Razorblade Kiss

As the new guy John thought it would be natural for him to be the one who was picked on, but it seemed that Manson already had a long established punch bag. Sure he had been set fire to once or twice, or maybe four or five times, but that was nothing to what he had seen the rest of the band to do to Ginger. Or rather, what he’d seen Manson and Twiggy do to the poor drummer. But being the new guy, he didn’t want to end up getting his ass kicked out of the band for sticking up for someone who he barely knew. Or ending up becoming the butt of the new joke. He could see it now, one protective word from him and he just knew Manson would take that as John having a thing for Ginger. Which of course, was utter nonsense.

Of course. Nothing but a punch line of a joke. Right?

It was ridiculous to have a thing for someone that John had only known for a few months, sure, he may be a hopeless romantic at heart, but he wasn’t that bad. Or at least, that’s what he tried to make himself believe. When he had first joined the line-up some months ago, it was Ginger who had taken him ‘under his wing’ almost – the rest of his band mates either picking on him for his damn hair colour or just going on about tour life like he wasn’t even there. The latter sometimes being more of an annoyance than the first. But Ginger was the one who had tried to make him feel as comfortable as he possibly could, letting him share dressing rooms, helping him practice, and even stay behind with him on the odd night as the rest of their band mates went to drink themselves into a state of numbness. He had been so kind to John, and that had resulted in John gaining feelings a little stronger than friendship. Goddamn it. He felt like he was back in high school with a crush on his English teacher.

John ran a finger through his damp hair, shaking his head slightly as he looked at his reflection in the mirror of the cramped little dressing room he shared with the drummer – who was now strangely absent. It felt strangely silent in the small room without his laughter, or even his little conversations he had with himself. Ginger was a bit of a weirdo, even John couldn’t deny that, but it didn’t make him like him any less. In fact, it drew him to the older man even more. He didn’t understand how, or why, but he went with it anyway. His quirkiness was just another thing that made the young blonde smile. He splashed cold water from the basin beneath him up onto his face, his eyes shooting open as the freezing water came in contact with his heated skin. Reaching out blindly for a towel as he spluttered slightly, he buried his face in the soft material, wiping away the already heavily smudged stage make up left in black streaks across his pale skin.

His blonde head shot up as he heard a frustrated yell, followed by a clatter and a chorus of manic laughter coming out from the corridor outside his little dressing room. It wasn’t uncommon to hear that from the rest of his band mates, they never were a quiet lot, and when groupies managed to get themselves backstage, they were always ones to be loud – rather obnoxiously so – to try and impress said groupies. Or rather, get in their pants. Not that it wasn’t their sole purpose of being there anyway. But something didn’t sound quite right, something, or someone, sounded rather off.
Before he could even think about moving at all, the dressing room door slammed open and a rather angry looking Ginger stormed through the door. His pants were torn, his shirt was God knows where and he had a thick red and yellow congealed liquids slipping down his chest. For a moment, when he first saw the red, John panicked – looking around frantically for any sign of first aid. That was until he released it was in fact ketchup, and not blood, pouring down his face. John stared, confused, at the amount of condiments covering his friend as he rubbed his eyes harshly, trying to clear his line of vision.

“Are there no fucking towels in this place?” Ginger almost growled, his hands knocking the multiple bottles and containers full of make up onto the wooden floor, covering it in a colourful mess of powders liquids.

John backed away slightly, trying to avoid the chaos surrounding him as he watched his friend. He had never seen him act like this before; he was enraged. He didn’t even want to know what had driven him to this, though he had a strong inkling it was to do with his fellow band mates who were still loudly laughing outside the door.

“Ginger, I-“ he stammered, shuffling closer to the drummer “-you need to calm down. What the hell is going on?”

The drummer snapped his head towards the younger man, his eyes narrowing slightly as he huffed – wiping off his chest on a scrap of material resting on the side of the dresser.

“Calm down? Calm fucking down?.” He threw the material to the side, his fists clenching slightly by his side, John timidly stumbling back as his eyes widened. “I am sick of this. I’m sick of being the fucking punching bag every night. Every goddamn night. Do you know what that’s like?”

John opened his mouth, unsure of even what to say. But before his brain could even form a coherent response, he was silenced.

“Of course you fucking don’t. Because every night since you’d joined this band I’ve taken the wrap.” Ginger grunted, angrily turning away as he ran a hand through his already matted and condiment-covered hair.

The younger man scrunched up his face, clenching and unclenching his fists, unsure of what to even reply to Ginger. He was clearly angry, far more than angry, this was a side of him he had never seen before. But it also reminded him that he barely knew the man sat before him – and that fact alone felt like a wound in his chest.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Ginger, I really am. I never meant for this to-“

“No. Of course you fucking didn’t, but you know what, my life with this band has become so much worse since you joined. And I didn’t even know it was possible.”

John stumbled back, his friends words punching him in the gut. He knew he shouldn’t be this sensitive, he knew he shouldn’t be so hurt by words from his friend. But fuck, rationality didn’t even come into his mind at that moment. The man he had thought to be his only friend on the road had suddenly turned on him, just his fucking luck.

“Ginger, I’m-“ he stretched out his hand, reaching out for his shoulder.

“Don’t.”

He recoiled slightly, retracted his arm to his side as he looked down at the dirty floor, his blonde hair covering his eyes. He was so stupid. It was absurd to get so attached to a man he barely knew. All this time, Ginger had only felt sorry for him – ‘the new guy’. It was rather obvious now he looked back on everything, why would anyone actually want to spend time with him?

“I’ll let you get cleaned up.”

Ginger mumbled something incomprehensible and walked, or rather stormed, into the bathroom in the back. The door slammed behind him, the sound echoing loudly in the silence that was almost suffocating John.

He blinked a few times in the space that Ginger had previously vacated. The hurt he had initially felt had faded, not completely though, but the space left was filled with confusion.

What the hell had they even done to Ginger to make him so wound up?

But he didn’t really want to be the one hanging around when he got out of that shower, he had just an inkling that he would probably want someone to take his anger out on, and although John was his friend – or at least, as far as he knew – he did not want to take his chances. And at that moment, he didn’t really want to be around him. If he really was as big of a hindrance as the older man claimed, he didn’t want to bother him anymore than he had to.

It was times like this where people would drink, right? If he were to follow the cliché route of every-fucking-movie, he’d argue with his friend - no, love interest, crush, whatever – and find solace in some amber coloured liquid that burnt his throat that left a stinging after taste. But even that fire burning in his throat was better than feeling like the utter burden he felt to Ginger at that moment. His eyes flickered towards the bottle of Bourbon on the drummer’s side of the dressing room, a few shot glasses strewn lazily around it, and although it was extremely tempting, he just couldn’t do it. He just wasn’t that kind of person. He didn’t drink, and he didn’t do drugs, and sometimes he felt that was why he never could fit in with the rest of his band mates.

He suddenly became aware of how suffocating the warm air was becoming in the small dressing room. The silence still resonating in his ears along with Ginger’s words was becoming almost unbearable for him. John grumbled slightly as he moved in slow, languid movements towards the door. It was almost as if he couldn’t even bring his body to work at its full capacity. Maybe this was some sort of karma; he was feeling the weight of the burden that he was putting on Ginger? Ugh. His head needed to stop fucking with him. It was enough dealing with the growing feelings he had for the man he barely knew. The thoughts made him feel so…dirty. Never before had he thought about even being with a guy, never mind gaining such strong feelings for one. He had always been a boob man, but lately the mysterious drummer had been all that he thought about. He thought too much, he fell too quickly, and most of all? He was a damn fool.

John pushed his way out of the cramped dressing room, and even the god-awful corridor beyond it felt like a breath of fresh hair as the door slammed shut behind him. He needed to get his head straight, and backstage was not at all the place to do so. There was noise and chaos everywhere he looked. Roadies chatting up scantily clad teenagers trying to get to Manson, Twiggy wrecking havoc and Pogo doing fuck knows what, fuck knows where. All the noise, all the chaos, it was all turning into one big blur to him. It was like he was stumbling around in some sort of numb state, everything around him flying by.

Fuck, he did not feel right.

He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and from what sounded like it was coming from far away, he heard his name being called out. John mumbled slightly, his head turning in the direction of the voice calling his name from somewhere out of the blur.

“Ginger?” John stammered, aware he was being led forward as he stumbled over the odd stray beer can.

“Fuck John-“ the cold air hit him like a slap to the face “-what the fuck did you take to confuse me with that crazy eyed fuck?”

John blinked a few times, the drop in temperature somehow shaking the fog from his mind and bringing him back down and, mostly, aware of what was going on around him.

Slumping down against the wall, he looked up to see Pogo standing above him, looking at him quizzically with a bottle of ketchup still in his hand. Of course it was Pogo guffawed who got that shit all over Ginger. He did tend to pull a lot of shit like that.

“Sorry, I, I’m just a bit dazed.” John looked down at his feet, trying to regain his thoughts and clear his head. But all he could think about was Ginger. This was getting fucking out of hand, he was goddamn infatuated with the drummer and it was not healthy. Hell, he didn’t even want to be around John. Surely that would be enough to put him off, but he was just a fucking fool.

“Ha, I can tell,” Pogo guffawed, his loud laughter shattering the quiet peace of the early hours of the morning. Inside there was still the murmuring of chatter and laughter, and the odd groan coming from the singer’s dressing room. “How is that weird eyed oddball, enjoy my little present for him?”

John looked up, his brow furrowed and a slight scowl distorting his soft features. Pogo never really understood what he did to people could genuinely leave them in a bad mood, and in Ginger’s case, a fucking foul mood at that.

“Well, I – uh – no. Not at all really, he seemed quite upset really-“ He was cut off by his loud laughter once again slicing open the silence, John’s scowl turning into a grimace as he stood up. He just wanted to stand up to his friend, but it seemed no one ever took him even remotely seriously.

“Oh lighten up Johnny, and tell lover boy to do the same!” He slapped a hand on his shoulder, still laughing. John’s face flushed with colour, he opened his mouth trying to form some sort of witty response but ended up stumbling over his own feet and falling back through the open doorway.

“I’m not…we’re not – we’re just friends,” he stammered, wide eyed and frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. Pogo stopped laughing, starring him dead in the eyes as the smile dropped from his face. John felt rather comfortable under his gaze, when he was not jolly, the keyboardist was not a man that you would want to cross – and it seemed that he had wound himself up in exactly that position. Fuck. It really wasn’t his night.

They kept eye contact before the older man once again burst into fits of laughter, doubling over as John looked down at him – confusing washing across his face.

“Can’t you take a damn joke? Your damn face! Anyone would think you actually were getting it from drummer boy!”

John didn’t give him a chance to mock him further. Flustered, he made his way back inside the building. He glanced over his shoulder to see Pogo still chuckling slightly, but his arm around some short chick – his attention span was tiny, but at least he wasn’t out to continue to mock John, and anything that stopped him from doing that was a god send in his books.

By the time he reached the door to his dressing room, the familiar feeling of anxiety he’d rather forget began to curl in his stomach. He swallowed, trying to drown the feelings that were all but screaming at him to turn and run in the opposite direction. He brought up his hand to the door timidly, his face still flushed and his cheeks full of colour.

He called out his friends name as he slowly pushed open the door, the dressing room silent and empty. Glancing around the room quickly, he noticed the Bourbon bottle was now empty – at least that meant Ginger had left the shower and not somehow drowned in there. But then, that could also mean his sour mood may have multiplied into something he didn’t quite care to experience. It was then John noticed that the bathroom door was open, and Ginger’s towel was pooled in the doorway.

A faint rush of panic added to the pit of anxiety in his stomach. What if he’d collapsed? What if he’d hit his head and John hadn’t been there to help him? John snapped his head towards the bathroom and almost ran over to the door, half expecting to see Ginger on the tiled floor with a bottle of Bourbon in his hand and-

Oh.

John froze in the doorway, his eyes widening at the site before him. Ginger’s back was pressed against the cold tiles, the water from the shower head dripping down his chest, the water trickling over the muscles and sliding over the ‘v’ at the bottom of his abs. His chest rose and fell heavily, with each laboured breath came a grunt and a slight moan. The drummer’s head fell back against the cold wall, his hand gripping at his shaft and making swift jerking movements. He knew he should look away. He should look away, close the door and leave him alone for the rest of the night to let him get out his frustrations in whatever personal way he pleased. But he was frozen on the spot, his eyes frozen on the older mans movements before him. It was certainly one way to take out frustrations.

Slowly, he shifted his foot back slightly, but due to the fact his attention was else where he failed to notice the puddle of water right by his feet. He lost his footing with a sharp yelp, his hands reaching out for the wall to steady himself, and Ginger’s eyes snapped open. Heat spread across his cheeks, his eyes wide open and his blonde hair dangling in his face. What the fuck had he just got himself into? Oh god, Ginger was going to think he was an utter pervert and never want to even lay eyes on him again.

Ginger reached out for the faucet, shutting off the water as John continued to stare wide-eyed and silent at his friend. He braced himself for the storm of words surely about to come out of Ginger’s mouth, ready for the insults and the taunts.

“Come here.”

John’s mouth dropped open slightly, his words taking him completely off guard. He looked at his friends face, looking for some sign of anger, or some sign that this was some fucked up joke set in place by Pogo.

“Did you not hear me? I said come here.”

There was something in his voice, something he had never heard before. His voice was so commanding, it held so much authority, and, fuck – was it hot. He couldn’t help but obey the older man, slowly moving forward until he was standing directly opposite him. His strength was wearing thin. It was becoming almost impossible to not let his eyes wander to other parts of Ginger that where before him, but he contact with those dark brown eyes of his.

“Is the door locked?”

“I, uh, yes I think so. Ginger, look I’m-“ John stammered, trying to find his words. He didn’t want this to get too far. Or maybe he did. Fuck, he couldn’t even understand his own thoughts. His breath hitched as he felt nimble fingers slip underneath his thin t-shirt, pulling the material up and exposing his chest to the cold. He suddenly became aware of the raging heat between his legs, Ginger’s finger tips lightly making their way up his stomach triggering feelings inside him he didn’t even know he was capable of. The older man swiftly pulled the light material over his head.

“Good.”

Before john could respond, his back was pressed against the wall of the shower and Ginger’s lips were atop his. He stood rigid in his strong grip, partly due to the fact the drummer’s grip on the younger man was so strong he could barely move, and partly because – well – he was in shock. He waited for him to pull away, for him to tell him this was some big fucked up joke, but he continued. John relaxed into his grip and kissed him back fervently. Ginger brushed his tongue over his lower lip, John’s lips parting as he groaned into his mouth. Fuck, he was a good kisser.

Ginger pulled away, his mouth moving to his neck and dragging his teeth across his pale neck.

“Too many clothes.” He breathed out against his skin, John shivering slightly as his lips traced across his collarbones. Nimble fingers attacked his belt buckle, pushing down his skinny little leather pants, which John quickly kicked away and discarded. As Ginger pulled back, his natural instinct was to cover himself. Sure, he’d fucked a fair share of girls in his time, but he suddenly felt so shy under the older man’s gaze. Maybe it was because he actually felt something for him.

Fuck, who knows.

“You really should have left, John.” Ginger breathed against his lips, his breath smelling faintly of alcohol and cigarettes. He knew he was right, but goddamn if that was right then he was so glad to be wrong. John pressed his lips back up to Ginger’s with a groan as the older man reached behind him for the faucet. John gasped out as he felt the warm water hit his bare back, the heat – combining with the white hot touch of Ginger’s – was driving him utterly insane. He groaned loudly as he felt their erections rub together, nothing separating them from the friction that was driving most men insane.

“Curiosity Johnny, it got the better of you,” Ginger purred against the skin of his jaw, his hands trailing across the younger mans slender body – appreciating the rather feminine curve of his hips. His briskly hiked up his thigh around his own waist, smirking slightly as John leant his head back against the tiled wall, leaving his neck exposed.

“Please.” John was barely able to form coherent speech, his voice breathless and ragged as Ginger continued to work his way down his neck, his mouth beginning to suckle on the soft skin in the crook of his neck.

“Please, what?” Ginger’s voice was low as his hands began to move to John’s ass, squeezing slightly before slapping, his nimble fingers slipping inside as the younger blonde hissed in pain. He moved his fingers slightly, John’s grunts of pain slowly turning into slow moans of pleasure – pleasure on levels he hadn’t even experienced before.

“Fuck me, use me, fuck, do anything you want with me-” The desperation in John’s voice made the older man smirk, still pumping his fingers as John’s small frame withered in his arms. His head dropped back against the wall, his moans turning into whimpers and whines as he almost begged for it. “-take out your frustrations on me, just please.”

He groaned audibly as Ginger removed his fingers, sniggering at the younger mans reaction as he tried to moved his hips to gain any sort of friction to help satisfy his burning desire.

“It’s so fucking hot to hear you beg.” Ginger breathed by his ear; John’s back sliding down the tiles ever so slightly. He was overwhelmed with need on a level he couldn’t even comprehend, all this time he had spent with his hand around his cock fantasising, his imagination couldn’t even bring up half of the emotions he was feeling in that very moment. Ginger’s arms wrapped around his slender body, hoisting him up against the wall as John wrapped his legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer to his own hips. There was something about the way Ginger’s arms flexed as he held him up against that wall that turned John on even more, if that was even fucking possible.

“Fuck me…” John breathed, his lips almost just touching the others mans, his voice breathless and ragged. “Fuck me,” his hands dug into Ginger’s back, his nails leaving small, red, crescent marks on his back. “Fuck me.”

John roughly pressed his lips down upon Ginger’s, biting down slightly as he felt him position himself at his entrance. He groaned against his lips, his back arching as he tried to adjust to the size filling him, his hips wriggling around a little as Ginger reached for his ass, squeezing and slapping a little as his hips began to gain a regular motion.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck yes,” Ginger groaned, throwing his head back as his hands dug into John’s slender hips, thrusting sharply as he began to move the younger man up and down the slick shower wall with his thrusts. John could not care who heard them, fuck, this was the best he had ever felt in his goddamn life. His quiet whimpers and sighs soon turned into loud moans of pleasure, his lovers name slipping in the mix as he began to thrust in a certain direction that caused him to wither under his touch.

Ginger roughly pressed his lips upon John’s, his tongue gliding over his smooth lips for a second before he bit down – causing a loud groan from the younger man – before pulling back, the metallic taste of blood ringing in his mouth. But it seemed that inflicting pain on John was no hindrance. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He whimpered slightly as Ginger dipped his head, his teeth dragging across his chest, tugging on his nipples slightly as John groaned out his name, his hands coming to tangle in his wet hair. His fingers entwined in the strands as his tongue traced the trickle of blood from his chest back up to his lip. His tongue moving in slow twirling motions, which was the younger man insane.

“Oh shit, Ginger-“ he cried out, his arms clinging onto his muscular frame as he bucked his hips “-right there, please don’t stop…” to a whine as Ginger pulled himself out, much to the disappointment of John who grimaced at him – trying to push his hips towards his. He let John slide out of his arms, but he jerked his head towards the counter, which lay before a rather large and well-lit mirror. Ginger grabbed his hips, flipping him over and carefully bending him over the counter. With his hands still placed firmly on his hips, he traced his lips carefully up his spine – every time his lips connected with skin, John would whimper beneath him. He sucked carefully at the skin at the base of the back of his neck, his teeth biting down slightly leaving a small, blooming, purple bruise. John was his, at least for the night, and he had no fucking qualms with that at all.

“I want you to see how good you look when I’m fucking you, you got that?” Ginger positioned himself at John’s entrance, one hand reaching around to brush against his hard shaft. His rather neglected cock at that. The simple feeling of Ginger’s fingertips against it caused a shiver to pass through John, the heat between his legs rising to an unbearable level.

“Watch.”

He grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and pulled John’s hair up as cried out, Ginger entering him with one quick thrust. The blonde tried to keep his hair out from his eyes; keeping intent eye contact with their reflection as Ginger’s ever increasing in pace thrusts sent his hips colliding with the hard counter. It was sure to leave bruises, but god the pain felt fucking good. Ginger’s hand came down on John’s ass, the younger man crying out his name as arched his back – the stinging sensation lighting up shockwaves across his body.

“Fuck, Ginger-“ his words were cut off by one of Ginger’s nimble fingers slipped into his mouth, his jaw willingly hanging slack to take it as he began to suck on it slightly. Still, the moans coming from him were not silenced as the drummer began to sharply angle his thrusts as he cried out, pulling his hips roughly against his as his hand roughly came in contact with the now reddening skin of John’s ass. The red welts beginning to appear across his slender body awoke something inside of him, he was his John, and he’d fucking hear him say it. His hand reached around his waist, swiftly grabbing his much-neglected shaft and began jerking slowly. He leant his body down upon John’s, his lips once again resting by his ear.

“Beg for it.” He released his hand, much to the dismay of his lover as he pined for his touch to release him.
“Please, please fucking touch me.” He moved his hips sharply, the younger man’s hips coming into contact with the corner of the counter.

“I don’t think I can hear you.”

“Please-“ there was something about the begging – something that should make him feel utterly humiliated and tiny – that made this whole thing so much more fucking hot. He knew Ginger was hot, he’d know that all a long, but seeing him like this, so commanding, so dominant, it was almost enough to drive John over the edge. “I’m yours, just fucking let me come.”

Ginger smirked for a moment before moving his hand in fast jerking movements, John feeling his climax curling in his stomach as he looked up at their reflection in the steamed up bathroom mirror. He watched as Ginger’s arms flexed, his head thrown back as he reached his own climax. His thrusts grew sloppy as the blonde tried to match them, wriggling and rolling his hips against his shaft to ride out the climax. But it was the sound of John’s name falling like a unholy prayer from his lips that sent him over the edge.

“I want to see this with my own eyes,” Ginger murmured, grabbing John’s slender frame by the hips and flipping him over, John’s legs once again wrapping around his muscular waist as his hand moved in a quick jerking fashion. He leant forward, resting their foreheads together as John looked up through a mess of wet blonde hair up into those dark eyes of Gingers. His thrusts lost their rhythm long ago, his hips moving in an irregular, messy pattern.

“Just do one more thing for me.”

“Anything.” John gasped, hiding his face in the crook of his neck and bouncing his own hips slightly. He wrapped his arms around Ginger’s back, trying to pull him even that tiny bit closer, even though they were all ready skin to skin. He let the older mans hands tilt his face up, their eyes meeting once again as he leant forward, their lips almost together.

“Come for me.”

He didn’t know he was so dominate, but god he fucking loved it.

With a loud cry of his lovers name and a string of profanities, John came in a hot sticky mess on Ginger’s abdomen. He twisted his fingers in the hazel hair of the drummer and pulled his lips down to meet his, their lips moving softly together as their quiet sighs filled the now silent bathroom.

For a while, they stayed there. The only sound was their heavy breaths and the occasional murmuring of words between them both, but most of the time was spent with their lips on each others. John wasn’t quite sure why Ginger stuck around, he knew he didn’t stick around with one-night stands longer than a few minutes, but he didn’t want to waste this time over thinking as he always did. John rested his forehead against the older mans, smiling up through the mess of blonde hair that fell in front of his eyes.

“You know, my hotel bed has been pretty cold these past few weeks.” Ginger spoke quietly, looking down at the space in between them, and the smile fading from his face. John was all too familiar with that feeling, he knew he feared rejection – maybe he feared the same rejection that John had felt all along. “You’d be welcome to join me.”

John wriggled a little, moving his arm up and placing his hand on the side of his face, tilting it up a little.

“It’d be my pleasure.”