altbettygo

[altbettygo]

Iron Butterfly

Chapter 6: Dragon's Den

After a quiet few days, a few late afternoons at the pub around the corner from the studio, Mark had that look in his eye again. He was going out, Will knew. It was clear when Mark had plans by the hint of anticipation in his face. It was tough to tell from the outfit – he didn’t wear black everyday but did it often enough that it wasn’t notable. Always more or less the same.

Will moved his feet toward the window and he looked down to see where Mark went. He watched him cross the street. He looked like a cat, Will thought. He wanted to see. Needed to see.

Feigning casual disinterest with a yawn and a wave to the rest of the room, Will managed a quick exit without incident. He’d lost sight of Mark of course in the intervening minutes but there was really only one direction to go, so he hurried West toward the boulevard hoping to find him.

Aha. He finally reacquired his target crossing at a traffic light. It was a little exhilarating, honestly. Maybe it was the exercise. Will maintained a safe distance and followed, careful not to be seen. Will felt like MI-6, a member of His Majesty’s secret service.

Mark turned the corner into an alley and disappeared.

Damn it.

Tucked into the alley, Will found a heavy wooden door set in a flagstone building. It looked like a three-story walk-up, old but non-descript. There was a small emblem above the door, a red-painted metal square with a a black figure that was hard to make out, maybe a dragon or a serpent. Maybe Mark was getting a tattoo.

Will pulled the door open. He felt thrumming, muffled bass in his bones as he entered. The smell was heady, a mix of sandalwood, sweat and nag champa, plus something fresh, something like tea tree or peppermint. This has to be it. Will carried himself forward through the corridor and down the stairs, trying his best to act like he belonged. As luck would have it, his clothes today were suitable for the mission, dressed in a black hoodie and hair safely disguised by a charcoal beanie he happened to grab on his way out.

Will picked Mark out immediately as he entered the main sanctuary. His hair was unmistakable even in the dim reddish light of the room. Will watched him weave through the people. He followed at a distance trying his best to be invisible.

Will watched Mark exchange casual conversation with a few people he knows. Will sidled up to the bar and ordered a drink, finding a suitable vantage point for watching without being seen.

Mark then approached another man, seemed to say a few words, and the two of them disappeared to the toilets. Will was fascinated. A little nervous, barely breathing as he wondered what was happening, who the man was, what could be the purpose of the meeting. They emerged moments later and Mark rejoined the group. He hadn’t known Mark to use drugs. What else could it be? This was certainly a different Mark. Will pushed the worry out of his mind.

He noticed the dragon emblem again, this time hanging above the bar. There was a different vibe here. Intense. Sexy. Vampy, for lack of a better word. There was rich, thrumming music, nothing Will had heard before and not sure where to start with it. 90s alternative maybe…was it Nine Inch Nails? It was like a cousin of Nine Inch Nails, dark and niche for some subculture Will hadn’t experienced before.

He watched Mark, the room, the interesting people. They were walking cliches in their head-to-toe costumes, their anger expressed in makeup, too cool to be moved by it. Will was envious. He wanted to be part of it. He suddenly wished Mark wasn't here and he could wear his new clothes, put on some absurd demonstrative eyeliner, be someone else without exposing what he was going through to his friends. To the people who knew the rest of him.

Lucy.

Lucy was here. Will was taken aback by it for some reason. Why wouldn’t she be? Shouldn’t he expect that? Will felt a pang of jealousy, miffed that Mark would share this with Lucy and not with them, with his brothers. Lucy was from Mark’s regular life and this was his secret thing.

She was dressed for it too. Stockings with a seams and a pattern, black skirt with an uneven layer of tulle. Boots. There are always boots. Will watched Lucy dance with another man right in from of Mark. She teased. She ran her hand up his thigh, up his chest, and pressed her body against him. Then she turned back to Mark. He kissed her somewhat chastely with an air of relaxed amusement.

Will panicked briefly as Mark approached other end of the bar, desperate not to be discovered. He tried to look boring and disaffected. He was an actor trying to embody posture and mannerisms of someone else, anyone besides William Gold. But despite the risk he couldn’t look away. It was too fucking worth it. 

Will stilled.

An attractive, athletic man walked by Mark, barely pausing in his stride before slipping in an arm around him and kissing his neck. Mark’s tilted his head, elongating his neck as a clear invitation. It was slow, there was tongue, and as smoothly as it started it was over. Mark looked casually at the bartender throughout the whole event, eyes half-lidded but never closed, somewhere between aroused and non-plussed. The man whispered something in his ear and kept on walking. Mark leaned in toward the bartender and just ordered a cocktail, like the whole thing was routine.

Will savored his liquor and watched.

He was aroused, admittedly. Champagne bubbles fizzed through his body as he indulged in the voyeurism. He’d just watched someone touch Mark. Carnally, casually, but so intimately. And anonymously. Mark didn’t seem to know him. There was no exchange of words, no recognition. Holy shit, the whole scene. If he were alone he would touch himself and close his eyes, but he could wait. He had to wait. Will knew he would think of this for weeks.

Will studied Mark’s face and body with a new hunger. Who was he? What the fuck is this place?

Then a broad smile broke across Mark’s face and the spell was broken. For a moment he was Mark again, all Mark, Lovejoy Mark, charming and affable. Thank God.

Will turned and left as he came, remaining unseen.

[altbettygo]

Iron Butterfly

Chapter 5: Keep Your Secrets

Will opened the mini-fridge and fished through the assortment of beers and energy drinks for something he liked. He settled for the open bottle of pinot noir sitting next to it.

“Ash,” Will started as he plunked down on the couch, “do you ever hit the club circuit with Mark?” He was poking, sort of teasing, but his objectives were a bit more devious. He needed more information about Mark’s exploits. The curiosity was consuming him.

“Never been invited.”

Mark deigned offence. “What?? First, I don’t ‘hit the club circuit.’ And you’re always invited.”

“Hmm,” Ash replied, “I don’t feel very invited. Has he ever invited you?”

“Nope,” Will replied, with extra pop on the p.

“But it’s okay Mark, it takes more than that to hurt my feelings. You can have your secrets.”

“I’m an open book, boys. I’ll take you tonight in fact. There aren’t any skeletons in my closet.”

Ash shook his head, knowing of course that Mark enjoyed the little air of mystery he had cultivated about his evenings out. He figured there wasn’t much behind it really but it was worth it to let Mark believe he was pulling something off.

Mark meant the invitation but they would obviously be going someplace else. He enjoyed the separation between his band life and…whatever that other thing was. His club persona, if he must call it something. He wasn’t about to blow it up. Here, in the spaces he shared with his brothers, he felt at ease and comfortable. They leaned on him a bit, which he really, really loved. He was confident but still just Mark. There, awash in the music and dark-clothed masses, he felt powerful. Dominant. Desirable.

They pushed a little more and got Mark to reveal that there were four establishments, two dance clubs and two lounges, for lack of a better description. One, Mark revealed, had extracurricular entertainment options in the back, but he assured them he had never been inclined to partake. They needled him for details but Mark claimed he couldn’t really offer much since he hadn’t been back there. Mostly he just loved the vibe and the music. Some metal, some old-school alternative type of stuff. Lucy came sometimes, sometimes not.

At some point while they chatted on the sofas, Will had pushed up his sleeves without noticing.

Ash’s eyes lit up and eyebrows lifted.

“What’s that?” His eyes were caught on the black lace band encircling Will’s forearm. A slow satisfied smile emerged on Ash’s face.

“Just found it the other day,” Will offered. “Thought it was interesting.” Shit. He was aiming for nonchalant but wasn’t sure he was pulling it off.

“Oh, it’s interesting,” Ash said, voice low and tinged with intrigue, before resuming his own practiced nonchalance.

--*--

Will had put the bracelet on that morning with no intention of sharing it with the group.  And the boxers. Those too.

Throughout the day, he would forget the lace was there and then feel a hit of energy each time he remembered. A little thrill from the secret of it all.

He’d run his index and forefinger across the waistband when no one was looking and feel the place where the texture met his skin. The same two fingers that knew how to touch a woman. The same fingers that had found their way beneath laces worn by others, other laces touching other hipbones. A little wave of heat. A little exhilaration.

The lace at his wrist was no less of a thrill. He felt edgy and elegant but mostly not-so-dull. He felt like the sharp thing in his heart could be pulled to his skin and made beautiful. Best of all was knowing it was there, hiding for now but not especially hidden, always at risk of discovery.

He wasn’t ashamed (was he?), but just hiding to indulge in the blush of the secret.

--*--

They went out together than night, but after all that big talk, they settled for a garden-variety pub. Let Mark maintain his mystery.

[altbettygo]

Iron Butterfly

Chapter 4: Retail Therapy

Will woke up the next morning feeling better. A little inspired, like there was a song he wanted to write but it was still in the vapor stage. He had a nagging desire to put the sleeveless jumper back on and conjure the sensation he’d felt last night.  He wanted to do something with this feeling, make good use of it, make it linger. 

Will wasn’t due to meet the group until the afternoon which meant he had half a day to just drift. Six months ago he would have spent the whole day in bed. Today he had some motivation. There was a nameless, formless nagging in his heart to do something and make some art. Express something.  He wanted to feed it and capture it. So he fought off the pull of his mattress and tangled sheets and took a shower. 

He took a minute fix his hair again, repeating the steps he’d taken the night before. Curls improved. He settled for a comfortable t-shirt and oh-so-floppy pants. 

Will tucked himself in the corner of a café with a scone and hot coffee and started writing. He wrote everything that wandered through his mind. Snippets of lyrics, stream-of-consciousness prose. He wrote about the creeping cynicism. The fresh start. His open eyes. A new innocence and it’s counterbalance, the shard of glass stuck in the middle of his otherwise hopeful heart. He felt washed clean of the haze he'd felt ever since he was a teenager. These months, during this aftermath, it felt like he sort of understood the light and the dark for the first time, and all the years before it had been shades of grey. He chastised himself; so pretentious.  

There were still a few hours left so he opted for shopping. He couldn’t very well wear a girl’s top in public, but perhaps he could find suitable alternatives. He pawed through the racks at his favorite vintage shop and found a black sleeveless t-shirt. Totally basic but sort of the same idea. It was men’s, or at least genderless.  As he paid for it, he picked up a leather studded cuff he saw in a bin near the register. He put it on his wrist without buckling it and immediately felt stupid. So cliché. He put it back. 

He came upon a shop with a window full of black clothes, clearly aimed at the alternateen demographic. If the sign was to be believed it was called Outcast Outfitters. Will rolled his eyes, either amused or disgusted with himself, and went in anyway. Damn it, he just wanted to look. For inspiration.

Please God, don’t let anyone see me in here.

Amidst the cheap silver jewelry and fake leather crap – somehow all even more cliché than the studded cuff – Will found a few things he needed. Black boxer briefs with lace trim at the waist. Fucking lace. On men’s underwear. And a wristband. Like a bracelet, he figured, but really just a two-inch wide piece of stretch lace. He’d never seen anything like it and it was just interesting. 

Before checking out he scanned the room again for anything else – knowing he would probably never get the nerve again. He looked again through the clothes. His black t-shirt was good enough. Lots of stuff that was clearly for girls. Was he fucking shopping for women’s clothes?

No. 

Fuck. Sort of.

He was aiming for androgenous. Ironic maybe. There was that electricity in his blood again. 

Feeling self-conscious and a little compelled, Will took a something down from the rack. It was a black faux-leather skirt with pleats. The leather was thin, not heavy like a jacket, and the pleats were narrow. It was a wrap skirt that closed with a pair of buckles. Fuck it. 

As he approached the register, he felt like a primary school teacher buying porn, dying from embarrassment. He grabbed a gift bag at the last second so the kid ringing him up might assume it was all a gift. 

Will stopped in a convenience store for one last thing. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? He paid for a black eyeliner and a little blackberry lipstick. 

Seriously.  Fuck it.

Will didn’t even remember the walk home. 

[altbettygo]

Iron Butterfly

Chapter 3: The Closet

Will made his way back to his house ready to give himself over to sleep. He toed off his shoes. He opened the refrigerator but found nothing inspiring. He settled for a vitamin water and closed it again. I’ll eat in the morning, I promise, mom.

Will washed his face with cold water and looked blankly at himself in the mirror. Boring. He was pale, but he had always been pale. Skinny, but he’d been skinny for months. He stared at his image and tried to tease out if there was anything special. Anything real. Anything that matched his new energy.

Will dug in the vanity drawer and fished out a tin of hair product his ex-girlfriend had tried to get him to use. He rubbed a little bit of goop between his palms and worked it into his hair. Looked the same. He splashed in a tiny bit of water and added more, this time getting the hang of it. Less floof, nicer curls. He could do this at least. He looked pretty much the same, but infinitesimally less boring.

He regarded his appearance with a weak half-smile. He was dressed, of course, in his uniform, a basic brown t-shirt and floppy black pants. They gave him shit for wearing the pants every day but fuck them, he liked the pants. He felt floppy too.

He started pawing through his drawers for something that would feel not boring. Jumpers, stripes, cozy things. All so fucking dull. He’d made a huge mess by the time he got to the closet. Wedged in a pile of unfolded clothes in the left corner he found something interesting, something left behind by some girl or other. He held it up to inspect it. It was a black, sleeveless jumper with two thin grey stripes across the chest. It was very lightweight and was loosely knit, almost a mesh. Not mesh but something cooler. More expensive. Delicate and a just barely see-through. It wasn’t overtly feminine in shape or style but the knit was far too delicate for mensewear. Will held it up to his body, measuring. It looked kind of small but it was stretchy, so maybe…?

Will shucked off his stupid boring shirt and yanked the jumper over his head before he lost his nerve.

Oh.

Ooooh.

His eyes were wide and alight, a quiet fire behind them. Will wasn’t sure what this was, wasn’t sure it if was him, but it most certainly wasn’t boring.

The jumper outlined the shape of body perfectly. It gently stretched across his chest and hugged his frame, accentuating his waist, the taper of his sides. He’d never thought of himself as muscular but he couldn’t help but enjoy the look of his bare shoulders contrasting with the shirt, nicely-formed delts highlighted by the shape of it. Like this, here, his skinniness was not a flaw but a feature.

He skimmed his hand over his torso and took in the feel of it. He ran his fingers across the sliver of skin peeking through where the shirt didn’t quite meet his pants. His body tingled, invigorated. How nice to feel different.

[altbettygo]

Iron Butterfly

Chapter 2: Paradise Lost

The album effort was finally winding down and the boys were restless. They’d spent months operating as a pack, at first for survival, for Will’s survival, and then then sort of an unspoken commitment to fuse their energies until the album was perfect. The synergy was glorious, really. They could feel and understand each other to their cores. They wouldn’t have needed to talk at all to hear each other, but of course they did, because they love to talk. They were chattier than a ladies quilting circle.

In the final months of the project they found themselves separating in the evenings, breaking off and doing their doing their own things. Not every night, but more often. Mark was the most independent.

--- *** ---

Mark fished through his satchel and retrieved his housekeys. “Heading out,” he announced, and dropped the satchel in the corner. The bag thing was a signal to the rest of the boys not to follow. They knew of course, because they knew everything, that it meant Mark was heading one of his sanctuaries, a club or a bar, and needed to fly solo.

There was a little circuit of bars Mark liked to go to when he was alone. Places where his black jeans and tee-shirt were wallpaper. Places where the music was loud and rich and rattled his soul. Places where he could reacquaint himself with the parts of his being that were so very not Lovejoy. It wasn’t rebellion, just grounding. Sometimes he danced, sometimes he just drank and soaked in the atmosphere.

Tonight he did both. He made his way to a dimly lit sign that read “Paradise Lost,” and skipped down a half flight of stairs to the basement. He pulled opened the heavy metal door and felt a wave of relief. A sanctuary.

He was on top of the world today. His drum game was at it’s peak. He shouldn’t let himself feel this proud, even on the inside, but damn. It felt so good to be this fucking good. He was almost embarrassed that he felt so proud, but then too proud to be embarrassed. He went directly to the bar, ordered a few catch-up shots, and washed them down with practiced ease. Two more for good measure.

Mark wove through the mass of dark-clothed goths and began to dance. The music was pounding and he gave himself over to it. The liquor was working. The music was working. Mark felt free. Fuck. This is so fucking good.

Dancing, feeling, dressed in black from head to toe, Mark was a sight to behold. He smiled broadly as a girl came up behind him and wrapped her arms low and loose around his hips. She had bracelets and black fingernails and she felt like heaven. She danced seductively, making just enough contact to make Mark's body buzz. Mark didn't need to see her to get everything he needed from this. Turned on by the girl and even by himself, Mark basked in it and rode the wave.

--- *** ---

Will had also been going out alone. But differently. He’d been finding quiet spaces and trying to make meaning of everything around him. His eyes were open, his heart was bare, and he just wanted to start again with all of it. After the humiliation, and after the despair, Will found a sort of peace. There was nothing left to lose. He’d almost convinced himself that it was all for the best, that in the trauma the scales had fallen from his eyes and he had seen the truth of the world.

After the peace, though, a cynicism was creeping in. Will’s eyes, opened and naked, were maturing in this new clarity, and he could see the injustice again. He didn’t feel like a victim or a villain; just resigned to a new position. Peaceful and angry. Hopeful and angry. The anger was the quiet part, very quiet, at odds with the rest but still undeniably present. Will understood that it was part of him now and he needed to make room for it.

He sat that night on a quiet stone bench. Okay, so it wasn't a stone bench, but more of a happenstance low block of concrete along the side of a building, but Will tended to romanticize things. We was feeling melancholy for lack of a better word. There wasn't a word yet for 'at peace, with a hint of anger.' Will watched a pair of goth kids passing by with a mix of annoyance and jealousy. There they were, acting like they'd seen things. There they were, caricatures of themselves, trying desperately to make sure no one mistook them for happy. But there they were, having found a way pull that anger out of their hearts. There they were, not afraid to outwardly express an anger they didn't deserve to feel.

Will watched as they turned the corner out of his field of view and shoved it all down again. Spoiled brat, he thought, unsure if he meant himself or the baby-goths.

[altbettygo]

Iron Butterfly

Chapter 1

There was a bit of an edge to Mark. Sure, he was the empath of the group. He quietly tracked each of the boys’ temperatures as they rattled along, aware of the needs and wounds, highs and lows. When Will ached, Mark ached. When the frustration was too much for Ash, Mark felt it too. When Joe was just lonely and needing distraction, Mark could tell and took him out. He knew what they needed more than they did. Making everything right was Mark’s role in all this. They had to feel better for Mark to feel better. He required it.

But there beside the butter and sugar was an edge. Bitterness? No. Spice. A richness. Anise. Dark amber molasses. Although no one ever seemed to notice, Mark wore a lot of black. Jeans, shoes, tee-shirts, Docs, hoodies. With a different face, different hair, different heart, he would have looked so very rock and roll. But the black went unnoticed because he was empathetic, gold-hearted, fair-haired Mark. Mark didn’t mind. His edge was personal anyway. Not really there for public consumption.

***

Will was changing in the wake of everything. He was so sick of being treated like a broken thing by everyone. Even the boys tiptoed. They had protected him fiercely during the storm. The violent ocean would have consumed him but they wouldn’t stand for it. Wouldn’t let him go. They fought for his life when he couldn’t and they saved him, plain and simple. How dare he be ungrateful.

Will felt sick when he looked at old pictures of himself. The person he was in those images was so foreign, miles from the way he felt now. He looked with a sour stomach at an image of a man on stage looking sultry and confident, with a vanity so offensive he had to turn away from it. The person he saw was so oblivious. So fucking gorgeous. Who the fuck was he anyway? The worst was a picture with a date stamp. Will marveled and the fact that this was moments ago. Lifetimes of change in a year and a half. Was that person dead? (Was he ever real?)

It wasn’t as simple as two versions of Will, old Will and new Will. It was like he had been stripped naked and reduced to the barest form of a person, fighting to breathe, to eat, to lift his head from the earth. From there, he was healing and building himself again. He wasn’t a new Will, but a changing Will. Emergent. The code wasn’t written yet and he was feeling a little…experimental.

Will couldn’t rely on the boys for this. He needed to sort it out on his own.

[altbettygo]

Disappeared. Wandered back. May post a bit, may not— but off I go to dig for good reading ;)

[altbettygo]

Vibrate

A Wilbur/Elodie Drabble, inspired by Sway by the Perishers. Wilbur POV.

Elodie. It’s happening again and I can’t even stand it. I know I should stop it but I can’t make myself want to. I’m such a mother fucker. We’ve always kept it in a box, ever since that first time. And that other time. And I swore to myself I wouldn’t fuck this up. She’s the one that matters and it would be so easy to ruin everything.

Can you feel me changing? Can you tell that I am vibrating? I am letting myself enjoy it and I hate myself for it. You will be across the room and my body knows you’re there before I even see you. We are like tuning forks and if I vibrate too close to you I know I can make you hum. I’m at war with myself right now, dying to flip the switch.

The first time, we were mates. We studied together and talked about the boys and the girls we liked. We confessed about all of it - the hookups, the crushes, the good sex and the bad sex. You patched me up when I was heartbroken. You cared about me and tolerated my endless self-examination. We finally surrendered and kissed. All of it came out of me, out of me and into you. My heart, my flesh, your beautiful skin.

Your body was perfect. Curves and wisdom against my angles and stupidity. The sex. The fucking sex. We lost track of who we were and how we got there. I can remember, when I reach for it, the way your messy hair framed your face as I came inside you, eyes locked on yours, afraid to look away and lose it all. We stayed forever in that moment. I thought I’d never forget the morning glow on the curve of your breast, the way your skin felt, so warm and smooth against mine.

But I have. Haven’t I?

You healed me and I almost broke us. I promised not to do it again. Somehow we’re still here. We’re back where we started. You were the one to save me this time. Always the one.

Please, please push this down. Don’t be a selfish prick. Stop pulling her. Stop vibrating. She will vibrate too and she deserves so much better.