It was pouring like crazy. One of those cold days in autumn where they would play a gig, and when theyâd step through the backstage door to have a smoke, theyâd freeze their asses off cause in the heat of the stagelights it was easy to forget how absolutely ridiculously cold and nasty wet it was outside.Â
After the gig Brian and Jim had gone to the bar right next to the pub they had played in. They didnât want to drink in the same place where they had played before because fans could be annoying and they wanted to spend some time around eachother with no major interruptions. They didnât do much really, they just had very funny conversations (Jim was way too good at making Brian laugh) and got drunk as hell.Â
Every time they decided to drink, it was always Brian who went too far. Maybe it was because Jim could take more alcohol than Brian, he was taller, older, just had the genes that it took to stomache a lot of booze without feeling any consequences. In the end this night turned out like many nights before - Brian was so drunk he could barely talk, big tongue too heavy in his mouth, and he was utterly touchy, trying to get his hands all over Jim and Jim... couldnât really hate it.
Jim had no trouble seeing past the reasons why Brian got lost in few different drugs every now and then - alcohol, cocaine, music - he knew why Brian did it but he didnât really care. He loved it too much when Brian was in that careless state, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide, naughty grin stuck on his lips. He couldnât hate it when Brian was in a good mood, thought that he was too serious and too sad to often. He didnât party after gigs all the time but when he did, Jim had his way of abusing the state Brian voluntarily put himself into.Â
âMan, youâre so fuckinâ drunk.â said Jim, giggling, when Brian leaned against his shoulder and pouted at him, obviously demanding a kiss non-verbally. Jim wouldnât kiss him here, no way. If theyâd make out now, theyâd end up fucking before they would reach the bathroom. âYa wanna go back to the hotel?â
âYeah.â hummed Brian, hoarse from all the singing and the weariness after the gig. Brian lifted his hand to dip it into Jimâs shirt, tracing his collarbones, looking at him as if heâd hung the moon. âAâight, babe.â Jim sighed, paid their drinks.
First Jim got up and picked up Brianâs guitar which was in its case with a shoulder strap attached. He hung it over his one shoulder, collecting Brian from the barstool with his other. The blonde was far too wasted to walk on his own and he didnât even try to carry his own weight. But Jim had no trouble in holding Brian, all the way to the cab outside. He sighed when they were finally in the car, Guitar in the trunk, both men wet cause it was pouring outside.âFuckinâ shit weather-â
A second after the moment they sat, Brian had his hand in Jimâs lap, eagerly massaging him, kissing his neck. Jim closed his eyes and hummed, tipsy himself it was hard to tell the other to keep his hands away. âSir? Where to?â the cab driver said. âWestshore hotel.â Jim said, and luckily the driver didnât ask any further questions and kept all (probably necessary) comments to himself.
They started kissing in the cab, and whenever Brian was as drunk as he was right now, his kisses were hotter than ever. Messy and deep, so passionate it made Jimâs head spin. âMan, you drive me fuckinâ crazy...â Jim sighed with a low chuckle and Brian grinned widely. âWhy? Youâre damn tasty...âÂ
Jim had to steer Brianâs hands a little to avoid climaxing in the back of a cab. Not that he had really minded it but he still wanted to avoid missing the chance of banging Brian in his hotel room. Brian was pretty hard to fuck - if he was sober, it was nearly impossible to get him there. It made their wicked game all the more challenging and fun.Â
The cab stopped and the driver named the price, Jimâs lips were throbbing when he pulled away from Brian to pay. They left the cab - Jim again carrying Brian to the front door and they landed up against the wall of the building as soon as they were under the roof. They were both wet from the rain but they werenât freezing in the slightest. Riled up from the gig, the booze, both of them smelling of sweat and alcohol and pomade - it was all a vicious mix that lead them fast into grinding against eachotherâs thighs.Â
Pressing Brian against the wall, using his entire weight, Jim slowly came to understanding that they both needed to fucking come right here, with the slight chance of hotel guests seeing them anytime, walking outside or into the building. It was a small shame they wouldnât get further than some dry humping but they both craved it too much to stop now. Too into it. Too drunk. Too much in love.
âFuck-â Suddenly Brian jolted. It seemed like a thunderbolt had struck him. He jerked and froze, holding his breath all of that just seconds away from Jimâs release. Jim was immediately confused and also concerned, frowning at the other softly. âWha-â No matter how small Brian was and no matter how tall Jim was, he shoved the other aside to free himself and ran off into the rain.
âWhat the FUCK, Brian?â Jim yelled, walking a few, slow steps into the rain. He saw how Brian fell in a close distance, his limbs sliding across the asphalt, but he picked himself up and kept running. It took seconds for Brian to be soaked in the rain even though he was wearing a leather jacket. He ran so fast, his lungs started burning.
He couldnât outrun the cab.
What was he thinking?
Did he really think he could catch up with a car?
He had fucked up. He had fucking fucked it up.
Realising that he fell to his knees, powerless, panting, staring at the yellow car that disappeared in the darkness. He couldnât feel the rain, suddenly sober even his boner was gone. A few moments later Jim reached him. He was pissed because he couldnât understand what the fuck was happening.
âBrian?â he asked, unsure how to talk to the other without upsetting him. He knew Brian could be impulsive, loud and moody and that kind of Brian was the least thing he wanted right now.Â
âSheâs... sheâs gone...â Brian said, breathless, his voice breaking. His brows, his lips started shivering. His heart was hurting from all the anger he had for himself. âWhat?â Jim said, pushing his hands into his soaked pockets. âMy guitar...â
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