by Danni Fall
"4528. Come out tonight."
Mark looks down the tube station stairs again, avoiding the eyes of people walking up. "All the wine's tuckered me out. I'll give it a miss."
"You've given it a miss every week for the last year," Chris says.
"Maybe I'm always tired. Perhaps I've got anaemia."
"I want to spend time with you."
"We can do that when you're done drinking and dancing. I'm only going back to yours, I'm not running away."
Chris gives him a tired frown. "Promise me that one day, you will."
"I promise," Mark lies. "And I'll make things up to you back at the ranch, alright?"
Chris looks ready to reach out and touch him so Mark pre-emptively walks towards the tube entrance.
"Have a good time Christian, don't do anything I'd do."
He tries not to dwell on Chris's silence as he heads underground.
***
Mark lets himself into Chris's flat, takes out his notebook and stares blankly at his sparse notes. Barely an hour later, he takes a break to snort speed and ends up wide eyed and paranoid about his lack of productivity. He sticks his boots back on and hovers by the front door, caught between heading into Soho in search of Chris and pissing off to Southend to bother the band. He settles for going to the corner shop.
As he browses the aisles, he reminds himself that Mike is an upstanding citizen with a clean record. He resists putting Double Deckers and vodka in his pockets and goes to the counter to pay for them instead. By the time he's back at Chris's front door, he's polished off one chocolate bar and washed it down with a big swig of vodka. Despite feeling more relaxed, his brain still fails to cough up any ideas.
He breaks things up by scanning through television channels and thumbing through Seven Habits but winds up imagining how Simon is faring. He smiles as he pictures Simon sat at Cynthia with tears in his eyes, trying to string two notes together. The mental image alters over time, switching from Simon sullenly chewing his lip to Simon clamping his eyes shut as Mark's mouth closes over the head of his cock.
Mark catches himself before his memory can run away with him but his hand still idly squeezes his half hard cock through his jeans. He keeps masturbating lazily until he hears Chris at the front door. Chris is drunkenly fumbling with the lock when Mark opens it.
"Thanks, I couldn't." Chris gestures to his key. "I've had a few."
"Good time, was it?"
"Yeah. Would've been better with you."
Mark closes the door and walks Chris to his bedroom.
"You had any water?" Mark asks.
"I'm fine, just tipsy." Chris's eyes rove over Mark, lingering on his crotch. "That didn't take long."
Mark joins in eyeing his erection. "Been waiting patiently for you."
"Let me say thank you."
Chris kneels and pulls open Mark's jeans. Mark watches as Chris mouths at him through his Y fronts. When he pulls them down and takes him in his mouth, Mark's legs threaten to buckle.
"Fucking hell," he pants, one hand on Chris's scalp as Chris starts bobbing his head.
Just as Mark's toes curl, Chris pulls back and fixes him with an intent look. "Fuck me then."
Mark tries not to pull a face at the incongruous demand. He drags Chris to his feet and Chris makes a beeline for the bedside table. Mark lies on the bed masturbating as Chris pulls out the lube and starts prepping himself. It's not long before Chris joins him, pulling him into a sloppy kiss that Mark forces himself to return.
Chris gets on all fours when they separate. Mark moves into position, smiling at the memory of Leah wearing his big blue strap on before starting to fuck him.
Chris's loud, desperate moans spur Mark into action. He ruts into him until Chris rests his face on his folded arms. He focuses on Chris's blond hair, broad shoulders and heavy set thighs, but his mind wanders to flat arses and pillowy tits. He returns to his senses when Chris clenches around him.
"Happy birthday," Mark gasps.
Chris makes a sound between a laugh and a moan and Mark jerks him off in time with his thrusts. Chris loses rhythm beneath him, moans turning desperate and breathy before he comes over Mark's hand. With a final few thrusts, Mark follows suit. Sticky and sweating, they pull apart and flop back onto the pillows.
"Happy birthday to me," Chris says with a soft laugh. "I'm gonna clean up."
"Take your time."
Once the shower starts, Mark pulls out his phone. He begins composing a goading text checking how Simon is getting on with his song writing and asking when he wants to get another meal with Chris. He resists sending it and gives his cock a cursory wipe with his Y fronts.
He sits up with a smirk when Chris returns, smiling and pink from the shower.
"So," Mark says, "how do I compare with Andy?"
Chris's expression sours. "Don't ruin it."
"I'm only asking. Need to make sure I'm bringing my A game."
"And you do that by bringing up other people we've had sex with?"
"So you have fucked him?"
"Yeah, and you've fucked Simon. So what?"
"I really, seriously haven't," Mark says. "If you tried to stick a cock anywhere near Simon's arsehole it'd hermetically seal itself."
Chris pats his arm. "Stop talking."
Mark gives a little salute as he lies back.
"Are you gonna pretend you can't stay the night?" Chris asks.
Mark cracks open an eye. "Do I do that?"
"Regularly."
"Can't say I'd noticed."
"You say you can't stay the night despite your clothes being sat in the washing machine," Chris says around a yawn.
"Only washed under duress."
"I'm not folding them for you, you'll do that yourself."
"Keep up this tough talk and I'll be ready for round two," Mark leers.
"You live here, you just won't admit it, or help with the rent."
Mark closes his eyes again. "It's getting late, Christian. Need our beauty sleep since we're only getting older."
He hears Chris's soft sigh and ignores how his stomach twists. "Good night, Michael."
***
The next morning, Mark wakes to an empty bed and a text from Simon:
save urself the efort ive won the competition
Very confident there Sharp Mark replies. What nursery rhyme have you ripped off?
none. this is the lead single on the album
I'll be the judge of that.
no u wont, deff will. ur deaf if u disagree
You're really selling this. Hope for your sake you're right.
i no i am Simon responds.
Then I'll wait with baited breath, music maker.
Mark wanders into the living room to find Chris already sat at his desk, poring over a sketchbook.
"Morning," he says. "How's the arse doing?"
"Sore."
"Sorry about that."
"I wasn't complaining."
Wistfully, he grabs his notebook and picks up where he left off. His ideas still look lost on the page, dwarfed by all the white space around them so he doodles cocks and tits for good measure. He's adding wheels and an Audi badge to a particularly hefty cock when he feels Chris watching him.
"I'll start charging if you keep staring."
"How's it going?" Chris asks.
"Wonderfully. I'm already penning tunes for our sophomore album."
"I think it's the distance."
"You think what's the distance?"
"That's the issue you're having. You're trying to write music at arm's length."
"Chris, I'm sure this makes sense to you, but-"
"You're not invested in it."
Mark's brow knits. "I've been writing for half my life. Trust me when I say I'm fucking invested."
"I get that. I'm saying you're stumped because-"
"I'm not stumped. How am I stumped? I've got plenty of ideas!" Mark says, turning the notebook around.
Chris eyes the cock drawin
gs. "It's hard to be creative if you're holding something back. There's got to be a connection between yourself and what you're making."
"So the Motown hit factory lot were sobbing over every tune they cranked out, were they? Must've been really dehydrated."
"Why do you make music?"
Mark snaps brittle plastic off the end of his chewed up biro and piles the pieces on the settee beside him. "I missed when I wandered into an interrogation."
"I'm asking a question, I'm not trying to pry."
"I make music to entertain people. I'm entertaining."
"I guess we have different approaches to creating. I make art to express myself."
"And I make music to make money," Mark says. "Money I can use to chip in for washing powder."
Something like disappointment flits across Chris's face. "I'll stop distracting you then."
"I'm just joking."
"I know, but I'm not. You'll need less drawings of penises and a lot more music if you're going to finish that song by tomorrow."
"Piece of piss," Mark lies as he gnaws on his pen. "I'm full to the brim with great ideas. It's Simon you need to worry about. Brain like a blank page, that guy."
Chris makes a noise of acknowledgement as he goes back to sketching. Mark flicks glances at him but gets no reaction. He resists checking his phone or texting Simon again and makes himself look at his notebook and the mess of crude doodles. With a jolt, he realises that his brain, usually frantic and full of half-baked plans and chord progressions, is unnervingly silent. Heart sinking, he adds dollops of mud to his cockmobile until it's spinning its wheels and sinking.
Chapter 8
Simon
"Oi, you're hogging it!" Simon says, making a grab for the spliff.
Ryan hands it over with a grin. "How's your face doing?"
Simon gives his cheek a pat. "Still there, still gorgeous."
"But can you feel it?"
"Yeah." Simon keeps patting as he hands back the spliff. "Eyes and ears and mouth and nose, all there."
"But you're literally touching it. Like, if I don't touch anything." Ryan pointedly keeps his hands on the shingles. "I can't feel it, I just feel fuzzy."
"That's the codeine. Makes you feel all... like a cloud or something. Like a warm cloud."
"Like a warm cloud that might throw up. I don't know how you scoff so many, I feel sick."
"I don't scoff them," Simon says.
"Scoff or not, we shouldn't drive for a while, we'll end up in the sea."
"Don't need to go anywhere, do we? It's nice and warm out here, we've got snacks and drinks, it's perfect," Simon says, lying back against Ryan's balled up sweatshirt.
He listens to Ryan open another bag of Tangy Toms. Ryan makes short work of them, quickly scrunching the packet and chugging more of their Tango and lager. Simon smiles up at the empty sky, imagining he can see stars or aeroplane lights twinkling.
He glances over at Ryan when he starts laughing. "What's funny?"
"Remembered when we were down here on the beach, with Steph and Mrs Simon Sharp."
He gives Ryan a shove but Ryan laughs harder. "That's not funny."
"Did you ever find out if you gave Amy clap?"
"Drop it, I said it's not funny," Simon mutters before having a swig of Tango.
"Sorry."
He does a double take at Ryan's tone. When he glances at him, Ryan looks genuinely apologetic. He takes the proffered joint while mulling over his reaction.
"You seeing anyone?" he asks Ryan eventually.
"Nah. You know me, I'm free range."
"But you've been shagging?"
"Course I've been shagging, don't worry about that. Haven't heard you fawning over any girls lately though, how come?"
"Cause I'm just shagging too. Can't be bothered with dating anymore, I just bag it up, have my fun then get out."
"Oh yeah?"
"It's way better," Simon says. "I see who takes my fancy at a gig, go back to theirs and leave before the sun comes up."
"You'll be telling your kids that's how you met their mum some day."
"Yeah, right."
Simon watches as Ryan blows smoke rings.
"Reminds me, actually," Ryan mutters after a while.
"What reminds you?"
"Talking about shagging and that. I have sort of..." Ryan smiles as though at someone who's not there. "There's this one girl I keep seeing around."
"Maybe she's stalking you. Better change your name and start fresh in Basildon."
"Fucking no thanks, fate worse than death, that. She's not Looney Tunes, I don't think. Just sort of like me, if I was a bird. She gets out and about, she has fun."
"No wonder you're into her. Does she look like you with tits?"
"I wish. Nah, she's blonde, kinda short. Nice arse, nice tits. Pretty face."
"Sounds good."
"Yeah. Try it on with her and I'll break your cock in two."
Simon forces a smile. "All's fair in love and war. I'll be seeing some supermodel before the year's out, anyway."
"Be sure to tell this supermodel you've got a funnier, more attractive best mate, won't you?"
"Who's this girl?" Simon asks. "Do I know her?"
Ryan looks sheepish. "It's Donna, actually."
Simon gawps. "Donna as in Dirty Donna?"
"How many Donnas do you know?"
"Donna who," Simon mimes jerking off a cock with each hand.
"That didn't really happen."
"So it's an urban legend, like you getting a blowie after our English Lit mocks?"
"I absolutely, one hundred percent got a blowie from Sophie Dalton after our English Lit mocks. She nearly bit me, that's why I looked ashen."
"I thought you looked ill cause you really fucked up the exam?" Simon asks.
"Yeah, that too. It was a rough afternoon all round."
"You're really not joking about being into Donna?"
"Not at all," Ryan says. "She's a laugh."
"Where did you even see her?"
"She's working down the petrol station across from the cemetery. I saw her in there when I went to fill up."
"She give you a handie?"
"Exactly. She pulled me off, right there in the queue, while I was waiting to pay for my unleaded."
"She less of a slapper now? She let herself go or something?"
Ryan frowns at him. "You angry about it?"
"What's to be angry about?"
"I don't know, maybe you liked her back then? I mean we all did, didn't we?"
"Well that's then and this is now. I'm not angry about it."
"If you are, I'm sure she could always." Ryan mimes jerking off.
Simon feels himself flush. "I thought you said she never did that."
"Seeing as it's you, though. I'm sure if you asked nicely she'd be delighted to."
"Fuck off." Simon tries to shake the mental images. "Did she ask about me?"
"I'm actually joking about her wanking you off, you realise?"
"I get that, I just wondered if she'd asked what I'm up to."
"Because it's impossible for people to talk about something that isn't you?" Ryan asks with a lopsided grin.
"I'm not being big-headed."
"You sure about that?"
"I'm just famous, aren't I? I'm your best friend and I'm famous, it's not weird that she'd ask about me, considering."
"Careful you don't float off with that inflated head of yours," Ryan jokes, elbowing Simon. "C'mon, give us another puff. You're hogging it, rock star."
Simon resists humming Who Are Ya while Ryan smokes.
"How's work?" he asks as he runs his fingers through the shingles.
Ryan grimaces. "Oh it's a barrel of laughs, I'll be CEO next week. How about you?"
"You mean aside from wanting to strangle Mark?"
"When don't you want to do that?"
"True," Simon says around chewing his lip. "Nothing new there."
"How's his boyfriend?"
<
br /> "Don't."
Ryan grins. "Can't believe the bloke who tried it on with your girlfriend is gay. And that you're in a band with him."
"What part of don't don't you get?"
"Mrs Collins always said I was slow, didn't she?"
"Yeah and that's why you're working down a warehouse stacking shelves, innit?"
Simon immediately knows he's crossed a line from the way Ryan's mouth thins momentarily before he slaps on a smile.
"That'll teach me, won't it?" Ryan says. "When I'm reincarnated, I'm gonna do all the homework, read all the textbooks and end up some boffin who goes to uni or something."
"Think you'll get another job soon? It'd be good if you stopped working nights."
"Would it? You work nights as well. We'd never see each other if I swapped shifts."
"You could come see me performing if you weren't working so much."
"Watch you look ready to deck Mark for ninety minutes? Tempting, that."
"It's not so bad recently," Simon says unconvincingly. "We're too busy talking to labels to have a proper bust up. No-one's shagged anyone's girlfriend again."
"How about boyfriend?"
Simon splashes him with the rest of his Tango.
Ryan laughs. "Waste of Tango, that!"
Simon tries not to smile when Ryan pointedly slurps some drink off his arm. "Stop going on about Mark."
"Thought he was your favourite topic?"
"How the hell did you think that?"
"Your favourite least favourite topic," Ryan explains. "Like the Hammers."
"How high are you?"
"Don't be difficult, you know what I mean."
"Do I?"
"Course you do. You hate the Hammers because they're always breaking your heart and losing, but you love them because they make your life interesting."
"I don't love Mark. This is a bad..." Simon's brow furrows as he thinks. "You know, like when you compare one thing with another thing?"
Ryan shrugs. "Bet reincarnated boffin me would know what word you mean. Alright, so I used a bad example. Point is, I think your life would be dull without Mark in it."
"I'm in a band, how's that ever gonna be dull?"
"Alright, then get some fit girl on guitar instead. She'd be interesting and something to look at. Maybe I'd be motivated to come watch your poncy music if she was there too."
"We've already got a girl in Deff, we've got Zoe."