letting his outer walls begin to crumble against the solid security of David- “Nah man, was eyeing up Jim Morrison- he was fine fucker,” Joe prods David gently in the side, nosing at his neck. The poster of The Doors opposite watches. David prods Joe right back.
“While I can’t argue with that-” David flicks his gaze towards the poster, “I think it’s something a little more. So open up dude.”
Joe sighs deeply, sounding as though the whole world, and then Mars atop that, is heavy on his shoulders, “You know I don’t miss home, don’t you? Like, I’m seventeen, I’d of been moving out soon anyway, most probably. I miss my Mom’s cooking a bit, and like Kev and Frankie were my brothers so I’m not saying I don’t wonder about them… But that I can deal with, I can.” Joe pauses, sucks in a hard lungful of air- “But like… Nick. Nicky. I can’t get my mind off him…”
David bites his lip, “Never could, could you? You dirty fucker.”
Joe flushes a pepper hot shade of red, from the tips of ears, over his cheeks and down towards his neck. He’s tempted to pull away from David but his friend’s grip on him hasn’t changed, he’s not really judging him.
“I know, I know… I know it’s wrong I…” Joe flings up his wrist for a second, letting David get an eyeful of the abused flesh there, “But what can I do? It wont go away. Nobody’s him, either- you know. I had two girls at the same time last night, they looked like porn stars or something, all blonde… and just tits, so much… boob! I did coke off them, for God’s sake! And then I moaned his name when I fucking emptied my load!”
David fails to hold in a snigger, patting Joe on the back- a hearty congratulations. They’d spent the previous night at a sleazy house party, a band they’d gotten particularly friendly with had been throwing a good bye of sorts before their trip to LA to see fame and fortune. It had been swarming with hot half naked girls, all leather bikinis and torn up metal band tees, boys in second skin denim and no shirts but studded leathers. There had been more drugs than they’d ever been presented with, drugs they’d never heard of, and a great oak dining table overflowing with free booze. They’d gone a little crazy, they’d made the most of being seventeen on the scene.
“Did they uh… mind?” David asks, hand now rubbing soothing circles down towards the tapered small of Joe’s back.
Joe just shakes his head- they hadn’t really. He’d come and they’d cooed over him and then, once they’d redressed, they’d all wandered off in different directions and continued their partying. He’d mostly just laughed about it too, but now it was hollow and harsh and needy in his chest.
“Well then… Fuck, Joe- anything I can do?”
For a minute, nothing is said. Joe shifts, jostles their knotted bodies so that he can he slip easily into David’s lap and David’s hands move over the almost feminine planes of Joe’s body until he settles one at his hip, one wide palm-span across his back. There’s a stillness in the air that dictates that this wont be like the other times they’ve fooled around but they discard that and kiss. Joe is starving hungry for comfort, all too ready part his lips as soon as David licks over them. David’s tongue is a little like Nick’s, and Joe shouldn’t know that but he does, so he works himself readily against David’s hot heat. Let’s David roll him over onto his back, legs spreading like liquid, with minimal fuss.
It seems that as soon as they’re rid of their clothes- denim heavy with pins and t-shirts like a black cotton flesh- David has two fingers deep inside of Joe. Two, three and then four until he has Joe screaming. Joe’s jaw drops and he roars out for his friend- to feel something other than the cavernous ache where his brother should be. When he’s with David he feels more than when he’s with the bleached blonde waifs he picks up at parties; David is solid strength and a warmth that leaves Joe heavy like setting cement. He weighs him down entirely; fills him up until Joe’s overflowing with animalistic moans and tears neither of them will acknowledge.
Eventually- after what seems like a life time and only ten seconds all at once- David fucks Joe unapologetically. The kisses at his throat, the silken flesh towards his chin, become bruises- blossoming and blooming and his grip on Joe’s rolling bones taint the skin there almost blue, too. The friction is fire between them but the bittersweet pain is all that Joe needs- to writhe and cry with both hands at David’s biceps. His eyes, lashes thick with mascara, close tight enough for him to see supernova starbursts from the light bulb above. When everything’s like an exploding sunset it’s easier to focus on the oranges, the dazzling brilliant whites, rather than the rose bud pout of Nick’s pink lips.
“Fuck it,” David grunts, spit and determination, teeth like needle points forced up against Joe’s shoulder, “Fuck it baby boy, let’s just fuck off Jersey and get the fuck to LA!” His breathing is laboured, stuttering, but his dreams start to run away from him- “W-we can you know, J-Joey, we can fuck-fucking get away from and you’ll you’ll feel better and we can be fucking- shit shit fuck shit- rock stars!”
Joe doesn’t even think twice- doesn‘t have the capacity even if he tried. He’s gripped by a tearing pain, hot like a shameful blush and spinning alongside his milky white stars, but he just about manages to agree. Nods and murmurs excitable nonsense at the promise of fame as sudden as thunderclap. He struggles to do much more than whine as his guts tense up in more knots and hopes that David understands why he can’t string a sentence together as everything begins to crash away from him like a wave. His release is just as sudden as David‘s suggestion and then David’s laughing almost manically as his own orgasm follows his best friend’s. For once Joe can ignore the fat tear tracks sneaking down over his cheeks and they ride out their releases pressed impossibly close and flying like ghosts above a stretch of Sunset Strip neon.
****************
“Just think, babe- this is a fucking story for the autobiography.”
Post coital they lay just as close as when they were one- David up against the headboard of the bed, Joe with his damp cheek to his friends rhythmic heartbeat. The perfect position to kiss and tease David’s nipple when his lips aren’t occupied with taking pulls from their joint. David strokes his fingers through Joe’s hair whenever he inhales and Joe brings up his knees, curls his slender self around David and purrs like a pleased kitten as he reaches for the joint- glassy eyes reflecting the cherry like a guiding light.
“Yeah! ’We decided to chase our dreams of Hollywood and rock stardom in the middle of a comfort fuck’.”
David flexes his fingers through a dark tangle in Joe‘s hair, loosening it with another laugh- “Damn right dude- ‘as always, David was the man in the relationship, but Joe’s got the pretty voice and the issues that make awesome lyrics so there was no chance of one seeking out the neon without the other- especially since they’d just glued each other up with their semen!’”
“David, dude!” Joe shrieks, slapping at David’s arm hard enough to leave a print- “We should find a more poetic way to put that. Oh, and I’m not a girl.”
“That was poetic, man. I could’ve gone with the more humorous ‘spat their baby batter all over each other’. Oh, and you so are the girl- I see your make-up here.” David drags his thumb below Joe’s dark eyes, over his messy eyeliner with an adoring smile.
Joe rolls his eyes but he can‘t help but grin too, hand still against David’s arm, cheek still flush to his chest- “Oh. Oh. I split my sides… But seriously- are we escaping?”
“Do you want to?”
“Of course I do David- you know that. It’s just… can we?”
David scowls, a genuine flash of anger and brows knitted like quarrelling caterpillars- “Don’t be a dumb cunt, Joseph. Of course we fucking can- everyone else does it. We pack up our shit, toss it in my car and save enough gas money and just… go, okay? The drive takes about three days, we can manage that. And then… we‘re in fucking LA man!”
David looks entirely self assured. Looks as though in his head they’ve already milked a record deal for as much money as possible and thrown it all a way on whiskey and weed and a gold plated swimming pool, over spilling with sweet champagne.
“And we’re rock stars, right?”
“Rock stars or coke whores.”
When Joe jerks up over excitedly, pushes up to slam his lips against David’s, touching tongues and laughing from the shallows of his lungs, they both know the deal has been sealed.
Author: RaeLouise
Rating: NC17 for later chapters
Pairing: Joe/David Henrie, with mentions of Joe/Nick
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with, any of the real people involved in this story. Fiction, folks- this didn’t happen. Plus the title & cut text belong to Motley Crue.
Warnings: Incest, sex, drugs, rock n roll & swearing [A LOT more in future chapters]
Summary: An AU loosely inspired by Motley Crue’s The Dirt. Joe is a fuck up with big rock star dreams, a bitch of an attitude alongside his drug habit and a glam rock wardrobe, who's tossed out on his ass by his despairing family once he makes it totally clear that he cannot, will not, live by their rules. Luckily, he manages to propel himself into the life style he always dreamed of and has a sleazy Sunset Strip adventure all of his own, though his passion for his brother manages to dim even his most infinite chemical highs and sold out shows.
A/N: I’ve been struggling with writer’s block so much it’s been entirely depressing- everytime I open up a word document my brain falls asleep. This chapter has taken over a month and I’m still displeased with it but I needed to get it out there in order to ease myself back into this fic. Sorry if it’s a disappointment.
Prologue
When Joe turns up at David’s basement backdoor at about midnight, kicking at it rather than knocking because of the way his fingers have gone painfully rigid around the handles of his bags, David doesn’t ask any questions. He pulls open the heavy red metal, flashes Joe a concerned half smile and then ushers him inside. He takes his bags and lays them by his own closet, rather gently since he’s well aware of how ridiculously Joe treasures his wardrobe, and then he pulls Joe close. He administers a manly slap to Joe’s back at first but when Joe doesn’t seem to have the energy to shift off of his best friend’s chest, David wraps him up in a bear hug and forgoes his mask of manliness. For at least five minutes they stay that way- until all they can hear is each others even breathing- and then David takes a step back, uses his calloused thumb to rub away the tears that have collected on Joe’s cheek and smiles a little brighter-
“Need a pick me up?”
“Always!” Joe winks and roots around in his pocket until he finds his lighter, sparking the flame before he tosses it at David. He shrugs off his leather and denim, whips of his glasses too and lets them land atop the puddle of his dirty clothes.
Joe looks younger, sweeter, when all he is jeans from the girls’ section and an artfully torn up t-shirt; eyeliner remnants smudged towards pink cheeks; a whole heap of tangled bracelets loose on his wrist [half of them gifts from Nick]. He is angelically, yet devilishly, pretty and gold skinned; hours after his flat ironing has worn off his hair reaches his chin in loose and untidy half hearted curls. David is buffer, broader all over with short spiked hair and he usually just sticks to slicing the sleeves off of his band t-shirts to reveal his biceps and the tattoo scrawled across his upper arm. They fit though, it’s in the dark excitement in their eyes and the legends emblazed across their chests.
David has a smoking draw. Crushed half cartons of Marlboros and Luckies, even a couple of Camels belonging to an ex girlfriend he keeps or unfathomable sentimental reasons, along with papers, his grass, of course and any cardboard he can lay his hands on. He also has a bashed up Sex Pistols tin full of anything he manages to roll and not smoke. Currently there are two fresh spliffs and he plucks out both, passing one to Joe and lighting it for him. He ruffles Joe’s hair as his eyes roll back happily and then lights up his own, gesturing for Joe to clamber into bed with him.
****************
Both boys have jobs [and supposedly school, but since Joe’s a registered homeschooler he pretty much gets away with that one, and David turns up six times out of ten and usually gets away that] but, when they’re not serving up subs or selling over priced music merch to gullible hipster teens, they choose to spend their time curled up close, entwined limbs and merging shoulders. They share smoke and mouthfulls of whatever drink they manage to find the cash for, talk until they lose the ability and then they lay still, slack jawed, gazing at the cracks in the ceiling. They’re a little lazy but they’re young boys left to their own devices. It’s a constant sleepiness born of their good supply of weed; amber contentment and the skittering of fingertips over the pulsing beneath warm skin. When they can barely keep their eyes open they press closer, litter little kisses between back bones and settle down. They seek out freckles and grip hips and barely moan. Everything blissful but a little too slow, all of it tasting of soured alcohol.
Sometimes, they prop up David’s laptop on a practically concave stomach and share music suggestions- punk covers by British glam legends, American hard rock and furiously fast metal. Joe sings pretty well which earns him lazy throat kisses, cigarette smoke winding it’s way through the song lyrics Joe loves like magic and David grabs his drumsticks to accompany Joe, tapping out his rhythm against the peeling paint of his wall with his eyes closed and his smile sharp. Joe introduces David to T.Rex, babbles on about how Marc Bolen’s hair almost reminds him of Nick’s glorious curls; David is determined that Joe will listen to more Metallica, a little Motorhead, as well as his KISS and co. They find new bands on the glam scene, all with awesomely huge hair and half naked girls plastered all over their Myspaces and they get news on nearby gigs which they almost always attend.
They become familiar faces on the underground NJ scene; manage to score conversations with local rock stars. Even the skinniest runt of the litter, the bassist in the worst warm up band, seems like an Axl Rose to them. They learn to swagger and they kiss the prettiest girls [and boys] up against walls beyond bars, sweaty after pits, sticky from chucked glasses of draught beer [at least they like to believe is Bud and not piss]. They feel alive, right down to the very tips of each of their ten toes [and as boys will, their cock too]. Once they realise that they’re wanted- when they’re invited backstage for free swigs single malt whiskey and cans of imported lager, when their opinions are asked and they get dragged along to shitty little amazing after parties- they start to crave more. They watch performers and they soak it all up- sponges for sex, drugs and rock n roll. The cocky smirks and suggestive winks, the wiggle of a front man’s snaking, lyrca hips. Joe can picture himself and his best friend, all done up like it‘s nineteen eighty five.
Whenever they’re high, Motley Crue’s rendition of Smoking In The Boy’s Room gets them particularly hyped up, giggly. Whenever they’re coming down, Joe gets much quieter. He buries his face against David’s neck as his giggles die and closes his eyes, pretends like there‘s nothing of the real world beyond the comfort of David‘s skin. David starts to smell like home, familiar scraps of sweat and aftershave, warmed whiskey and smoke they can’t shift, but David doesn’t smell like Nick and confusion flares up and twists it’s self up in Joe’s gut. David always asks Joe is he ever wishes he could go home and Joe always answers an honest no, but then David asks if he misses Nick and Joe just slumps as he shrugs, murmurs and cards his fingers through his hair hopelessly. He sometimes wonders about turning up at the Jonas family home and demanding that he has some time with his baby brother, but the bottle always wins out in the end. He’s better at drinking than finding courage.
Joe finds himself imagining Nick no matter who he’s kissing. He could have his hand up under a girls’ tank top, palming the silk cup of her bra, the delicious rounded flesh of her breast, and he’d still be moaning for Nick as he sucked on her tongue, flicked at her pebbled nipple. He could have two fingers crooked inside of her, have her writhing up against the tiles of a bathroom stall, and he’d be longing for the suffocating heat of his brother. It’s not a new desperation [the cuts healing and bleeding on his right wrist tell that tale] but it’s magnified when he seems so far from his brother in every other way. It had been much easier to wank over him when he’d been snuggled close playing video games for hours before bed. Back then Joe could let Nick’s name slip when his fist wrapped around his erection and it would be less heartbreaking, more of a risky thrill.
****************
“Joey, Joey, Joey,” David flops down beside Joe on the edge of their shared bed, once he‘s kicked off his Converse. He curls his thick arm around Joe’s slim shoulders, pulling him close. He’s got a half left but he holds the lit cigarette an arm’s length way from Joe.
Joe had been meaning to head out and buy a pack of smokes for about four hours but for some reason heaving his skinny frame up off the bed and had seemed painfully unappealing. He’d felt entirely listless since he’d awoke at around midday but he smiles, managing something honest and wide for his friend despite the gnawing in his lower stomach [and him being denied David’s lasts]- “Hey, Davey baby,” He turns to brush their lips, hand squeezing his thigh as he settles against him, “How was school?”
“Fucking sucked!” David laughs, reaching across to drop the cigarette butt in an empty can. When his second arm is free he wraps that one around Joe too, cocooning him, nestling against the hum of him, “You look low though- just staring at the wall like that.”
Joe shrugs emotionlessly but he’s close to letting his outer walls begin to crumble against the solid security of David- “Nah man, was eyeing up Jim Morrison- he was fine fucker,” Joe prods David gently in the side, nosing at his neck. The poster of The Doors opposite watches. David prods Joe right back.
“While I can’t argue with that-” David flicks his gaze towards the poster, “I think it’s something a little more. So open up dude.”
Joe sighs deeply, sounding as though the whole world, and then Mars atop that, is heavy on his shoulders, “You know I don’t miss home, don’t you? Like, I’m seventeen, I’d of been moving out soon anyway, most probably. I miss my Mom’s cooking a bit, and like Kev and Frankie were my brothers so I’m not saying I don’t wonder about them… But that I can deal with, I can.” Joe pauses, sucks in a hard lungful of air- “But like… Nick. Nicky. I can’t get my mind off him…”
David bites his lip, “Never could, could you? You dirty fucker.”
Joe flushes a pepper hot shade of red, from the tips of ears, over his cheeks and down towards his neck. He’s tempted to pull away from David but his friend’s grip on him hasn’t changed, he’s not really judging him.
“I know, I know… I know it’s wrong I…” Joe flings up his wrist for a second, letting David get an eyeful of the abused flesh there, “But what can I do? It wont go away. Nobody’s him, either- you know. I had two girls at the same time last night, they looked like porn stars or something, all blonde… and just tits, so much… boob! I did coke off them, for God’s sake! And then I moaned his name when I fucking emptied my load!”
David fails to hold in a snigger, patting Joe on the back- a hearty congratulations. They’d spent the previous night at a sleazy house party, a band they’d gotten particularly friendly with had been throwing a good bye of sorts before their trip to LA to see fame and fortune. It had been swarming with hot half naked girls, all leather bikinis and torn up metal band tees, boys in second skin denim and no shirts but studded leathers. There had been more drugs than they’d ever been presented with, drugs they’d never heard of, and a great oak dining table overflowing with free booze. They’d gone a little crazy, they’d made the most of being seventeen on the scene.
“Did they uh… mind?” David asks, hand now rubbing soothing circles down towards the tapered small of Joe’s back.
Joe just shakes his head- they hadn’t really. He’d come and they’d cooed over him and then, once they’d redressed, they’d all wandered off in different directions and continued their partying. He’d mostly just laughed about it too, but now it was hollow and harsh and needy in his chest.
“Well then… Fuck, Joe- anything I can do?”
For a minute, nothing is said. Joe shifts, jostles their knotted bodies so that he can he slip easily into David’s lap and David’s hands move over the almost feminine planes of Joe’s body until he settles one at his hip, one wide palm-span across his back. There’s a stillness in the air that dictates that this wont be like the other times they’ve fooled around but they discard that and kiss. Joe is starving hungry for comfort, all too ready part his lips as soon as David licks over them. David’s tongue is a little like Nick’s, and Joe shouldn’t know that but he does, so he works himself readily against David’s hot heat. Let’s David roll him over onto his back, legs spreading like liquid, with minimal fuss.
It seems that as soon as they’re rid of their clothes- denim heavy with pins and t-shirts like a black cotton flesh- David has two fingers deep inside of Joe. Two, three and then four until he has Joe screaming. Joe’s jaw drops and he roars out for his friend- to feel something other than the cavernous ache where his brother should be. When he’s with David he feels more than when he’s with the bleached blonde waifs he picks up at parties; David is solid strength and a warmth that leaves Joe heavy like setting cement. He weighs him down entirely; fills him up until Joe’s overflowing with animalistic moans and tears neither of them will acknowledge.
Eventually- after what seems like a life time and only ten seconds all at once- David fucks Joe unapologetically. The kisses at his throat, the silken flesh towards his chin, become bruises- blossoming and blooming and his grip on Joe’s rolling bones taint the skin there almost blue, too. The friction is fire between them but the bittersweet pain is all that Joe needs- to writhe and cry with both hands at David’s biceps. His eyes, lashes thick with mascara, close tight enough for him to see supernova starbursts from the light bulb above. When everything’s like an exploding sunset it’s easier to focus on the oranges, the dazzling brilliant whites, rather than the rose bud pout of Nick’s pink lips.
“Fuck it,” David grunts, spit and determination, teeth like needle points forced up against Joe’s shoulder, “Fuck it baby boy, let’s just fuck off Jersey and get the fuck to LA!” His breathing is laboured, stuttering, but his dreams start to run away from him- “W-we can you know, J-Joey, we can fuck-fucking get away from and you’ll you’ll feel better and we can be fucking- shit shit fuck shit- rock stars!”
Joe doesn’t even think twice- doesn‘t have the capacity even if he tried. He’s gripped by a tearing pain, hot like a shameful blush and spinning alongside his milky white stars, but he just about manages to agree. Nods and murmurs excitable nonsense at the promise of fame as sudden as thunderclap. He struggles to do much more than whine as his guts tense up in more knots and hopes that David understands why he can’t string a sentence together as everything begins to crash away from him like a wave. His release is just as sudden as David‘s suggestion and then David’s laughing almost manically as his own orgasm follows his best friend’s. For once Joe can ignore the fat tear tracks sneaking down over his cheeks and they ride out their releases pressed impossibly close and flying like ghosts above a stretch of Sunset Strip neon.
****************
“Just think, babe- this is a fucking story for the autobiography.”
Post coital they lay just as close as when they were one- David up against the headboard of the bed, Joe with his damp cheek to his friends rhythmic heartbeat. The perfect position to kiss and tease David’s nipple when his lips aren’t occupied with taking pulls from their joint. David strokes his fingers through Joe’s hair whenever he inhales and Joe brings up his knees, curls his slender self around David and purrs like a pleased kitten as he reaches for the joint- glassy eyes reflecting the cherry like a guiding light.
“Yeah! ’We decided to chase our dreams of Hollywood and rock stardom in the middle of a comfort fuck’.”
David flexes his fingers through a dark tangle in Joe‘s hair, loosening it with another laugh- “Damn right dude- ‘as always, David was the man in the relationship, but Joe’s got the pretty voice and the issues that make awesome lyrics so there was no chance of one seeking out the neon without the other- especially since they’d just glued each other up with their semen!’”
“David, dude!” Joe shrieks, slapping at David’s arm hard enough to leave a print- “We should find a more poetic way to put that. Oh, and I’m not a girl.”
“That was poetic, man. I could’ve gone with the more humorous ‘spat their baby batter all over each other’. Oh, and you so are the girl- I see your make-up here.” David drags his thumb below Joe’s dark eyes, over his messy eyeliner with an adoring smile.
Joe rolls his eyes but he can‘t help but grin too, hand still against David’s arm, cheek still flush to his chest- “Oh. Oh. I split my sides… But seriously- are we escaping?”
“Do you want to?”
“Of course I do David- you know that. It’s just… can we?”
David scowls, a genuine flash of anger and brows knitted like quarrelling caterpillars- “Don’t be a dumb cunt, Joseph. Of course we fucking can- everyone else does it. We pack up our shit, toss it in my car and save enough gas money and just… go, okay? The drive takes about three days, we can manage that. And then… we‘re in fucking LA man!”
David looks entirely self assured. Looks as though in his head they’ve already milked a record deal for as much money as possible and thrown it all a way on whiskey and weed and a gold plated swimming pool, over spilling with sweet champagne.
“And we’re rock stars, right?”
“Rock stars or coke whores.”
When Joe jerks up over excitedly, pushes up to slam his lips against David’s, touching tongues and laughing from the shallows of his lungs, they both know the deal has been sealed.