Chapter Text
The universe doesn't like secrets; it conspires to reveal the truth to lead you to it.
~ Lisa Unger
Robert's always been a sucker for myth and mystery.
In his youth, he pored over the pages of Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, engrossed by the lush, magical worlds crafted there. He enjoyed the comic strips in The Eagle and the issues of Marvel comics his grammar school friends procured from family who had ventured overseas to America.
Even Robert's taste in music has a mythical, mysterious flavor to it. He spent his school years enthralled with the music of blues singers, one of whom was rumored to have gained his musical talents through a crossroads pact with the devil.
Naturally, Robert thinks of all these things when he first meets the enigmatic, soft-spoken, and ridiculously attractive Jimmy. There's just something about him that springs to mind tales of lore, magical creatures, and a pinch of darkness for good measure.
Robert's right, of course. But he doesn't find out how right until much later.
It's raining in Stourbridge when Robert ducks into Groove, a newly-opened record store he's quickly dubbed his favorite of the lot. He makes the pilgrimage here every Saturday when his loathsome job as a chartered accountant grants him a day of reprieve. Here, amongst the rare and imported vinyls, Robert feels most at home. His job might be soul-sucking drudgery, and his social circle isn't as wide as it ought to be, but his love of music more than makes up for it all.
He comes here so often he recognizes most of the clientele. He's pretty sure the owner of the shop groans internally when Robert strikes up a chat with the new faces that stroll in, but Robert can't help his aggressively-social nature; he loves hearing everyone's different tastes and quirks and stories to share.
He's thumbing through the blues section, about to reach for the top of the next stack, when a pale hand to his right has the same idea. Robert jerks away, because the stranger's touch stings his hand, as if an electric current's passed through them.
"I'm sorry," the stranger mutters, pulling his hand back. Robert turns his head to look at him, and, wow, it's fucking criminal how attractive this guy is. Looking at this beautiful bloke with his artfully mussed long black hair and his tall, wiry form draped in a tan peacoat, Robert's a complete and total goner. His eyes are a stunning green, his small pink mouth shapely. Every single feature is perfect, so much so he could make Michelangelo weep for joy.
Robert's so busy staring at this gorgeous man that it takes him a moment to realize he should probably say something instead of gaping like an idiot. "Oh—no, go ahead," Robert says once he finds his voice and remembers how to breathe. "It's not often I meet someone who likes the same music I do."
Tall Dark And Handsome Bloke gives the slightest smile and destroys all coherent thought in Robert's brain. Oh Jesus. "Really now? Are you a blues scholar too?" Robert tries not to stare at the way the stranger's nimble, thin fingers pluck through the stack of records.
"Since I was fourteen." Robert's not trying to impress him. Nope. No way. Not a bit.
The stranger lifts a curious eyebrow from behind his thick curtain of hair. Robert wants to reach out and tuck the locks behind his ears, just enough to see more of his perfect face. "My, that's impressive."
Not really; it's only six years. Robert's looks must belie his age, a card he's going to play very close to his chest here. He smiles at the compliment despite himself.
"Have you any favorites?" the stranger asks.
"Oh, well, you know, the usual: John Lee Hooker, Blind Lemon Jefferson, Sonny Boy Williamson, Muddy Waters, Robert Johnson—"
"Ah, the ol' King of the Delta Blues."
Robert's eyes go wide. "He's amazing, isn't he? I've never heard a voice like that."
Tall Dark and Handsome Bloke makes a quiet sound of agreement and smiles wistfully.
Robert takes a moment to appreciate his profile, then: "You're not from here, are you? I come to this shop every Saturday. Never seen you 'round before."
"How do you know I don't stop in one of the other six days of the week?" Tall Dark and Handsome Bloke says with a smirk.
Robert's face heats up. That's what he gets for trying to start a conversation.
He must notice Robert's chagrin, because he adds, "But you're right. I'm not from here. I live in Pangbourne."
That's a hell of a commute. "So what brings you all the way to Stourbridge?"
"The record selection is more in tune with my tastes," he says casually, flipping through the stack. "Or so I hear."
"Are you being intentionally punny? Because that's kind of brilliant."
There's a moment of terse silence, then the stranger laughs, his perfect teeth on display, and his eyes crinkling at the corners. God damn, is he gorgeous. He can't stop staring at the guy's lips; Robert wants to kiss him more than he wants to be successful in life.
Tall Dark and Handsome Bloke turns his head—Robert's gonna have to shorten that, because even in his head it's long—and sets his full attention on Robert, sending chills down his spine. "Is there anything worth doing 'round here besides buying records?"
Robert's mouth feels impossibly dry. TDAHB offers up another killer smile that reaches his smoldering eyes. Robert wonders if he's gone as red as he feels. "There's West Hill up by the college. 'Swhere all the best birds are."
TDAHB quirks a perfect eyebrow.
Robert realizes suggesting a place to pick up girls probably doesn't communicate that he's into dudes. So he adds, "There's some decent clubs if you go into Birmingham—the Cedar Club, the Elbow Room, Seven Stars..." TDAHB doesn't seem to be responding well to any of this. "You're not the club sort, are you? I could—I could show you 'round if you'd like." Robert winces inwardly. Why does he do stupid shit like trying to pick up this gorgeous man who's so far out of his league they're not even playing the same sport?
A smirk tugs at the corner of TDAHB's mouth. "Didn't your mother ever warn you about strangers?"
"Strangers are just friends waiting to happen," Robert says, because he's hippie garbage.
TDAHB huffs a laugh and shakes his head, like he cannot believe those words came from a real person's mouth. "Or a murder in a dark alley," he mumbles, a smirk on his luscious lips.
"You're a 'glass-half-empty' sort of bloke, aren't you?"
"I like not being murdered by overzealous strangers."
Robert panics that he's come across as overzealous. "You don't trust me?" he asks, trying very hard not to sound like he gives a shit about the answer.
"Do I have a reason to?" TDAHB says in a low, sensuous voice, gives him a twitch of a smile, and, holy shit, is TDAHB flirting with him?
Robert's brain checks out then, because he doesn't know how to handle someone this gorgeous flirting with him other than "stammer like an idiot." Sad, really. "N—no, I s'pose not." He drops his gaze to the crate of records; music's never made him stupid with his nerves fluttering and pinching his insides. "But if I knew what you like I could suggest some places."
"I read a lot."
Thank God, Robert might be able to salvage this conversation. "Oh, well, there's a bookstore not too far from here. They've got a bunch of rare stuff like limited editions and autographed copies. There's a signed Fellowship of the Rings I've had my eye on, but it costs a mint." Robert thinks he should shut the fuck up and give TDAHB a chance to talk. "What do you read?"
"A little bit of everything." The bastard's messing with him, trying to make Robert feel awkward with all these non-answers. And, fuck, it's working.
"Have you read the Evermore series?" Robert blurts out. TDAHB gives him a bemused look, and Robert runs with it. "Oh, it's amazing! These two blokes travel 'round England in the Middle Ages and investigate paranormal myths and legends. My favorite is the one where they go to Cadair Idris in Wales—I used to go there on holiday when I was younger—and it centers on the legend of how anyone who sleeps the night on its slopes is destined to wake as a poet or a madman."
Robert's acutely aware of how much he gesticulates when he talks. He shoves his hands into his pockets to make himself stop.
TDAHB's smile grows until crinkles form at the corners of his eyes, and Robert thinks he's said something good to make him smile like that. "Sounds worth a look."
Robert lets TDAHB browse the rest of the shop, though his urge to follow him around and chat is maddening. But he fights it, because he's so not overzealous. He can be casual and cool when he wants to be. Even if every thought in his head centers on what else he can say to bring a smile to TDAHB's face. He hopes TDAHB doesn't leave the shop without at least telling Robert his name; Robert wants to put a name to the face he'll be jerking off to for the forseeable future.
Robert's in the middle of brainstorming a discreet way to slip TDAHB his number when he feels a presence sidle up beside him. TDAHB's standing there, his hands shoved into his coat pockets like he's waiting for a bus.
"Do you always sneak up on people?" Robert asks, because this is the second time TDAHB's materialized at his side. It's starting to get creepy.
"You can't blame me for your own inability to be aware of your surroundings," he says, but there's a soft, teasing edge to it. "But I suppose someone who claims 'strangers are just friends waiting to happen' isn't too concerned about shady characters lurking in their midst."
Robert looks at him and is immediately dazzled. His tongue feels heavy, weighted with nerves. "You admit you're a shady character who lurks?"
A short laugh punches out of TDAHB, and Robert loves the sound of it. "What if I rang you instead of lurking? Would that be preferable?"
Robert feels his heart in his throat, fights the grin threatening to spread on his lips. Looking at TDAHB's gorgeous face makes him nervous, and when was the last time Robert was ever scared to talk to someone? What is it about this guy that twists him up inside, makes his heart pound like he's a million miles above the ground?
TDAHB withdraws a note from his pocket and hands it to Robert. Robert unfolds the slightly wrinkled paper and sees letters and numbers written in a flourish of green ink. Christ, even his handwriting is perfect. Happiness blooms in his chest, because he's scored TDAHB's phone number. There's something written above the number that makes Robert smile like his heart's about to burst: your pal, Jimmy.
TDAHB has now become Jimmy. Kind of a plain, ordinary name for someone who is none of those things, but it's not like his parents could have anticipated he'd grow up to be the most beautiful man Robert's ever seen.
"Jimmy, huh?" Robert says with a smirk. That certainly rolls off the tongue much easier than Tall Dark And Handsome Bloke, but he's got enough of a verbal filter not to let that one slip out. "I'm Robert." He thinks about offering his hand, but he might burst into flames if he gets to touch Jimmy, so he pockets the note instead. "Can I call you Jim-Jam?" he teases, because Jimmy's already given Robert his number; there's no backing out now. He can be as ridiculously himself as he wants.
Jimmy glares at him through long eyelashes. There's a youthful roundness to his features, and Robert wonders if they're the same age. "Only if I can call you Bob."
Robert frowns. "Jimmy it is, then."
Jimmy smirks, and Robert can't help but smile back.
He totally doesn't fistpump the air in triumph once Jimmy leaves the shop. Not at all.
Robert jerks off in the shower once he gets home to his flat.
He doesn't worry about stamina or making it good, just wants to get rid of this goddamn erection that's been plaguing him since he first laid eyes on Jimmy. He suffered through it on the train ride back home, his mind bubbling over with thoughts of how Jimmy might look when he comes. But now he's in the privacy of his own bathroom, and Bonzo knows enough to know whatever Robert rushed in here for isn't something he wants to see.
Robert whimpers a choked sound into the tile, his hand shifting and sliding and stroking. His hips push forward, and he imagines he's thrusting into Jimmy's fist, which makes each squeeze feel obscene as he breathes Jimmy's name out against the wet tile.
When he comes it's electric, sparks firing behind his eyes in a sea of white, and Robert slumps, spent, evidence of his lust swirling down the drain.
He throws his clothes back on, wrings the water out of his hair, and steps out.
Bonzo's lying on the couch, doing his best to look enthralled in a magazine and not at all like he wants to be bothered with the minutiae of Robert's love life. But Bonzo shares the often-pornographic details of his dates, so Robert thinks he can handle this. Besides, Bonzo's one of the few friends Robert trusts enough with the fact that he's into dudes.
"I met the most gorgeous man on the planet today."
Bonzo makes a noise, as if that sentence explains why Robert suddenly rushed home for a shower. And, yeah, it kind of does.
"His name's Jimmy," Robert says, trying casual, but the blush creeping over his cheeks gives him away. "He's got an amazing smile, and his eyes are, well, they're dazzling, really. And his hair is huge and fluffy and I really want to touch it at some point. Is that weird? I think that's weird. It shouldn't be weird. I'd let him touch mine if he wanted." Robert's entirely aware of the innuendo laced through that sentence, and he doesn't disagree with it.
Bonzo lowers the magazine to fix Robert with the appropriate amount of disapproval. "You're gushing, and it's making me question your sanity."
"You'd gush too if you saw him. He's beautiful," Robert says, stressing the word. "You look at him and it's like... how?"
"I'm so glad you're not shallow."
Robert frowns. "He's not just gorgeous. He's funny, charming, and likes the same music I do. And"—Robert reaches into his jeans' pocket—"he gave me his number!" He holds out the slip of paper so Bonzo can see. "Look, even his handwriting is perfect."
Bonzo examines the note with suspicion. "Where'd you meet him?"
"The Groove."
"Oh no," Bonzo groans. "This could be a warning sign of complete and utter insanity. He talked with you at a record shop and still gave you his number? Obviously the bloke's not workin' with a full deck of cards." Because Bonzo's seen Robert's embarrassing, overzealous displays of enthusiasm when it comes to discussing music—or anything, really. Hell, hadn't Jimmy even used the word "overzealous" to describe him?
Bonzo makes a face. "You didn't tell him about Obs-Tweedle, did you?" Obs-Tweedle is the name of their band—Bonzo on drums, Robert on vocals. They're nothing huge, but they play to small crowds on Saturdays at local pubs.
"I didn't want to come on too strong."
"Yeah, we wouldn't want that."
Robert pouts at him.
"Just be careful. He could be a total nutter."
"I suppose you think he's crazy because he's interested in me?"
"I'm not going to answer that."
Robert huffs and storms away. Bonzo might find a deranged kind of pleasure in taking the piss out of him, but that doesn't mean Robert has to like it.