Star Crossed

Drinking. We were always drinking. And writing new stuff. It didn't matter that they were almost off their faces - Matt and Jimmy were still both huddled over a notebook, working on some song that would no doubt turn out amazing. They always did. Our legion of fans proved that.

Johnny was always the first of the group to pass out. His head hung limply over the back of the chair he was sitting in, his mouth open wide as he slept. My tired eyes stayed on him, held transfixed by the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. My ears, however, refused to listen to anything except the story that Brian was telling with his fingers. An acoustic guitar sat in his lap, looking as natural as if it were actually a part of him - and by this point, anybody could believe that it was. It wasn't a tune that I recognised, though I wouldn't have been surprised if he was making it up as he went along. He was good like that. Good in a way that I could only ever wish to be. Even sitting right beside him, I couldn't help but feel that he was on top of the world, where nobody could ever reach him.

I didn't doubt that this tune and the lyrics Matt and Jimmy were working on would end up together in the end. That was how we worked. That was how things were.

It was late. Or rather, it was early. Early enough that we'd been forced to bring the volume down several notches after repeated complaints from Brian's neighbours. I didn't think they would ever get used to the fact that they lived next door to an internationally famed rockstar, even if their nieces and nephew did adore us. Keeping to the fact that we actually were nice guys, we had shut the music off and resorted to minimal sound. And, in Johnny's case, sleeping.

I took another mouthful of Jack and had to take a moment to remember how to swallow. It wasn't hard to see why Johnny had passed out - it had been a long week for all of us, catching up with family and friends, constantly being dragged out to visit people or party. It was like we were still on tour. Only now that the week was over would we really be able to start relaxing and taking time for ourselves. Doing what we wanted, when we wanted. Only working when we wanted to.

That was the life.

The bottle hit the floor. Having landed on thick carpet, it didn't even come close to shattering. Luckily for Brian it was also mostly empty, so none of the whiskey spilled onto said carpet. I knew that the bottle had fallen - it was right there at my feet - but my hands didn't seem to want to pick it up. My eyes grew heavy and before I knew it my head met the cushion beside me.

I woke up several hours later to the sun shining in my eyes and an unknown weight lying on me. I let out an almighty yawn and stretched my arms above my head, glancing down to see what it was that had decided to lie across my lower half.

My breath caught in my throat quite quickly when I found Brian looking back at me, his hazel eyes trailing the length of my arms with interest. As they fell back into place on my chest, his eyes flicked up to mine and held. I felt myself go weak at the knees, and hard somewhere else - and this time there was no doubt that he was very aware of what was going on inside my pants. How could he not? It was pressed up against him.

I blushed crimson as he pushed himself up slightly, glancing down towards it. I was busted. After years of constant battling with myself on tour, on stage, around the homes - I was caught. There was no hiding it from him now. The mere thought of it all terrified me.

He was going to kill me. I was sure of it. He was going to jump off me like a cat running from water and tell me what a freak I was. And not in a good way, either. I shut my eyes tightly, preparing for whatever blow was about to come.

But he didn't run. He dragged himself up a little higher, so that his entire body was laying on top of mine. I thought the worst of it all was over before it had even begun, but then he grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked my face towards his.

And kissed me.

It wasn't anything like what I had imagined our first kiss could ever be. It wasn't forced and it wasn't sneakily done while I pretended to be drunk. It wasn't soft and passionate, like a first kiss was usually said to be. It was heated and desperate, and his hands were all tied up in my hair. It took a moment, but as soon as I was over the shock of him actually responding to me in a positive way I was making some positive responses of my own.

His hair was like silk beneath my fingers, his lips the softest of anybody I'd ever had the pleasure of meeting in such a way. He was going to need to shave soon, but I didn't mind the bristly feeling of his face - as long as it stayed this close to mine.

I groaned in annoyance when I heard somebody calling my name, but Brian didn't seem to mind the fact that we were about to be rudely interrupted. Didn't he realise that there was somebody coming? Didn't he realise that our secret was about to be revealed? I couldn't bring myself to care in this picture-perfect moment. Nothing else mattered except him.

"Zacky!"

I forced my eyes open this time, disappointed when I saw that Brian had pulled away.

Disappointed when I realised that he hadn't been that close in the first place.

He was half lying on me. That part, at least, hadn't been a part of the dream. He slept on now, undisturbed by Johnny calling my name. I realised now that it had been him, since he was the only other person who was awake. I could see a little of both Matt and Jimmy as they slept, heads awkwardly laying on the dining room table.

"Fuck, Johnny." I groaned again. "What'd you wake me up for?"

"I'm sure it was a fantastic dream," he replied with a snort, "but I didn't think you wanted Brian to wake up while you were moaning his name."

Score one, Johnny.

"...guess I owe you one, then," I admitted reluctantly, glancing around again to make sure that Johnny was indeed the only other awake. "Thanks, man."

"You can thank me later," he mumbled, pulling his hat down over his eyes. I watched him lean back into his chair again, making himself more comfortable than he had been the night before. "Right now I have a hangover to sleep off..."