Chapter Text
“Oi, that isn’t too heavy for ya is it, little one?”
“Shove off, Gallagher,” you scoff, hoisting an amp up under your arm, but your smirk betrays you. You know he’s joking, and you can’t help it; you adore the boy. You’re two years older than him, but he insists on treating you like a kid. Liam pokes your side as he passes on his way back outside, and you nearly drop the amp onto his feet out of spite. The gravel of the alley behind the venue threatens to set you off balance as you trudge through the side door and right onto the squat, square stage. You’ll never get enough of the feeling of watching it all come together.
You’ve been helping Guigsy and Bonehead with their gear since the early days of The Rain, before Liam had joined and suggested the band’s name be changed – thank God for it. You’d never told them, but you hated that name. Oasis suited them much better. You did the work, and since you got along well with Liam, too, it just made sense to them to keep you on.
Though you aren’t officially on the payroll, the band feeds and houses you on the road, keeping your mind and your body busy. They always toss extra cash your way when they have it, and the drinks flow free when Oasis are around, which doesn’t hurt. And then there’s the music.
It’s a tragedy that you love it so much, having no musical talent whatsoever yourself, but you’ve always known you wanted to be at the forefront of something as it was happening. Watching Oasis come up, and quickly, you knew that you had made that a reality. You’re more than happy to keep doing work for them under the table, cash coming your way sparingly, as long as you can continue to be in the room when everything happens.
When Liam’s brother, Noel, had come back from touring with the Inspiral Carpets and been asked to join Oasis – well, the dynamic had changed for good then. It was hard to ignore. He had scraped together all this experience on the road and when he walked into Oasis, he’d commanded enough respect that they’d started referring to him as chief – a childhood nickname, you later learned – nearly immediately. You’ve always felt like the guys considered you a part of the group, but with Noel around, you feel that less and less.
Simply put, it’s hard for you to get a read on Noel. He has a reputation in the scene, especially among other touring crew, as someone who works hard and plays even harder, but you’ve never been allowed access to that side of him. He keeps you at arms’ length. At first you’d thought it was to do with your sex – maybe he doesn’t think a girl can keep up? – but you know that’s not true because you see the way he treats the other women in their lives. You’ve had no choice but to come to the conclusion that he just has an issue with you.
Unfortunate, too, considering you’re head over heels for him.
“That’s worth a lot, you know,” Noel mutters as he pushes past you, one hand brushing your back. You shudder at the contact, minimal and through your clothes, like you’ve never been touched before in your life. “Maybe don’t carry it like it’s a Christmas ham?”
You swallow, thick, around what you really want to say: do that again. “If you’ve a problem with how I’m lugging along with your gear, why don’t you just carry it yourself, yeah?”
“What’d we be paying you for then?”
“You hardly are as it is.” Noel’s chin tilts, winding up to fire off an insult no doubt, when Liam steps back into the building and clicks his tongue in your general direction.
“You two,” Liam whistles, gesturing over your shoulder to where the venue manager stands chattering to the rest of the band, “need to knock it off, right? The bickering is doin’ me ‘ead in. Theirs, too.”
“Comin’ from you,” Noel mutters, but he bites his tongue after that, cuts you a stern glance, and stalks off to his side of the stage. The amp you’re currently cradling is his, too, and you realize with a sigh that it needs to be set up directly next to where he’s stood winding his bleedin’ microphone cable around the stand.
“This goes just there,” you say, clearing your throat and pointing to Noel’s left when he turns to look at you. The bewildered look on his face shouldn’t catch you off guard, but it does.
He scoffs. “Then put it there?”
You roll your eyes and sidle up next to him, your arm brushing his as you work, the heavy smell of lingering smoke on his sweater driving you slightly wild. He takes quick notice of how close you are to him and snaps at you.
“D’you mind?”
“Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Noel, I feel I was pretty clear that this is where the amp goes.” You crouch to tape a power cable along the floor at the front of the stage. He’s too quiet, and when you glance up at his face, he’s stopped messing with his own cable, nostrils flaring. “Not like you watch me set it up every night or anything. What else am I meant to do with it?”
“Set it somewhere else until I’ve finished? Go do something else?”
“Oh, fuck off, like what you’re doing is more important? Draping your microphone just right?”
“Draping?” He rolls the r – forcefully. Noel’s cheeks are tinged pink, the beginnings of a flush creeping out from underneath the collar of his sweater, as well. He’s just about to lean down into your face when someone clears their throat just feet from you.
“Oi,” Bonehead calls from in front of the stage. “You’re disturbing the locals, you are.”
“Can’t you just keep it in your pants ‘til after the show?” Liam is smirking at you, hands perched on his hips.
You flush angrily and glare up at Noel, your eyes catching on the muscle working in his jaw. You’ve properly pissed him off, you know that, but he started it. Brushing your sweating palms onto the fabric of your jeans, you stand, backing up.
“Right, then, you lot can take care of the rest of this on your own. I’ll be in the van; don’t even think about asking me for anything before you’re due on stage.”
“Wait –” Noel calls after you, and you don’t turn around, just keep walking until you’re outside, the cool breeze in the air making you shiver. You’re tempted to kick the door shut behind you, but you figure that might be a bit much.
You take time to cool off, watching the sun set between the buildings from the passenger seat of the van. There’s not much to do but think, and so you do: about the blazing look in Noel’s eye when you’d quipped back at him; about the way he looked in that green sweater; about how desperately you wished you could be in his good graces. It didn’t seem fair to you to be the only one on the outside.
Liam comes to find you eventually, when the sun is all but gone and the small queue that had gathered has been let inside the building. He leans against the side mirror, pack of smokes in hand, and gestures for you to crank the window down. You relent and do as he asks.
“He doesn’t mean it, y’know,” Liam murmurs, lighting a cigarette, taking one drag, and then offering it to you without a second thought. You take it, your fingers brushing his, and feel the humming in your blood almost immediately after it touches your lips, like a placebo. “He just says things, cruel things, and he knows it. He likes gettin’ under your skin.”
“Well, he does a better job at that than setting up the stage, I’d say.”
That makes Liam laugh, but he shakes his head. “He thinks y’don’t like him.”
You cross your arms over your chest and glance out the windshield toward the venue. “Right now I do not.”
“Yeah, you’re mad at him now, but he’s sure you hate him f’real. Like he came in and ruined a good thing is what you think.” He takes the cigarette from between your fingers, puffing on it silently.
You turn to face Liam, your own eyes meeting his baby blues, trying to gauge whether he’s telling the truth. Liam hasn’t ever had a reason to lie to you before. “Why would I think that?”
He shrugs. “Beats the living daylights out of me. You’re a nice girl.”
You glare at him for that comment, but you furrow your brow, glancing back toward the venue. Quietly, almost to yourself, you say, “Without Noel you wouldn’t be Oasis.”
“Yeah, he knows tha’. We all know tha’. Think he’s just, dunno, insecure since you’ve been here longer’an he has.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Hey, didn’t say it made much sense at all. Just think it matters that you know. And I need you two to figure out your shit before this whole thing implodes.” He gestures, one finger moving in a circle in the air in front of him. “We’re gonna be big; can’t have you lot fucking it all up with your weird sexual tension.”
You open your mouth to argue and Liam barks out a laugh before you can get a word in edgewise.
“God, should see the look on your face.”
“Fuck off,” you mutter, but there’s no bite to it. He takes a long drag, cheeks hollowing, before handing the cigarette back to you and nodding at you to finish it. You pinch it at the base of the filter. “I’ll try to talk to him.”
“Yeah, you should.”
“I don’t think he’ll want to talk to me, though.” You decide to hand the cigarette back to him without taking another drag. You’re already buzzed enough as it is without the added nicotine.
Liam shakes his head, dropping it to the ground and crushing it under his shoe. “I do.”
The show goes well. You keep an eye on your watch and make your way back inside when you know the band are already onstage, flashing your all access laminate to the security guy at the front door. You’d kept to yourself til after start time, because you couldn’t stand the thought of the band all watching you warily after earlier’s outburst, like you’re a bomb set to explode.
Already halfway through “Rock N Roll Star,” you station yourself close to the right side of the stage, where Noel stands with his sunburst Epiphone. You meet his eye and are shocked to find his face shifts softer, like he hadn’t expected to see you but was pleased nonetheless. That’s new. He plays harder than you’ve seen in ages, head tossed back, eyes squeezed shut. More than once he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was watching you while he did.
With their set nearly over, you make your way back to the tiny green room, cracking open the bottle of vodka from the band’s rider. The liquor burns as it goes down, your veins alight not only with the alcohol, but with the feeling of witnessing Noel work like that. You sit and drink alone, your mind wandering, waiting for the telltale absence of music that indicates the band are about to appear backstage.
Liam’s the first to arrive and pulls you up from your seat, sweat dripping from his hair. He rubs a hand across the side of his face. “Got his spark back, r’kid has.”
“What?”
“You stood that side on purpose, yeah? Man’s not played guitar like that in weeks. Could hardly keep up.”
“I – I didn’t stand there on purpose,” you stutter, but Liam shakes his head.
“Nah, s’a good thing you did, man,” he says, and when he glances over your shoulder you know the rest of the band have made their way backstage. He cups the back of your head and you’re surprised by the gesture. “Go on then, killer.”
Liam pulls away and runs off to God knows where, readying himself to hold court at the afterparty, likely, and you brace yourself as Guigsy, Bonehead, and Tony all slide past you, murmuring different variations of “good gig, eh? Pub?” You nod at them and gesture for them to go on without you.
“Give me a sec and I’ll get a start on load out,” you say to a chorus of groans.
Bonehead’s not having no for an answer. “Come ‘nd have a drink with us first!”
You shake your head and angle your chin towards the stage. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Noel making his way down the short hallway, and your breath catches in your throat.
“Bossman’s here,” you joke, avoiding Noel’s eye as best you can. “I better get a move on.”
“She’ll meet you there,” Noel murmurs and is met with an “aye, chief” on Bonehead’s part. They shuffle away, grabbing their meager belongings and muttering amongst themselves, trying to remove themselves from what they anticipate will be an uncomfortable situation, no doubt.
“Look,” Noel starts, but you shake your head and tug at his sleeve, pulling him the short walk back to the stage. He follows – not reluctant; he just follows – and lets you guide him out the side door to the alley where the van is parked. He nearly crashes into the back of you when you stop short and turn on your heel to face him.
“You think I hate you?”
He stammers, then gives it up after a moment and shrugs gently. In the dim light, he looks caught out. The two of you stand there staring at one another for a beat longer than is comfortable, and while you wait for him to speak, the persona he’s built seems to fall apart. His eyes look sad, almost, but he grits his teeth. You take a deep breath and cross your arms over your chest, cocking your head.
“Well, I don’t, alright? I don’t know where you got that impression. Have I ever made you feel unwelcome?”
“No, but –”
“Right, then,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes at him. “Quit actin’ like it. You’re more a part of this band than I am, no need to be insecure.”
“S’not true,” he murmurs in response. There’s a tenderness in his voice you weren’t aware he was capable of expressing; it catches you off guard. “You belong here.”
“Right, well, how’s it that you find every opportunity to impress the opposite upon me?”
There’s a pause and he lets out a shuddering breath, shoulders dropping right before he takes a step forward, crowding you against the brick wall behind you.
“You intimidate the fuck out o’ me. You know what you’re doing. You just – you make me feel fuckin’ crazy,” he confesses, his gaze now level with yours. Pupils blown, lips bitten raw, you hardly recognize the man standing in front of you now. “Can’t think when you’re around. Not used to that, I’ll admit. It’s really thrown me off.”
You wouldn’t have guessed that’s what would come out of his mouth if you’d been given a million chances. You stutter, struggling to hold his eye, but you place one palm on the center of his chest, making a fist around his sweater. Your breath catches in your throat. “Don’t know what you mean?”
“Think you do know.” Noel shakes his head, makes a disbelieving noise, then leans in further. He tucks his face into your neck, his lips nearly touching you. Every nerve ending in your body is alight, the anticipation of him headier than any drug you’ve ever tried.
“You drive me…fuckin’ mad,” he breathes, and when he exhales through his nose, you feel it against the sensitive skin behind your ear. One of his hands reaches for your hip, squeezing, pulling you flat against him.
“Do I?”
“Yeah.” Noel drops his chin to mouth along your clavicle through the fabric of your tee. You nearly moan at the feeling, biting your lip to ground yourself. He grins, his other hand pushing up and under your shirt, his touch featherlight against the skin of your back. “It’s like, from the moment I joined the band you were always there, always in my line of sight. So headstrong, just pushing me. Temptress.”
You laugh at the way he says it, reverence and admonishment all at once.
“Everything about you makes me feel like I’ve gone off, like I don’t know what to do when you’re there, but the alternative is worse. When you walked in the room tonight it was like every light went out but yours. Couldn’t focus on anything but you and that guitar in my hands. Swear. Like you lit a flame in me, too.”
“Okay, fuckin’ songwriter.”
He laughs into the side of your face, bringing the hand on your hip up to fist the hair at the back of your head. “It’s workin’ though, yeah?”
You bring your gaze up to meet his and the blatant look of want in his eye punches the air from your lungs. You nod slowly, watch as a lazy grin curls across his mouth. He looks smug. Like he’s gagging for it; like he’s just found out you are, too.
When he flicks his gaze down to your lips, you say his name like a warning.
He hums, tilts his head to study you closer, and tucks his bottom lip into his mouth. “You want’a go get a fuckin’ beer, is that it?”
“They’ll all know something is going on if–”
“Let ‘em,” Noel interrupts, leaning down to press his mouth to yours. You inhale sharply; the way his bottom lip slots perfectly between yours feels like a cruel joke, so warm and so plush. An unexpected intrusion, but a welcome one, so you kiss him back, and when he presses his hips against you, you feel him. All of him - how hard he is. How badly he wants this, you. The thought floors you, and it takes every ounce of self control within you to pretend you don’t notice; this only seems to encourage him. The hand in your hair grips tighter and you groan into his mouth.
Noel mutters against you, “Not like they don’t all already suspect we’re fuckin’.”
“News to me,” you laugh, but you can tell there’s a warmth spreading across your cheeks. Noel’s nose brushes against yours. and he hums, low in his throat. You swear you can feel the sound reverberate in your gut. And – god, fuck, his fuckin’ nose. Your imagination betrays you and you get a flash of his face pressed between your legs right behind your eyes.
“Been hard since we were onstage,” he whispers, and this time the groan escapes you before you’re able to stop it. He ruts against you and your pulse quickens. You hook your fingers in the front of his jeans and pull him closer to you, though there’s not much room between your bodies to begin with. He kisses you again, this time deeper, and your knees buckle slightly when you feel his tongue slide against yours. From the moment you met Noel Gallagher, you’ve wanted him, and now here you are. Just when you had begun to think this was a lost cause.
With your body pressed to the outside of that venue you would have let him do anything to you, but a car honks its horn the next street over, and you start in his arms. Quickly pulling away from him, you glance over his shoulder and bark out a laugh when you catch your reflection in the passenger window of the van. What the fuck are the two of you doing?
This seems to snap Noel out of his trance, too. He clears his throat and releases your hair, brushing his fingers over it so it lays flat again. Your eyes flicker over his lips, swollen and pink. From deep in his chest Noel groans, “I – fuck.”
“Couldn’t have put it more plainly myself,” you murmur, watching him as he steps even further back, running a hand through his own mop. He seems to shrink, slightly, in the aftermath of whatever just happened. Huffing a breath through slightly parted lips, Noel gestures toward the venue.
“I can help you with the gear, if you want?”
“No, no, s’okay,” you brush him off, your heart pounding in your chest. If Noel stays with you you’re not sure you’d be able to keep your hands off him. He makes a face like he can see right through you, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he can.
You watch as he adjusts himself, still half hard in his trousers, and the sight of it dries your mouth. “Y’alright?”
“What?” He glances down at himself, then clicks his tongue. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”
“Sure?”
“Hundred percent,” Noel says, but he doesn’t sound convinced himself. He clears his throat and tosses his chin in the general direction of the venue. “Don’t do all that work y’self, right? Leave some of it for the boys.”
You roll your eyes back into your head. “For the boys? Fuck tha’.”
“Don’t start, yeah, you know wha’ I mean. Just – come ‘nd have a drink with us before the sun comes up.”
“Fine, I’ll try.”
“M’serious. Loosen up, have a bit o’fun.”
You promise him you’ll meet him at the pub in fifteen minutes, not a minute longer. He makes you swear on your life and laughs when you do. You can’t remember the last time you’d seen him smile so much. It’s a welcome reprieve from what had seemed to you like his usual cloudy mood.
Noel backs away, eyes locked on yours as he goes. When he reaches the venue door, he winks at you before disappearing inside. Your stomach flips, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the night sky. Just an hour ago you’d thought the two of you would never get along, and now you know what he tastes like. You want more.
God, you are so fucked.