I won't go getting tired of you - Part 3
Disclaimer: I do not own the Strokes, this is just a product of my sick imagination. Apologies to all the parties involved.
Summary:A discovery of feelings and a reality to be changed
Julian Casablancas/Dave Grohl
I manage to walk off stage without stumbling too much; my pride is the only thing I hold on tightly. Like some sort of macho dignity complex… god knows… I just won’t give them the satisfaction to see how sick this body is… How tired I am…
I don’t know who them are. The fans? Maybe.
The guys?
Nick?
Maybe.
He’s this skinny, messed up kid but he’s so much stronger than I am….
I try to live up to his expectations, to his love.
Because he loves me I know… like a brother…
Only of course you don’t usually fuck with your brother; you don’t beg him to fuck you harder, spreading your legs like a fucking whore…
God why am I going there again?
Why?
The show has been great, I was happy.
Ok, artificially happy, but happy nevertheless and now he has to come back and trick me all over again, my thoughts fastening around the memories of that night, the pain and that sickly bliss singing through my vein, in my body, in a rush of light and…
And I can’t, I won’t… It’s not gonna happen again…
Ever…
He had made that clear.
I swore I was fine.
I was fine.
Whatever.
I realise that Albert has been talking to me for at least the past 10 minutes and I haven’t heard a word. I smile a drugged-up, fucked-up, I am oh so happy grin and kiss him. For the cameras, for me, to cover up the fact that I was completely blanking him out… He plays along, knowing me well. Knowing well that this a show, this is what I do when I am lost and I don’t want to be found.
les are you staying to watch the Foos?”
Hell yes… The Foo Fighters…
Pretty pretty eyes.
I cringe remembering the pathetic attempt I made at flirting with him before. God…
"So? Are you staying or are you coming back to the bus? Planet earth to Major Fucked up Casablancas…”
The fucking blonde who doesn’t like us is coming back stage, I can’t remember his name to save my life, but I don’t really care. HE’S with him. Such pretty pretty eyes.
His name has been lying on my tongue like the sweet taste of rum for the past 2 hours. Dark, deep, rich…
“Dave…”
“Are you feeling ok kid? That was a pretty intense show…”
I am drenched in sweat, I am still fairly high and my mouth is half full with blood. I stink.
I look like I’ve been run over…
He looks fantastic.
He’s taller and broader than me, but he has a gentleness in his movements that make him delicate but not feminine. Soft but not fragile.
Is like his limbs move in water, a liquidity sliding underneath his golden skin.
I stare at him like I am trying to absorb his features. Like he’s a study in human anatomy. I run my eyes over his body and I flash him this hungry look… I feel like growling…
He looks good enough to eat and I am a fucking flirt. High or not. Former Nirvana’s drummer, rock icon or not…
If I was a girl I would have swayed my hips. As it is, to confirm my status of rock and roll slut, I smile, chewing at my bottom lip and come out with one of the cheesiest lines ever.
“I am fine, I am always very intense… Whatever I do….”
Great Jules… I bet he’s impressed, now he’ll just beg you to do him… As if…
He smiles, and his face lit up, his dark eyes shadowed by his unruly hair. His voice, even heavy with sarcasm, doesn’t lose its delicate lilt and I shiver a little.
“No shit? I wonder how you can keep up with all that intensity… Maybe a little artificial help?… Your nose is still bleeding by the way.”
He’s not judgmental or preacher-like, but I can’t help getting totally mad. No matter the lust and the cocaine muddling my brain, I am fucking mad and nobody can tell me what to do.
“And what the fuck does that mean? I do whatever I want with my life and you are really in any position to judge considering, fucking blondie over there, almost died of overdose last here and you’re still best buddies isn’t it?”
The only thing I leave out is You don’t know me at all. You cannot judge me… I am depressed please understand… Let’s fuck already…
But I am tempted.
Well he’s hot as hell.
“It means that you have to clean your nose before the blood starts trickling down your chin.”
Great.
Fucking great.
I hear blondie snickers and I want to beat him into a pulp, but considering he’s a good foot taller than me and considering I am totally wasted I resist the urge. Easily enough.
I press my fingers to my nose and they come away covered in blood. Again. How comes that it looks the coolest thing on earth when Nick is doing it and I can’t stop fucking bleeding?
Maybe is because is Nick and he is wrapped in this cloak of cool and composure and he’s blessed with the most perfect skin in all the fucking stinky world and I am just a fucked up spotty, fucking depressed asshole who can’t stop thinking of him…
I look around to see if Albert or any of the others are still here. Not such luck. Fucking bastards.
Leaving me here while I’m bleeding. I am still an invalid…. Remember my knee you assholes?!?
“Are you staying for our show?”
He towers a little over me. Handing me a tissue. Smiling.
I press it on my nose trying to stop the blood.
No way I can be sexy doing that but I am giving it a damn good try.
I smile back all sweetness.
“Thanks. Sorry about before… Yes I’m staying…”
“Good. I am pretty intense myself… I hope you will enjoy it…”
Oh I will… I will.
I smile.
He picks up his guitar and walks towards the stage.
“Your ass is mine.”
Summary:A discovery of feelings and a reality to be changed
Julian Casablancas/Dave Grohl
I manage to walk off stage without stumbling too much; my pride is the only thing I hold on tightly. Like some sort of macho dignity complex… god knows… I just won’t give them the satisfaction to see how sick this body is… How tired I am…
I don’t know who them are. The fans? Maybe.
The guys?
Nick?
Maybe.
He’s this skinny, messed up kid but he’s so much stronger than I am….
I try to live up to his expectations, to his love.
Because he loves me I know… like a brother…
Only of course you don’t usually fuck with your brother; you don’t beg him to fuck you harder, spreading your legs like a fucking whore…
God why am I going there again?
Why?
The show has been great, I was happy.
Ok, artificially happy, but happy nevertheless and now he has to come back and trick me all over again, my thoughts fastening around the memories of that night, the pain and that sickly bliss singing through my vein, in my body, in a rush of light and…
And I can’t, I won’t… It’s not gonna happen again…
Ever…
He had made that clear.
I swore I was fine.
I was fine.
Whatever.
I realise that Albert has been talking to me for at least the past 10 minutes and I haven’t heard a word. I smile a drugged-up, fucked-up, I am oh so happy grin and kiss him. For the cameras, for me, to cover up the fact that I was completely blanking him out… He plays along, knowing me well. Knowing well that this a show, this is what I do when I am lost and I don’t want to be found.
les are you staying to watch the Foos?”
Hell yes… The Foo Fighters…
Pretty pretty eyes.
I cringe remembering the pathetic attempt I made at flirting with him before. God…
"So? Are you staying or are you coming back to the bus? Planet earth to Major Fucked up Casablancas…”
The fucking blonde who doesn’t like us is coming back stage, I can’t remember his name to save my life, but I don’t really care. HE’S with him. Such pretty pretty eyes.
His name has been lying on my tongue like the sweet taste of rum for the past 2 hours. Dark, deep, rich…
“Dave…”
“Are you feeling ok kid? That was a pretty intense show…”
I am drenched in sweat, I am still fairly high and my mouth is half full with blood. I stink.
I look like I’ve been run over…
He looks fantastic.
He’s taller and broader than me, but he has a gentleness in his movements that make him delicate but not feminine. Soft but not fragile.
Is like his limbs move in water, a liquidity sliding underneath his golden skin.
I stare at him like I am trying to absorb his features. Like he’s a study in human anatomy. I run my eyes over his body and I flash him this hungry look… I feel like growling…
He looks good enough to eat and I am a fucking flirt. High or not. Former Nirvana’s drummer, rock icon or not…
If I was a girl I would have swayed my hips. As it is, to confirm my status of rock and roll slut, I smile, chewing at my bottom lip and come out with one of the cheesiest lines ever.
“I am fine, I am always very intense… Whatever I do….”
Great Jules… I bet he’s impressed, now he’ll just beg you to do him… As if…
He smiles, and his face lit up, his dark eyes shadowed by his unruly hair. His voice, even heavy with sarcasm, doesn’t lose its delicate lilt and I shiver a little.
“No shit? I wonder how you can keep up with all that intensity… Maybe a little artificial help?… Your nose is still bleeding by the way.”
He’s not judgmental or preacher-like, but I can’t help getting totally mad. No matter the lust and the cocaine muddling my brain, I am fucking mad and nobody can tell me what to do.
“And what the fuck does that mean? I do whatever I want with my life and you are really in any position to judge considering, fucking blondie over there, almost died of overdose last here and you’re still best buddies isn’t it?”
The only thing I leave out is You don’t know me at all. You cannot judge me… I am depressed please understand… Let’s fuck already…
But I am tempted.
Well he’s hot as hell.
“It means that you have to clean your nose before the blood starts trickling down your chin.”
Great.
Fucking great.
I hear blondie snickers and I want to beat him into a pulp, but considering he’s a good foot taller than me and considering I am totally wasted I resist the urge. Easily enough.
I press my fingers to my nose and they come away covered in blood. Again. How comes that it looks the coolest thing on earth when Nick is doing it and I can’t stop fucking bleeding?
Maybe is because is Nick and he is wrapped in this cloak of cool and composure and he’s blessed with the most perfect skin in all the fucking stinky world and I am just a fucked up spotty, fucking depressed asshole who can’t stop thinking of him…
I look around to see if Albert or any of the others are still here. Not such luck. Fucking bastards.
Leaving me here while I’m bleeding. I am still an invalid…. Remember my knee you assholes?!?
“Are you staying for our show?”
He towers a little over me. Handing me a tissue. Smiling.
I press it on my nose trying to stop the blood.
No way I can be sexy doing that but I am giving it a damn good try.
I smile back all sweetness.
“Thanks. Sorry about before… Yes I’m staying…”
“Good. I am pretty intense myself… I hope you will enjoy it…”
Oh I will… I will.
I smile.
He picks up his guitar and walks towards the stage.
“Your ass is mine.”