I'm also new to FicWad, so please let me know if I'm doing anything wrong. Should I just add to this for each chapter, or are chapters posted as separate "stories"...? I'm sure I'll figure it out; I'm just a bit confused.
Could I Lie Next To You? – Chapter 1 REVISED
Gerard carried the last two words of the song over the audience as it erupted into cheers and whistles. As with each performance, the crowd was wild, climbing over itself in an attempt to force past the barrier and onto the stage. I had to restrain from laughing at all of the girls losing their minds over him; I could vaguely hear a few screaming my name, too, as well as those of the rest of the band.
The show was going like any other. Despite my love for our nightly performances, they were all getting a bit monotonous, both on the crowd’s part and our own. It was at those moments I enjoyed our job the most, though—when I got to improvise.
An opportunity had to present itself… it always did. I just had to wait for the right moment.
And then Gerard fell to the floor, putting his entire being into his singing.
“Can you hear me? Are you with me?”
I bit my lip at the sight of him writhing across the stage, heels pressed into the floor, hips arching up as he ran his hand through his hair and grabbed a fistful. The black suit jacket was spread open about him and the matching pants strained against his legs and pelvis, as did his shirt buttons against his chest.
My fingers twitched; I didn’t have to play at the moment, but I had to do something to keep me from completely losing myself. The screech of the girls increased with every pulse of his body, echoing my own screaming need for him. The only difference was, I had to control mine … or express it in an acceptable way.
I slowly made my way closer to him, careful not to draw attention away from his performance. When all else failed, something like this always helped shock the room to life. And I got to benefit from it in the process.
“Can we pretend… to leave, and then… we’ll meet again…”
My fingers automatically found their way to the next chord in anticipation. Gerard’s chest heaved with each syllable as he emphasized the lines. My blood pulsed in time with his movements, causing me to breathe raggedly through my lips in an attempt to control myself.
“When both... our… cars…”
High arch, squinted eyes. Finally, a limp collapse to the floor with the last syllable —
Striking the chord powerfully, I jumped forward and landed on Gerard, straddling his hips as I played. He looked shocked at first, but recovered quickly and continued to sing with a staged look of orgasmic pleasure. I grinded against him, causing each of his syllables to come out strained, and the purely sexual sound of his voice made the pitch of the female part of the audience increase tenfold.
As always, though, there were mixed reactions. Most of the girls shrieked in excitement and most of the guys didn’t seem fazed. In fact, fewer than usual had horrified looks on their faces, and I was glad to see the number of homophobes in our crowds was dwindling. They had to accept that we were open-minded, or they had to get out.
It wasn’t anything too out of the ordinary for us. Even the sudden hardening in his jeans pressing against my own didn’t startle me; life was lonely on the road and you learned to accept whatever cheap thrills you could find. I grinned down at him, then jumped back up and ran to the other side of the stage, head moving along with the music. A good mouthful of saliva was working its way up and I spit to the side. Damn, what, was I drooling over him now?
I always attributed my sudden urges toward Gerard to be a product of the long tours. Like I said, they were lonely, and living with someone all day, every day, for months, made you extremely comfortable with that person. There were a couple of times I could have sworn Gerard intentionally rubbed against me in the van or on stage when it wasn’t intended for a performance. I had to admit I did the same.
Once, I even walked in on him in the bunk room of the tour bus when he thought nobody was on it. I tried to pass it off as if I hadn’t seen the firm grip of his hand and the way his lips quivered as he breathed. He only reddened and yanked a pillow over himself. Still, I could have sworn there was something in the way we looked at each other, the way my eyes unavoidably returned down his body to the pillow and the way his eyes followed mine, almost invitingly…
Our last song ended just before my wrist began to cramp up, and finally we were backstage. I followed Gerard’s every movement as he chugged down a bottle of water and popped a hard candy into his mouth, working his tongue around it before spitting it out. As he passed by me to grab another bottle, he patted my shoulder as if to say “good job,” letting his fingers glide off it lightly when he pulled away.
By then the crowd was demanding an encore, and we were back on stage for our final song.