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Bob never thought it would end up like this, when he decided to take on The Heartbreakers. He’d never expected himself to be so taken by their leader, Tom. But then again, he did look a bit like a pretty woman, with his blonde hair, piercing eyes and lithe body. Certainly the least manly of his band. He lacked the poise and gracefulness that got taught to women though, giving him a bit of a rough edge, like those women who get women by acting like men. But he wasn’t cocky like a lot of men, just confident, knew what he had.
Queer. Bob supposed that’s what he was. He liked women, but he also liked a man. A man who was pretty like a woman, but a man nonetheless. He had no problems with queers, but it was different when it was yourself that was queer. Like everything else, it’s different when it happens to you instead of a stranger.
“Somethin’ troubling you?” Tom asked, still hunched over his notebook, but looking at Bob. His hair was up in a small ponytail, which didn’t help him look less pretty. “Or just thinkin’?”
His drawl was charming. And the questioning look with a hint of concern, too. Shit, he really had it bad.
“Just thinking, zoned out,” Bob moved his gaze to a bit of wall. It wasn’t like there was much else to look at in the hotel room they shared. Faded floral wallpaper, stained yellow from nicotine, was the most interesting thing in the room. Ignoring the obvious.
“That’s fair, been a long day,” out of the corner of his eye Bob could see Tom return to his notes.
“Yeah,” he kept his eyes on the wallpaper and tried to ignore the mess in his head.
“Wanna talk?” It was like every time Tom spoke he got thrown out of a deep thought. He didn’t mind.
“About what?” Bob finally relented and looked at Tom. Blue on blue.
“Anythin’,” Tom smiled, gentle and inviting, leagues different from the confident smirk he gave to the cameras. “You feel like someone I could have a good conversation with,”
They did end up talking. They talked a lot. About everything, it all came naturally once they got it going. Tom revealed himself to be very intelligent and reasonable. Didn’t ask inane questions and gave him enough space to figure out how to best form thoughts into sentences. Time flew by. Any time Bob managed to make Tom smile he considered it a win.
The discussion had also given him an excuse to steal glances at Tom, the wispy hairs that had escaped from his ponytail, his delicate fingers fiddling with his pencil, the way he’d bite his lip trying to think of what to say. He was a wonderful specimen, inside and out. Really, it was a wonder Bob had taken this long to fully realize it.
Tom yawning in the middle of a sentence made him try to remember what time it was. Probably late, it was late when they’d gotten back from their show, and that had been a while ago. But he wasn’t sat in a position to see the clock, and Tom was ahead of him anyway in reading it.
“Fuck, I think we gotta get to bed soon if we don’t wanna miss breakfast,” their show was late, so the only thing they needed to get up early for was breakfast.
“Seems so,” Bob watched Tom stand up and stretch, the pose making his thin body and slim waist prominent. Christ. He tugged the elastic off his hair and shook it out, blond strands shimmering in the light.
Bob sighed and got up, maybe getting some sleep would calm his mind.
They got undressed, and Bob was convinced Tom fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow. No such luck for him, with his mind still full. He wanted Tom, in the ways he’d wanted any of his other girlfriends, but it wasn’t like this would be the same. Just because Tom was alright with queers didn’t mean he was one himself. And how would they even make it work, busy schedules and reporters making anything public nearly impossible.
Shit, maybe he should just write it down, make it a song, sell a million copies. Take it on tour, secretly profuse his love every night until he got sick of it and moved on.
He turned to look at Tom on the other bed. He was facing away, and the darkness made it hard to figure out more than a vague silhouette, but it was enough to convince Bob that he didn’t want to get sick of this. He wanted to hold and be held, spend the nights talking, see Tom’s smile and hear his laugh. All of it.
He turned away, willing the storm inside his head to calm down into a downpour.
Whatever, he’d deal with all this later.