Part the Tenth

Thom had a vague idea of where Wesley was taking him even before he was pushed across the upright piano in the front room. Wesley was draped over his back, chest heaving as though he had just run a mile, hissing in his ear.

“Tell me you don't want this.”

Thom writhed under the weight of the larger man, trying to turn to see his face. “I want this.” And he realised that he wasn't lying, either – he did want this, had wanted it almost from the first moment he'd laid eyes on Wesley, even if he hadn't known it at the time.

“No.” Wesley was shoving the dressing gown up over Thom's hips, dragging down his shorts, using the force of his own body to hold him still. “Tell me you don't want this. Or I'll stop.”

Thom braced his hands against the dark wood, smooth and cool under his palms, and pushed back into the heat of Wesley's groin. “I... I don't want it,” he gasped, feeling the other man's bare skin pressing up against the back of his thighs. Wesley gave a satisfied hum and Thom heard him spitting into his palm, before two fingers, barely slickened by a coating of saliva, slipped inside him. Wesley wasn't gentle, and Thom jerked away at the sensation, succeeding only in grinding his erection into the edge of the keyboard lid as Wesley's fingers twisted and tugged. His other hand wound into Thom's hair, still damp and a little fluffy from the shower he'd had before he went to bed; he clutched at it, wrenching Thom's head back roughly, and when Thom felt the blunt head of his cock pushing up against him before pressing slowly inside, Wesley's mouth was there at his neck, kissing and then biting before sucking the pain away.

The burn of suddenly overstretched muscles was something Thom had been prepared for; he might have been a novice to this, but wandering hands in the dead of night in the privacy of his own room had taught him what to expect. What he hadn't anticipated was the crushing sense of being possessed, completely taken over, offering up the most intimate parts of himself – both mentally and physically – with no control over what might happen next. He was used to feeling small and powerless, but this was overwhelming, and Wesley made sure he was fully aware of it; that warning hand in his hair which drew him back in an awkward arch, Wesley's pearly teeth nipping along his skin and surely leaving their mark as he worked his way down from Thom's jaw to his collarbone, and the other large hand on his hip which gripped him hard enough to bruise. He could feel every rigid inch of the other man's cock as it sank deep into him, until Wesley's own hips rested against him and the tremors that racked his body shuddered through Thom's as well; and the slow, irresistible pull as he drew back again was almost unbearable.

“Tell me to stop,” hissed Wesley, thrusting home hard; Thom felt as though he was suspended between worlds, Wesley's hands and his cock the only things anchoring him to reality, and he could only mewl incoherently as Wesley's hot breath brushed past his ear.

“I c... don't...” He let out a desperate whine as Wesley's fingernails dug viciously into his skin and he slipped all the way out; it hadn't been what he wanted to hear.

“Tell me to stop.” The voice was cold, imperious, and he moaned weakly.

“Please... stop...”

He could almost sense Wesley's smile as he sank back inside and began to move immediately, changing the angle so that he was driving hard into Thom's prostate with each powerful thrust. The flash of pleasure was something Thom hadn't expected, sharp enough that he momentarily lost his breath, and he cried out, the sound immediately stifled as Wesley let go of his hair and clapped one hand over his mouth. His arm moved up to wrap around Thom's waist, pulling him up until Wesley's chest was pressed against his back and Thom's legs would have slid out from under him if he wasn't held upright as Wesley bucked into him, losing the rhythm he'd started to build. Thom heard him grunt, his body trembled, and then the warmth of Wesley's release filled him; and together their legs gave way and they both sank to the floor, Wesley still clinging to Thom's body like a lifeline.

He was still trying to catch his breath when Wesley slid out of him, still thick and hard and unsatisfied even after he'd come. The warmth trickled down Thom's thighs, making him feel thrillingly debauched and filthy – it was a rush, better than anything he'd ever experienced, even if Wesley had done nothing for him. He pulled his shorts back up, trying to ignore the brush of fabric over the head of his agonisingly sensitive cock, and extricated himself from Wesley's grasp, turning to examine the younger man's face.

He could get a better look now. The left corner of Wesley's lower lip was split, the blood staining his bared teeth as he breathed heavily. His nose was also bloody, and a bruise was blossoming on his cheekbone, matching the fresh ones across his knuckles. It appeared as though he'd been in a fight. Bright red scratches, similar to those Thom had seen on his arm before, marred the side of his neck, disappearing below his collar.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He reached out to turn Wesley's face towards him, but Wesley batted his hand away and shakily zipped up his trousers, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing.” His voice was slightly slurred, and when Thom ducked his head down to peer into his eyes, he could see that the younger man's pupils were blown; almost none of the blue in them was visible at all.

“You've taken something,” he realised. “Um – fuck – stay there, I'll, um, call an ambulance or something...”

But Wesley was already scrambling to his feet, swaying a little as he attempted to stay upright. “I'm fine. Just need to get home.”

“Well let me call you a taxi, at least,” Thom said desperately, catching hold of Wesley's arm as he made for the door; but Wesley simply shook him off, nearly knocking him over, wrenched the door open with fumbling fingers and stumbled out into the night. Thom hovered on the doorstep, wondering whether he should go after him, but Wesley had already vanished around the corner of the street and Thom had no idea where he was going.

Running a shaking hand through his hair, he went back inside and headed for the shower again.

---

He didn't go back to the Club for the rest of the week.

At first he told himself that it was because he had too much to do before they went back on tour. It was partly true; Colin was always on at him about not leaving his packing until the last minute, but he always did. This time, he folded all his clothes and sorted them out into piles according to garment and colour, realised he had far too much stuff that he didn't wear, took two sacks of old clothing to the charity shop, packed and repacked his suitcase to make sure that everything fitted in at perfect neat angles, and found four t-shirts that he'd appropriated from Jonny over the past couple of years which he vowed to return. When he could be bothered. When he could face Jonny again without wondering whether Wesley's story had been true after all.

Then he told himself that it was because he wanted to avoid Wesley. From his experience, it was as though the other man practically lived at the Club: if Thom set foot there, he was bound to bump into him sooner or later, and he simply wasn't ready for that. After Wesley had left his house that night, Thom had almost run for the shower, shucking off his clothes as he went, shut himself into the cubicle, and as he'd washed Wesley's come from his thighs with a damp flannel and winced at the soreness he encountered as a rough reminder of what had happened, he'd vowed to himself that he wasn't going to let it happen again. And if he'd slipped his fingers inside himself, pressed his forehead to the cool tiles and brought himself to a swift but devastating climax with his own hand, it was only because Wesley had left him hanging after taking his own pleasure. Wesley hadn't come back to the house, hadn't called him; and Thom hadn't called him either, too afraid of confronting what they had done.

And finally, he admitted to himself that it was because he was terrified of seeing Colin in that environment again.

They had several more practices over the course of the week, and whether Jonny intended it or not, his flirtation hadn't decreased in its intensity. Rehearsal was a chore for Thom now, rather than something he could enjoy as they got better and better; the sound of his engine cutting out as he pulled up in the car park outside the studio was now something he dreaded more than anything else. If anything, Jonny had stepped up his approach; he found every excuse to speak to Thom, to corner Thom in the room after everyone else had left and ask him inane questions that he clearly already knew the answers to, to stand close to Thom while they were playing and to touch him between songs. It was the physical contact that Thom could bear the least, in part because it made him feel like he was going to snap any second and just do what his body was screaming for, and also because of the way Colin was always watching, like a hawk, in the background. If he'd acted on his threat and told Jonny about Wesley and Thom, Jonny apparently didn't care one bit, and Thom was reduced to an almost teenage state of frustrated wanking late at night, teeth sunk into the back of his free hand to stifle his moans as though there was anyone else in the building who could hear him.

He could have cried when it was agreed by general consensus that their Monday afternoon run-through would be the last before they left for Leeds early on Wednesday morning. Nearly a day and a half in which he would be Greenwood-free was something that at that point he could only take as the greatest relief. The rehearsal went better than any of them had gone so far; Thom was happy enough that he barely noticed whether Jonny was flirting with him or not, and if Colin was still inexplicably angry with him, then he was hiding it well. To Thom's surprise, Jonny didn't hang around after the session as he usually did to torment Thom; in fact, he was gone almost before Phil had put down his drumsticks. Ed mumbled something about Hallowe'en pumpkins and disappeared after him, and Phil, taking one glance between Thom and Colin, followed soon after, leaving the pair of them alone.

“I haven't seen you at the Club lately,” Colin said casually, shrugging off his bass and placing it carefully on its stand. “Have you decided to back out on our arrangement?”

Thom stared at him, not expecting to defend himself so soon. “I – of course not. I've just had... well, you know, a lot of things going on. Packing. Getting someone to feed the cat while I'm away.”

“You don't have a cat,” Colin pointed out.

“Well, if I did have one I'd have sorted that out by now.”

Colin gave him a fond grin, which left Thom unprepared for what he said next. “So it's got nothing to do with you staying away from Wesley? You've let him fuck you, I'm surprised you're not running after him, begging for more.”

Thom blinked. “I... how do you know that?”

Colin smiled serenely. “I talk to people.”

“So you mean Wesley told you,” Thom shot back, and then he thought of something else Wesley had told him. “Well, you've fucked him, so why isn't he running after you? Are you just a crap shag?”

He regretted it almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Colin suddenly went very, very still, like a fox spotting a rabbit, and fixed Thom with a cold stare. “Wesley told you that?” he said quietly, his voice switching from genial to dangerous in the blink of an eye.

“He's told me a lot of things,” Thom said cryptically.

Colin nodded slowly. “I see.” He seemed to shake himself, and then waved one hand dismissively, shrugging. “Anyway. Regardless of the sweet nothings Wesley's been whispering in your ear... I'd very much appreciate it if you were at the Club tonight. Nine o'clock sharp, and wear your new suit; you'll want to look your very best, I promise. And, if you decide you'd rather not show...” Thom held his breath expectantly; that had been exactly what he was contemplating. “Then the deal is off. I'll let you make your own choice, but I think you know what to do.”

And that was very unfair, Thom thought, as he watched Colin put away his bass. He had only one option left.