Nirvana Ch. 05

"Really."

"Except, don't be late again. This isn't like skipping the gym; we're all in it together. You screw this up, you screw us all up."

"Yesterday," Owen said, completely dismissing what he heard, "you said Noel never had the same guy twice."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't a goddamn challenge!"

"I like him."

David was barely surprised. "You've only just met the guy," he said, "don't be pathetic."

Owen just shrugged and smiled. He didn't care how silly it sounded, or how ridiculously fast he has fallen for him. Saying the words out loud even just to himself made him giddy. He was functioning solely on the ecstasy and thrill he got from the memory of Noel, impatiently waiting for the hours to go by just so he could see him again.

Rehearsal went so unusually smoothly. Owen was in a good mood, and it was obvious. He didn't snap and shout at every minor slip, he didn't mind that Carl was still unable to sing a couple of words while playing the most basic lines, and he didn't blush and flounce when Carl asked if Noel was "marking his territory", referring to the bruise on his neck, instead he laughed and replied with a joke. Moreover, for the first time in a long time, Owen didn't think about drinking. He didn't even notice that his friends were drinking until they were about three cans in. They were all having a good time, doing what they had to do without having to go over the same things a million times until Owen was satisfied.

Owen's good mood was unexpected, especially with them having less than a week to practice for a career defining gig, plus the fact they were booked for another gig mid week. In different circumstances, he would be on edge; stressing out and yelling, but he was everything Carl and David wanted him to be at that time, and they both gave each other knowing looks without saying anything in case they jinx it.

The positive attitude he kept didn't stop him, however, from being thorough with his work. They did everything perfectly without his obsessive perfectionism, and in his spare time he listened to The Beatles records back to back, studying and observing, until he fell asleep with the memory of Noel putting a smile on his face.

The day of their gig, they had an early start; Beatles practice as planned, before deciding on which songs to play at the bar. Owen followed David's advice of choosing songs that weren't vocally challenging, just so he could save his cords for The Beatles night, and they ended up having a quick rehearsal of some of their regular songs to buy themselves some time.

They carried their gear to the van, and Owen was softly singing 'Wild Is the Wind' off key, just because he could. He was exceptionally happy he was going to see Noel again. It had been two whole days since he'd heard from him. If only the little devil had a phone, he thought, they could at least text or call during the late hours of the night where he lay awake with his stomach in knots and his cock hot and hard, yet he couldn't bring himself to touch it as the stroke of his own hands was nowhere near as pleasant, and for some unknown reason, he didn't want to get his release without Noel's blessing. It was as if somehow, without saying so, Noel had claimed him as his own, and forbidden him from experiencing any sort of pleasure he otherwise didn't induce.

Carl found a note stuck under the front door on their way out, and picked it up. Owen stopped singing and went to have a closer look. It was an envelope that read 'Owen' at the back. No stamps, no addresses, clearly hand delivered.

"What's that?"

"I don't know, but it says Owen on it. I wonder who it's meant for..." Owen snatched it off Carl's hand, "oh right, me!"

Carl gave him the finger.

"Nosey."

"Fag."

Carl heard the loud bang ringing in his ears before he felt pain at the top of his skull. David was walking past him just in time to strike him with both drumsticks over his head and then kept on walking as if nothing had happened.

"Motherfucker!" Carl rubbed furiously at his head and followed him, Owen followed, laughing. "I'm not your fucking hi-hat, you'll give me concussion."

"Don't say that word." David said without turning.

"He doesn't mind!" Carl looked at Owen for confirmation, who only shook his head, laughing still, and mouthed that it was fine. Owen didn't mind. If anything, he didn't like David overprotecting him.

"I don't care if he doesn't."

"Hey, Dave," Carl looked at Owen with a grin, and continued, "What do you call a drummer with half a brain?"

"Dry."

"What?"

David turned around, and poured his bottle of water on Carl's head, and then ran to the driver's seat with a smirk while Carl was still too stunned to react.

"Asshole!"

"You know," Owen said, "That still means you have half a brain."

"Zip it, O."

***

Owen sneaked into the changing rooms, looked around for a few seconds until he was confident that he was on his own, he then took the envelope out of his pocket and drew it to his nose. Any tiny bit of doubt that it was from Noel was eradicated as soon as his brain circuits recognised that familiar scent. A smile spread across his face, and he looked around once more before he opened it. Noel's handwriting was as charmingly neat as Owen had expected it to be, and just as infatuating --and erotic, even- as every aspect of his personality. The note was written in cursive, and it read:

I hope the mark on your neck has faded as I'm dying to give you another one.

Noel

Owen sighed, and his smile spread wider. He thought of an immediate response that was the corniest thing he would have written since middle school, and he decided to write it before his sanity kicked in and stopped him. There was, as always, a pen in his pocket. He always had one for the times he promptly needed to write a few lines on discarded shreds of paper, napkins, or even his own skin, as he knew his memory wasn't reliable enough. All he needed was a piece of paper, so he tore out the blank bit in Noel's note and wrote his reply. He was so overtaken by his little reverie that he didn't know Carl was standing behind him until the latter started speaking.

"Your lips are like rose petals," Carl read in a voice struggling against laughter, "and I don't mind a few thorns? Oh God, this is embarrassing."

"Fuck off. Don't you have, like, two girls to disappoint at once?"

"You're not actually sending this, are you? On behalf of all men, I am asking you to please not do this."

Owen blushed deep red, and thought he could counter it by being loud, "Considering how shit you are at multitasking on stage, I'm surprised you can even satisfy one woman."

"Oh, no, no, don't try this on me. You're the one sending a letter. How will you do that, anyway? Will you use a pigeon?"

Owen looked around until he found the locker with Noel's name on it, and slipped the note inside through a slit, and then walked out, leaving Carl behind still muttering deprecating comments.

Jersey Devils was not full that day, very few people turned up and even fewer people paid attention to the stage, and it worked out well for the band. They were saving their energy for The Beatles Night and they wanted to go into that gig with minimal effort; get it out of the way, get it done with, and go home.

Owen was never the kind of person to lose himself on stage. He was aware at all times of what he was doing, aware of every part of his body and every pair of eyes on him, so he kept his own eyes closed, and focused on what his bandmates were doing to try and counter their mistakes, if need be, by filling in or changing the tempo.

That night, however, much like the very first night he and Noel have spoken, Owen was awfully aware of the extra pair of eyes on him. The pair of eyes that watched him from behind the bar, and closing his lids did nothing to shield him.

It was near the end of their gig, and Noel had been serving people with as little attention as he could get away with, while his eyes subtly drifted to and from the stage. They had one last song to play, and a woman at the back shouted "Skyscraper". Owen smiled, and Noel unknowingly did the same.

"I'll give you ten for it." The woman said, and dropped a note in the tip bucket. Owen laughed nervously, and shook his head at Carl.

"Make that fifteen!" Another woman said, and Owen then realised there was no way out of it, so they shrugged to each other and started playing.

Owen decided to play very few notes, holding the mic with both hands more often than he strummed, hoping to ruin the song for people so no one would ask for it again, but it turned out that the raw rendition he created was appealing to people even more. His voice, low tenor, almost baritone with occasional hoarseness, painted the place with velvety waves and charged it with positive energy that Noel felt to his core. Every time he husked despite him, Noel got an episode of goose skin, and unexplainable tingling in his trousers.

Throughout his life, Noel had unclothed more people than he could remember. He'd lost count of how many hands he'd had on him, how many lips he gnawed on, and how many pairs of eyes he saw staring up at him prior to, or during, taking him on a lascivious expedition, but he'd never imagined that all of that would be rendered meaningless; would be so quickly overshadowed by the image before his eyes, and he never in his entire life would have thought that looking upon a fully clothed man doing nothing but singing would have him squirming and adjusting himself in public like a fifteen-year-old.

For the longest time, he couldn't put a finger on exactly what it was that Owen did which felt sexual. The way his eyebrows knitted over softly closed eyes while his lips quivered against the microphone, brushing it so gently he might as well have been making out with it, and the way he held it with both hands didn't make it any less torturous; didn't make the mic look any less phallic shaped.

Owen, then, hit the bridge with a note a tad higher than needed, he twisted his hands and his knees jerked, and that was when Noel found himself letting out a moan. The look on Owen's face was that of pure agonising bliss and slight embarrassment, Noel could feel his body starting to heat up. He saw Owen in his mind's eye, with the same expression on his face, in front of him, on his knees, but what he had in his hands wasn't the mic, it wasn't...

Noel's train of thought was impeded by the sound of a customer loudly clearing his throat, immediately followed by cold beer overflowing a pint glass in his hand and pouring down his pant leg.

"Oh god, I'm-"

By the look of it, it seemed there was nearly a pint already spilled on the floor, and the man wasn't happy. Noel scrambled around, trying to clean the floor, his trousers, and the glass all at the same time.

"I'm sorry. This one's on me."

The man angrily took his drink and left, and Noel caught eyes with Owen on stage. He saw it, then. The look that Owen gave him; the quick wink and twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was brief, must have lasted a fraction of a second, but he saw it, he was absolutely sure that Owen was mocking him, and that he knew, the little bastard knew what he was doing to him, which somehow made him want to ravage him more.

Owen thanked his audience, gave a few dates for when they will play next, and threw in a quick word about their Beatles cover gig, which he'd been told he wasn't allowed to do but did anyway. Noel hooked a dishcloth around one of his belt loops, and asked his co-worker to cover for him while he went to the restroom.

The band were loading their gear back to David's van, mildly exhausted, except for Owen who was energised, but still in a light-hearted mood.

"I hate that song." He said, in a tone that was more playful than complaining.

"Made an extra buck."

"Yeah, but is it going to be our thing? You know, our 'Creep'?"

"Creep?"

"That Radiohead song that everyone demands they play all the time."

"Yeah," Carl added, "Every band has one of those."

"But I don't- Hey!"

He felt a hand around his arm, and then he was yanked away before he could see what was happening, not like he needed to see anyway, he already knew who it was. The grip on his arm wasn't unfamiliar, neither was it unexpected. He knew from the way Noel eyed him all night that he'd end up following him eventually --he was only waiting for it to happen. He still had his guitar on his back. He'd thought about passing it over to Carl or David but he was already too far away and unwilling to resist.

Noel barged into the men's room, dragging Owen behind him without a single word. He was ready to seize him, but there was a man standing there, washing his hands, and staring at them suspiciously in the mirror. Owen dropped his guitar on the floor, before he was cornered by Noel's arm on the wall behind him.

"If you think you can get me all worked up and get away with it, you are mistaken."

Noel sounded murderous. His low, serious whisper was almost scary, and Owen felt himself get hard despite that, and despite worrying about the strange man seeing them. Noel had his hand on the back of Owen's neck, slowly sliding it upwards while counting down from five -an attempt to pass the time and keep cool, but ended up making him seem more ominous- keeping an eye on the man awkwardly drying his hands.

"Three... two..."

His voice was barely audible, and his fingers crawled up to disappear in Owen's hair. The man quickly walked by them and out the door, shutting it behind him.

"One."

He pulled a handful of Owen's hair, jerking his head back hard enough for Owen to yelp. "You did it on purpose, didn't you?"

"Noel..."

It only took one glance at Owen's plump lips as he breathed his name for Noel to not be able to stand it anymore. He threw himself at him and took his lips quite violently the way he'd been thinking about doing all night; lips and teeth grinding together while Owen squeaked and writhed under his mercy.

"Noel, not here."

"Why not?"

"Someone might see..."

"And?"

Owen had no power to argue, and it was bad enough without Noel bending his knees to graze their cocks together.

"You'd get fired."

"And?"

"I'm," He paused to breathe, "I'm not comfortable being here."

"That's all you had to say."

Without wasting much time, Noel took his hand and hauled him to one of the stalls with so much urgency that Owen ended up falling on the toilet seat, he then locked the door, grabbed Owen by the shirt and pushed his back against it.

"I saw you. I know-"

"Fuck me."

Owen saw Noel's eyes ignite with wild desire, right before he assaulted him with his mouth and hands, everywhere. He'd considered it, of course, Noel had obsessively thought about taking him right there, and not just a spur of the moment. The thought had been rattling in his head since the last time he saw him, just to be dismissed, after long and hard musing, as a bad idea. If anything, it was an even worse idea then; no condom, no lube, no privacy, and lack of convenience for a first timer. The bathroom wasn't unclean, but no matter how clean it was, he didn't wish for it to be the place where Owen would lose his virginity, so he decided it wouldn't happen, and held on to his decision vehemently.

Until Owen said it again.

He said it lustfully, desperately, while his callused fingers slid up the hem of Noel's shirt and over the skin of his abdomen, and all of a sudden Noel's reasons seemed like a distant memory and he was possessed by nagging, insistent hunger for him. He growled deep in his throat, and took Owen's jaw in his hand.

"Is that what you want?"

Before he could answer, Noel furiously turned him around and pushed him against the door again. His face was flattened on a surface tainted with obscene graffiti, and Noel's cock was pressed emphatically against his arse. One of Noel's hands tugged ruthlessly at his hair, and the other gripped the front of his jeans. Owen was breathing in erratic gasps.

"Is that what you want?" He squeezed his cock harder.

"Yes!" Owen hissed loudly between his teeth, and his hands moved behind him to unfasten Noel's trousers.

"Oh, no."

Noel took both of his wrists in one hand and pinned them to the small of his back, and then pushed him with blind fury against the door once again. If Owen's face hadn't bruised the first time, it definitely did then.

"I told you I'll tie your hands up, didn't I? Don't you dare move."

Tying a knot was nothing new to Noel, he knew the ins and outs of a rope through rock climbing, and sailing, and he could tie a knot that could withstand hours of Owen's inept wiggling without faltering one bit. He held his dishcloth from two opposing ends and twisted it around to make a rope, taking the time to calm himself because he was close, so close, to doing something he would've later regretted.

Owen felt the rough fabric looping around his wrists a few times until it was snug, but not tight enough to cut his circulation, and the sudden feeling of powerlessness aroused him; Noel's body dominated his own without the slightest glimpse of a fight, and then he was being choked by his necklace, there were teeth worrying at the skin of his neck painfully, and a hand groped his aching cock over its constrictive denim prison. He screamed loudly. He was lucky there was no one around to hear because at that moment he didn't care how loud he was. His need for Noel was becoming unbearable.

"See what you've done to me?"

He couldn't see, not at all, but he felt it; it was hard enough that he felt it, every inch of it, thrust against his arse so close to where he wanted it to go.

"Fuck me."

It could've been the third, fourth, or five hundredth time those words, so seductively, made it out of Owen's mouth that night, but to Noel it was always a shock, making his blood rush in his vessels, dampening his rationalisations like some kind of primal fever, and he summoned every ounce of willpower there was to remind himself why he shouldn't do it.

"Oh, I will."

"Really?" Owen felt the seed of fear making itself present in his subconscious, but ignored it.

"If you're good."

He rubbed his cock harder, and took his lips in his mouth until they were dark red and full, evoking a long moan from him. "But right now I want those lips on me." He kissed him again, and continued in his deep growling voice, "Get on your knees."

It didn't sound like a request. Owen had to pause and think about what he'd heard but no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts were speeding, slipping, he wasn't able to string a sentence together, and Noel was already unzipping his trousers.

"Matthews, are you going to make me ask twice?"

A grunt was all he could manage before kneeling in front of him. Owen hasn't always been a good boy. He'd done things in the past which he shouldn't have done, and he got caught too often to the point where danger was no longer fun. But, kneeling in a public toilet of a place where he worked, with his hands tied behind him, in front of a man who's being so forceful, demanding to take him in his mouth, that was something he'd never imagined himself doing. He felt slutty, devious, with the danger of the situation giving him nothing but a thrill that further fuelled the flames of his burning passion.

Noel lowered his trousers and underwear to his mid thigh, his engorged rod pulsed inches away from Owen's lips. Owen glanced up at him, and immediately he knew that Noel wanted him just as desperately as he did. It gave him a taste of power over Noel, despite his position, that he was in control of Noel's pleasure, so he teased him to the point of agony. He kissed and licked his inner thighs, stomach, and groin; his lips only hovering over his hardness letting out hot steamy breaths. He teased him and teased him until he was panting in frustration, so when he finally wrapped his lips around the tip, Noel had both of his hands clamped on his hair and shoved himself half way inside his mouth with a loud groan.