Vince catches Tommy with another man. Mustard jars are thrown, and mayhem ensues.
Meanwhile, Vince Neil was growing impatient, and was definitely not amused. Oh,sure, he should be happy – he had a gorgeous, top-heavy blonde on his lap, ready and willing to do basically anything he asked...but the person he wanted and was waiting for right then was nowhere to be found. Yeah, he'd known Nikki to disappear somewhere backstage before a show, sure; that happened on a fairly regular basis. But tonight, Tommy was nowhere to be found. That didn't worry Vince, no – he wasn't Tommy's fucking keeper or anything; it pissed him off. He'd been spending an awful lot of time with Sixx lately, and Vince didn't like it one bit.
He politely – who the hell was he kidding? He nearly shoved her to the floor – pushed the girl off of his lap and stood up, pausing to give his white-blond hair a quick fluff before setting off, hell-bent on finding his boyfriend. Tommy was going to be in some seriously deep shit if he was where Vince thought he was. First thing he did was ask Mick if he'd seen the drummer, but he replied in the negative. Damn.
In his anger, Vince would stop at nothing. He harassed roadies, groupies, and friends, demanding if they'd seen Tommy. But nobody had. Just when he'd been about to give up hope, he heard voices coming from a nearby utility closet. Well, not really voices – but rather moans...moans of pleasure. Vince felt his temper rise – he recognized those moans better than anybody; it was Tommy, damnit! He was able to distinguish the other voice as well, and he wasn't surprised. He could've forgiven Tommy if it had been a groupie – he understood that his boyfriend had other needs that Vince could never completely satisfy; that was a mutual point that they'd both agreed on. Girls were fine, but other men were a whole different story. The singer felt hot tears begin to well up in his warm eyes, and the mixed feelings of anger and disappointment came bubbling up.
He would've wrenched the door open, but why ruin the moment? It was bound to be locked anyway. Besides, catching Tommy alone wouldn't be quite satisfying enough. If anyone knew how to start drama, it was Vince Fucking Neil. No, he would wait until the two traitors came out, smiling as if nothing had happened, Tommy a dead giveaway in his post-makeout stupor. It was then, Vince decided, that he'd call his lover out. The singer returned to the crowd of people backstage, busying himself by grabbing a drink and leaning against the wall by the catering table, sipping it nonchalantly as he waited.
It wasn't long before the happy couple - "Not for long," Vince thought angrily – came out, Sixx fluffing his hair with a smirk on his face, and Tommy with the dazed, glassy-eyed expression that came along with insane arousal. "Oh yeah," the singer thought bitterly, "it looks as if nothing ever happened..." Vince straightened up, slammed his drink down on the table, and glared at Tommy.
"Where were you, baby?" he asked sweetly, raising his eyebrows at the drummer, though he was going to be anything but sweet in a moment. "I've never known you to disappear like that..." His gazed shifted downwards, eyeing his boyfriend's leathers with a mix of annoyance and amusement. His erection was still semi-noticeable, and Vince did all he could not to laugh. It was funny, sure, since Tommy didn't seem to notice the obvious bulge in his skintight pants; but it also pained the singer. He should have been the one to make Tommy hard...not Sixx.
"I was..." the drummer began, nervously wracking his mildly drug-addled brain for an excuse. Something, anything. "I was looking for Loser*; I needed to talk to him about something..." Such a fucking lie. If anyone had needed to talk to Loser, it would have been Nikki. Tommy was being more transparent than a fucking plate glass window.
"The FUCK you were!" Vince half-shrieked, balling his hands into fists, shaking his hair out of his face. His body visibly tightened, his spine straightening as he got in Tommy's face, his hand groping around the catering table, looking for the nearest item he could pitch in the drummer's direction. He pointed a finger in the brunette's face accusingly. "You were back there, in that fucking utility closet, sucking face with Sixx, you fucking SLUT!!" Hot tears welled in the blonde's eyes, and without another word, he grabbed the nearest solid object, which happened to be a jar of Dijon mustard, and hurled in in Tommy's direction in a fit of blind rage.
The drummer's lightning reflexes kicked in instantly as he ducked, the jar missing him by mere inches. However, the glass exploded against the wall behind him, sending shards flying in every direction. One particularly large, sharp piece ricocheted and flew back in Vince's direction, managing to slice his finger so bad that it was gushing blood. The singer cried out in pain, clutching his bleeding hand and yelling out obscenities, most of them directed at Tommy. Mick noticed what was going on and jumped up, quickly running off to find their tour manager.
For Vince, what happened after that became foggy. He because increasingly dizzy as more and more of the bright red blood oozed from his hand, before he finally passed out. When he came to, he found himself in a clean, white hospital room, in a clean, white hospital bed, wearing a clean, white hospital gown. Well, if he'd ever felt out of his element before, it was nothing compared to how he felt then. He sighed and opened his eyes, and frowned at what he saw – there was Tommy, the cheating bastard, holding his hand, muttering to himself...fuck... was he...? Damn, he was...he was crying, for God's sake!
The singer wrenched his undamaged hand away, a scowl placing itself firmly on his pouted lips. Tommy jumped slightly at the sudden motion, and quickly looked up at the singer, his eyes begging for forgiveness. "I don't want your sympathy," the blonde snapped, running the fingers of his unbandaged hand through his hair. "You're an asshole and a slut." Tommy's eyes widened, glimmering with tears as Vince turned his face away, his expression cold and unfeeling.
"Vince," the drummer pleaded, reaching over and grabbing the singer's hand again. "Vince, look at me." The blonde reluctantly turned his head, glaring at Tommy with annoyance. "Babe..." He began nervously, swallowing hard. "I want you to know...I had no idea what I was doing..."
"Bullshit!" Vince shrieked, startling the nurses in the hallway outside his room. "How dare you lie to me like that? 'Oh, I didn't know what I was doing...' BULLSHIT. You knew full well what you were doing in that fucking closet, with that hard-on in your pants and your tongue down Sixx's throat."
Tommy looked as though he had been slapped harshly across the face. "Vinnie," he said softly, his bottom lip quivering as he fought back tears. "I mean it." He held out his arm, his fingers brushing over the skin, resting near the crook of his elbow, on his rose tattoo, in which Vince could just make out thin, faint lines. Track marks.
The singer didn't need to hear anymore. He knew the effects of heroin; he'd seen Nikki and Tommy strung out on it so many times, so he recognized the signs. One would often be possessed to do things that they would never normally do, i.e. cheat on their significant other. Suddenly, he wasn't quite so mad anymore. He knew better than to scold someone for using dope, as that usually lead to disaster, but at least now he knew that he hadn't been intentional cheated on and used.
"C'mere," Vince whispered softly, tears glimmering in his warm eyes as he scooted over in the clean, white hospital bed, patting the spot next to him. Tommy's features contorted into a smile as he got up from his chair and settled himself next to the singer, grabbing his unbandaged hand and linking their fingers together. He sighed contentedly, and turned to press a soft kiss to the blonde's lips. In that clean, white hospital room, in the clean, white hospital bed, they were just two dirty, filthy rock stars. And they wouldn't have wanted it any other way.