Just Love Me Already

Throwing my mic to the floor I span on my heel and marched to the side of the stage, leaving the crowd of four thousand or so screaming teenagers behind me. Within seconds I was enveloped in a hug, the familiar scent of leather and hair moose wafting my senses as I returned it signalled that it was Ian whose arms were draped around me.

“Good show,” he grinned, releasing me and throwing the same comment to the rest of the band as they filed off.

I smiled back, pleasantly surprised by his appearance here. It was quite sweet really, Ian hadn’t been back in the UK long, and hadn’t even mentioned Give It A Name when we’d spoken, never mind the fact he was coming to watch.

“How the fuck did you get past security?” Gavin joked, running a hand through his hair.

“Nice to see you too, Butler,” Ian rolled his eyes before taking my hand and leading me through a door to the backstage area. Something seemed a bit off about him; I’m sure it was all good intentions for him to come and see us play, especially since we were further up the festival’s bill than we’d ever expected but I could tell it wasn’t the only reason he was here.

“Ian?” I asked while we ascended the stairs up to the joint dressing room we shared with all the other bands here tonight. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m here for you, hon,” he smiled, feigning a cheery tone as he waited for me to open the door and go in.

I decided not to push it, he obviously didn’t want to talk about what was wrong, and there is no point in trying to get something out of Ian Watkins when he’s not willing. It ends badly. Grinning back I went into the room and was greeted by the smell of sweat and takeaways that comes from twenty active men jumping up and down too much and needing speedy refuel.

A tour roadie from another band was at one of the large windows of the room, shouting down to the fans that lined up outside trying to get people to come outside. It was quiet sweet really, I knew that some people had been here since morning and were now hanging around, missing other bands, just to get a signature or a hug from someone.

That doesn’t mean I’m going out and getting my crotch grabbed again though. Especially not now, I don’t often show it but I’m bloody knackered after getting offstage. It’s hard shouting at people and shaking your hips for a living.

Yeah, even I know I’m fabricating this a bit, I love it. It’s just sometimes being gang raped by mad teenage girls, and boys, who want your babies and steal your shoes needs mental preparation. Also, I wanted to hang about with Ian before he gets gang raped too, especially when he’s in an awkward mood like this.

Popping my head out the window and waving at a few random fans, some I recognized, others I didn’t, just to keep them keen was necessary before I collapsed on a sofa and gazed up at Ian.

“You sure you’re ok?” I prodded. “You’re not saying much.”

“Yeah, yeah. It was a long journey and all…bit tired.”

“Aw,” I pulled him to sit next to me and rested my head on his shoulder. “You didn’t have to come, I’m glad you did, but y’know.”

He slowly put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed lightly, not replying in the way he sometimes does, showing that he took what I said in but not really having anything to say about it. I wasn’t really sure where I stood with Ian. It’s not often people do. The lucky, Fearne Cotton and the like, knew that Ian was theirs for a period of time, that he doted on them entirely and that they were his and visa versa…but I’d never had any such conformation.

It was all best friend sort of play. A few cuddles, stray kisses, acting up for the cameras and maybe a friend-with-benefits fuck here and there but nothing solid. It was common knowledge I liked him. Everyone knew. Hell, even the fans are catching on that I don’t just look at him that way because I like his hair. He’s Ian Watkins. The one and only, complete with long dark hair and seductive glare…it was something I couldn’t resist. For years, it had been the same, but I never had a clue if the feelings were returned.

Matthew reckoned so, but then again, Matthew thought the phrase “prima donna” referred to Madonna’s teenage years.

I don’t even know if I should bother anymore, it seems recently that Ian Watkins has much better things to do than me.

Slipping from his grip I started to wander around the room, watch as people filed in and out, some of them going to the window and talking to those that waited down below in the alley while others drank themselves silly. Gavin and other liver-punishers were soon giggling and joking, mucking about with a broken Rubik’s Cube and signing shoes, it was a common sight, to be honest. Almost boring.

“Hey, come here,” Ian finally piped up over by the window. I strolled away, flicking Rhys off of me and stood at his side as he pulled something out of a bag. “D’you like it?”

He held up a black t-shirt with a design I recognized from a scrap of paper I’d left on his coffee table months ago. The only thing I’d really found myself good at drawing was landscapes, city scenes and skyscrapers. ’We Are The Dynamite’ and ’The Best In Town’ both had images of buildings in them, I found it easy to draw all the little windows and doors over and over. This drawing had been no different, just another cityscape.

I grinned, admiring the finish of the t-shirt and pointing at the Made In Hell logo at the bottom in awe. “Seriously? Didn’t I draw this?”

“Yeah, I noticed it a while ago, I think you were just doodling…but I really liked it,” he told me, lowering the shirt and placing it back in his bag. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No!” I laughed, slapping his arm lightly. “Course I don’t, I think it’s great. A bit silly, considering you could make something like…out of this world and you just used some silly squiggle of mine. But it’s great.”

Ian flashed me a smile, deciding to instead look out of the window rather than concentrate on what I said. He could have taken it the wrong way, which happens to me a lot, but I didn’t intend it like that. I sighed a little, deciding to join him in paying attention to a few more people outside before turning away and doing a few circuits of the room.

I could feel Ian watching me as I did so; his eyes pinned on my every movement while I paced about like a caged animal. Realising this, I quickly stopped and sat on the edge of a dressing table, looking at my feet rather than anything else. Sometimes I think Ian doesn’t tell me he’s turning up at shows because of this, he’d have to be blind not to notice I act a bit different if he’s around. It’s happened before, where I know he’s there and suddenly I’m rather not putting my all into the show, too distracted by him or worried I’ll fuck up, or going all out and acting like a total slut in hopes he’ll get turned on.

He just makes me nervous sometimes. He’s always so composed in everything he does. He can make falling flat on his face look elegant if he wants to, laughing it off as “one too many cokes I think, lads!” so it’s just another Watkins story. Ian just seems so out of reach, like I’ll always just be looking up to him and wanting something I can’t have.

I felt him stroke my arm lightly, toying with a strand of hair that fell over my cheek.

“Quit looking all pouty,” he teased quietly, poking under my chin so I looked up. “You’ll make me feel bad.”

“Quit making me then,” I replied shortly, jerking my head away.

Taking heed of the eyes that were suddenly upon us, Ian shifted in front of me so not only could the room couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see them. He completely obstructed my vision other than the mirror at my side, which only showed the side of my face and the opposite wall anyway.

“What?” He asked in a hushed voice, looking down at me with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“Nothing. Leave it.”

“Nah, come on. Don’t brush it off, I want to know,” Ian told me, the usual authority ridden tone he can adopt so easily slipping into his words.

“Stop being such a hypocritical bastard then. It’s fucking obvious you’re here for a reason, and you’re being all mysterious and private about it. You won’t tell me what’s wrong, so I’m not telling you what’s wrong.”

It wasn’t until the words were out of my mouth that I realised how childish they sounded. Throwing it off with a shake of my head I attempted to slip through the narrow gap between him and the wall, but he blocked me off.

“Do you like me?”

I stared up at him, bewildered. I don’t know what it was; the sudden question, or the fact that it was so blatantly obvious I loved the man and he couldn’t see it that got to me.

Meeting his eyes made me blush and I quickly looked down, curling my body away from his slightly, not knowing what to do. Did I say “no” and lie to him…and myself…or say “yes” and make a total tit out of myself in front of half of tonight’s line up?

Ian slid his hand from the wall over my shoulder, slowly letting it cascade down my chest as he leant towards me, lips close to the lobe of my ear, breath tickling it as he spoke.

“Do you like it when I do this?”

His fingers slipped smoothly into the waistband of my jeans, immediately provoking my natural response to push my hips out to him. Suddenly realising what he was doing, I shook my head. I didn’t want him toying with me like this, not again, it just made it worst.

“No, Ian…don’t.”

“What about this?”

Ian grinned wickedly, pulling his hand from my jeans and pushing it up under my t-shirt. His long fingers suddenly started tickle me, poking and prodding as he stroked the sensitive skin of my sides. A loud squeal left me, making most of the room cringe at the sudden sound as I bolted away from Ian and threw myself around the room.

Darting after me he kept tickling at any part of me he could before shoving me onto the sofa and pinning me there. Climbing on top of me, he straddled my waist and took a hold of my wrists before leaning down and pressing his lips onto mine.

Surprised by the quick change of direction, it took a while for me to catch up, having to submiss to his controlling tongue without even having a chance to get the better of him. As our breath coiled around the others I could hear wolf whistles around me, a few nervous giggles mixing in and maybe even a flash of a camera, apparently I wasn’t the only one in shock.

His lips pecked hungrily at mine a few times before drawing back an inch and holding my face close to his. I opened my mouth to ask what made him do that but got distracted as his hand slipped up my thigh and groped my crotch quickly.

I moaned on impulse, causing a few startled Americans to blink in confusion and leave before things got any weirder during their time in good old Britain. William Beckett was one of which whose eyes widened and quickly headed for the door. Even in this compromising position I couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh, come on William…I know you wanna join in.”

Of course he didn’t, he was already apart of a happy little family, the boy just had such a sweet look about him and was so easily freaked out I couldn’t help but mess with him.

“No thanks, Sean…see you around,” he babbled while throwing open the door.

“Think of the slash names, Will! Smeckett! It’s great!” I shouted after him as he dashed out of the door, laughter decorating my voice.

It was no use; this would probably be his lasting impression of me. I’m not really sure what the impression really was though, I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, and Ian was the fault of this.

“What?” the devil asked, stroking a stray finger down my face. “You’re more interested in Beckett now? Messing me about?”

“Messing you about? Ian…you’ve just jumped from being pissy, to tickling me, to snogging my face off…you’re not exactly keeping on the same track here.”

He shrugged quickly, watching his hands as the glided down my top. “I thought you liked it when I shook things up.”

“I do…but…Ian…I don’t know if I’m coming or going with you. You’re never straight with me.”

A small laugh fell from his lips, making me grin at the sound of it. “It’d be a bit hard to be straight with you”

This was exactly my point, he was dancing around the subject again, yet nonetheless I smiled. As annoying as it can be, never knowing how to be with someone, especially someone so complex and awkward, you can’t help but fall in love with them. Ian’s not simple, but I wouldn’t want him to be, I get worried, confused and infuriated by the way he messes with my head but at least he’s interesting. He’s someone you want to love.

“Come on,” I said, gently pushing at his waist. “We’ll go back to the hotel.”

He nodded slowly and moved off of me, tidying his shirt, grabbing his bag and leaving the room immediately, making me jump to catch up with him. Slipping around the back of the building we left without any interruption, it seemed most of the fans had left or were around the side, waiting for the headliners to come meet them rather than us. Ian and I walked pretty much in silence across Brixton to the Travelodge where me and the rest of the band were staying, Ian mainly following me since he didn’t know where we were actually going.

I was sure that a few times his fingers flicked towards my hand, as if he meant to take it, then changing his mind and scrunching up his hair or ploughing them deep into his pockets. I watched my feet as we walked, my face screwing up slightly as I tried desperately to understand what was going on.

He really was just messing with me, wasn’t he?

I sighed heavily and headed through the reception of the hotel without a backwards glance at Ian. The silence between us only got colder once we got into the room that Gavin and I were sharing, I hadn’t really thought this through. I reckoned that bringing us here would mean we could calm down and things would be less awkward with us on our own…but that wasn’t the case. There was no one about to distract us. Nothing to take our minds away from the fact that something was going on, whether the other liked it or not.

“I’m gonna have a shower,” I finally commented, heading for the bathroom as he sat on the edge of the bed, fiddling with his watch.

Closing the door heavily, I rested against it, closing my eyes and slipping down the wood in that defeated manner people do in the movies before they cry. I didn’t cry, I don’t think I could. I didn’t even know what I would be crying about, nothing made sense, and it wouldn’t fix anything.

“Sean?” Ian’s voice came from the other side of the door. I didn’t reply, instead kicking off my shoes, not sure what I even had to say to him anymore. It just hurt. “It’s ok. If you like me, it’s ok.”

“It’s not ok!” I blared suddenly, ripping my t-shirt from my torso as if it was the materials fault. My eyes found that of my reflection and glared, the angry hazel orbs meeting with each other and scowling defiantly, not even daring to glance away. “How the fuck is this ok?!”

“Because I like you too.”

The scowl turned to a confused sneer, a common pose I would use for photos, only this was genuine. I was dumbstruck, my stomach seemed to lurch beneath my flesh, my throat bubbling slightly before I could speak. I couldn’t take him messing me about anymore.

“No you don’t! Don’t…fucking lie about that. It’s not funny,” I snapped, toeing off my socks as I turned from the mirror.

“I never said it was funny,” Ian continued calmly from the other room, sounding close to the door than before. “It’s not a lie, Sean. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, you would! You’re always screwing with my head. I never have a clue if you even want to be around me. You’re sweet one second; then you bugger off to LA for months without telling me. I don’t know where I stand with you.”

“I…Sean, open the door.”

I ignored him, going to the shower and switching on the water, letting it run over my hand even though it was boiling. My throat felt hot, a sharp spike rising in it, mimicking the piercing heat that started to prickly behind my eyes.

“Sean, please...”

Turning my back on the stream of water, I sat on the edge of the bath, staring at my bare feet, unable to concentrate on anything else. The door opened quickly and Ian marched in, realising I hadn’t locked him out. He came right over to me and took my hands from each other and held them tight.

“I’m sorry. I know I haven’t been fair on you. I…I don’t intent to be a twat,” he said softly, twisting his fingers around mine as they battled to get away until he had them safely laced between his.

“Well you are,” I muttered stubbornly.

“I know. Look…I…you know I’m not good with feelings. Why else d’you think no one sticks with me? Why I can’t stick with them? I’m just horrible and awkward and I fuck people over, and I’m sorry. I never wanted one of those people to be you. You mean more to me than that…old habits just die hard, I guess.”

I looked up at him, tears scalding the back of my eyes as I clutched at his hands like they were all that were stopping me from breaking down. His eyes scanned over me quickly, not settling on one spot, as if he needed to take all of me in.

“Why then? Why do you do it to me?”

“I love you, Sean. And it freaks me out. I…I knew, well know, you like me too. It’s obvious. But it’s happened before. I’ve fallen in love, and me and that person have the sweet period of being together then…they get bored. It fades away. And I didn’t want that to happen with you. I want to keep a hold of you. I don’t want you getting bored and moving on like I know you will.”

My fingers turned white, his went red. Fingernails stabbed deep into his skin as I clutched at him, unable to bear the words that tumbled from his lips. I wanted for him to be telling the truth, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t want to fall for another of his mind games, to get caught up in the moment only for it to be snatched away again.

“So…I fucked you over,” Ian continued simply. “Like I always do. I messed with your mind, hoping that if I kept you guessing and gave you enough nudges to keep you keen, but not enough so something real happened and it started going stale…that’d you’d keep loving me.”

Then, finally, I sobbed. “I…you…you’re such a prick!”

My head buzzed as I quickly buried my face in the shoulder of his shirt and tried to stop the sudden flood of emotions that washed over me. The steam from the shower was burning my back while I yanked my hands from his and wrapped my arms about his neck.

“I know, I know,” he sighed quietly, holding me close to him. “I’m sorry. I…I didn’t want to hurt you…I just…didn’t wanna get hurt myself. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Prick!” I carried on, not really able to say anything else, yet not able to shove him away either.

It was relieving. I knew he loved me… and in his own fucked up way, he’d justified manipulating me for nearly four years. I still had a right to be angry, I know I did, and I was using that to my advantage as I clung to him. My fists pummelled his back slowly, I know I wasn’t strong enough to really hurt him, still he tensed up and kept holding me.

For what felt like hours, he apologised as I threw lazy, uncoordinated fists at his shoulder blades until my sobs shuddered away. My breathing slowed and so did my hits, until a final slap landed on the top of his spine then my hands recoiled around his neck and I drew them to my chest closely.

I didn’t know what I was doing, acting on pure bewildered instinct as years of conversations and seemingly desensitized fumbles started to click into place. He had to be telling the truth, it was so…Ian. Only he would be as strange to link everything together in such a way that warranted acting like a twat for such a long time.

“Sean?” He coaxed quietly, stroking my hair as he gripped me. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whispered finally. Fresh tears returning to my eyes, unbelieving that it had taken me so long to say that to him.

“I’m sorry…I am. I wanted to tell you. That’s why I came here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It was getting to me. I thought that being away from you would make me feel better, but it didn’t. I…you have no idea how much it hurts knowing I fucked you about like that.”

“Didn’t feel too great either…it’s ok though. I forgive you. You…you mean the world to me, you great tit.”

He smiled nevertheless, kissing the top of my head softly before standing up and turning the water off. I don’t know how long we stayed in the bathroom, holding each other as the steam cleared away, but eventually we moved back into the bedroom, not letting our hands part even as we climbed into bed.

In the gentle lamplight of the room, I kept my body close to Ian’s, too exhausted to even speak, yet too preoccupied to sleep. A lull in his breathing told me he’d dropped off, his grip on me loosening as his body relaxed. For a while I just stayed close to him, occasionally watching him beneath the curtain of dark hair that fell across his face and scattered his neck.

In time, I started to drift off, my mind wavering between being conscious and not, every so often in a fleeting moment I’d remember that finally, Ian Watkins was finally mine. He didn’t have better things to do. The grin on my face would then fade as my mind willed me to sleep.

In that moment before I fell asleep, the time where you’re most honest with yourself, I wondered if Ian ever really looked at that drawing I’d left on the coffee table. If he’d looked at it long enough to figure out that while we sat and talked I filled in every window with a letter. That the letter in every window of the entire city spelled out one message, over and over again.

Just love me already.