Agonized Music

If there's one thing in the world that I enjoy as much or more than sex, it's singing. I love the way my voice just sort of rises up and out of me without me really having to think about it. I don't like thinking too deeply. And I love the way it feels to have everyone's eyes on me, some envious, some passionate. But no one is really disinterested in me. They either hate me or want me, sometimes even love me.

I don't feel that way tonight though. I'm on-stage and I'm singing, putting my all into it, but I'm not getting the warm fuzzies that I usually do. Mike has already popped one string and Curt has gone off beat too many times to count, probably because of the half a fifth of Quervo he consumed before jumping up on stage. The moron can't even twirl his chops without dropping them. And Oz....well, Oz hasn't done anything to really annoy me yet, but just give it time.

See, there it is. That annoying little thing. He keeps looking at me out of the corner of his eye, questioning me. He can tell that I'm pissed off and knows that it's effecting my performance.

The last song of the night is winding down and my voice feels like it's going to crack, but it doesn't. It still pisses me off. It should pour out, without even a twinge of weakness. And as Oz strums his last cord, I look out to the audience which barely even applauds us. Just a little titter of clapping hands. Well, fuck them!

Pushing my mic back into the holder, I swagger exageratedly off of the stage, pushing my way passed the mingling teens and completely ignoring the one groupie that seems interested tonight. Walking passed the bathrooms, I throw open the door to the pinter ass "band room" and slam it shut behind me. I can feel the anger making me shake and kick one of the metal folding chairs, loving the clang it makes as it hits the wall and bounces back to thud against the floor. I turn around in the small space, looking for something else to take my aggression out on as the door opens and Oz enters, closing the door quietly behind him.

He gives me that look. That stupid look he gives me when he's reading my thoughts and is just waiting for me to express them verbally. And I don't disappoint him. I never do when I'm like this. "Are those fucking morons deaf?! And I've fucking TOLD Curt about drinking before gigs!! Not too damn much! Didn't I?! Hell, you don't even show up for practice half of the time and somehow you managed to stay on tune MOST of the time! Is it too much to ask that they don't suck ass?!"

"Quite possibly," Oz answers casually, trying to make light of my anger. I SO fucking hate when he does that. He should be mad too, just because I am. He should fucking sympathize with me.

"Fuck you, Oz!"

"How is getting mad at me going to help this situation any, Devon?" he asks me in that calm voice that never fails to just piss me off even more.

"I'll show you how it's going to help," I say in a low voice. Before I can even think of what I'm doing, I grab Oz by the collar of his shirt and drag him against me, crushing my lips against his. There's nothing sweet about the way I kiss him right now, and he lays limply against me as I abuse his lips. Twisting both of our bodies harshly, I push Oz onto the table and against the large mirror.

Now I've got my hands all over him, pushing them underneath his T-shirt to scrape my nails against his chest. His legs are spread wide, allowing me to nestle my pelvis close to his where he can feel my hard cock pressing against him. My teeth scrape against his lips before I let my tongue plunge into his mouth again and suddenly he's kissing me back with the same ferocity. His hands tangle into my hair and his legs wrap around my thighs, holding me tightly against him.

Frantically, I push his flannel down his shoulders, sucking and biting my way down his neck. His heat pulses from his body into mine as he starts thrusting up against me. He loves it when I take him hard and fast without thought or care. He loves it anyway I fuck him. Running my hand down his chest, I move it to cup his rock hard cock, smiling against his skin as he lets out a low growl and thrusts into my palm.

Suddenly he freezes beneath me and his hands on my shoulders are gently trying to urge me back. The anger isn't gone and his resistance to me is just making me even hornier. What the fuck is his problem? I'm just about to ask him that, but I notice that he's looking at something over my shoulder. Twisting my head, I follow his gaze and find Xander standing in the doorway.

For a split second, there's a glimmer of some kind of emotion in his eye. Hurt? Anger? I don't know what, but it's gone almost before it can even register. Now he looks slightly embarrassed, raises his eyebrows briefly. "Sorry, guys. Didn't mean to interrupt," he says with a slight quirk at the corner of his lip that could be interpreted as a half smile. It doesn't put me at ease though. I saw that little glint in his eye for that micro second.

Something in me is panicking as he turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I don't want him to be mad at me. I mean, it's not like we're together, but Xander has sort of a fragile ego. It probably sucks to find the guy you'd just had sex with going at it with someone else just two days later. Shit, Xander, don't be mad at me.

Oz pushes my shoulder again, this time a little more forcefully. "Why are you just standing here? Go follow him," he tells me. Of course Oz saw the look in Xander's eye too and he's probably even more worried than I am. Without a word, I do as he says, leaving Oz to straighten his cool, as I rush out of the room in search for Xander.

There he is, standing at the bar, talking to Hank, the bartender. Hurrying over to him, I take his arm and lean closely to him so that he can hear me over the music. "Are you okay?" I ask.

"I'm dandy," he answers and gives me a reassuring smile. It doesn't comfort me since Xander is pretty much known for covering up his true feelings.

"Let's talk," I say, dragging him with me, away from the bar. We end up in the Men's bathroom, which is, thankfully, empty. "Are you upset about what you just saw?" I ask him, getting straight to the point. Beating around the bush isn't something that I do well.

He gives me this look, like what I'd just asked him was a silly question, but I stare back seriously. "No, Devon. Why would I be?" he answers and questions back.

"I don't believe you," I say straightforwardly.

His face scruches up a bit, like I'm annoying him. "What do you want me to say, Devon? You want me to tell you that I'm jealous of the relationship between you and Oz? Well, I guess I am a little, but that's just because I don't have anyone that I'm close to like that. But if you want me to tell you that I'm in some deep emotional turmoil because of it, then I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you there."

Geez, he didn't have to get all snarky about it. "I just want you to tell me the truth. I don't want you to think that I'm using you or something. You're not just some cheap fling for me, and want to know that you understand that."

He smiles at me, one of those utterly genuine smiles that sometimes freak me, because I don't think I've ever done anything that true. "Truth, huh? I think I can do that," he says, moving over to sit on the edge of one of the bathroom sinks. He runs his fingers through his hair and then, "The truth is, I like you. For the first time in my life, I can admit to myself that I like another guy." He shrugs. "But it's still so new to me. I'm not looking for some kind of commitment from you, and let's face it, you don't want one either. Besides, there's baggage between you and Oz that I think that needs to be worked out. Yeah, I felt a little disappointed at first, but it's just a natural reaction for me. I want us to be friends, Dev, but that's all I need right now. If it's all the same to you." He gestures to me, as if to say, 'your turn'.

I can feel my eyebrows scrunch together. Well, finally, a sexual partner that doesn't seem to want anything from me. Except sex, of course. "Well, all right then. Just wanted to make sure," I say. He nods and slips away from his seat to move to the door, but I have one more thing to say, so I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him. He turns back to me, eyebrows raised. "I do think of you as a friend, Xander."

He gives me that super sweet smile of his and takes my hand into his. "That's cool, man. Me too," he says. Cool. Glad we got that all cleared up. Now it's time to get him back to my place.

I'm not pissed off anymore. Every band has it's bad days. Of course, if we sound like that at the next gig, I'm going to tear Curt and Mike a couple of new assholes.