by Danni Fall
"You said we should chat, I'm chatting. There's no pleasing you."
"Why have you written a song about me?"
The words are barely more than a whisper. Simon resists leaning closer to hear.
"Pretty vain, to think that a song's about you."
"Not if it actually is. I'm not an idiot, Simon."
Simon goes back to watching Joe and chewing at the inside of his mouth until he tastes blood. Mark hums along to the track before folding the sheet of lyrics in half and placing them on Simon's thigh.
"Anyway. No point talking about it if you're gonna breach the terms of our contract by telling porkies," Mark says.
"There's no point talking about the song cause I already explained. I said it's hypothetical cause it is, it just came to me. I never sat down and planned to write about you."
"Must've happened accidentally then."
Simon swears under his breath. "Please let's talk about something else."
"Fine." Mark purses his lips in thought. "What've you got planned for the video? You've won the right to pick that too. How about me, pretending to sing along?"
"No way, that'd scare people off ever listening to our stuff. It'll just be me, singing."
"I'll pass the message along to Chris, sure he'll find a way to make that less tedious than it sounds."
"There's nothing tedious about watching me perform," Simon says. "You know that, you've seen me."
Mark throws his head back for a moment and scowls at the ceiling. "Not sure I can handle much more of our chatting." He catches Will's eye. "How long till you need me and Laddo?"
"Don't disappear," Will warns.
"I'm not planning on disappearing, I just fancy stretching my legs while the rhythm section sort their parts out."
Mark gets up and Zoe shoots daggers at him.
"You run off, I'll break your legs," she says.
"Well that's sinister."
"Mark, I'm not kidding. If you sabotage this-"
"Christ alive, I'm not planning anything of the sort! I'm literally taking a turn around the garden to smell the roses!"
"There's no roses, we're in Soho," Simon points out.
"Figure of speech. Tell you what, you lot text me when you're half an hour off needing us back here. Soon as we get the message, we'll turn around and come back."
"We?" Simon asks.
"Yeah, we as in you and me. I don't wanna chat with you, but I do fancy a drive." Mark gives him a daring look. "C'mon Simon, champion of the world. It's time for another spin."
Chapter 10
Mark
Mark bursts into laughter when he sits in the passenger seat.
"What's so funny?" Simon scowls.
"Nothing, just can't get over you shelling out for this." He strokes the upholstery while Simon yanks the car into gear.
"Stop being weird about it."
"I'm admiring it, I thought you'd appreciate that."
"I'd appreciate you not running your hands all over, I don't know where you've been."
"I could fill you in, if you'd like."
"No thanks," Simon says curtly.
"Where we going? Back to looking for video locations, is it?"
"Don't need to, I've already decided where we're filming."
Mark stops looking out the window to glance at him. "Oh yeah? Where's that, then?"
"That alleyway." Mark gives him a nonplussed look. "Green's Place or whatever."
"Green's Court."
"Yeah, there."
"Where The Sun is, that Green's Court?"
"No, a different one," Simon deadpans.
"You planning for Alex to knobble me?"
"Not planning it, but I wouldn't stop him neither." Simon gestures out the windscreen. "Where should I go?"
"Head up TCR to Euston Road. It's not rush hour yet, should be quieter."
Simon gives him an expectant look. "Left? Right? Straight on?"
"Turn left at the end, Essex boy."
"What? I'm not a cabbie, how should I know where stuff is? Not like I have The Knowledge, is it?"
"Or any knowledge, for that matter."
"Keep up being a prick and I'll boot you out and pick up a girl instead."
"More driving, less mardying," Mark instructs. "If you're up to multitasking, go back to explaining what the draw of Green's Court is, if it's not the prospect of Alex pulverising me."
"The song's about identity and stuff. Green's Court is part of who I am, who we all are as a band."
"Oh, so now the song's about you?"
Simon pulls a face. "I told you, we're not going on and on about it. It's hypo-whatever."
"Alright, don't go off the deep end."
Simon makes the turn. "Where from here?"
"Turn left at the end."
"Where're we going?"
"Fuck knows," Mark says. "We're just driving. About the journey, not the destination."
Simon puts his foot down when they hit the A road and Mark hums his approval as the engine rumbles.
"Very nice."
"Can you be less of a weirdo about it?"
"Can't make any promises. It's still a waste of money, mind."
"How can you say it's nice and a waste of money?"
"It's a waste of money cause you could have got me to acquire you one, couldn't you?"
"You know how I feel about you nicking cars off my friends and family," Simon says.
"You could've found some random car on Auto Trader and got me to nick that."
"Still illegal though, innit?"
"I am joking, you realise?"
Simon smiles grudgingly back. "Hard to know for sure. I've always known you to be a sticky fingered bastard."
"My blushes, Simon."
"You'll not know what to do with yourself when we're famous."
"How d'you mean?"
"Everything'll be free, won't it?" Simon says. "Drink, drugs, whatever we want."
"Wasn't aware you did drugs. I thought you just took your prescription like a good law abiding boy."
"Careful in your glass house, throwing them stones."
Mark makes a dismissive noise. "We know I'll take anything, what's new there?"
"Whatever. I'm just saying it's ironic how before you're famous, you've got no money but people expect you to pay for stuff, then when you're famous you're loaded but everything's free."
"I'm not sure getting a record deal is quite the land of milk and honey you're describing but I won't say no if it is."
He takes out his cigarettes only for Simon to make a noise of protest.
"No smoking in the car."
"Oh come on, promise I'll tap the ash out the window."
"You say that, but."
"I'll lean my head out the window, what more d'you want?"
"I want you to not smoke."
"Fine." Mark reluctantly puts the pack away. "Whatever'll keep sir happy."
"Thanks."
"So what're you planning to spend your money on if drink and drugs are complementary when we've hit the big time?"
"I'll pay off the Audi," Simon says. "Then maybe I'll buy a house."
"Just if it tickles your fancy, yeah? See how you feel on the day?"
"What about you? You gonna pay back all the shops and restaurants you've nicked from?"
"Best not – never a good idea to go back to the scene of the crime," Mark says. "Way you make me out, you'd think nicking stuff was my only hobby."
"It's not like I've seen you knitting or painting model aeroplanes or anything."
"Maybe I'll get into property too," Mark muses. "I could get an extension put on the Sex Den."
"Great idea, adding an extension to a building you don't own."
"Possession is nine tenths of the law."
"Not sure Zo'd agree with that," Simon says. "Does Chris know about the Sex Den?"
"Weirdly, it's never come up in casual conversation. Rest assured, only Deff know about the Sex Den."
"And all t
he girls you've taken there."
"And Alex. And Pete. And Leah."
"Thanks for bringing her up," Simon grumbles.
"I can never resist. Moving swiftly on before you throw a paddy." Mark casts around for ideas before eyeing Simon's hair. "Are you ready to hand over control?"
"Of the Audi? Fat chance of me letting you drive, I've sent off the paperwork to register it in my name."
"I mean hand over control of the band, of our image. If we're going ahead and signing with a major-"
"You agree we're doing that?" Simon asks. "We're gonna sign with Maiden?"
"I never said Maiden, I said major."
"Maiden are a major."
"But they're not the only one. Let's not go over that again," Mark grouses.
"You think they'll offer?"
"If that's the single, it's looking that way, isn't it?"
"Is this you saying it's a good song?"
"It's me saying I've got working ears, yeah."
"Just say it's good," Simon insists.
"No, on principle. If I do it once, you'll expect it all the time. Gotta keep you in line."
"Piss off."
"Say we do sign - with Victrola or your precious Maiden - are you ready to hand over control of your image to a label?" Mark asks. "Heaven forbid, they might want you to get a hair cut."
"Not if they've got any sense. If we get signed, they're signing us cause we're us, not so they can rebrand us as something else."
"I disagree, and not just to fuck you off."
"Then why would they bother giving us a deal?" Simon asks.
"Because what they're signing isn't the band, it's the opportunity we present. If they're paying however much money they're paying us, they'll want a say in what we sound like and how we look. They'll wanna steer the ship if they helped launch it, won't they?"
"What kind of stuff do you think they'd wanna change?"
"They'll have us playing death metal," Mark says drily. "Like I fucking know. They'll want us playing whatever they reckon'll sell."
"Pop music then? But we already play pop," Simon says. Mark pulls a face. "We do! We're just good at it."
"I suppose. Britpop's done and dusted so I doubt they'll want that. What other angle could they try?"
"Boy band," Simon jokes.
"You've got the hair for that but Welly might have to call herself Zach to make it work. Maybe they'll want something camper?"
"Camper?"
"Yeah, amp up the camp. It'd fit well with us hanging out in Soho, wouldn't it?"
Mark looks out the window but senses Simon's unimpressed frown.
"What?" he prompts. "It's all about giving the press what they want, isn't it? If they want us that way inclined, let's give them the works."
"Like anyone's asking for that."
"I don't know what's trendy in the twenty first century. They probably took one look at your hair and thought you were-"
"What?" Simon asks.
"Metrosexual."
"Meanwhile, you're still not gay?"
"I'm gay for major label pay," Mark says. Simon's expression is somewhere between annoyed and confused. "You alright there?"
"I don't get you at all. I don't get how that's funny."
"Well, Simon, that's because you're on the simple side."
"Have you got any jokes that aren't about you being gay, but not really, or me being stupid? I feel like I'm watching a stand up who's run out of material."
Mark's jaw clenches. He tries to think of something to say when he notices Simon fumble another gear change. "You're really clunky with that."
"With what?"
"With the gear stick."
"It's lower down than I'm used to," Simon says defensively.
"Giz a go."
"No, I'm not having you crashing or scratching my car."
"Simon, you're clearly used to having a chauffeur like your mate driving you around. Turn into this side street, swap wimme and I'll drive for a bit."
"You wanna be my chauffeur?"
"Desperately," Mark says.
"If you wreck this car-"
"My life won't be worth living, yeah yeah, consider me duly warned. Come on, let me have a go already."
Simon's hesitation is short lived before he takes the turning and pulls over. After they swap seats, Mark makes a point of wiggling his arse around.
Simon's eyes narrow. "What you doing exactly?"
"Just getting comfy."
"Don't go changing my mirrors. Zo did that, took ages to get them right again."
"Since when's Welly driven your beautiful car?"
"I let her the other day, after your birthday party."
"Right. Well, only fair I get a go then."
He speeds up, smiling when Simon grips the door handle.
"You're going too fast. This is way too fast for going round a corner."
Mark powers through the bend with a nonchalant look. "Maybe for you."
He joins the A road, skipping back and forth between lanes. Cars pip at him as he makes steady progress east while Simon watches him like a hawk.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Simon's grip eases on the handle.
"Good, aren't I?"
"Do compliments count if you have to ask for them?"
"They do to me. I'll take anything I can get."
"Don't get me a ticket," Simon warns.
"You're fine. I'll slow down if I see a camera or police."
"Why're you so good, then? Secret rally driving on the side?"
"Yeah, I'm an undercover F1 driver," Mark says. "Just had plenty of practice, haven't I?"
"Plenty of practice doing what?"
"Dodging coppers."
He drives them through the rabbit warren of streets in Bloomsbury, going over the speed limit but avoiding clipping any cars. Simon settles back against his seat, legs spread like he's trying to get comfortable. Mark can't decide if Simon notices his attention.
"You taken many girls driving yet?" Mark asks.
"Not yet."
"You'll have to stick a towel down, they might enjoy it too much."
"Stop being disgusting."
"I don't mean they'll piss themselves."
"I know what you mean," Simon says. "It's still disgusting."
"I'm just saying, there's a risk girls'll get wet in here, if you ever learn to drive it properly."
"I drive fine."
Out the corner of his eye, he sees Simon fidget.
"Imagine though, some nice little blonde."
"I prefer dark hair."
"Fine, brunette. Some nice brunette wearing a pretty little dress and nowt else. How far do the seats recline?"
"Not tested them," Simon says, voice low.
"Might have to get creative then. If you're less precious about your seat settings, she could have fun on your lap, couldn't she?"
"Stop talking."
He darts a look at Simon and sees how his eyes are glued to the windscreen, jeans tenting.
"You alright?"
"Fine," Simon mutters.
"If it's any consolation, I'm," Mark nods at his own straining jeans.
Simon visibly tenses as Mark parks in an empty side street.
"Relax, I'm not gonna try owt," Mark mutters. "Just thought you'd prefer not to crash."
As Mark starts palming himself, he senses Simon watching him.
"It's a nice car," Mark mutters.
Simon starts rocking a hand against his own crotch. "Yeah."
"Handles well."
"Yeah."
"Really responsive."
"Mm."
Mark pops his fly and pulls down his zipper.
"Don't get my car dirty," Simon warns hoarsely.
He sticks his hastily licked hand under his Y fronts, grips himself and barely pumps. "Promise. No smoking, no eating, no anything in this car."
"Exactly."
"Just a nice drive."
"Yeah."
"Then a brune
tte with a nice arse, bouncing on your lap." Simon fumbles his own jeans open, erection straining against his boxers. "Stuffed to the brim."
Simon's breath catches. He spits in his palm before pushing his hand under his pants.
"Gripping her arse," Mark says, voice hitching. "Proper handful."
They breathe through their noses as their hands move faster. When he's confident Simon is staring out the window, Mark lets himself look sidelong and sees how Simon's large hand shifts beneath the damp fabric of his boxers. Mark comes in his palm as he eyes the shape and size of him, then stares down at the footwell. Soon after, Simon makes a harsh, choking noise and pulls his own hand free.
"What now?" Simon asks, nose wrinkled at his awkwardly held hand.
"Got a duster in the glove compartment?"
"That won't work, they're too fluffy."
"Then what? Planning to pop in a cafe and ask for bog roll?"
With some effort, Simon toes off a trainer and pulls off his sock with his clean hand. He uses it to wipe the other. Mark holds out his own clean hand expectantly.
"What?" Simon asks moodily.
"Gimme then."
"You're not wiping that on my sock."
"You just did."
"But that was mine."
"It's the same stuff!"
"No way, not happening," Simon insists.
Mark unties his boot and yanks off his sock to a curl of Simon's lip.
"God, that smells sick."
"Then you should've let me use yours, shouldn't you?" Mark wipes his hand down.
He makes to put his hand back on the wheel, only for Simon to grab his arm.
"Did you wipe properly?"
"Did you?" Mark asks, eyeing Simon's hand on his leather jacket. "Or do I need to bill you for dry cleaning?"
"I used the other hand."
"I gave it a good wipe." He holds it up to Simon's face. "Wanna inspect it?"
Simon leans away. "No thanks."
"Then let's get moving before we get a ticket. Best dispose of these first," Mark says with a wave of his sock.
They open their doors, fling the socks outside and put on their shoes.
"Have you got a text yet?" Simon asks. "From Will, I mean."
"Lucky I've already got off, that name's like a bucket of icy water."
"Just answer the question."
Mark feels like he's missed a step walking downstairs when he sees the five missed calls and multiple texts. "Got a couple. Forgot my phone was on silent."
"How long have they been ringing you?"
