BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds

by Lexxie Couper

  “No,” Darke complains, turning the sound into a low hollow moan, while his brows concertina. “You can’t bail now. We’re a team. Don’t desert me.” I swear if he wasn’t clinging onto Knox to stop him pitching head first into the toilet bowl he’d have clapped his hands together in prayer and maybe fallen on his knees to beg.

  I make the stupid mistake of looking at him, naked chest, tattooed biceps, multiply-pierced ears and all. It’s the doe-eyes that break me, though.

  Needy bad boys with a drop dead sexy pouts, tats and truly wicked green eyes—yep, I’m a sucker. My mum always said I was too nice.

  “All right, but you’re the one who gets to undress him.” I’ve already got more intimately acquainted with Mr. Knox than I really care to be. I’ve no desire to further deepen my knowledge of his person. Of course, if we were talking about me stripping Darke and getting him in the tub, things would be very different. I reckon he could make bath-time interesting.

  “We could just wash him with his clothes on.” Darke squeezes his lips into a half-hopeful, half-pleading moue.

  “You can’t put him to bed wet, and denim is a bugger to remove when it’s sodden.”

  “I don’t wanna,” he complains, but he’s just moaning because it’s a grim job, not because he’s actually going to bow out of doing it. When he looks at Knox, his expression softens. There’s genuine affection there, despite the godawful mess Knox is in, and the trouble he’s going to cause. “Fuck it, all right, how are we going to do this?”

  “I’ll hold onto Colonel Spew, and you do the rest.”

  I position myself behind Knox with the vanity unit at my back as something to brace myself against, then wrap my arms around his chest, so that he’s flopped inside the ring I’ve made. I’m not going to be able to hold him like this for long, because the man has zero muscle tone at the moment. He’s like a sleeping toddler. Only he’s twelve…thirteen stones of dead weight rather than two.

  “Still don’t wanna.” Darke gingerly unbuckles Knox’s belt. I get the impression his overblown expression of distaste—tongue sticking out, and eyes narrowed as if he’s sucking lemons—is for my benefit. If it were just the two of them, it’d be total efficiency, and barely a wrinkled nose.

  Darke drags Knox’s jeans down to his ankles and leaves them there. “I’ll take them off when we upend him.”

  Good plan. If he tries to do it now, we’re all going to end up in a tangled heap, which is closer than I want to be to Knox, and more intimate than it’s sensible to get with Darke. The fact Knox might end up with concussion in the process, might have a bit of bearing too.

  Removing Knox’s T-shirt takes several attempts as we pause whenever he makes chomping noises so that Darke can leap hastily out of range. Then he gingerly tiptoes back. He’s light on his feet, so I actually enjoy the process of watching him dance about.

  We do eventually get Knox bared and into the bath. Surprisingly, he turns out to be something of a furry beast. You’d never think it to look at him clothed. Certainly, I never think of fair-haired men as being hairy, but his arms, legs and chest are all covered. Admittedly, the hairs are pale, so you almost don’t notice them at first. Ivy would love him if she wasn’t so besotted with Nightshift. She loves hairy men, especially if they have tufts of the stuff that surrounds their navels. Knox has that, and a thick growth of golden fur that extends down over his stomach to form a thicker, darker thatch around his cock.

  I stare at his slumbering beast for a good thirty seconds before my sense of propriety kicks in, and I avert my gaze, before I get accused of ogling a more or less comatose man. It’s not as if I’ve a particular hankering to look at Knox’s junk, but when it’s so blatantly on display, it’s kind of hard not to notice.

  “I suppose it’s too much to ask you to help me wash him?”

  Apparently it isn’t, since I grab the shower head and angle it at our charge. “Tell you what, you scrub and I’ll rinse.”

  TEN

  Nathaniel Darke

  If I wasn’t infatuated with Loveday Trevaskis already, I am now. The woman is worth twelve of every member of Paradise Kiss. In short, she’s a living saint. Here she is, helping me perform a pretty unsavoury task, and there’s no benefit to her. If anything, the opposite is true, because if we manage to clean Knox up and rouse him into consciousness, then the competition between our bands remains on. Currently, Bitch Slap are set to win on a bye.

  She’s not stupid, so I can only put her actions down to kindness. I haven’t seen a whole lot of that in my life, so I’m a little mesmerised by it.

  Once we have Knox stripped off, it doesn’t take much effort to clean him. A squirt of complimentary shower gel, a bit of shampoo and he looks presentable, if still sickly pale, but we’re all going to have shadowy, dark ringed eyes and a ghoulish pallor come six o’clock. I can’t believe it’s a time anyone sees out of choice.

  I look at Knox while I swoosh the face-cloth over his skin, and struggle not to blame myself for his condition. I know what he’s like. I ought to have hand cuffed him to my side post-gig, but I let Joel distract me, and then it seemed more productive to keep on working than waste time locating him when he failed to show.

  Knox gets disorientated. He’s probably trying to figure out which room and which floor to find me on. How many times did I think that? How many times have I excused his behaviour with similar thoughts? And yet, he never has any trouble procuring his fixes.

  What I need to admit, what Paradise Kiss as a whole need to accept is that Knox is an addict. Joel’s already accepted it. That’s why he’s making a fuss. I’m not sure I’m ready to completely pull my own blinkers off. Doing so is going to make life way tougher. I’m not even sure if Paradise Kiss will survive. Actually, I’m not sure we’re going to survive the meeting with Graham Callahan. Bands have to consist of people who respect one another, and who pull their weight. Knox is more like a lodestone weighing us down. If he fluffs this for us, then resentment is going to be running at an all-time high.

  Yet, I can’t bring myself to cut him loose.

  It feels wrong to do so. Desperately, desperately wrong. He stood by me when I needed him.

  “Ready to rinse him off?”

  I nod, and Loveday turns the shower dial. A small pfft noise, precedes a fierce blast of water that hits Knox square in the chest.

  “Whaaaaaarrr!” He screams siren-like, as he folds up into a sitting position, head butting me in the process.

  “Oh God! I’m sorry.” She turns the flow against the tiles. “Wasn’t anticipating it coming out so fast or so cold. Is he all right? Are you all right?” She rubs my temple, and I lean into the caress. I didn’t realise I had quite such a headache brewing until her fingers landed there and started completing circles. My eyelids slide closed, facial muscles relax. Shit what I wouldn’t give to have Knox magically disappear down the plug hole right about now. Then it’d be just me and her all alone, and me with my head at exactly the right height for her to sit on my face.

  “Darke, is he OK?”

  “What? Yeah, he’s fine. Leastways, no better or worse than before.” I mean, the bastard’s still breathing.

  “I didn’t mean to startle him.”

  “He’ll live.” I doubt a bit of cold water is going to traumatize him for life. I’m not even sure his upward jerk was anything more than a function of basic biology. Conscious thought was not a feature of that reaction.

  Loveday turns her attention back to the temperature dial, and fiddles with it until the flow meets her satisfaction. Knox snores while she gently rinses him off. It makes me want to turn the shower dial to freezing again. He doesn’t deserve her care. Jealousy skewers me through the guts when I realise how her expression has softened as she looks at him. I don’t want her eyes and face appearing all doughy and sympathetic. He’s not a teddy bear. He’s a grown man who ought to be able to take care of himself. Although, umpteen of his ex-girlfriends will testify he’s far from that. Knox can’t half
attract them, but their desire to cuddle his squishiness is fast eroded by his neediness. At heart, Knox is a lost little boy desperately in need of his mum.

  In my experience, women date musicians because they fancy a walk on the wild side, not because they want to take care of you, which only makes me doubly riled over Loveday’s expression. I want her to be all molten and wide eyed because she’s anticipating the dirty fun we could be having, not because baby bear is sucking his thumb.

  “What now?” Having rinsed away all the soap bubbles, Loveday sits back on her haunches.

  “Dry him off and leave him here.” There doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of point in attempting to move him into the bedroom. Bugger would probably just be sick again the moment we got him there.

  She eyes me suspiciously, perhaps sensing my irritation, though perhaps not realising the cause of it. “You dry, I’ll get the duvet. Try not to smother him.” Off she hurries, leaving me to the joy of patting him down. If he ends up a bit sore in places because I didn’t do as thorough a job as I might, then he can consider it minor payback for the shit storm he’s about to create, and the dreams he’s about to ruin.

  “I must have a screw loose to be doing this for you,” I tell Knox. “The band’s about to go belly up. Joel’s going to walk, and sitting on Dane is the only way I’m going to be able to prevent him killing you and Jessie.”

  Knox delivers a contented snore in response.

  “You don’t give a shit, do you?”

  He snuffles and sneezes over me, before falling back into his wheezy snorting.

  Out of this world!

  I avail myself of the facecloth.

  Jeez, must be nice to be able to tune out so completely.

  Loveday returns with a duvet and a pillow. We wedge the latter under Knox’s head, and tug the cover around him, then stand back and sigh like the relieved parents of a hyperactive toddler. I really wish we didn’t have a twenty-three year old baby on our hands, because I’m keen to do some hiding from reality of my own right now.

  Naturally, this involves Loveday, an ocean wide bed, several waterproof jackets and a whole lot of tongue action.

  “What will you do now?” she asks, while rubbing sleep out of her pretty eyes. She smudges a bit of mascara, but I don’t tell her, because it’s cute. My thoughts return to the idea of us entwined. I’d like to find a way to give her proper panda eyes. “You do realise there’s no way on earth he’s going to be in a fit state to play.”

  What I’m going to do—what I’m already doing—is pray for a miracle. That’s the only thing that’s going to get us out of this fix. Paradise Kiss can’t perform without a bassist, and Knox is the only one we have. He might astound us all and get out of the bath when required to do so, but I think it’s more likely that a shark will swim up through plughole.

  “Isn’t there anyone you can call on to stand in?”

  I keep my eyes averted, because I don’t want her to even suspect who my first choice would be were I to call for help. It’s irrelevant, it’s not happening. I know Knox has ruined things, but I still can’t just throw him to the wolves.

  “You must know people. Band’s don’t operate in isolation, and you’ve been on the scene for what…two, three years?”

  Oh shit! It’s a good thing Joel isn’t around to hear this, because he’d be utterly disgusted with me for not pouncing, given she’s provided such a good opening. There’s no question that with Loveday playing bass, Paradise Kiss would soon be hurtling towards international stardom. I want that. I want it so badly, that all my frustrations writhe inside of me, and fill up my soul with resentment. The target’s not Knox though, it’s her, because she’s the solution, whereas he’s merely the problem.

  I want to hurt her. I want to make her shut up.

  “There must be someone, Darke.”

  I stick by my friends. I do not screw them over, or leave them behind. Knox and I are brothers. Mantra like, I silently chant that thought, while my fists clench.

  The sickness and temptation I have writhing in my guts must be plainly expressed on my face, because Loveday ducks down, seeking to make eye contact. She takes hold of my arm and immediately, my muscles tense.

  “Really, nobody at all?” She shakes her head, obviously surprised and saddened by this fact.

  I cough to clear my throat, and I say it. “There is one person.” I don’t mean to, but it somehow slips out, and then I’m disgusted with myself.

  Hope bleeds back into her blue eyes. “That’s fantastic.”

  My resolve almost wavers. Would she smile if I asked her? Jump on board and make everything right?

  “I can’t ask them, though,” I say, deciding to be strong and stick to my principles.

  Knox is my brother. Knox is my brother.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  He’s still my brother.

  “I’m not sure there’s any material difference.” I make the statement through clenched teeth. “Anyone I called in would insist on being part of the group going forward, and who could blame them considering the contract that’s hanging in the balance.”

  “Which means shnickt time—” She draws her finger across her throat. “—for Knox.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  She nods. “I can see the problem. However, if you don’t call in someone, it’s going to cost you and the other two guys your dreams. That hardly seems fair.”

  I know it’s not fair, but must she point it out?

  The truth…any sort of logic, is not what I need to hear right now.

  “Shouldn’t you get your guys together and talk it over?”

  “I didn’t see a whole lot of response when I reached out to them earlier. You’re here because they can’t be buggered to pick up their phones.” In any case, I don’t want to involve them. I know what Joel will say, and Dane too, most likely. They’ll cast Knox adrift in a heartbeat.

  “What’s he done for you that’s so great?” she asks.

  “Excuse me?” I blink, because my tired brain can’t keep up with the leaps she’s making.

  “Your loyalty to him comes from somewhere.”

  “Aren’t you loyal to your friends?” Why does there need to be some deep and meaningful answer? Can’t I simply believe in doing what is right? “We’re a team, we’re supposed to support one another and stick together.”

  “Yes,” she drawls, stretching the word out in a way that forewarns me that the obliteration of my argument is nigh. She points at Knox. “Is he being a team player?” She waits until my gaze has flicked over to Knox and returned to her face. “Of course he’s not. He’s about to cost you the biggest break of your career. Possibly the only big break you’ll ever get. Why do you think it’s fine to let him do that?”

  I don’t have an answer.

  “Why Darke?”

  “It’s Nate,” I tell her again. “And it is, because this is my fault.” I get to my feet and scratch my hand through the front of my hair. I want this to be the end of the discussion. I want us to stop talking about Knox and do something else instead.

  “How is it your fault?”

  “It just is,” I mutter beneath my breath.

  “Did you supply him? Did you light up for him, or shove whatever muck he’s taken down his throat?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then you’re not responsible. He is. Cut yourself some slack, Darke…Nate. Stop putting his interests ahead of everyone else’s and do what’s best for you all. In his case, I suggest getting him some genuine addiction help.”

  When she breaks it down in that way, my loyalty seems crazy, and yet, I’m still determined to cling on to Knox. I can’t let him go. I know what it’ll mean and I don’t want that on my conscience. On the other hand, I don’t really want to screw up Dane and Joel’s lives.

  “There’s no time to practice with another bass player,” I say, finding an excuse not to even pursue that avenue.

  “Pfft! You’re kidding, right? I
t’s one song, two, if you need a back-up. Give me twenty minutes I could manage that with reasonable proficiency.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not an ordinary bassist.”

  The remark raises a smile. Damn, I love it when her cheeks lift like that, and a hint of colour washes across their tops. It makes me forget why we’re here and how badly everything sucks for a moment.

  But only for a moment.

  “I’m hardly unique. I’m just prepared to put in the work. I think the problem here, is that you have a bass-player who doesn’t put in any work, ever.”

  That’s not wholly true, in the early days, in fact, until relatively recently Knox worked twice as hard as any of us. He’d spend hours upon hours playing our tracks, until the finger movements no longer required conscious thought.

  “If we turn up to play for Graham Callahan with a new bassist, he’s going to want to know why.”

  “Yeah—so tell him the truth. That Knox is a screw up and you felt this was a more stable line up. I think he’ll appreciate your honesty.”

  Why am I not surprised she has an answer? Why the fuck is she helping me? If my willingness to sacrifice everything for Knox doesn’t make sense to her, well then her willingness to stick her neck out for me, doesn’t make sense either.

  She looks at me and wets her lips.

  “Know what I think, Darke? I think you’re clinging on to him, because he’s an inbuilt excuse for failure. I think you’re frightened to succeed.”

  “That is such bollocks.” I am not afraid of success. I’ve been striving for it long enough. “And I suppose you’re not,” I retort, wounded by her words in a way that makes my heart throb.

  “Petrified of it,” she confesses. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going shy from any opportunity that hurtles my way. I’ll probably pee my pants if I have to play a thousand strong crowd let alone a ten or twenty thousand strong one, but imagine the high afterwards. I bet you’d be so pumped you’d just want to fuck and riot and dance about like every Christmas since Jesus’s birth had arrived at once.”