Chapter Text
"I came to see your band a couple times," Mav says, leaning his shoulder against Bradley's in the green room for a second, then crouching to rummage through his bag. Looking for his eyeliner, Bradley figures. Mav comes up with it a second later - the pencil is starting to get stubby.
"How many times is a couple?" he asks, watching in the mirror as Mav sketches the liner onto his lids, both above and below, then smudges it a little further with his fingertips.
Mav tilts his head back and forth for a second. Then he gestures at Bradley with the pencil. "Half a dozen, maybe?"
"Half a dozen is so many more than a couple," Bradley replies, surprised. He moves so Mav can get at him with the liner. He's still reluctant about the whole idea, but it means Mav touches him - and gently, so he figures he doesn't mind wearing it all that much after all. "That's - shit, that would have been most of a tour for us."
Mav smiles at him. It's soft. "We weren't doing anything at the time, so I sort of… followed you around for a while." He lifts his hand and Bradley closes his eyes, then feels Mav carefully pull his eyelid taut. He lets himself exhale and the softened point of the pencil touches his skin a moment later.
It feels gentler this time. It also feels like Mav's making it last longer this time - or maybe he's really putting a lot more eyeliner on Bradley than last time. The pencil moves in tiny fits and starts, small little lines, all the way from Bradley's inner eye out to the corner, then inward along the bottom of his lashes just a bit. Mav grips his chin and turns his head slightly, obviously checking his work.
"I can't believe you came to so many of those shows and didn't say anything," he breathes out, as Mav tilts his head back and forth.
The touch on his face turns soft. "I wanted to see how you were doing, but…" There's a long enough pause that Bradley opens his eyes, and sees Mav's conflicted expression up close. "Honestly, fuck, I was scared."
"Of what?" He's aware that there are half a dozen other people around, but no one's really paying any attention to them. "Mav?"
"You turning around and refusing to talk to me."
Bradley blinks at him. Then he settles his hand on Mav's side, feeling the waistband of his jeans through the thin material of tonight's ripped-up U2 t-shirt, the warmth of his skin. He can hear Phoenix crashing through their last song out on stage; Natasha's wailing her soul out into the mic, and Bob's bass is turned up so loud Bradley can feel it through the soles of his shoes. It's a definite reminder that he's at a rock concert: his favorite place to be.
"I don't know," he replies finally. He rubs his thumb over Mav's waist. "I might have. But I might not."
Mav looks at him a second longer. Then he nods and gestures with the eyeliner pencil. Bradley closes his eyes and feels Mav lean in again, a warm thumb settling next to his liner-free eye. He wraps his arms loosely around Mav's body as he hears the last chords of Phoenix's set fade out amid a loud wave of applause.
"Ten minutes!" someone calls.
The pencil drags and skips over his eyelid for a few seconds, then Bradley feels Mav's fingertips smudging the lines, melting it into his skin even more. Someone whistles. "Looking hot, Rooster!" a voice whoops, and Bradley grins, opening one eye enough to see Merlin pointing at him.
"You want some?" Mav asks, turning towards Merlin with the eyeliner, and Merlin slides behind a laughing Hondo as he shakes his head.
Mav looks back at Bradley, clearly eyeing his handiwork, and does another second of smudging before stepping fully away. People are starting to head for the stage, setup swaps and last-minute instrument checks. Bradley catches Mav's hand and squeezes just for a moment. Then he follows Fritz into the dim blue light of the stage and starts looking over his kit. Tonight's crowd is a low rumble at the moment, the sound of thousands of voices all talking at once over the pre-show Aretha Franklin that's playing over the venue speakers.
Mav usually doesn't come out until the last second, but tonight he stands in front of Bradley's kit with a beer in his hand for a few minutes. "You know people are screaming your name, since you're out here already," Bradley says, loud enough to be heard over the noise.
Mav shrugs one shoulder, then grins. "Maybe I'll go make friends," he replies. Then he blows a quick kiss and his expression softens into an actual smile, one that Bradley knows is just for him. His lungs feel like they shiver in his chest.
He watches as Mav walks to the edge of the stage and starts talking to the fans in the front row - shaking hands, clearly thanking people for coming.
"Really, Rooster, what did you do to him?" Hondo asks, slinging his bass over his body.
Bradley laughs. "I didn't do anything, I swear."
Hondo just gives him a look. The lights flash, signalling. Mav stands up and moves behind the mic stand, and Merlin hits a chord on his guitar. The audience screams. The sound rolls over Bradley like a wave, vibrating through his bones; it's something he doesn't think he'll ever get used to.
"Arizona," Mav purrs into the mic. Bradley settles onto more firmly his stool, sticks in hand. The lights swirl overhead - white, then blue, then red, then white again. He sees the audience iluminnated intermittently, people with their hands in the air and their heads tilted back.
"I love you," Mav says, and there's a chorus of shrieks. Merlin slams another chord and it vibrates through the room.
Bradley runs his fingertips over the cymbals one at a time.
"Can't believe you all came out, packed this room," Mav is telling the audience. Someone howls like a wolf and there's an echoing ripple of laughter. "Yeah, man," Mav says, "that's it… what do you guys want to hear first?"
Someone yells something Bradley can't make out. Mav chuckles, the microphone amplifying the sound. It seems to echo warmly around the room. "That one, really?" he asks. Then Bradley sees him glance over his shoulder at Merlin. He gives a little shrug and light flashes over the aviators perched on top of his head.
"Sammy, what do you think?" Mav asks, tone conversational. Hondo dances a little bass line, just a couple notes, and Bradley watches Mav's smile grow broader.
Merlin shrugs. He leans towards his mic. "I'm down," he says.
"Hondo?"
Hondo plucks out the bass line to "Roses in the Sky", much slower than actually performed. Whistles echo through the audience.
Mav turns his attention to Bradley. "Down for a love song, Rooster?"
Bradley taps out a ba-dum-ch, and laughter ripples through the room. Mav winks at him. Bradley twirls his sticks and plays a quick little hi-hat riff, grinning.
Mav blows him a kiss, then turns back to the crowd. "I think we could bring it down to Hondo's speed, if you guys don't mind a slow opener."
There's a long, echoing wave of noise. Whoever's in charge of the lights tonight dims them slightly, throwing a gentle blue spotlight on Mav where he's at the edge of the stage. Soft white strobes around the room and Bradley can see individual faces out in the crowd again as the lights cross them, people with their eyes closed, people with their arms raised above their heads, fingertips pointed towards the ceiling.
His heart throbs slowly in his chest, looking out at the sea of people, all here for one common purpose.
Then he sees Mav look first at Merlin, then at Hondo, then at him. He blows Bradley another kiss, but it's a much smaller movement this time, just for him.
Bradley feels his face redden, and blows one in return.
"All right," Mav says into the mic, "let's do this."
* * *
Something's nudging at his foot. Bradley opens his eyes; it's Mav, knocking his boot against Bradley's sneaker. He'd fallen asleep tilted against the window, sitting sideways on the bench seat. There's a whine of brakes and he feels the bus start to slow. Out the window, he sees the Hangar silhouetted against the dimming evening sky. California, again.
"We're back," he says, not even thinking about what's coming out of his mouth.
Mav nods, his mouth quirking in a smile. His gaze doesn't move off Bradley's face. The bus comes to a complete stop and a minute later, the door opens with a quiet mechanical screech. "Guess we should get off the bus," Bradley says, sitting up fully.
Mav kicks his foot again gently and gets up from his own seat, then holds his hands out for Bradley to grab. "Guess we should."