Nirvana Ch. 05

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Metal clinked against glass making the sound of church bells, and Owen was standing in the middle of a church hall, or a cathedral; he didn't know. It was too dark, but he knew it was some sort of Catholic building; he could feel it in his bones, the cold and ghastly wind blowing his sins to the surface. There were cracks in the floor, and he felt safer crawling. Red poured out of his knees and palms and trickled down the cracks, he didn't know where he was going. He tried to pace his steps with the bells ringing, but then they slowed down and stopped, and he was blinded by a bright light in the distance which he knew was the headlights of a car whose engine sounded oddly like a blender.

That wasn't what woke him up. There was the sound of someone hissing, tutting, and swearing under his breath; the distressed sound of anyone trying to keep all the noise down but ending up making more. First thing Owen did when he woke up was look at his palms. They were fine; no scarring, no bleeding, just a red circle around his left wrist, the mark of Noel's dominance, and everything felt better. He was awake. He was safe.

He was in Noel's bed, wearing Noel's boxers. His shirt and jeans folded neatly on a chair, and the sun shined through the window, painting beautiful shadows out of Noel's plants. Noel was in the kitchen, clattering and chopping away, making more noise than what was appropriate. Carl was going to make a song and dance about the bruise, of course, but he didn't care then. He pulled the blanket over his body, and tried to drift back to sleep.

After the third spoon dinged against the floor followed by louder and louder grunts, Owen decided that, sod it, he may as well stay up. He checked his phone. There was a text message from David saying "rehearsal at 8:30. DON'T BE LATE." It was already 7:44.

"Fuck me." He sighed, and sat up. Noel came out of the kitchen with an empty bowl in his hand, looking as concerned as he sounded. He was wearing a light blue V-neck t-shirt that accentuated the magnetism of his blue eyes and sparkle of his golden locks.

"Hey, did I wake you? I'm sorry, I'm such a klutz."

"Oh, no. It's..." Owen waved him off. He felt too naked; too exposed. He tried to hide his morning look by rubbing his eyes, scratching his stubble, and combing his hair with fanned out fingers. "I had a bad dream."

"Oh." He looked even more concerned, "Are you-"

Owen interrupted him by another wave of his hand, and tried to divert the attention over to something else. "It's fine. How long have you been up?" Noel raised his eyebrows, "Over an hour now."

"Jesus Christ, you're an early bird."

"Had to make sure someone doesn't run off again." They both laughed, and Noel shook the empty bowl in his hand, "also needed to go shopping for breakfast."

Owen nodded at the bowl, and smirked, "Looks eventful."

Noel raised his eyebrows and shook his head in playful frustration. They paused for a few seconds before Noel spoke again.

"How are you feeling?"

It came at the same time as Owen yawning. He covered his mouth, and with the other hand, raised one finger, signalling to wait.

"Okay, I guess that answers my question." Noel laughed, and headed back to the kitchen, "Be right back. Don't move."

Owen threw himself back into bed, and scrolled through his phone. Time was going by way too quickly, he would need to hurry up and eat then get a bus home. He would need to shower, too. No time to shave or do the laundry. Texting David to postpone their session was out of the question; he'll never hear the end of it.

Noel returned with a tray in one hand, and a drink in the other. There was a bowl of oatmeal with fresh berries, and some sort of drink which was orange but didn't smell like orange juice.

"Sorry, it's nothing fancy."

"You shouldn't have bothered. Usually I just have scrambled eggs."

"I don't cook animals."

Of course he didn't, Owen thought. The way he said it made him want to roll his eyes. There was definitely not a single drop of milk in the bowl. Possibly no honey, either; just strawberry syrup and a mix of nuts and fruit he didn't even bother to look at. It was getting late, and there was no time for food tasting.

"Any plans for today?"

Noel sat at the edge of the bed, close enough to feel his warmth while still giving him room to move.

"Nah, just rehearsal. Must head off soon, or..." he trailed off, then continued, "You?"

"Work," he said, "then meeting up with some friends. Jay's having this little get-together over at his house."

Jay.

Of course it was fucking Jay. Owen immediately lost his appetite. Just as he'd almost forgotten that ray of sunshine and aggravating flamboyance existed, Noel mentioned him again, and was even going to his house. There was no time or energy for this. He didn't want Noel to notice anything, so he started shovelling food in, and washed it down with his unknown drink which didn't taste as bad as he'd imagined. What he didn't know was that Noel was able to see the disdain in his face.

"I'll probably get really high and fall asleep on his couch again," he lamented. "We usually put some ethereal music on, and talk about absolutely anything, it's surreal. You should come, too."

Owen was only half listening until the last moment. He thought Noel was joking. "Oh, no."

"Come on, you'll have fun. I can pick you up after practice. I'll let Jay know."

"Oh, God, no!" He shot back, and then continued in a calmer tone, "Don't think it's for me."

"Why not?"

'Because I want to watch Jay die in a fire' was what he wished to say. On further reflection, he knew that wasn't the only reason. Noel's friends were probably hippie world travellers like he was, and he felt insecure about his lack of experience regarding anything they did --anything anyone did, for that matter. His life was limited to school and music, and the furthest he'd ever travelled was thirty minutes by train away from home which in itself seemed like a big deal. He was afraid he'll have nothing to talk about, and then Noel would notice how lame and boring he was.

"I don't do drugs," he said, "I won't be fun really."

"You don't have to. You're already fun."

Owen scoffed.

"Do that all you want, but I'm sure they'll love you. You'll add some diversity."

"I won't. I have nothing to talk about." There was no backtracking, so he continued, "I haven't really been anywhere..."

Noel laughed, "It's not about where you've been. Trust me, after hearing a traveller's story for the hundredth time, you get sick of it. Maybe that's why we do lots of drugs, you know, to put up with each other."

Owen was listing in his head the things he'd done which would be considered interesting, and was already running out of stories. There was that one time they performed a song, and another time they performed that other song. One time he got drunk and sang the lyrics of one song to the music of another. The drinking thing probably wouldn't be a pleasant story to tell, and not many people would think that getting the wrong train five days in a row was funny, so that was also scribbled out. He couldn't go; he'd be a nightmare. He finally let Noel know they'll practise all day and have an early night, which was true, and Noel stopped egging him on.

When he finished eating, Noel insisted on taking the tray to the kitchen himself. He was being sweet, and Owen couldn't stop admiring him. It was the little gestures that got him. Normal things that anyone would do, like the way he held the tray one-handed, the way he untucked his wrinkled top, and the way his muscles moved as he walked. The way he so intently watered his plants and smelled blooming jasmine flowers like they held the answer to everything. He loved how his fingers moved, and how his lips pursed. He could watch him all day, but he needed to go. The idea of putting off rehearsal was becoming more and more appealing.

Noel sat by him again, and on his face there was a warm and confident smile.

"Don't ever be intimidated by anyone, Owen." He said. It sounded so serious, so personal, and completely out of nowhere, "I've met so many travellers in my lifetime. It doesn't impress me anymore."

Owen opened his mouth to speak, and then stopped as there was no point in denial. He forgot how much of a terrible actor he was; how much his face could give him away. He cleared his throat, bit his nails, and asked, "What impresses you, then?"

"Art." He said without thinking, and heat and colour were displayed on Owen's cheeks.

Noel couldn't possibly be talking about him, no.

"Beauty."

Owen's cheeks burned, and his chin started to tremble. Noel tied his hair back with his wristband, and Owen remembered the last time he'd done that. He immediately felt throbbing between his legs.

He could text David. He should text David.

"Sometimes," Noel reached a hand to his pink cheeks, "they're not mutually exclusive."

Owen was incredulous, but he hoped and prayed to all that is mighty, that Noel was talking about him. Noel's intention was not to initiate anything sexual; he simply wanted to feel the angles of Owen's face, stroke the heat with the back of his fingers, run his thumb over the little bruise under his lip that looked like tiny purple footsteps on a green and yellow background, or the other one on the side of his neck that was shaped like a tulip and was still tender.

Owen closed his eyes and leaned against Noel's palm, gently pushing his face further against it, and Noel took his jaw in his hand and drew him so tenderly closer. Owen let out a soft sigh, waiting for the delicate warmth of Noel's lips to engulf his own, disregarding all his fear and responsibilities. When they finally did; when Noel's lips pressed a lingering kiss on him, he only then remembered how nice it felt. Every single time Noel took his lips, it felt like the first time, over and over again, as if the passion he had for him was not exhilarating enough to experience once.

Noel tilted his head, and his other hand grabbed the back of Owen's neck, for a better angle to delve more into the kiss, and allow himself to bury his fingers in the voluminous streaks of his hair that matched the colour of the sky on moonless nights. He took his lips one at a time, pressing so softly, and Owen just gave in, his whole body shuddered with a fuzzy feeling; so light, yet so heavy. He wished he could sneak a look at Noel's face, but it was too overwhelming to open his eyes even for one second.

As if he got a sudden rush of impatience, Noel lunged forward, placed one hand on the small of Owen's back and pulled him closer, while his lips still brushed lightly as if they had a mind of their own. His tongue darted out and slithered between Owen's lips demanding entry, and Owen could feel his will getting weaker. He used the last bit of self-control he had to tear his mouth from Noel's, long enough to whisper his name, before Noel claimed his lips again with a little more ferocity than before.

"I have to go."

The bony hand on the back of his neck was still adamant as ever, and the one on his back crawled further down.

"Dave will be fuming..."

"Let me deal with David."

A tongue pushed inside his mouth to shut him up; so soft, so warm, and oh-so-delicious, Owen groaned lightly and caressed it with his own. The hand on his back then reached to have a full grip on the swell of his arse, and Owen raised himself slightly to allow him better access.

"...Carl will-"

"I'll buy him a drink."

He was awfully hard. It was becoming unbearable to keep his hands where they were, latched to the sheets and away from Noel's body. Noel paused the kissing to remove his shirt, and Owen had a glance at his bare skin just to torture himself a whole lot more. That was his chance, right then, to go against what his lust-fuelled body wanted, needed; and do what was empirically considered the right thing. When Noel approached him again, he turned his head to the side.

"I'm sorry, I really have to go. Please..."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure."

Owen had to drag himself away from the bed and into the bathroom, where a cold shower was crucial. He was running out of time. The cold water hit his skin like hail, and his heart strained at the sudden rush of blood that made his vision blurry.

Focus.

There was no way he could go anywhere pitching that erection, and there was no time to stall and ponder; he needed to get rid of it, and fast. He started sorting David Bowie's albums in alphabetical order as a means of distraction from the maddening lust and freezing cold water. He wondered if 'Blackstar' should go first, being a symbol, or if it should count as a word and go third, or would it be second? He couldn't think.

Focus.

In record time, he was all washed, dried, clothed, and ready to go, only thinking of grabbing his keys and phone off the nightstand and rush for the bus. He could still make it on time, barely, but not late enough for David to scorn him.

Noel was lying across the bed, head hanging over the side, and wearing nothing but a pair of boxers that didn't do much to conceal his figurative passion. Owen had one glance at him and then bit his bottom lip. He was desperate to stroke the little tuft of thin hair on his lower abdomen and follow it as it got thicker underneath his waistband, and then he could take it from there, just for five minutes.

He went back and forth inside his head, bargaining, until he decided it will only be a peck on the cheek and nothing more.

"Well. See ya."

He dropped a kiss on his cheek, and was ready to hurry out of there before Noel grabbed the back of his neck and took his lips in an upside down kiss, and then he held him by the belt and pulled him closer over his head. Owen started at his touch, and tried to resist.

"What are you doing?"

"Guess."

He undid his trousers, and pulled them down. Owen's cock sprung out, fully hard, and his protest was clearly half-hearted.

"No, you can't, I'll be late for..."

"Life's too short. We both want this."

Owen should have stopped him, sternly but politely, and removed himself from there. He would have done so if he weren't blind with lust over the lean, toned body sprawled before him, and the bulge in Noel's boxers clouding his judgement. Instead of leaving, he bent his knees slightly to make it easier for him, and Noel gently took him in hand, planted tiny kisses and licks on his balls, while two of his fingers travelled up his crack.

"Rehearsal's in ten minutes... I'll miss the --Uh..."

His speech was interrupted by a sudden rush of pleasurable waves as Noel squeezed him hard, and slid his fingers past his orifice. He entered him carefully, and his other hand moved and twisted along his shaft with intoxicating fury, making him lose the ability to form anything but incomprehensible gasping sounds.

Once he was deep inside him, Noel licked along his length, twirled his tongue around the head, and then took him in his mouth and past his throat.

"Fuck, Noel." He drawled, "Fuck rehearsal."

It was difficult for Noel to move his head in that position, so he got Owen to do the thrusting, guided him to a steady in and out pace, to go along with the in and out movement of his fingers. Noel, then, shifted his hand towards his own cock and rubbed himself over cloth. He couldn't stop himself, and Owen thought it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

Owen wished he could have him in his mouth. His body tingled with lust at the thought of having Noel fill him in both ends, while his own cock was receiving a whole new range of sensations from every direction. He tried to lean over and grab him, but Noel tightened the muscles of his throat around him, and he was gone in the haze of arousal.

His movements were merely spasms and frantic thrusts, and the delicate grunts that escaped his lips had Noel reaching inside his own boxers and stroking himself wildly. Noel couldn't wait any longer, he curved his fingers inside Owen, reaching for his gland; the little lump that held the key to all pleasures, and rubbed circular shapes over it.

Owen's grunt turned into a scream, and he lost his balance, falling forward, palms down over Noel's stomach, each one covering an N of 'Nirvana' inked in Noel's skin. He told Noel that he was getting close to sweet release, and felt him speed up his wanking, while the fingers inside him worked diligently, and throat muscles milked him, pushing him over the edge.

He felt Noel humming deep in his throat, and the vibrations it sent were exactly what fired up his orgasm. Everything suddenly felt sensitive. The lightest touch set off a primal frenzy, and he was letting out obscene sounds uncontrollably. As his eyelids flickered, he saw Noel arched upwards, fondling himself with the same level of frenzy he could feel, and he came fast down Noel's throat at nearly the same time Noel shot ropes over his own stomach and chest.

The exhaustion left him boneless and out of breath, he fell to the floor, panting, and rested his head on Noel's shoulder. Noel rubbed his head and made sure none of his thick fluid was caught in Owen's hair.

"I forgot how legs work." Owen said through ragged breath, and Noel chuckled.

It felt safe and mellow, just the two of them, and the afterglow of their impromptu rapture adorning their skin. Noel's fingers caressed Owen's scalp and lulled his breath back into a steady, normal rhythm brushing against his neck. It was a wonderful moment, shortly interrupted by incessant buzzing that brought Owen to full attention.

"Oh shit!" He snapped, and made two attempts to stand up just to end up tumbling on his arse again. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"What?"

There were already nine text messages from David, and three missed calls from Carl showing up on Owen's phone. He quickly did his jeans and fixed his hair while swearing and pacing around to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

"Fuck me, I'm late."

"Oh."

"Sorry, I must go now." Owen gave him a quick kiss and headed towards the door.

"Are you playing at Devils tomorrow?"

"Uh, yeah. No." He looked at his phone and continued, "No, not tomorrow. The day after."

"Alright, see you then."

Without another word, Owen rushed to the bus stop, elated despite his inner guilt, knowing for a fact he's in for an earful.

David became angrier with every passing minute, but his anger was only a defence mechanism against worrying. He hadn't heard from Owen since he took off after rehearsal the day before, and if it weren't for him knowing how irresponsible Owen could be whenever he encountered a new obsession, he would have been out looking for him hours before. He shook his leg vigorously, checked his watch and phone every second, half listening to Carl talking about some girl he'd met.

"She had that rainbow filter on their photo together, too!"

"She could just be her friend."

"Kissing? Nah. How often do you-"

He stopped when Owen walked down the stairs to the basement, with a big smile on his face that shouldn't be there.

"Speaking of rainbow!"

They both ignored his comment, although Owen suppressed a chuckle.

"Go get us coffee," David addressed Carl, "We'll start right away."

Carl growled, and then ran upstairs mumbling to himself. Owen picked up his guitar and checked its tuning, while looking at David with a pronounced grin.

"What?" David sighed in unmistakable frustration.

"Go ahead," He gestured with his hand, "lecture me. I'm ready."

"I have nothing to say to you."