Chapter Text
2003
Joey’s ears were still ringing from the concert as he jogged onto the bus, anxious to get to the afterparty Ben and Acey had been blabbering about. He slammed the door shut behind him - or tried to, at least - it bounced off the frame, creaking back open. He cursed under his breath, making his way to the drawer where he kept his clothes, scrunching his nose at the smell coming from the drawers. They definitely needed to stop at a laundromat soon.
He grumbled, still in a rush, and grabbed the first items of clothing that didn’t smell like piss and ass. He tossed the clothes onto a nearby seat, relieved to finally be getting out of his stage clothes. Wearing fishnets and makeup wasn’t fun when you were sweating your balls off. He toed the large platforms off, reaching under his skirt to hook his thumbs in his fishnets, and pull them down his legs. He then removed his shirt, letting it fall to the ground beside him.
Joey nearly jumped out of his skin when the door flew open, slamming loudly against the wall behind it. He spun around quickly, instinctively folding his arms over his chest, as if he were some shy schoolgirl. It was only Wednesday, drunk and loud as ever, and he began to laugh at Joey’s bewildered expression. Joey rolled his eyes, lowering his arms from his chest and turning back toward his waiting pants and shirt. “Fuck off, Weds,” he grumbled, picking up the shirt. “What’re you even doing here?”
Wednesday sniffled, walking across the bus towards Joey. “Ben said there was a sixer under the seats,” he answered, pointing at where the supposed six-pack was.
Joey rolled his eyes once more, getting down on the floor to inspect beneath the seats. He kneeled down, squinting his eyes to see through the darkness. “Well, it looks like Ben lied to you-” Joey sat up, sitting on his feet, and came face to face with Wednesday’s thighs. “What’re you doing, Joseph?”
Weds shrugged, offering a hand to help Joey stand. “Just came to see for myself, don’t know why you’re so uptight.”
Joey huffed, taking his hand and rising to his feet. “Sorry,” he muttered, wiping the dirt from the floor off his skirt. “I just don’t like being on this bus, I guess. Concert got me amped up, yknow?”
Wednesday nodded, picking up Joey’s shirt and holding it out to him.
“Gotcha. By the way, you look like a chick in that skirt.”
Joey scowled, glaring at the gleeful smirk on Wed’s face. He knew he was fucking with him, but he wasn’t in the mood for it.
“Piss off, you look like a girl right now.”
Wednesday feigned shock, dramatically raising his hand to his chest and dropping his jaw. “ Me ? Look like a woman ? Never ,” he was sporting a toothy grin, holding back a laugh. “But you on the other hand…?”
Joey grumbled, snatching his shirt out of Wednesday’s hand. “I’m gonna kick your ass one of these days,” he told him, pulling the shirt over his head.
“What’s stopping you? Go ahead and try it.”
Joey laughed, assuming he was joking, and pushed his skirt down, leaving him in his shirt and boxers.
“I’m serious, try it,” he insisted, his eyes wide like it was some funny game.
“Like what, swing on you?” Joey asked incredulously, reaching for his jeans.
“Yeah, try it. I wanna see if you can.”
Joey squinted, unsure. Weds was insistent, however, too drunk to even realize he was trying to instigate a fistfight with his guitarist. But after a few more moments of Wednesday still refusing to change his mind, Joey figured why the hell not, it’s not like he hadn’t wanted to hit him before. So, deciding this would probably be his only chance, Joey cocked his arm back and swung forward, fully expecting to plant a half-assed punch on Wednesday’s jaw.
He was most certainly not expecting Wednesday to grab his wrist, twisting his arm, and quickly spun him around, pressing him face-first into the wall with his right arm twisted painfully behind his back. Joey yelped, hissing at the sudden pain, trying to wiggle free from Wednesday’s grasp. Weds was chuckling, gripping him tighter, his other hand holding his face against the wall.
“What the fuck , man?! Let me go!” Joey snapped, still fighting against his hold.
“Okay, okay, I’ll let ya go,” Weds was laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world as he let Joey free, watching him dart as far across the bus away from him as he could.
“Hey, I said you could try ,” Wednesday was still laughing, moving towards Joey.
Joey was glaring at Wednesday, rubbing his sore wrist. “Fuck you,” he grumbled, even though he wasn’t really mad.
“Did I hurt you too bad?” Weds’ voice was softer, suddenly caring.
“No, I’m fine,” Joey answered quickly, watching Weds cautiously as he reached out to delicately hold Joey’s wrist, lightly smoothing his thumb over the reddening skin.
“‘M’sorry,” he slurred, rocking back on his heels.
Joey shrugged, opening his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut when Wednesday leaned down to plant a soft kiss on the inside of Joey’s wrist. Joey jerked his hand out of Wednesday’s grasp, looking up at him in shock. “What are you doing?” he felt like he’d asked him that a thousand times tonight.
Weds raised his hands defensively, taking an unsteady step backward. “Just kissin’ it better,” he was still slurring, speaking quieter now. “You don’t want me to do that?”
Joey was red, crossing his arms over his chest; he didn’t have an answer.
Wednesday raised a brow quizzically, stepping forward again. “Well?” this time his words were smooth, low, like a soft purr. “Do you want me to do that or not?”
Joey looked at the floor, frowning. “What are you trying to do, Joseph?” he muttered, the air in the bus beginning to feel heavy, tense.
“Nothin’,” he answered, but his actions said otherwise.
Wednesday had his hands flat on the wall on either side of Joey’s head, almost pressed against his chest he was so close. “I’m serious,” Joey continued, raising his hands to push at Weds’ shoulders. “What are you fucking doing?”
Weds scoffed, looking down at Joey’s frustrated gaze. “Let me just…” he was grumbling, leaning down to try and kiss the smaller man. “I just want-”
Joey huffed, turning his head to the side so Weds got a mouthful of hair. “You’re fucking drunk, man,” he insisted, still trying to shove him away.
Wednesday whined - a sound that made Joey’s nerves jolt - and stomped his feet like a toddler. “I thought you’d want this,” he mumbled, leaning away from him. “Like how you are with Eric-”
“ Don’t ,” Joey hissed, shaking his head. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t fucking belong, Joseph.”
“Well why does Eric get to-”
“Eric doesn’t get to do shit ,” Joey snapped, sighing in exhaustion. “If I do this, will you just shut the fuck up about it already? I was supposed to meet up with Acey half an hour ago anyway.”
Wednesday nodded, his eyes wide like an excited puppy, once again moving to stand in front of Joey. Joey sighed, pushing his hair out of his face, “Just get it over with,” he grumbled.
Weds frowned, but did as instructed, and leaned forward to kiss him. His lips were softer than Joey expected, and he kissed him back, eventually finding a slow rhythm with each other. It was different from Eric - Wednesday’s lips were thinner, Joey’s enveloped his, and he was slower, not as desperate. Eric was always so needy . Wednesday was cupping his face, taking the lead, pulling him closer.
It was nice not to hear Eric begging in his ear for once.
-
Eric, for once, wasn’t in the mood to party. He had a few drinks and met with a few fans after the show, but otherwise, he lingered around the venue until it was mostly empty. Deciding it was high time to shower and get out of his sweaty clothes, he began the short walk to the bus to get some fresh clothes.
The door to the bus was cracked open, which was unusual, but he figured someone else grabbed some shit off the bus and didn’t shut the door all the way. Shrugging it off, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him all the way. He sighed, the smell in the bus was strong enough to taste, and he wanted to make this a quick trip. He staggered to the chest of clothes, rummaging for clothes of his own, when he heard an unmistakable thud come from the bunks. He frowned, glancing in the direction of the sound, but saw nothing. As he was turning to leave, however, he heard breaths and quiet shushing.
Eric stopped in the doorway, one hand on the door handle, the other clutching his change of clothes. Who would be on the bus this late? He was contemplating inspecting the noises when he heard, muffled but loud enough to be heard, an utterance of ‘ Joey ’.
Eric froze, his face paling, and stayed silent.
Sure enough, it was followed by a loud grunt, another soft thud, and the unmistakable sound of Joey’s voice saying, “ Weds...please…”
Eric felt saliva filling his mouth, his stomach turning with the urge to vomit. He threw open the tour bus door, leaving as fast as he could without tripping and falling onto his face. He half-jogged, half-sprinted to the hotel a few blocks down, clutching his clothes at his side. He hiccupped, tears streaming down his face as he burst into the lobby, ignoring the confused questions the lobbyist shot his way, and made his way to the first elevator he saw. If he were in a movie, this would be his Oscar-worthy moment.
He slammed his hand repeatedly on the button, cursing under his breath for the elevator to just fucking hurry up . Finally, the doors opened, and he threw himself inside, pressing the ‘close doors’ button before anyone else could get on the elevator with him. He pressed the button for his floor, dropping his clothes on the ground; he didn’t really care about them anymore.
What could he care about, really?