“I fucked it up, I royally fucked it up!”
Trent pushes Alan back into the sheets and adjusts the cover for another time while Alan still goes on venting.
“Hell, Alan! I do not want to know about your private matters! I do not want to hear any more, OK?”
The man on the bed stares holes into the other that adjusts his slightly wet t-shirt. The whole shower extravaganza has been a hell of a job with a kind of uncontrollable drunken Englishman trying to flood the place. He’s glad he finally propped him into bed.
“You know what? Better book a flight home asap! I have the slight feeling you’re not in the position to clear the fronts at the moment.”
Alan eyes him taken aback.
“Yes, I was saying that. Leave them their peace. Try to find your own.”
“I need to fix it NOW!”
“No way! You stay there and sober up.”
Trent’s eyes start to darken with anger and the tension in his body doesn’t even escape the juiced man on the mattress.
“You better shove your tiny, leather clad ass out off here, Reznor – or you will find yourself in an undesired position soon!”
“Ooh, now I’m scared!” The tone in Trent’s voice is as dangerous as the nuance in Alan’s.
“I was waiting for that part of you showing up. Don’t worry, I’m already gone.”
He gets up from the edge of the bed when an iron grip around his left wrist drags him back. Hot, spirit smelly breath against his face. Alan takes his chance within this split second to push Trent onto his back and is over him, biting into his lips. His intoxicated state though makes it easy for the other man’s
trained body to get immediately rid off him again, pressing him back against the pillow.
“Don’t ever try that with me again, Wilder!”
Then he’s out off the door, slamming it behind him with a reasonable clap.
Mart patiently waits for the nervy ping of the microwave. His complaining stomach finally lured him into the studio kitchen to follow his body’s natural needs. It’s a little over lunch time, more near 5 pm when he looks at the digits at the working, tiny oven. Twenty minutes later he feels much better, the uneasy feeling and the nervousness evaporated into the air sort of.
Returning to the main studio he freezes for a second. Trent leans over a synthesizer and seems to discuss something with Dave and Ferg animatedly. What’s the frigg is he doing here?! Then they turn over to the Mac monitors, the spectacled sound engineer ticking away on the keyboard while the other two men stand behind him, watching and still talking. He sees Trent’s hand slowly slipping over Dave’s bottom. The brunette seems so engrossed in the conversation that it takes a moment till he turns his head and then moves away from the happy hand, but Trent is persistent. Finally Dave removes it gingerly with his own, whispering something into the shorter man’s ear. That’s enough for Martin. He dashes towards the group of men and without spending another thought he knocks Trent down with a quick jab of his right fist.
“You fucking son of a bitch!”
Not much later both men are rolling on the studio floor, clinging at each other.
“Martin, let go! Are you nutz?!”
Trent’s muffled voice sounds puzzled. Some blood is streaming down his nostrils. Mart’s punch must have hit it’s target.
Andy throws his cam onto the couch cushions and it doesn’t take another blink and he’s in the center of commotion, grabbing Mart and pulling him away from the other struggling man. Meanwhile Dave got some tissues and helps Trent to clean his bloody traces.
“Don’t fucking touch him!”
Dave looks over to the raging, blond man with big eyes, then turns to Trent again.
“Do you make it over to restroom on your own? I need a word with that crazed curly head there.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Trent gets up to his feet and Dave takes Martin over from Andy and pushes him back direction kitchen.
“What the fuck was THAT supposed to be?!”
“He fucking grabbed your ass! He dared to touch you while everyone around was watching!”
Seeing all the jealousy blazing in Mart’s green-amber irises Dave let’s himself fall onto a chair and sighs deeply.
Now I’m glad I didn’t tell him about the kiss so far! Bloody hell!
Martin goes on with his tirade.
“I saw you whispering to him! Did you two plan to sneak off into the bathroom later?! Tell me, Dave! What’s going on between the two of you! I know Trent, he just can’t resist some hot game!”
“You can’t seriously mean what you’re blabbering there, Curly!”
“Blabbering, huh?! Me and blabbering! I have eyes and a brain!”
Not knowing what else to do David gets the next full water bottle from the table, uncaps it and empties it over Mart’s head.
“Cool down, you hothead!”
His band mate gasps and then shakes his curls, water droplets flying all over the place, yet it seems to break the cycle. Next is him slipping down onto the hardwood floor, shaking and sobbing.
“Gosh, Martin! What the hell got into you?”
Dave kneels down next to him, wanting to brush over the quivering back, but Mart pushes him angrily away.
“Don’t touch me!”
When he looks up he detects John standing in the door frame.
“Didn’t I tell you to leave private matters outside the studio? Get your stuff and take the next two days off – both of you! Damn, Martin! You can be lucky Trent is not going to call his solicitor…or even worse, the press!”
“Where’s he now?” Dave gets up from the floor, leaving Mart where he wants to be apparently at the moment.
“I called a cab and sent him to hospital to check his nose. Looks it’s broken.”
“You telling me. Now get yourselves out off here. I’m serious, boys! Get yourselves sorted, for heaven’s sake!”
On the way back to Martin’s suite he stays silent like an oyster. Dave already phoned Jen trying to explain he had to deal with some severe meltdown. She wasn’t amused at all, of course. When reaching the right floor and about inserting the key-card they can see another person heading into their direction. It’s Trent, with a beige tape all over the back of his nose.
“We guys need to talk.”
“I have no clue what I have to talk with you, asshole!”
Mart’s teeth are gritted and Dave precautiously reaches for his arm.
“Let’s get inside, OK? Mart, please stay calm, you promised me.”
Plunking down onto the couch and chairs the three men eye each other. It’s Trent who takes the initiative again.
“I didn’t want to cause any ill feelings, Martin. No, let me finish, please!” He gingerly brushes over his damaged nose. “Yes, my hand was where you saw it. Yes, I couldn’t resist. Yes, I think your lover is sexy as fuck. NO, I would never interfere with your relationship.”
“Curly, I brushed his hand off – you must have seen that, too.”
“You were whispering into his ear!”
“Argh, I was pissed off! Should I have yelled throughout the studio?! Like you had no problems with?!”
“He was telling me with well chosen words my balls were in great danger.” He tries to get eye contact with his blond opposite. “Hey, Martin. I never thought you was the jealous kind, not like that.”
Finally Mart dares to look up and straight into the dark eyes fixing him.
“I love him.” His voice is brittle.
Trent stares a little longer, not speaking. Then he continues.
“He does as well. I saw it, I felt it radiating all over that shabby restroom when he cradled you and took you outside.”
It doesn’t hold Dave in the cushions any longer. He gets up and walks over to the window, peering outside.
“Then why did you kiss me, Trent?”
He can hear Martin huffing and quickly turns around, trying to calm him with his look.
“Is that so difficult to understand?”
“Yes, it is – after all that Mart told me about LA. After all you just said. It’s not really helpful, you know.”
Trent nods nearly imperceptibly and then fixes Dave with his strong stare again – as if he was trying to pierce his mind with his own conscience.
“That was all about sex…and it’s still all about sex, Dave. I want you.” He pauses shortly while Mart shoots up from his seat. “I want you two together this time.” He gently pushes Mart back onto the couch. “Whatever that prick Wilder did to you – I have no idea and I really do not want to know if I’m honest – I’ll make it better.”
Dave can’t describe the weird mix of emotions that boiling up inside him. Part of him simply wants to grab that creepy, sleazy guy and kick his balls and the rest of him out off the suite, another bit of him is aroused no end, staring at the tight leather jeans. The dominant part though is utterly sad. Whatever connection there was or still is between those two fetish lovers – yes, he can’t help to think about them as having been lovers in the end – he has no access to that info and those hidden emotions. So far. As he told Martin earlier: Did he really wanted to read it in those bloody diaries anymore?
“Dave? Baby, please!”
He feels Mart’s hands and then he already rests against his chest and shoulders. His mate must have taken another chance and got up from the couch when seeing the expression on his face. There are no tears necessary – even Trent senses the deep pain he just must have dragged to the surface. No, he didn’t cause it, he’s sure about that at least.
“I’m sorry, David. I didn’t want to…I think it’s just that pain I detected in you that also attracted me. Seems to happen when pain junkies cross each others ways. It’s not the first time that happened to me, you know.”
“You better leave us alone now, Trent. I’m sorry for the nose, man, really am.”