Work Text:
There was a soft knocking at Brian's door that stirred him awake. He shut his eyes tighter, hoping it would go away. Needless to say, it didn’t. Brian groaned as he rolled out of bed.
Rivers was in the hallway. brown hair mussed and slightly damp, the circles around his eyes dark. He said nothing and squeezed himself into Brian's room. Brian was too tired to argue.
“You were asleep?” Rivers asked, slipping his shoes off.
Brian rubbed his face. “What does it look like.”
“I couldn't." He said, "Too much adrenaline.”
Rivers sometimes got like this after a show, spending hours pacing up and down his hotel room or practicing different songs like he had another show to play. Sometimes, Brian kept him company—fighting his strained eyes, just to hear Rivers’ voice a little while longer.
Right now though, Brian was exhausted. He turned to head back towards the bed, murmuring, “good for you.”
Brian got under the comforter and felt an unexpected warmth blooming from behind him. Rivers had climbed in with him, his body pressed against Brian's, legs wrapped around his.
“What are you doing?” Brian asked, whipping his head around but remaining in place.
“I can't stop thinking about you.” Rivers confessed. He smelled like static and light sweat.
Brian’s heart raced as Rivers kissed his collarbone, the contact sending shivers down his spine, electrifying and dangerous.
“I-I thought we agreed to never do this again.” Brian breathed.
“It’s so hard not to… I have to watch you move your body like that when you're playing guitar… All night.”
Brian began to argue, “I-I… What?”
But he was satisfied that his little plan had worked. Rivers would never realize how many of his decisions were made after asking himself, ‘what would Rivers think?’
Or ‘what would make Rivers regret marrying her?’
Sure, Brian liked Kyoko. The rational part of him knew she didn't deserve this—she was a devoted wife, patient to Rivers’ eccentricities and unstable rock star lifestyle. Despite this, his blood still boiled when he saw that silver band on Rivers’ finger. It just wasn't fair.
Rivers’ voice brought him back to reality. “Don't be coy. I know you. I’m the only one who knows you, Brian.”
His hand began to creep along Brian's side, each caress of his fingertips like flames licking his torso.
“We really can't do this.” Brian argued, weakly.
As sweet as a siren, Rivers called him to the rocky shore. “Yes, we can. We will.”
Brian's pulse quickened as Rivers’ lips pressed against his collar. He knew all of Brian's weak spots and plundered them mercilessly, and Brian was just a man. Maybe less than that, in Rivers’ capable hands.
“I-I…” Brian mumbled. His brain was turning to mush.
“I've been good all tour, haven't I?” Rivers asked between open mouthed kisses along his neck. “I just need another taste before the tour ends. Think of it as a parting gift.”
The enormity of Brian’s want suddenly weighed on him like an anchor dropping into the sea. In that rotten, ugly part of him, he wanted this—so badly it hurt.
So Brian let Rivers touch him with hot, calloused hands. They moved in practiced, quiet, slow movement under hotel sheets. Their bodies slotted together as their hands found each others’ sweet spots like it was second nature, like they'd been doing this their entire lives, like they were married.
And when the morning came, Rivers was gone. Brian had to remember all over again that they weren't married. Rivers wasn’t his, and he never would be.
The first time went a bit like this. Rivers had come over to Brian's house for dinner after his honeymoon in Japan. They sat on the patio and drank orange wine with the pasta salad Brian made, soaking the last drops of sunlight as it set over magnolia trees.
Things were meant to be different now—and for a second, standing there on that cliff in Malibu, where Rivers waited with hands clasped at the altar, Brian thought it might actually be. He thought this could finally be the end of their relationship—Rivers would be too busy with his wife and new family for Brian. But that didn't seem to happen after all. Rivers called Brian up, as if nothing had ever happened, as if there wasn't a ring on his finger, and suddenly, they'd fallen back to their old routines again.
When the sun had finally set, the sky turning a brilliant violet, their bottle was empty. Rivers stood to get up, but failed and stumbled.
Brian shot up to catch Rivers’ waist, still haunted by the cage his leg was in over a decade ago. As he did this, Rivers glanced at Brian. His pupils were wide and dark, even in the low light of twilight.
Nothing had really changed at all. There was still hunger in Rivers' gaze, and Brian was still all too happy to oblige him.
Their lips crashed together and they stumbled inside, hands tugging away at clothes, til eventually they were on the couch. Brian stopped, and it took every thing he had to pull away.
“What?” Rivers said, eyes searching Brian’s face in concern.
Brian simply stared at Rivers’ left hand, where the wedding band marked his skin like a brand.
Rivers followed Brian’s gaze and realization dawned on him, causing him to frown. Some part of Brian was satisfied at this—nobody forced him to get married, after all.
Brian stood up to find his shirt, a moment of clarity washing over him like a cold ocean tide. What was he doing? This was his married best friend.
Then Rivers said, “what if we use our own hands?"
“What?!"
“I mean its not, you know… bad, is it?" He reasoned. "It doesn't even count."
Brian was appalled at how Rivers casually dismissed the sanctity of marriage. “Are you serious?!"
“I don't know." He stared at the floor. "I miss you.”
Brian exhaled shakily. “Don't do that."
“Do what?” Rivers asked innocently, glancing up at Brian through dark lashes. “You're the only one who understands me, Brian.“
Brian wanted to scream. He was so sick of being Rivers' plaything—he wanted more, but he knew he would never have it. Why was life so cruel?
“What about Kyoko?” Brian asked.
“I won't touch you if you don't touch me.” Rivers bargained, ignoring Brian’s comment. “We’ll just watch each other.”
Brian said nothing, but there must have been something in his eyes that gave him away, because Rivers had a small smile on his lips. He knew he'd won Brian over—but Brian wondered if he was ever going to put up a fight with Rivers.
Because really, Brian could never really deny Rivers of anything. He would give all of himself to this man, body and mind—all his songwriting ideas, his bloodied fingertips against steel strings, his expanse of skin and everything that burned up inside him—even with nothing in return.
Rivers leaned back against the couch, exposing the column of his neck and causing his shirt to open at the collar in a rakish way. He moved his hands to his belt buckle, slow and deliberate.
Brian bit his lip, suddenly starving.
“All you have to do is please yourself, Brian.” Rivers’ voice was low and full of heat. “And I’ll be here, pleasing myself.”
Rivers palmed his crotch, hand disappearing under his pants.
Brian wasn’t sure what Rivers wanted him to do, and it felt strange to be bare and not covered in Rivers’ hands.
“Wh-what do you want me to do?” Brian stammered.
Rivers had a sickening grin on his lips. “Start by taking your pants off.”
Brian did so, and did everything else Rivers said after that, unthinking. He stood before his best friend, without a shred of clothes, cock hard and trembling in his fingers as Rivers’ hungry eyes ate up every inch of his body. He felt like a suckling pig at the table of a feast, all he needed was a shiny, red apple between his teeth.
Rivers’ heavy palm ground against his own cock, causing his breathing to become heavier as he whispered instructions to Brian.
When Rivers told him to come, Brian let go, falling to his knees as he came apart under Rivers’ careful gaze.
Since then, they had been pushing the boundaries of Rivers’ marriage and Brian’s love. For it was love that he felt—undying, pure, agonizing. Brian hated to be the reason Rivers lied to his wife, but he was selfish and weak. He wanted to have Rivers so much that even if he could only have Rivers as a dirty secret, something hidden and clandestine, he would accept it.
It wasn’t that it was hard to meet—they were still best friends and band mates, and they didn’t need an excuse to be together, whether it was quickies in the studio or long, slow hours of love-making in Brian’s den—it was that it was hard to part. At least, for Brian.
Rivers was great at pretending nothing ever happened between them. He could walk out of a janitor’s closet after being on his knees for Brian and begin berating trained musicians for being off-key. It was like there was a switch he could turn on and off—paying no attention to Brian at all, then suddenly focusing on him with every fiber of his being.
Meanwhile, Brian stole looks at him, followed him around like a lost puppy, checked his phone for Rivers’ messages. It was pathetic. He tried to distract himself with other people and other projects to stop thinking about Rivers. But at the end of the day, something or the other would remind him of Rivers—KISS on the radio, horn-rimmed glasses, an Asian woman—and he would begin to spiral again.
And in those moments of weakness, Brian would call Rivers, seeking his touch. Sometimes, he’d hear Kyoko in the background and hang up quickly, slamming his cell on the table and breathing heavy. God, he was pathetic. Could he have made it any more obvious?
None of it mattered though, because in a few minutes, Rivers would be pushing through his front door and pulling him onto the couch.
Brian often found himself hating Rivers. Why did he have to be so perfect for him, but be so out of reach? Why did he have to get married? Would it have been so difficult to wait for Brian?
One night, after spending the entire day at different record stores in LA and drinking wine on the pier, Brian had asked Rivers why he didn’t choose him.
Rivers’ face fell slightly, a pained look there that surprised Brian. He had only seen this look when Rivers was in physical pain—maybe his leg was acting up again.
“I just feel like I can never have you, because if I do, I’ll lose you.” Rivers confessed quietly.
Brian said, “We’ve been friends for over a decade.”
“Yeah, and if I had to see you everyday, and drink your stupid espressos, and listen to your psych rock records, I’d probably end up hating you. I’d see how boring you were.” Rivers retorted.
“And Kyoko? You aren’t bored of her?”
“I don’t-” He sighed, “I don’t feel the same way about her as I do you. It’s different.”
Brian blinked. “How, uh… How do you feel about me?”
“Passionate. Violently passionate.” Rivers stared at the floor. “I don’t know. I can’t really find the words.”
Brian’s mind felt like it was melting as he tried to decode what Rivers was saying. He wanted to press forward and ask him a million questions, but he decided against it, knowing it would only aggravate Rivers and torment himself.
The waiter came over to top up their wine and Rivers took a large gulp.
“Well, we don’t have to talk about anything.” Brian said instead, a small smile playing on his lips.
Rivers glanced at Brian, slightly surprised, with those large, doe eyes and Brian fell in love all over again.
They didn’t talk about it much after that. Brian went out and bought a large spiral-bound notebook and filled its pages with what they should be talking about instead. Sometimes they manifested as rough song lyrics, sometimes long-winded journal entries where nothing was really achieved. It didn't matter, he figured it was better this way.
When things were good between Brian and Rivers, he’d forget about the spiral-bound, haphazardly jotting down grocery lists or phone numbers in its back, ignoring the pain within it.
One day Brian came home and Rivers was at his kitchen, nose in his notebook. Brian dropped his keys.
"Does anybody love anybody as much as I love you?” Rivers read aloud, his mocking tone laced with contempt.
Brian stilled, paralyzed in shock.
Rivers didn't look up, continuing, "beat me, hurt me, bruise me…"
“Stop it.” Brian said through gritted teeth.
"You're the one who consecrates me when you're by my side." Rivers read, "I like that one best."
Brian rushed forward and snatched the notebook from Rivers' hands. "Get out." He said to the floor, blood pounding in his hot ears.
“No wonder you let me take advantage of you.” Rivers said, "does it feel good to be nothing but my toy?"
“I hate you.” Brian spat, eyes wide as they bore into Rivers'. His hands shook.
“Your… diary suggests otherwise.” Rivers retorted calmly, as if stating a plain fact. The corner of his lip was curled up, sending a shiver down Brian's spine.
As Rivers turned on his heel to walk away, Brian felt like he'd just lost a game he wasn't aware he was playing.
Right away, the band could sense things were weird between their two guitarists. Karl pointed out how they didn’t go to Japan early and spend a few days holidaying, like they normally might have. Pat whispered that they had changed their flight—Brian was now on their flight, with Rivers on a completely different one. Scott sent quiet looks of concern to Brian, who sat in perfect stillness and silence the entire flight.
Backstage, their interactions were perfunctory. If Rivers was harsher to him than usual, Brian simply relished in it, because it made him hate Rivers more. Sometimes Brian drank too much before a show and played poorly on purpose, to make Rivers more angry with him.
But Rivers caught on quick. He knew the best way to hurt Brian was to not pay attention to him.
He stopped sending heated glances across the stage when Brian played off-key, simply choosing to clutch the microphone stand harder, knuckles turning white and bony. Most times, he was so doped up on whatever cocktail of ADHD drugs he got his doctor to prescribe that he didn’t care how well anybody played, let alone Brian. All that mattered was the rumble of the crowd as he rode his high.
But that didn't deter Brian. He played lousy, sang too loudly, showed up late for soundcheck—tried everything he could to get Rivers’ attention.
Rivers didn't budge. The most Brian got was baleful looks from across the backstage room that said, ‘I know what you’re doing.’
So one day, Brian just didn't show up for soundcheck. He stayed in his hotel room and watched HGTV and drank champagne on an empty stomach.
And he waited.
The bottle had nearly finished and Brian was dozing off when the door knocked, booming and violent. He leapt up, unlocking the door.
Rivers stormed inside, locking the door behind him as Brian stumbled back into the room.
“H-hey, Rivers," Brian said between hiccups. He swayed lightly, nearly seeing double. He was so elated that Rivers himself had shown up, when he could have sent someone to get Brian. Maybe Rivers really did care about him, after all.
Brian was basking in his happiness when a sharp pain bloomed across his cheek. His head spun. Did he- did he just get hit?
“What do you think you’re doing?" Rivers asked. His voice was eerily calm.
Brian sobered up instantly.
“I- I... Uh-”
Rivers stepped forward, causing Brian to reflexively step back. The back of his knees hit the bed.
“You want my attention, right?" Rivers asked, “but you don’t want me to fuck you, because I’m a lousy cheater."
Brian’s head spun. Did he say that?
“N-no, Riv—”
Brian yelped as another blow struck his cheek. This time, he felt the cold metal wedding band bruise his skin, as tough as brass knuckles.
Rivers' face was cast in shadow, dark and yet, completely blank—no anger or emotion on display. It was a calmness and composure that was incongruent with the tension in the room, making Brian uneasy.
“Is this what you want?" Rivers asked.
Brian stumbled onto the bed as Rivers raised his hand again. “Stop!" He cried.
Rivers straddled his friend on the hotel bed and crushed their lips together, punishing and full of heat. Brian could taste copper as Rivers’ sharp teeth tore into the delicate skin on his lips.
Brian never felt so happy as he witnessed everything going according to his plan. Rivers still wanted him, even after his bad behavior. Brian would get to do this forever, he realized, Rivers' marriage be damned.
Rivers backed away for a split second, only to shove his thick fingers into Brian’s mouth. Brian eagerly wrapped his tongue around the digits, gently scraping Rivers’ fingernails.
Even with Rivers' fingers in his mouth, Brian couldn't help the small smile that broke out across his lips.
Rivers thankfully didn’t notice it, though. He took his soaked hand and slipped it into Brian’s pajama pants, grabbing Brian’s cock with a calloused, firm grip. Brian choked out a gasp of pain-pleasure-surprise between Rivers’ lips, gasping for air.
“You’re so desperate for it," Rivers muttered, pumping his arm as Brian squirmed underneath him.
Brian mumbled something incoherent as he shut his eyes tight and saw colorful whorls and patterns, vivid and glittery like the Los Angeles skyline.
“God, you’re so pathetic." Rivers said, burying his face in Brian’s neck.
He suckled on a tender spot, just below Brian’s jugular, as if with one scrape of teeth, he could pull out that vein and leave Brian to bleed. The thought sent Brian’s head spinning.
Rivers mumbled against Brian’s skin something he could barely hear, drowned out by Rivers' distracting hands and mouth, but it sounded reverent, like a promise or a prayer.
It sounded like 'I love you'.