His relationship with Jimmy was almost back to the way it had been before the guitarist kissed him. Almost.

There were still subtle nuances in Jimmy’s behaviour that hinted that all was not well. He tended to avoid Robert’s gaze; when the odd instance arose when their lines of sight met, the guitarist bit his lip and glanced away as if he had accidentally looked at something particularly perverted.

It was frustrating – the constant back and forth of emotion ought to have repelled him, but he only found himself wanting the dark-haired man even more.

It was the little things that he started to notice now. Jimmy’s long, slender fingers and the way they seemed to dance across the fretboard of his dragon Telecaster. The dark eyelashes that contrasted his pale skin so perfectly. The soft voice with its slightly dreamy quality.

“Mate?” Bonzo elbowed him. Hard. “You’re staring at some random bloke again.”

Robert bit his tongue in a vain effort to keep from cringing. In order to stop himself from gazing at the guitarist in a fashion that would have made his feelings obvious to even the most unobservant of people, he had taken to looking at random men who possessed both dark hair and a lean figure.

“Well,” he responded, “I am gay.”

“Keep doing that and you’ll be a beaten-up gay.” Bonzo flicked hair out of his face with an irritated hand. “Why can’t you stare at lover boy for a change? And put him out of his misery.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed the way the bloke eyes your package.”

Robert flushed right to the tips of his toes. “Bonz, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick there.”

The drummer crossed his arms over his chest. He looked as if he were out to pick a fight with a Hell’s Angel. “You told me you think he fancies you, too. I’m telling you that I agree. What’s the problem?”

“The problem?” He coughed, nervously. “The problem is that I don’t know how to get through to him. He’s got some…some crazy moods.”

Bonzo chuckled. “Crazy moods, eh? You sure know how to pick them, Percy.”

He flushed harder. “It’s not as if I can control my feelings.”

“For a start, you can try controlling them better than a twelve year old boy.”

Robert huffed, feeling insulted. “If you’re not going to be any help, I think I’ll take myself off for a walk.”

“You do that.” Bonzo had an inch or so of beer left in his mug. He signalled to the waitress for a top-up.

Moodily, Robert stuck a hand in his jacket pocket and extracted a pack of cigarettes. They were terrible for him, and he really ought to consider giving up the habit, but they calmed his racing nerves.

And if there was anything he needed at present it was calm nerves.

Was Bonzo joking? Jimmy – eyeing my ‘package’?

It seemed a most improbable thing for the guitarist to do. After all, he didn’t even want to talk about kissing Robert. Gazing at a certain part of the blond’s anatomy would be putting him far out of his comfort zone.

The familiar pang of disappointment followed this realisation.

Why am I punishing myself? I ought to take up with some pretty bird, marry her and carry out my male duties. That would make Dad happy, Mum happy, my grandparents happy. And I’d love the idea of a son – provided he’s nothing like me.

But, somehow, that vision of the future paled in comparison with the memory of Jimmy’s lips on his.

No, he was too far gone.

“Watch it!”

A man in a pinstripe suit jerked out of his way. He glared, venomously, at Robert’s long hair. “Bloody poof.”

Robert was taken aback at the sheer hate in his voice. “That’s not nice.” he said, somewhat lamely.

“Nice?” the man barked, over his shoulder. “Why the hell should I be nice to the likes of you? You bloody layabouts stuff yourselves full of drugs, expecting us – the hardworking folk – to fund your lifestyle with our taxes. And the worst part,” he continued, spittle flying, “is that I can’t tell if half you blokes are ladies or not!”

It was as if someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head. Or, rather, a bucket of vitriol.

“Look,” Robert said, not really knowing why he was arguing with this man, “you can’t tar us all with the same brush. We’re not hurting anyone, we’re not-”

Thck.

A gob of saliva slid down his jacket. The man in the suit hurried on his way.

Robert blinked, feeling his eyes prick. His breath hitched in his chest. He hadn’t been this close to bursting into pathetic, noisy tears since the time he broke his favourite toy at the age of four.

His feet tugged him on in a different direction. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care.

All he wanted to do was get away – find some kind of sanctuary to curl up in and be lulled back to life.

So, naturally, his feet directed him to the nearest pub.

This was a darker and dingier establishment than the one he’d left Bonzo at. A quick glance discovered that he wasn’t the only long haired male present, and that was mildly comforting. The heavy scent of weed-smoke permeated the air.

All in all, it wasn’t too bad a place to get pissed at.

One pint in, the sharps shards of the insult that had been lobbed his way were beginning to sting less. Two pints in, they were little more than an irritating throb now and then. Three pints in, he started feeling at peace with the world. Four pints in, he was definitely over his limit.

Feeling nausea building at the back of his throat, he threw caution to the winds and ordered a fifth pint.

The barkeep glowered at him. “I think you’ve had enough, mate.”

“Nah…haven’t had nuff.”

“Well, I say you have and this is my pub so my word goes.”

Robert glared right back at him – albeit in a somewhat cross-eyed fashion. “I’s nosing a half break.”

“You’re nursing a heartbreak? I can’t do owt about that, but it’s time for you to leave.”

Bottom firmly plastered to the chair, the blond stared moodily at his empty beer-mug.

“I’m being nice, ’cause you seem like a decent fellow, but I don’t want no trouble in here. If you’ve had a drop too much, it’s time to go.”

His words elicited not the faintest reply.

“Look, mate, can I call someone to pick you up?”

For some reason, this made Robert giggle. For an even more imperceptible reason, he gave the barkeep Jimmy’s Pangbourne number.

“Alright.” The barkeep shuffled over to the telephone, one eye firmly fixed on the blond.

Robert was far too drunk to estimate how much time passed before an irate Jimmy burst through the doors of the pub. “Pagey!” he called out, affectionately.

Jimmy muttered under his breath in annoyance and exchanged a few words with the barkeep. Agitated gesturing ensued.

Finally, heaving a sigh, as if the woes of the world had been piled onto his shoulders, he walked up to Robert’s table. “There’s a cab waiting outside. Can you walk?”

Robert tried to get to his feet and found that the ground swayed unpleasantly under him.

“Ok.” Jimmy breathed another sigh. “Lean on me, then.” He tucked an arm around the blond’s waist.

Giggles escaped from the corner of Robert’s mouth. He lurched towards the guitarist and ended up burying his face in masses of dark hair. “You smell good.”

Jimmy huffed, navigating them towards the doors. “And you smell like a brewery.” he snapped.

“Don’t be like that.” Robert mumbled into his neck. “You’re very nice sometimes. I like nice Jimmy. I like nice Jimmy a lot. I lo-”

“Made it.” Now breathing a sigh of relief, as opposed to one of irritation, the guitarist signalled to the cabbie to open the car door and help him stuff Robert in.

Robert, meanwhile, was enjoying his little adventure very much. The smell of Jimmy’s Pantene shampoo and the subtle scent of his aftershave were especially delightful to his olfactory senses. “Your place or mine?” he mumbled, sprawled out in the back of the cab.

“Mine.” Jimmy replied. “I don’t trust you not to kill yourself.”

“Aw.” Drunk as he was, Robert couldn’t stop the huge grin creeping across his face. He wrapped his arms around the guitarist’s waist, his head slumping onto Jimmy’s lap.

“Where to?” he heard the cabbie say, before darkness descended and he fell into the arms of Morpheus.

🦋

I am so sorry for the extra long wait between chapters! Life has picked up at an alarming rate and I just don't have as much time as I used to.

Have no fear, though - I'm not giving up on this fic (I love it way too much for that).

Annia. 💕