Rocking Hard, Volume 2

by Samantha M. Derr

*~*~*

  "It's going to take a few hours," Angie said, coming up to where Greg, Jon, Pete, and Ellie were sitting.

  Jon sighed. "Well, in that case, I'm going to go hunt for snacks."

  Pete got to his feet. "I'll come with you, babe."

  Jon stood up and stretched. "We'll be back in a bit." He walked away without looking back, Pete beside him.

  "That supermarket there's open," Pete said, pointing across the street to a well-lit store that seemed nearly deserted.

  "Okay."

  Jon jogged across the road and walked into the shop, Pete in his wake. He grabbed several packets of crackers and chocolate frogs, and from the fridge he took two cartons of iced coffee. When he couldn't carry anything else, he headed towards the register. Pete joined him, adding three cooked pasties to the pile, and the cheerful sales girl rang up their purchases and put them into a pair of plastic carry bags. Paying for everything, Jon nodded his thanks as Pete picked up the bags.

  "Why don't we check out that park over there?" Pete suggested when they were outside.

  "Why?" Jon asked, confused. "Shouldn't we get back? The pasties will go cold."

  "They're already cold. It won't matter." Pete fluttered his eyelashes at Jon. "Come on."

  "Fine," Jon sighed theatrically. "If you insist."

  "I do." Pete crossed the street and walked briskly into the park.

  Jon followed him, amused. The park was empty, not a child or dog in sight, and Jon wondered if all the families of Murray Bridge had decided to stay indoors until Good Friday. He didn't mind; the chance to spend some time, however brief, alone with Pete was too good to pass up.

  "Let's go check out those trees," Pete said over his shoulder, and Jon raised an eyebrow, wondering what Pete had planned.

  The copse of trees that Pete led Jon into was dense and the scent of eucalyptus was strong. Jon wrinkled his nose and opened his mouth, about to ask Pete what he was up to, when Pete grabbed him, shoved him up against the nearest tree, and kissed him hard.

  Jon groaned, arms going around Pete as Pete kissed him. He heard the soft rustle of plastic as Pete dropped the plastic bags with the food and drink onto the ground. Pete's hands went to his groin and got Jon's jeans open and shoved down. Pete wrapped a hand around Jon's cock and began to stroke.

  Jon broke the kiss, his head falling back against the tree trunk. "Oh God," he gasped as Pete's talented hand worked his cock. "Pete!"

  "Feel like a quickie, babe?" Pete asked. The next thing he knew, Jon felt warm wetness around his cock and he looked down to see Pete on his knees, sucking him.

  "F-fuck," Jon panted, his hands going to Pete's hair and tangling in black, spiky locks.

  "I bloody hope so," Pete said, pulling back. He shot Jon a look that was full of pure sin. "Fuck me, Jon."

  Jon growled and tugged Pete up, kissing him hard and fumbling to get Pete's jeans open and down. Pete wriggled against him, and Jon let out another low moan as their cocks rubbed together. Pete ended the kiss, panting, and turned to brace himself against the tree. He wriggled enticingly against Jon, shooting him another of those sinful looks over his shoulder that made Jon's brains turn to lustful mush, and purred.

  "Fuck me."

  Jon didn't need to be told twice. He paused only long enough to bend down to grab condom and lube from the pocket of his jeans, then he ripped open the condom packet, slid the condom onto his cock, and slicked himself. Pressing close to Pete, his cock rubbing between Pete's ass cheeks, Jon nipped the nape of Pete's neck.

  "Beg me," he murmured, and was rewarded with a low, helpless whimper.

  "J-Jon," Pete gasped, "please, fuck me, I need it, need your dick inside me, please, baby!"

  Giving Pete's neck another nip, Jon shifted and thrust slowly into Pete's body, letting out a gasping groan as tight heat gripped him. He rocked into Pete, moving quickly, one hand snaking around Pete's hip to take hold of his cock and stroke.

  It didn't take very long; Jon was too wound up by Pete's attentions and the feeling of Pete around him, against him, the soft sounds of desire and need that came from Pete's mouth. Pete's leather jacket against his cheek as Jon rested his face against Pete's back was warm, and a light scent of beer and cigarettes clung to the leather. Jon groaned, muffling the sound in Pete's jacket, gave one more hard thrust, and came. A moment later, Pete let out a quiet whimper and came over Jon's hand.

  Slowly pulling out of Pete's body, Jon couldn't wipe the grin off his face. He removed the condom and tugged up his jeans, looking around for some gum leaves to wrap the used condom in. He found a handful and carefully covered the condom. Pete quickly dressed and picked up the plastic bags.

  "Feel better?" he asked.

  "Yeah, I do." Jon ruffled Pete's hair with his free hand. "Thanks, baby."

  "Oh, it was a pleasure." Pete laughed. "I thought a quickie would make you less tense."

  "You know me too bloody well," Jon teased. "Now I need a trash can."

  "There's one by the gate," Pete said. "Let's get back to the others."

  "Righto."

  At the gate of the park, Jon disposed of the used condom, and then took one of the bags from Pete. They walked quickly down the street back to the gas station, where they saw that Danny's car had been moved. Everyone else was either sitting on the grassy verge or leaning against Jon's car and looking bored.

  "Munchies," Pete said, holding out his plastic bag. Adam took it, rifling through the contents with interest.

  "How's the repairs coming along?" Jon asked, handing his own bag over to Greg.

  "No idea," Greg said cheerfully. "But Graham—that's the mechanic—reckons we'll be right once he's finished replacing the hose. Jon, why are these pasties cold?"

  "They were cold when we bought them." Jon reached over and grabbed back the bag, pulling out one of the pasties for himself. "And I'm still eating one of them." He removed the thin, crinkly plastic wrapper and bit into the savory pastry. Greg wrinkled his nose, grabbing the bag and taking out one of the packets of crackers.

  "Cold pasties aren't my idea of yummy, thanks," he said tartly, handing the bag to Ellie. "I'll stick with the crackers."

  "Okay then," Jon said.

  "Iced coffee, awesome," Angie said, taking one of the cartons out of the bag that Pete had been carrying. "This should keep us going until we get really hungry."

  "True that," Adam agreed, taking another of the cold pasties. "And I don't care that these are cold. Pasties are good. Better with tomato sauce, though," he added, shooting Pete and Jon a reproachful look.

  "Next time, you get the munchies," Pete said. "Last pasty's mine."

  Greg shuddered again. "Gross, dude, really bloody gross."

  "It's just cold pastry, gravy, and vegetables," Pete said, laughing. "How is this gross?"

  "It's supposed to be hot. Cold is just wrong." Greg shook his head, looking repulsed.

  "I'm sure your opinion hurts its feelings," Adam said, taking a large bite.

  "Oh, shut up," Greg grumbled. "Gimme that iced coffee."

  By the time the food and drink were consumed, Danny and Graham returned, driving Danny's car. Danny was beaming from ear to ear.

  "All fixed?" Adam asked.

  "All fixed." Danny got out of the car and moved to shake Graham's hand. "Cheers for that, mate, I really appreciate it."

  "You're welcome, Danny. Have a safe trip, kids." Graham gave them a salute as everyone piled back into the two cars. Jon watched him wave in the rearview mirror as they drove out of the gas station and resumed the journey towards Melbourne.

  The rest of the trip east was without incident. They stopped at the Big Koala in the town of Dadswells Bridge in country Victoria, a grotesque creation made of concrete and designed to resemble a koala, although, Ellie said, not like any koala she'd ever seen. They paused to take photos beside it, laughing and joking, stretching their legs before the last leg of the drive to Melbourne, nearly three hundred kilometers away. There was a coffee van selling coffee, tea
, hot pies, and pasties—this time thankfully hot—parked beside the Big Koala, and several other cars with people driving between Adelaide and Melbourne stopped to partake of food and drink. After taking photos, eating their fill of pies and pasties, and drinking several cups of coffee each, Jon and his friends got back in their cars and drove the last leg of the trip without any further stops.

  They reached Melbourne at seven a.m., before the morning rush hour, and then Pete navigated with the street directory as Jon drove, getting them to Essendon and George's house by eight. After unloading the gear and parking the cars in George's back yard, Jon was very relieved to curl up in a sleeping bag with Pete on George's living room floor and get a few hours' sleep. From the sounds coming from their friends as Pete cuddled close, Jon surmised that everyone was relieved to get some sleep, regardless of whether they were on the floor or the sofa bed.

  *~*~*

  "First gig!"

  Jon groaned as Pete shook him awake. "Not for hours yet, let me sleep."

  "Sleep when you're dead. It's midafternoon, we need to get up and get organized."

  Jon sighed and sat up, running his hands through his hair. Yawning, he looked around with bleary eyes and saw that his friends looked just as exhausted as he felt. Except for Pete, that was. Pete looked bright-eyed and ready to go, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

  "How come you're so full of beans?" Angie asked. Jon wondered that himself.

  "George's girlfriend gave me some speed." Pete rubbed his nose. "I am shitfaced right now. Come on, guys!"

  "We're coming, we're coming," Adam grumbled. "Does George's girlfriend have a name? And does she have anything else, or just speed?"

  "She does, it's Mary. And she's got some weed, I think. She offered speed, I took it," Pete said. "Let's do this!"

  Jon got to his feet, yawning again. "Go and get me a cup of coffee, bouncy boy," he said to Pete. "Black, no sugar."

  "Okay!" Pete dashed off, and Jon stretched, pulling a face as his back popped.

  "I feel like I slept on a bed of rocks," he complained.

  "Same here." Greg groaned as he got to his feet. "Oh well. Let's go do a sound check, then we can get wasted and have a few beers before the gig."

  "Sounds like a plan," Jon agreed.

  The pub was a dingy, run down building, its outside painted a shade of pink that Jon was certain he'd seen in his nightmares. There was the delightful scent of stale beer wafting from the open door, and just inside was a table with a cash box. Seated at the table was a bored-looking young woman, reading the local street press. She gave Capsicum Head only the most cursory of glances as they entered and waved them vaguely towards the back of the pub.

  Jon kept close to Pete, more out of concern that he might get himself in trouble while he was stoned than anything else. The carpet they walked on was spongy and Jon shook his head. Spongy carpet and beer stench seemed to be the nationwide requirement for a pub prepared to put on gigs featuring their kind of music.

  The first support band was already playing their set as Jon and his friends walked into the band room. There were a handful of people milling around the stage and bar, paying scant attention to the music. Jon bought beer for himself and Pete, and they leaned against the wall, watching the band on the stage finish their set. When they ended, it was to a smattering of applause that ended almost as soon as it began. Jon wondered if this was how all their shows in Melbourne were going to be.

  There was an hour's wait, during which a DJ hidden in the shadows behind the mixing desk played Dead Kennedys, The Misfits, Henry Rollins, and The Residents. Jon nursed his beer as the pub slowly began to fill up. Pete stood beside him, humming tunelessly, and Jon was relieved that Pete hadn't decided to bounce around and try to ingratiate himself with the punters. One wrong word could get them into trouble and Jon wasn't in the mood for a fist fight.

  It was so much like shows back home in Adelaide, the slowly gathering crowd in a dark, smoky pub, playing loud music so that one had to shout into one's friends' ear in order to be heard. There was a comforting sense of familiarity in that, but there was also the unknown—they were guests, and they didn't know these people, didn't know how they would take to Capsicum Head's music.

  The room was just over half full when the second band came on, and Jon nudged Pete with his elbow. He leaned in to shout into Pete's ear, "These guys are supposed to be really good!"

  Pete gripped Jon's arm, fingers flexing, and Jon turned to look at Pete—really look at him—and was shocked by what he saw. Pete looked green, and Jon immediately steered him towards the door, catching Adam's eye as he went, gesturing for him to join them outside.

  Outside the pub, Pete leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and breathing in deep, gulping breaths of fresh air.

  "What's wrong?" Jon asked, trying not to panic.

  "I feel rat shit," Pete said. "Like I want to throw up."

  "Okay, well, if you need to, you should," Jon said. "Don't keep it in."

  "Yes, doctor," Pete said with a small smile.

  "What's up?" Adam asked as he joined them.

  Jon turned to him, scowling. "I think that speed was bad," he said in a low voice. "Pete's sick."

  As if on cue, the sounds of vomiting came from Pete's direction. Jon looked over at Pete partly in sympathy, partly in disgust. "Can you get us some bottled water?" he continued, shooting Adam a quick look.

  "Right. I'll be right back." Adam went back into the pub and Jon went back to Pete, gently rubbing his back as Pete continued to empty the contents of his stomach noisily onto the pavement.

  "How do you feel, baby?" Jon asked softly.

  "Like shit," Pete said. "But not as shit as before."

  "That's something," Jon said. "Adam's gone to get water."

  "Thank fuck, I was going to ask for some." Pete stood up, running his hands through his black hair. "God, I feel terrible."

  "Do you want to cancel the gig?"

  "What? No! Fuck no!" Pete looked offended. "A little spew isn't going to stop me from playing a set, bloody hell, Jon."

  Jon laughed. "Okay, forget I mentioned that."

  "Done. Jesus." Pete shook his head. "Oh, Adam, you are a fucking lifesaver, mate."

  Jon looked at their friend in relief as Adam held out a bottle of water. "Thanks, Adam."

  "Yeah, no worries." Adam peered at Pete in concern. "Are you okay, Petey?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine." Pete looked at Adam as he took long drinks from the bottle. "I'm on water for the rest of the night."

  "And no more drugs," Jon said.

  "Not arguing." Pete wrinkled his nose and drained the bottle. Adam held a second one out to him, and Pete grabbed it greedily. "Fuck, this tastes amazing."

  Adam looked sympathetic. "Nothing like fresh, cold water after being sick."

  "Damn right." Pete drank with gusto.

  "So, we'll sit outside for now, until it's time to go on," Adam continued. "I told Ellie and Greg what was going on. They'll tell the others."

  "Oh man, don't make a big thing out of this," Pete said, looking abashed.

  "I'm not. We're mates, Pete, and we care about you. So suck it up and let us never speak of this emotional shit again."

  Pete and Jon laughed at that.

  "You got that right," Jon agreed. "Seriously though, thanks, Adam."

  "No worries," Adam said. "More water, Pete?"

  "Thanks, yeah."

  They didn't talk much while Pete drank down the third bottle of water. Adam stood near the door, watching the goings on inside the pub as much as he was able. Jon stood with Pete, rubbing his back and feeling useless. Finally, Pete finished the bottle of water and leaned back against the wall.

  "How do you feel?" Jon asked.

  "Better." Pete sighed, leaning into him.

  The minutes ticked by at a snail's pace, and Jon sighed, wishing that they were back home in Adelaide, in their tiny flat near the city, with nothing more momentous than working at the Chens' restaura
nt and a gig in town on the weekend's agenda. Instead, they were eight hundred or so kilometers away from home, staying with friends of friends, and stuck there for the next few days.

  "Everything will be awesome from here," Pete said, rousing Jon from his reverie.

  "How do you figure that?"

  Pete smiled, his fingers brushing Jon's own in the briefest of touches. "Because we got the bad shit out of the way early and now we can only go up. Cars are running good, now. I've been sick, this gig will probably suck, but tomorrow? Tomorrow will be loads better and Sunday even more. We'll head home on Monday morning having had a blast, and it'll be good."

  Jon brushed Pete's hand with his own in return, wanting so much to do more than that. He wanted to hug Pete, kiss him, run his fingers through that soft hair, but he didn't dare. Not out here on a public street. So he contented himself with that brief touch and gazing into Pete's eyes. "I love the way you think," he said.

  Pete's smile grew. "Right back at you."

  The sound of the band playing ended abruptly, and Adam looked at Jon and Pete. "They've finished their set. We're on now. You sure you're okay for this, Pete?"

  Pete nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

  "I'll take you back to George's after the set's finished," Jon said. "You sit in the car while we pack up the gear and then we'll go home."

  "Okay."

  Adam and Jon exchanged a quick look at that ready agreement, uncharacteristic of stubborn Pete. Seeing it, Pete reached out and gripped their shoulders.

  "I'm fine, guys, I am. I just think getting an early night will be a good plan. Tomorrow, I'll be even better."

  "If you say so," Jon said with a sigh.

  Adam shook his head. "Okay, but if you feel worse, we're taking you in to the ER."

  "Okay. Now, let's go play our set," Pete said.

  Jon saw that the band room was now full as they pushed their way through the crowd of people. Men and women wearing black, with mohawks, shaved heads, or brightly colored hair styles spared them only a passing look as they made their way to the stage. Greg and Danny were waiting for them, looking on in concern.

  "Shit, you okay?" Greg asked, looking at Pete, who still didn't look one hundred percent. His face was clammy, the shine of sweat obvious in the lights coming from the stage, and his skin was unusually pale.