Erik had left, probably back to his own bed after Vince woke up, or growing the balls to snatch a blanket from him. Tommy yawned, and rolled onto his back, willing sleep onwards. That didn't happen, unfortunately, and he found himself thinking about Nikki again. His chest tightened, and he felt his eyes pinch. He took a shaky breath in and sat up, trying not to cry.
He fumbled around in the small nightstand next to his bed until his hand found a picture of Nikki that Tommy had found in an old magazine and ripped out to bring on tour with him. He held it up to his face, and saw how miserable Nikki looked just by looking at his eyes. He was smiling in the picture, but his eyes revealed a deep pain, a pain nobody would ever understand.
His head started spinning, so he put the picture back in the drawer and got up. The bus was moving again, no doubt on the way to Houston. Tommy saw Vince passed out next to Mick; Vince had gotten pissed one night so he threw his mattress out the door while the bus was driving. Erik was sleeping on his small mattress in the corner, curled up like a dog.
Tommy liked to watch Erik sleep, since he looked so innocent. He wasn't smiling, shockingly, but rather looked, in an odd sense, lost. Tommy walked up to his bed and kneeled down. Erik would occasionally whimper or tense his body up in his sleep, and after half an hour of watching him, Tommy clambered back into his own bed and let his thoughts consume him.
Sleep would not come upon him, no matter how hard he tried to persuade it. Angry, he got out of his bed and picked up the whiskey next to his bed and chugged it all back. His head started to feel a little cloudy, and he decided to go watch Erik again. He was still sleeping in a fetal position, whimpering slightly. Tommy walked up to him, but accidentally hit his head against Erik's.
Erik jumped. "Shit, Tommy! You scared me," Erik said, rubbing his head. Tommy saw the pain in Erik's eyes. It shocked him; it looked just like the pain in Nikki's eyes in that photo he had. "What's the matter with you? You keep whimpering and wincing in your sleep. You're unnaturally happy and you never talk about your childhood when we ask you about it. What happened in your life, bro?" Tommy asked. Erik frowned, and looked at his hands.
"Alcoholic parents, product of a broken home, Y'know, the norm," Erik mumbled. He was obviously hiding something.
"Okay. Whatever. That's not what happened at all. My parents were together until I was sixteen. My father was not fit to be a father at all. He pretty much drank all night and slept all day, he didn't work. He left everything up to my mom, and he would just sit in the other room while she parented us.
Shortly before I hit puberty, when I was eleven, my father started hitting me. Not normal disciplinary hitting, but shit like taking kitchen chairs and whipping me in the back with them, taking baseball bats and whacking my head with it, and the like. I tried to tell my mom he was doing this shit, but she was convinced it wasn't anything serious, just a little scuffle between drunken dad and young son.
She never fucking talked about it with him, and he kept getting even more violent. The last time he hit me I was thirteen, and it wasn't really a hit. He took a kitchen knife and whipped it at me. It sliced my arm, and I still have a fucking scar. He left me alone until I was fourteen, and once I had fully gone through the beginnings of puberty, he started raping me.
My mom worked the night shift when I was a teenager, and I usually watched my little brother and two little sisters. I'd put them to bed at eight, and my father would have his way with me around ten or eleven when he would wake up from his drunken stupor and had a few good drinks in him, even if I was already sleeping. He'd fucking crawl into bed with me and just fucking stick his dick into me. The first time it happened I couldn't stop screaming and begging him to stop, so every time after that he'd shove a dirty sock or something else into my mouth and rape me while tears just poured out of my eyes.
I told my mom after the first time it happened and she told me to stop trying to get attention and to go make lunch for my siblings while she slept off her night at work. I told her a few consecutive times after that, but she never fucking believed me. Not once. That's why I hate it today when people accuse me of lying when I fucking didn't, because I did not lie about what that man did to me.
I waited until my little sister was thirteen, so she could look after the other ones, until I left the house. I was sixteen. I stopped going to school, well, I had stopped when I was twelve because I couldn't focus. I got enrolled into a special school for kids with hyperactivity, but I never showed up. I took my bottles of Ritalin and sold them for pot so I could fade away and not have to remember the nights my father abused me physically and sexually.
I started self harming. I would burn myself with my joints, cigarettes, and lighters. Most of the scars are gone today, but there's still a few huge ones. My mom realized that I was indeed being raped when she walked in on Suzie, the thirteen year old, being raped by my father. She felt so guilty after that, and divorced him. She took the kids and moved into an apartment, and begged me to come back. I wanted nothing to do with her. So I just told her to fuck off, and basically just became a bum.
Suzie and I both had Chlamydia because of that motherfucker. We were both treated. Unfortunately, that asshole got my fucking sister pregnant. She immediately had an abortion, but since the rapes she's been a mute. She only talks to me, and occasionally my mother. I met up with my father when I was eighteen and I beat the piss out of him. He was then sentenced to ten years in prison for multiple counts of rape on two minors, and he also got seven more years for multiple counts of abuse. I spent eighteen months in jail for assault, and I don't regret a thing. I was released eight months early for good behavior. I hope I never see that motherfucker ever again in my life.
I'm twenty seven now, and there's not a fucking day that goes by that I do not think about what that man put me and my siblings through. I hide my pain with obnoxious giddiness and happiness. When I play my bass, I pretend it's my father's face. I rip the shit out of the notes, and you can literally see the pain and anger pouring out of both me and the guitar. That's how I get my aggression out, by playing my bass. I don't want to ever lay a hand on anybody else like I did to my father back when I was eighteen.
I don't ever want to see people in pain, like pain I was subjected to unwillingly as a child. When I see you hurting about Nikki, it kills me inside because I just want you to be happy. That's why I stick around you a lot, so I can cheer you up if you get down. It's messed me up for life, what happened in my childhood.
I wince and whimper in my sleep because I have nightmares of being raped and abused by him. Every time I close my eyes I see his goddamn face. It's just not fair," Erik ended with angry tears dropping from his eyes. He punched the mattress he was sitting on and put his head in his hands, unable to control the mass of tears pouring out of his eyes.
Tommy felt so bad. He had never seen Erik like this. He was always so fucking upbeat... Tommy sat down next to Erik and hugged him, and Erik buried his face into Tommy's chest, soaking his shirt after a while. Tommy kept his hands around Erik, and murmured soothing words into his ears. After a while, Erik started to calm down, and he crawled into Tommy's lap.
"I'm so sorry, Tommy. I'm so sorry," Erik whispered. His voice was hoarse. "I'm so sorry for crying like that. I never cry." Tommy softly kissed Erik's forehead. "It's alright, Erik. Sometimes we all just need to cry. If you need to, you can cry all you want. I won't make fun of you. You didn't make fun of me when I was crying about Nikki. How could I make fun of you at all? You went through hell."
Erik rested his head on Tommy's shoulder. He looked into Tommy's eyes with his puffy, red eyes. "And to make it worse, I'm in love with someone who will never love me back."
Tommy looked confused. "What are you talking about? Who do you love?"
Erik wiped his eyes. "You."
Tommy's heart leapt. "You do?"
Erik nodded sheepishly. "It's stupid. I mean for one you're probably not even into guys other than Nikki, and two you're probably not into anyone since Nikki died. And you'd probably never like somebody as awkward as me."
Tommy rubbed the back of Erik's matted hair. He leaned down and touched his lips to Erik's. His lips were stiff for a moment, before he realized Tommy was serious, and relaxed into the kiss Tommy was giving him. Tommy reached down and grabbed at Erik's boxers, and started groping his cock. Erik breathed out shakily. "Tommy..." Erik murmured. Tommy put his finger to Erik's lips and pulled Erik's pants down. "It's alright," Tommy coaxed quietly. He placed a reassuring kiss on Erik's lips. Tommy could tell Erik was scared, probably still scarred from what his father did to him.
Tommy looked down at Erik's cock, which was already hard. He bent down and wrapped his lips on the tip of Erik's erection. Erik started to pant. "T-Tommy.. don't stop..."
Tommy bobbed up and down on Erik's cock, making himself choke a few times. Erik started to sweat, and moan even more. "Fuck, Tommy. Fuck. Suck me faster," Erik moaned into Tommy's ear. He could feel the bliss Erik was experiencing with every bob of his head. Tommy picked up speed, and soon Erik was screaming. "Fuck, Tommy. Don't stop, fuck me harder Tommy, oh God!" Tommy felt Erik start to cum, and he took Erik deeper in his mouth. He felt Erik's cum slide down his throat, and once he was done, took his mouth off of Erik's cock. "And there's no way I'd love you, huh?" Tommy chuckled into Erik's ear. They kissed once more, and fell asleep in each others arms.
A/N - Boy, do I love me some slash. Hope you fuckers enjoy. :D