ᴇʏᴇs sǫᴜɪɴᴛ, ʀᴇᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴄʏ ʙᴜʀɴ.
The wet towel was blotted carefully against wounded temple
as Scott’s world continued to spin around him in manic concerto.
His tongue rest aloft on the roof of his mouth, the taste of iron hot and
fresh still amongst the mingled burn of alcohol.
It had been stupid. ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀs ɴᴏ ᴅᴏᴜʙᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ.
Doing a stage dive into a crowd of barely 20 people was only going to land
the frontman into a world of pain.
But it had been so fucking worth it.
He couldn’t stop grinning, despite the pain his head was in.
It was still early days for the band; a rag-tag group of young
misfits who didn’t quite know themselves, nor what they were trying
to achieve from their art. But the atmosphere had been electric tonight,
and it was the biggest crowd they had pulled in so far.
The nineteen year old couldn’t contain himself, a wild bundle of
unbridled energy just waiting to explode.
ɪᴛ ʜᴀᴅ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴡᴏʀᴛʜ ɪᴛ.
He winced again as the alcohol soaked rag dabbed neatly against
open wound, his eye-liner smudged eyes struggling to focus on the face
before him, but grateful for the assistance of his best friend regardless.
Scott hadn’t expected Adam to show up at all.
It wasn’t like the budding photographer had much else going on,
but he was sure there’d be a laundry list of excuses the bullshitter
could toss at him. But he had actually showed up,
adding yet another number to the growing following the group had
brought in tonight.
A gentle hiss emitted as the solution felt like it was dissolving into
his skull; still strains of crimson seeping down his jaw from where
temple had connected with the sticky basement floor below.
But the pain couldn’t stop him from smiling.
The room was hot, and with everything going on around them it felt
far hotter than it need be. Adam had helped bundled Scott away into a
small side room, dutifully attending to the guitarists injury, though he
was sure it wasn’t without annoyance. His face felt red hot, flush with
glee and beer as he leaned into the man’s touch.
The burn felt good, it felt real against the growing numbness
of the rest of his orbit.
“ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴ----.”
He spoke through gleeful grin, eyes closing for a moment as he
did. A gentle inhale of air. Adam always smelt so good.
He didn’t know what it was. It certainly wasn’t whatever cheap
deodorant or shampoo he used. Maybe it was the familiarity.
The scent of reassurance, companionship.
They always had each others backs. Even now.
He could barely breathe. Scott was sat up on a table, with Adam’s
boots planted still on the floor. Scott’s hues found his again,
the young man having moved closer to get a better look at his cut that
just didn’t want to stop bleeding.
Maybe it was going to need stitches. He didn’t care.
He was far too busy looking at the goofy drunken smile on the pale
boy’s lips. That snarky little curve which said “I told you so” without
having to say a word. Doting, playful. They looked so soft.
Had they always been that soft? He smelled so good.
Scott’s legs swung a little from his position up on the table,
swinging themselves around Adam’s own to pull his friend a little closer.
He didn’t seem to resist. There was barely a beat for thought before
Scott’s hand curved itself around the back of Adam’s neck, his lips connecting
with the other’s in a desperate rush of heat.
Clumsy, messy, stiflingly hot.
An awful need and want ached in his chest far more painful than
any cut above his brow. He felt the rag remove itself from its stay,
the rush of cold then heat afflicting the injury as it hits the air.
It’s all forgotten in the taste of his lips.
The sweetness of tobacco, of the alcohol.
It was only now as the seconds began to push away,
as Scott pulled him even closer- a desperate need to eliminate any
space between them - that a spiralling realisation
plagued foggy mind. This felt good. It felt better than good.
Feverishly his hand left Adam’s neck to grab at his shirt, his whole body
feeling lighter than air. But then it was gone.
The photographer pulled away, and Scott opened his eyes once more.
Perhaps if he had been sober, a panic would have rushed through him;
a cold and unkind seeping dread of unplacated desire.
But that’s not what he felt at all.
That broken smile grinned as he watched Adam dab once more
at the open wound, his legs still wrapped around the other’s as
he played nurse to the guitarist. He bit his lip before closing his eyes,
drunken tongue unable to come up with anything more
intelligent than a half slurred,
@wantslife | kissing prompts |
[first] ᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴜsᴇs ᴋɪss ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.
