[ when the emcee announces corroded coffin β gator's attention snaps to the stage. he watches eddie take his time coming out, all leather hips and parted lips β his smile catches gator, but gator doesn't smile in return. he merely stares, too caught up in the buttons of his jacket and the way his hair falls down to his shoulders. he's pretty, but gator knew that already. the way he stands with that guitar β the songs begin, and gator finds himself glancing around the crowd before he locks eyes with his rockstar.
it's been a few weeks, a few fast, hard fucks. more often than not, they're spending time lately β stargazing, slow sex where they look into each other's eyes, warm bodies wrapped in sheets and blankets as the sun rises. they've stepped past the doorway, from fucking to something else that gator isn't quite sure of. what it is, exactly, he's sure he'll find out β but love is too strong, too much. maybe it is, maybe it isn't β but when gator finds himself transfixed, he knows he's in trouble. he watches eddie's fingers play the chords, watches him make music that gator listens to now. it isn't easy, giving up parts of himself to someone else, but with eddie? it seems possible.
the dedication is sweet, spoken from eddie's lips and into the microphone. the crowd calms as eddie begins, save for a few at the bar that seem to be talking shit. gator maneuvers toward it, but the song stops him in his tracks. it's about yearning β the lyrics hit him in the chest like a slug, so he pauses, glancing up and back at eddie, into his eyes. he sings from the heart, and that causes gator's eyebrows to knit. part of him is struck, winded, unable to form words at the way eddie looks, sounds. another part of him is angry that he's let this become β
the irritation fades as the song comes to a close, the band standing tall, eddie in the middle, staring at him. his fingers twitch, ache, and as he steps forward to try to get backstage β the fight at the bar breaks out. thrown pint glasses, shot glasses, punches. gator makes quick work of stomping toward the bar, then shoves a metalhead's brow into the bartop. he falls, and gator dodges a punch β pig! β before he settles his fist, hard, into the man's gut. he takes on four or five of them, all bleeding and falling, gator spitting onto the floor. he kicks another in the ribs, then notes for the bartender to clean all this bullshit up. they're keeping him from eddie β though the violence feels good, righteous. he blinks back to eddie, chest rising and falling, body tense. ]
( eddie knows this is a work in progress. even if it doesn't scare eddie nearly as much as it might frighten gator, eddie still hesitates. striking up anything with a cop had been a foolish idea from the start. he thought it would stay just sex, figuring that neither of them had the capability of opening up to the other like this.
oh, how wrong he's been. eddie isn't sure when it started becoming some other entity, but it must have been gradual for it to sneak up on eddie. still, he pours everything into the song, as if he were writing it right then and there on stage.
when it's over and eddie retreats off stage, he shouldn't be surprised that gator helped break up a fight. he hears this secondhand, a shake of his unruly mane as he peeks out from behind the door to the backroom where they're keeping the band equipment until it's time to break down the set. he grins as he spots gator, all feral and his. that thought causes eddie's chest to constrict. gator is his...right? he isn't just dreaming all of this up, is he?
he pushes all of these worries away as he pushes the door all the way open so he can saunter out to greet his lover, still holding back despite the song, because god, why do they have to still be in public when all eddie wants to do is plant a long, deep kiss to seal all those plaintive feelings he had been singing about? )
What's this I hear about trouble at the bar? ( eddie asks, leaning across what little space they still have between them. ) Is that what's been keeping you from backstage?
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it's been a few weeks, a few fast, hard fucks. more often than not, they're spending time lately β stargazing, slow sex where they look into each other's eyes, warm bodies wrapped in sheets and blankets as the sun rises. they've stepped past the doorway, from fucking to something else that gator isn't quite sure of. what it is, exactly, he's sure he'll find out β but love is too strong, too much. maybe it is, maybe it isn't β but when gator finds himself transfixed, he knows he's in trouble. he watches eddie's fingers play the chords, watches him make music that gator listens to now. it isn't easy, giving up parts of himself to someone else, but with eddie? it seems possible.
the dedication is sweet, spoken from eddie's lips and into the microphone. the crowd calms as eddie begins, save for a few at the bar that seem to be talking shit. gator maneuvers toward it, but the song stops him in his tracks. it's about yearning β the lyrics hit him in the chest like a slug, so he pauses, glancing up and back at eddie, into his eyes. he sings from the heart, and that causes gator's eyebrows to knit. part of him is struck, winded, unable to form words at the way eddie looks, sounds. another part of him is angry that he's let this become β
the irritation fades as the song comes to a close, the band standing tall, eddie in the middle, staring at him. his fingers twitch, ache, and as he steps forward to try to get backstage β the fight at the bar breaks out. thrown pint glasses, shot glasses, punches. gator makes quick work of stomping toward the bar, then shoves a metalhead's brow into the bartop. he falls, and gator dodges a punch β pig! β before he settles his fist, hard, into the man's gut. he takes on four or five of them, all bleeding and falling, gator spitting onto the floor. he kicks another in the ribs, then notes for the bartender to clean all this bullshit up. they're keeping him from eddie β though the violence feels good, righteous. he blinks back to eddie, chest rising and falling, body tense. ]
no subject
oh, how wrong he's been. eddie isn't sure when it started becoming some other entity, but it must have been gradual for it to sneak up on eddie. still, he pours everything into the song, as if he were writing it right then and there on stage.
when it's over and eddie retreats off stage, he shouldn't be surprised that gator helped break up a fight. he hears this secondhand, a shake of his unruly mane as he peeks out from behind the door to the backroom where they're keeping the band equipment until it's time to break down the set. he grins as he spots gator, all feral and his. that thought causes eddie's chest to constrict. gator is his...right? he isn't just dreaming all of this up, is he?
he pushes all of these worries away as he pushes the door all the way open so he can saunter out to greet his lover, still holding back despite the song, because god, why do they have to still be in public when all eddie wants to do is plant a long, deep kiss to seal all those plaintive feelings he had been singing about? )
What's this I hear about trouble at the bar? ( eddie asks, leaning across what little space they still have between them. ) Is that what's been keeping you from backstage?