And That Makes You Dangerous 5/8
I'm so excited at this point because of the concert tomorrow, I'll probably get another part up sometime before tomorrow night, maybe more...it *is* written, afterall (has been for some time), just need to clean up the rewrites I've been doing.
Thanks to those who have posted things, and to those still lurking about, I'd love to see some more fic...or some lovely artwork. ;)
Title: And That Makes You Dangerous
Rating: R overall (NC-17...a little)
Pairing: John/Keith (implied Pete/John throughout)
Era: Lifehouse sessions (late ‘70 - early 1971)
Warnings: alcoholism, bad!drug use, swearing, sex, and soap!angst, level 5...heh heh
Summary: Pete notices a change in John’s behavior when Keith is around. John sees it too. When both begin to question why, soul searching ensues.
Disclaimer: Of course, this didn't occur, but it makes for a good story. Oh, and I don't make money from this. Man, that would rock.
Author's Notes: We're going to see a darkening trend now, I'd say. Hope peeps like it! Thanks for all previous comments! Previous chapter refreshers are here, here, here, and here. 8)
*****************************************************
Chapter Five:
"You, you're wasting my time. We're making music, we're doing fine, then a slap in the face takes me back to the starting line." -You
This isn't working, genius. How about trying something else?
John growled at his own inner voice, which had taken to regularly reminding him he'd made a bad decision. Clearly, he already knew that. How to get himself out of it, on the other hand, was something he hadn't figured out yet. Pulling away had seemed like the only choice when faced with this new prospect of actually becoming involved with Keith. It was the knee-jerk response he expected from himself.
When the full memories of that bad decision became clear to him over the course of a few days, he found he could not forget it. That in itself posed the expected awkwardly uncomfortable moments when a sudden flashback may unexpectedly arouse him. And it just meant his feelings were becoming stronger. He had no choice but to pull away.
And likewise had he known how the drummer would respond to the sudden lack of direct attention. Keith had started to act both more affectionate and more petulant, invading his personal space as much as humanly possible only to whine and pout when John didn't respond as he wished.
It was a losing situation all around, and he could see a breaking point ahead, fast approaching if something didn't change. The stress was making his head ache, and he reached up to massage his forehead.
"So, you going out tonight, Johnny? Please?" Keith's voice cut into the quiet that had settled in the studio.
John nearly jumped, his attention diverted such that Keith seemed to have just magically appeared next to him. He now also wished he'd put his headphones on before he let his mind wander.
"I already told you, not tonight. Why don't you get Pete in on it?" John tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice; he knew Keith was going to continue to bother him about it, and he honestly didn't want to refuse him, but the feeling that he had to just made him even more irritated.
"It's not the same," Keith replied in a frustrated tone. He pouted theatrically, leaning around in front of John and looking up at him innocently. "Come on, Ox, it isn't a party without you," he pleaded, batting his eyelashes for maximum effect.
John turned away abruptly, closing his eyes for a moment and cursing how effective Keith's tactics were, and at how cleverly the drummer used the knowledge against him.
"The no is final," he responded shortly.
The tension had grown so high that the unexpected feel of Keith's hand on his shoulder actually made John flinch. When he looked over, brown eyes gazed back with concern. It made his stomach lurch in combined excitement and anxiety. This was getting worse by the moment.
"You alright, John?" Keith asked, more sincerely than usual, and the attention he was receiving made him question how the drummer really felt about him. He already suspected Keith was lying about how much he remembered about that night, now weeks ago...
John shook his head. He couldn't deal with this right now.
"Just leave it, Moonie!" he exclaimed tersely, pulling back. He spoke more forcefully than he'd intended, the pressure needing to release itself somehow, but John immediately regretted his harsh reaction, as his friend reeled as if slapped. Never more than that instant did Keith look like a vulnerable boy, eyes accusing and expression hurt. John quelled the urge to apologize and comfort him, at least long enough for Keith's face to change.
He pulled himself up to his full height, pursing his lips and clearing his throat. He seemed to gather his pride around him like a cloak.
"Right, then. I'm off," he answered hoarsely and left.
The quiet again settled on the room, this time more like a choking cloud than anything, and John sighed heavily.
Am I wrong? Is it really possible he might..?
John felt mildly ill once again. The only certainty in his mind was that neither of them was going to take much more of the tension between them. One of them was bound to snap at some point.
That knowledge filled him with dread.
************
Pete could feel tension in the air, thick and menacing, and he didn't like it. Currently he was sitting on one side of the studio, idly picking out a few notes on his guitar. John was on the far side of the room, doing likewise on his bass. Roger had left a minute ago, something about using the loo and getting a drink, though Pete guessed he had just wanted to get away from Moon.
The drummer was, for the moment, off in his own little world, drumming with his hands on the back of the chair he was in. He'd clearly gotten an early start on the boozing and pills today, his drunken escapades making recording nearly impossible. Pete had considered asking John for help in handling him, but the bassist seemed unusually tense, and he'd finally decided to leave him alone. He had to give John a break from babysitting once in a while anyway.
He looked over at his friend, and a moment later John peered up, meeting Pete's gaze for a few seconds before returning to his instrument, expression unreadable. Pete didn't know what was wrong, but determined now wasn't a good time to broach the subject.
Keith stopped his tapping, looking at Pete. Those brown eyes suddenly lit up, and an evil little smile began to form on his lips. He stood, making his way over to Pete, wavering a bit as he navigated around the studio clutter. He finally plopped down on the chair in front of Pete, grinning widely. The guitarist had a sinking feeling, recognizing Moon's look as a possible precursor to something very likely undesired.
"'Ey Pete," Keith began, leaning closer and pitching his voice like a whisper. Of course, his slurred speech was actually much louder. "What you think of that one over there?" His motioning head was aimed at John, who glanced up briefly before turning away, seeming to ignore them.
"What about him?" Pete asked carefully, not looking up at the drummer, continuing to fiddle with his guitar pegs. He hoped that if he showed enough disinterest, Moon might get bored and move away.
"I know something about him, you know," Keith answered, nodding.
"Oh yeah?" Pete responded casually, still not looking up.
"Yeah," he repeated, leaning a bit closer. "I found out with this little game I played with him..." He lowered his voice a bit.
Pete raised his eyes, looking at Keith without lifting his head, his interest peaked but his nerves on edge. The drummer was close enough to smell the gin on his breath, and he swayed slightly in his seat.
"But he won't play anymore," he continued, pouting for a moment befor a nasty smirk played at his lips. "I know he liked it though!" the drummer added pointedly.
Pete suddenly wanted this conversation to end, right now. He had a very bad feeling about where it was going.
"I'll make a bet with you, Petey," Moon continued. "I'll bet you I can get 'im off faster than you can."
Pete's head shot up, eyes wide. He stared first at Keith, whose face was split with a shit-eating grin, as though he'd just offered up the most entertaining idea he'd ever come up with.
"Come on then, you've played with boys before. I know you can do it," Keith growled lasciviously. "And you know you want to do it."
Pete instantly felt sick. Every ounce of him prayed that John couldn't hear Keith's drunken proposition, but he knew for certain that he could.
"And I 'ave done it," Moon stated proudly.
Shit, shit, shit!
Pete finally tore his shocked gaze away from the drummer to the bassist. For a few seconds, time seemed frozen. Pete could only watch, transfixed to his spot.
John's face had gone pale, eyes bulging out, completely stunned. His hands were gripping the bass so tightly, they were white. However, instead of throwing the instrument aside and coming at the drummer, as Pete was expecting, John just closed his mouth, clenching his teeth tightly, and sucked in a long breath through his flared nostrils.
Pete almost felt he were witnessing a train wreck in progress, unable to look away and powerless to stop it. He continued to watch as John carefully pried his shaking hands from the bass and slowly lifted it over his head, placing it on the chair he was sitting in. He strode purposefully to the door, not looking back, and left the room.
The resounding slam behind him shook Pete out of his daze, the wood cracking from the hinge. The guitarist shook his head. Keith appeared unfazed by the proceedings, still grinning wickedly. Pete stood, removing his guitar, and turned to follow John. A hand on his arm stopped him.
"So, what d'you say, then?" Keith asked him, oblivious to what had just occurred.
Pete glared menacingly before winding back and landing his fist firmly into Moon's jaw, dropping the drummer to the floor. His anger was nearly enough to block the pain in his hand, though he shook it out and flexed his fingers quickly.
Without a second glance, Pete hurriedly left in pursuit of the bassist. When he reached the entryway, John was already putting on his jacket.
"John, I-" Pete's words died in his throat as John looked up and their eyes met.
He was normally difficult to read; even his eyes rarely revealed anything he didn't want them to. But as Pete stared into those slate blue eyes now, he was taken aback by the pain he saw there. Although every bit of John's body was radiating rage, nearly palpable around him, his eyes were betraying the truth.
"It doesn't matter anyway," John finally muttered, turning away from the weight of Pete's gaze. "It's my own fault."
Pete didn't want John to leave. He felt an ache in his chest at the thought of his oldest friend hurting so much. It reminded him of the look John had had the last time he was used by someone he loved. Only this time it was so much worse, for so many reasons.
"I mean, you know how he gets..." Pete stammered, trying to find something to say. Somehow it was suddenly very difficult to speak.
"Yeah, I know better than anyone," he finished bitterly. "I know I'm a fucking idiot."
"You, uh, you mean, what he said..?"
"Yeah, Pete, it happened." John shook his head, clearly disgusted with himself.
"But I thought-" Pete tried to start once more.
"I made a mistake," John cut him off again.
"And you're sure you can't, uh..." Pete nearly growled, wishing his tongue and his head would start working together. "I mean, maybe Moonie really is interested. Maybe you two could work things-"
"I'm just a fucking toy to him!" John finally shouted, interrupting Pete's stilted flow of words again.
Pete was stunned into silence. He'd never seen John react quite that way, not in all the years he'd known him.
"I told you, he'll never take it seriously. I was right." He turned away again, reaching for the doorknob. "I was a fool," he finished quietly.
Pete was at a complete loss for words. He couldn't imagine how to take John's pain away. He couldn't even deal with his own pain effectively. After some moments of heavy silence, John looked up again.
"Look, Pete," he began again, seeing the helpless expression in his friend's shining eyes, "I just need some time away from him right now."
Pete nodded.
"Come over to my place in the morning, and we can finish up some of the rough spots over there, alright?"
John was basically ending this conversation, Pete realized. He had calmed himself down just enough to go back behind the wall of stoicism, and that was where he was going to stay.
"Yeah, alright," he responded, regaining his tongue. He still wanted to make John stay, to talk to him. He honestly didn't know what his friend might be capable of in this condition. But as John opened the door to leave, Pete knew there was nothing else he could do right now.
He hated it.
"Hey, John," he managed.
The bassist stopped in the doorway, not looking up.
"I'm sorry," was all he could get out.
John sighed.
"So am I," he whispered hoarsely before closing the door behind him. The resulting click echoed in the hall like a gunshot, the silence left behind suffocating.
Pete closed his eyes, his mind swirling with a myriad of emotions that he couldn't deal with right now. As he returned to the studio, he was met with Roger's questioning look.
Keith was still on the floor, trying to sit up and nursing his cheek with one hand. Clearly the singer had just walked in to find only a broken door, and their drummer sitting on the floor, with a giant bruise starting to show itself, and had no idea what was going on.
"What the fuck happened?" he asked, aggravated.
"Wot did I do?!" Moon questioned in a half-whine at the same time.
Pete just glared before grabbing a bottle of brandy that was on the table in the corner.
"I'm leaving," was his only response before he disappeared out the door, leaving behind a dumbfounded singer and a drunk drummer.
Roger threw his arms up and shook his head.
"Fucking great."
************************************************************************************************
Comments, as always, are loved and adored.
Thanks to those who have posted things, and to those still lurking about, I'd love to see some more fic...or some lovely artwork. ;)
Title: And That Makes You Dangerous
Rating: R overall (NC-17...a little)
Pairing: John/Keith (implied Pete/John throughout)
Era: Lifehouse sessions (late ‘70 - early 1971)
Warnings: alcoholism, bad!drug use, swearing, sex, and soap!angst, level 5...heh heh
Summary: Pete notices a change in John’s behavior when Keith is around. John sees it too. When both begin to question why, soul searching ensues.
Disclaimer: Of course, this didn't occur, but it makes for a good story. Oh, and I don't make money from this. Man, that would rock.
Author's Notes: We're going to see a darkening trend now, I'd say. Hope peeps like it! Thanks for all previous comments! Previous chapter refreshers are here, here, here, and here. 8)
*****************************************************
Chapter Five:
"You, you're wasting my time. We're making music, we're doing fine, then a slap in the face takes me back to the starting line." -You
This isn't working, genius. How about trying something else?
John growled at his own inner voice, which had taken to regularly reminding him he'd made a bad decision. Clearly, he already knew that. How to get himself out of it, on the other hand, was something he hadn't figured out yet. Pulling away had seemed like the only choice when faced with this new prospect of actually becoming involved with Keith. It was the knee-jerk response he expected from himself.
When the full memories of that bad decision became clear to him over the course of a few days, he found he could not forget it. That in itself posed the expected awkwardly uncomfortable moments when a sudden flashback may unexpectedly arouse him. And it just meant his feelings were becoming stronger. He had no choice but to pull away.
And likewise had he known how the drummer would respond to the sudden lack of direct attention. Keith had started to act both more affectionate and more petulant, invading his personal space as much as humanly possible only to whine and pout when John didn't respond as he wished.
It was a losing situation all around, and he could see a breaking point ahead, fast approaching if something didn't change. The stress was making his head ache, and he reached up to massage his forehead.
"So, you going out tonight, Johnny? Please?" Keith's voice cut into the quiet that had settled in the studio.
John nearly jumped, his attention diverted such that Keith seemed to have just magically appeared next to him. He now also wished he'd put his headphones on before he let his mind wander.
"I already told you, not tonight. Why don't you get Pete in on it?" John tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice; he knew Keith was going to continue to bother him about it, and he honestly didn't want to refuse him, but the feeling that he had to just made him even more irritated.
"It's not the same," Keith replied in a frustrated tone. He pouted theatrically, leaning around in front of John and looking up at him innocently. "Come on, Ox, it isn't a party without you," he pleaded, batting his eyelashes for maximum effect.
John turned away abruptly, closing his eyes for a moment and cursing how effective Keith's tactics were, and at how cleverly the drummer used the knowledge against him.
"The no is final," he responded shortly.
The tension had grown so high that the unexpected feel of Keith's hand on his shoulder actually made John flinch. When he looked over, brown eyes gazed back with concern. It made his stomach lurch in combined excitement and anxiety. This was getting worse by the moment.
"You alright, John?" Keith asked, more sincerely than usual, and the attention he was receiving made him question how the drummer really felt about him. He already suspected Keith was lying about how much he remembered about that night, now weeks ago...
John shook his head. He couldn't deal with this right now.
"Just leave it, Moonie!" he exclaimed tersely, pulling back. He spoke more forcefully than he'd intended, the pressure needing to release itself somehow, but John immediately regretted his harsh reaction, as his friend reeled as if slapped. Never more than that instant did Keith look like a vulnerable boy, eyes accusing and expression hurt. John quelled the urge to apologize and comfort him, at least long enough for Keith's face to change.
He pulled himself up to his full height, pursing his lips and clearing his throat. He seemed to gather his pride around him like a cloak.
"Right, then. I'm off," he answered hoarsely and left.
The quiet again settled on the room, this time more like a choking cloud than anything, and John sighed heavily.
Am I wrong? Is it really possible he might..?
John felt mildly ill once again. The only certainty in his mind was that neither of them was going to take much more of the tension between them. One of them was bound to snap at some point.
That knowledge filled him with dread.
************
Pete could feel tension in the air, thick and menacing, and he didn't like it. Currently he was sitting on one side of the studio, idly picking out a few notes on his guitar. John was on the far side of the room, doing likewise on his bass. Roger had left a minute ago, something about using the loo and getting a drink, though Pete guessed he had just wanted to get away from Moon.
The drummer was, for the moment, off in his own little world, drumming with his hands on the back of the chair he was in. He'd clearly gotten an early start on the boozing and pills today, his drunken escapades making recording nearly impossible. Pete had considered asking John for help in handling him, but the bassist seemed unusually tense, and he'd finally decided to leave him alone. He had to give John a break from babysitting once in a while anyway.
He looked over at his friend, and a moment later John peered up, meeting Pete's gaze for a few seconds before returning to his instrument, expression unreadable. Pete didn't know what was wrong, but determined now wasn't a good time to broach the subject.
Keith stopped his tapping, looking at Pete. Those brown eyes suddenly lit up, and an evil little smile began to form on his lips. He stood, making his way over to Pete, wavering a bit as he navigated around the studio clutter. He finally plopped down on the chair in front of Pete, grinning widely. The guitarist had a sinking feeling, recognizing Moon's look as a possible precursor to something very likely undesired.
"'Ey Pete," Keith began, leaning closer and pitching his voice like a whisper. Of course, his slurred speech was actually much louder. "What you think of that one over there?" His motioning head was aimed at John, who glanced up briefly before turning away, seeming to ignore them.
"What about him?" Pete asked carefully, not looking up at the drummer, continuing to fiddle with his guitar pegs. He hoped that if he showed enough disinterest, Moon might get bored and move away.
"I know something about him, you know," Keith answered, nodding.
"Oh yeah?" Pete responded casually, still not looking up.
"Yeah," he repeated, leaning a bit closer. "I found out with this little game I played with him..." He lowered his voice a bit.
Pete raised his eyes, looking at Keith without lifting his head, his interest peaked but his nerves on edge. The drummer was close enough to smell the gin on his breath, and he swayed slightly in his seat.
"But he won't play anymore," he continued, pouting for a moment befor a nasty smirk played at his lips. "I know he liked it though!" the drummer added pointedly.
Pete suddenly wanted this conversation to end, right now. He had a very bad feeling about where it was going.
"I'll make a bet with you, Petey," Moon continued. "I'll bet you I can get 'im off faster than you can."
Pete's head shot up, eyes wide. He stared first at Keith, whose face was split with a shit-eating grin, as though he'd just offered up the most entertaining idea he'd ever come up with.
"Come on then, you've played with boys before. I know you can do it," Keith growled lasciviously. "And you know you want to do it."
Pete instantly felt sick. Every ounce of him prayed that John couldn't hear Keith's drunken proposition, but he knew for certain that he could.
"And I 'ave done it," Moon stated proudly.
Shit, shit, shit!
Pete finally tore his shocked gaze away from the drummer to the bassist. For a few seconds, time seemed frozen. Pete could only watch, transfixed to his spot.
John's face had gone pale, eyes bulging out, completely stunned. His hands were gripping the bass so tightly, they were white. However, instead of throwing the instrument aside and coming at the drummer, as Pete was expecting, John just closed his mouth, clenching his teeth tightly, and sucked in a long breath through his flared nostrils.
Pete almost felt he were witnessing a train wreck in progress, unable to look away and powerless to stop it. He continued to watch as John carefully pried his shaking hands from the bass and slowly lifted it over his head, placing it on the chair he was sitting in. He strode purposefully to the door, not looking back, and left the room.
The resounding slam behind him shook Pete out of his daze, the wood cracking from the hinge. The guitarist shook his head. Keith appeared unfazed by the proceedings, still grinning wickedly. Pete stood, removing his guitar, and turned to follow John. A hand on his arm stopped him.
"So, what d'you say, then?" Keith asked him, oblivious to what had just occurred.
Pete glared menacingly before winding back and landing his fist firmly into Moon's jaw, dropping the drummer to the floor. His anger was nearly enough to block the pain in his hand, though he shook it out and flexed his fingers quickly.
Without a second glance, Pete hurriedly left in pursuit of the bassist. When he reached the entryway, John was already putting on his jacket.
"John, I-" Pete's words died in his throat as John looked up and their eyes met.
He was normally difficult to read; even his eyes rarely revealed anything he didn't want them to. But as Pete stared into those slate blue eyes now, he was taken aback by the pain he saw there. Although every bit of John's body was radiating rage, nearly palpable around him, his eyes were betraying the truth.
"It doesn't matter anyway," John finally muttered, turning away from the weight of Pete's gaze. "It's my own fault."
Pete didn't want John to leave. He felt an ache in his chest at the thought of his oldest friend hurting so much. It reminded him of the look John had had the last time he was used by someone he loved. Only this time it was so much worse, for so many reasons.
"I mean, you know how he gets..." Pete stammered, trying to find something to say. Somehow it was suddenly very difficult to speak.
"Yeah, I know better than anyone," he finished bitterly. "I know I'm a fucking idiot."
"You, uh, you mean, what he said..?"
"Yeah, Pete, it happened." John shook his head, clearly disgusted with himself.
"But I thought-" Pete tried to start once more.
"I made a mistake," John cut him off again.
"And you're sure you can't, uh..." Pete nearly growled, wishing his tongue and his head would start working together. "I mean, maybe Moonie really is interested. Maybe you two could work things-"
"I'm just a fucking toy to him!" John finally shouted, interrupting Pete's stilted flow of words again.
Pete was stunned into silence. He'd never seen John react quite that way, not in all the years he'd known him.
"I told you, he'll never take it seriously. I was right." He turned away again, reaching for the doorknob. "I was a fool," he finished quietly.
Pete was at a complete loss for words. He couldn't imagine how to take John's pain away. He couldn't even deal with his own pain effectively. After some moments of heavy silence, John looked up again.
"Look, Pete," he began again, seeing the helpless expression in his friend's shining eyes, "I just need some time away from him right now."
Pete nodded.
"Come over to my place in the morning, and we can finish up some of the rough spots over there, alright?"
John was basically ending this conversation, Pete realized. He had calmed himself down just enough to go back behind the wall of stoicism, and that was where he was going to stay.
"Yeah, alright," he responded, regaining his tongue. He still wanted to make John stay, to talk to him. He honestly didn't know what his friend might be capable of in this condition. But as John opened the door to leave, Pete knew there was nothing else he could do right now.
He hated it.
"Hey, John," he managed.
The bassist stopped in the doorway, not looking up.
"I'm sorry," was all he could get out.
John sighed.
"So am I," he whispered hoarsely before closing the door behind him. The resulting click echoed in the hall like a gunshot, the silence left behind suffocating.
Pete closed his eyes, his mind swirling with a myriad of emotions that he couldn't deal with right now. As he returned to the studio, he was met with Roger's questioning look.
Keith was still on the floor, trying to sit up and nursing his cheek with one hand. Clearly the singer had just walked in to find only a broken door, and their drummer sitting on the floor, with a giant bruise starting to show itself, and had no idea what was going on.
"What the fuck happened?" he asked, aggravated.
"Wot did I do?!" Moon questioned in a half-whine at the same time.
Pete just glared before grabbing a bottle of brandy that was on the table in the corner.
"I'm leaving," was his only response before he disappeared out the door, leaving behind a dumbfounded singer and a drunk drummer.
Roger threw his arms up and shook his head.
"Fucking great."
************************************************************************************************
Comments, as always, are loved and adored.