Mark Means Tested (Deff Book 3)

by Danni Fall

  "Makes a change from all the cookie cutter bands coming off the conveyor belt, don't it Simeon?"

  "You're not wrong there."

  Mark wags the vodka at Simon. "You seen what they've sourced me? Fancy some?"

  "No thanks. Don't wanna drink from the same bottle, I'd probably catch something." Everyone laughs, Mark included. "Got any more Stella?"

  One girl scurries off to find some.

  "Saw the article about the bingo in Dagenham," another bloke from Maiden says. "Very funny, really Deff."

  "We know our brand, don't we?" Mark asks.

  "Yeah." Simon takes the new can he's offered.

  "We love to give the people what they want." Mark gives the circling women a knowing look before turning to Simon. "You need a slash for the road, Si?"

  "What you on about?"

  "We're about to head out, don't want you getting caught short."

  "Who's heading out where?" Simon asks.

  "Didn't you hear? There's an after party."

  "Isn't this the party?"

  "Yeah, and then there's the after party, the party after this one," Mark says.

  "Where? Here?"

  "If it were here, it'd be more of the same party, wouldn't it?"

  "Where is it then?"

  "You explain Simeon, it's on your credit card."

  "We've rented the penthouse at The Midtown. Have you been before?" Simeon asks. Simon shakes his head. "It's in Holborn, great views. We'll play music, take photos, press'll be there."

  "Is it just the one suite?" Mark asks.

  "It's the top floor of the hotel. Three bedrooms, I think."

  "Can Maiden stretch to more rooms? Might need somewhere to chill out with..." Mark eyes up the girls. "Fans of ours."

  "Not a problem, we'll sort that out."

  Mark looks at Simon. "Need a chauffeur?"

  "You don't need to drive there, Mark," Simeon says. "We'll get everyone cabs."

  "It's fine, I like a drive. It's that or leave your Audi here Si, you're in no state to drive it yourself."

  "You've had a drink too."

  "Maybe, but I haven't guzzled a load of codeine."

  Simon feels himself flush. "They're for my knee. I injured it playing football."

  "It's fine, Simon," Simeon says with a knowing smile.

  "Just as long as he isn't injecting smack into his eyeballs, right Simeon?" Mark grins. "C'mon, let's get a move on. We'll go on ahead and get settled in. See you there, gang."

  "It'll be a shame not to see your reaction," Simeon says. "Make sure to enjoy the view."

  Mark's path to the lifts takes in the Oes and Will. "Me and Si are heading to the after party in the Audi. Fancy a lift on the roof rack?"

  "It doesn't have a roof rack," Simon says, nose wrinkled.

  "Simeon's gonna get cabs for everyone," Mark explains.

  "I'll think we'll stick with those, won't we?" Will asks the Oes. "Don't drink or take too much, alright? You know the press'll be there, don't you?"

  "I'll be on my best behaviour, scout's honour. It's those two-" Mark jabs at the Oes. "-that you need to keep your eye on. They're real dark horses, the pair of 'em."

  "Drink some water," Joe says softly to Simon.

  He wants to laugh but the sound gets stuck when he sees how solemn Joe is.

  "See you there," Simon offers.

  He gets in the lift with Mark, turns to the mirrored wall and tries not to startle at his pallid face.

  Mark joins in looking, adjusting his own shaggy fringe over his speed shrunken pupils. "You alright?"

  "Didn't realise my hair was a mess," Simon lies as he styles it.

  Mark claps him on the shoulder. "Heaven forbid. Joe's right though, have some water when we get there, it'll dilute all the codeine."

  "I haven't had that much," he insists as they navigate through the underground car park.

  "I know, you're just a lightweight. Giz your keys."

  They climb in and Mark guns it.

  "Don't crash," Simon says.

  "Great idea. You're a right genius, you are."

  "How drunk are you?"

  "I've only had a few, I'm fine." Mark switches lanes, ignoring cars honking.

  "How many's a few?"

  "I'm not gonna crash. You seriously wishing you were riding with Simeon instead? Reckon you'll be big mates, you two?"

  "Why're you being so weird about Simeon?" he asks.

  "I'm not, I just think you're being very matey to say you've never spoken to the sod before tonight."

  "You asked him to add a zero to the cheque!"

  "That's different, that was joking. You looked ready to ask him out."

  "Stop saying shit like that. It's not even the first time I've met him."

  "Making goo-goo eyes at him at the Union doesn't count as meeting," Mark says.

  "I don't mean that, I mean I've talked him before, Deff has."

  Mark's brow furrows. "When? Think I'd remember being blinded by those teeth."

  "The band did, without you. It was after you ran out of that interview."

  The traffic thins and Mark speeds up. "Clearly picked the worst time to bugger off. If only I'd known I coulda been hobnobbing with that lot."

  "Did you get what everyone was talking about back there?"

  "Is this you checking whether you're thick or if they're pretentious poshos? The answer's yes."

  "Fuck off. If I'm thick, you're thick too."

  "In my defence, I missed half of what they were saying cause I was off doing speed in the toilets."

  "Not like you needed to hide doing that. Probably woulda thought it was cool, shows we're rock stars or something."

  "True. Guess I can't shake my manners."

  "D'you know where The Midtown is?" Simon asks.

  "I'm gonna take a wild stab in the dark and say it's that poncy looking hotel up there," Mark says with a jerk of his head.

  Simon eyes the building looming in the distance, with its massive gated entrance flanked by blokes in uniform.

  Mark slows down. "You still wanna go? We could piss off to a pub instead."

  "What, and buy my own beer? No thanks."

  "I like your thinking, Simon Skint."

  "Yeah, yeah. How do royalties work, anyway?" Simon asks.

  "How d'you mean, how do they work?"

  "How often do you get them? And how much do you get?"

  "What, is free money not good enough for you?" Mark says.

  "I'm just asking a question."

  "I don't know and I don't care, seeing as how the answer's more money than we've got right now."

  Simon leans back and smirks. "That does sound good."

  After they park, Mark hands the keys to a waiting valet.

  "I'll get those back, right?" Simon asks as they walk into the lobby.

  "Nah, he'll drive off and sell it," Mark deadpans.

  Mark's eyes widen as he takes in the gleaming black and white tiled floors and elaborate light fittings.

  "Big, innit?" Simon says.

  "Sort of place I'd get breakfast."

  "You'd come in here for breakfast?"

  "From the bins round back, I mean." Mark nods towards the reception desk. "They're watching us. They know who we are."

  "How can you tell?"

  "Because they'd have thrown us out on our arses by now if they didn't. Simeon must've called ahead and warned 'em."

  "Why would they throw me out?" Simon asks, smoothing his polo shirt. "I look good."

  "You don't look like you belong in here though, do you?" Mark drapes an arm around his shoulders. "No matter, they'll gladly kiss our arses tonight. C'mon."

  Chapter 24

  Mark

  Mark swaggers over to the reception desk.

  The receptionist smiles politely. "Good evening, Mr Means."

  His grin gets wider. "Oh, that's good. That's reet classy, that is. We didn't get this treatment at Travelodge, did we Si?"

  "Maiden Records said t
hey booked a suite or something." Simon pulls a face at his own sentence. "Cause we're having a party. With them. We're having a party with Maiden Records."

  "He's trying his best." Mark pats Simon's arm deprecatingly. "Could you give us some directions?"

  "Of course. Maiden Records have booked the penthouse. Please take the lift opposite to the top floor, a host will greet you."

  "Cheers, m'dear. Oh, and can you set Si's mind at ease? Your bloke out front, the one dressed for a snooker tournament. He's not gonna take off with his Audi, is he?"

  "Ignore him," Simon mutters.

  "The keys will be waiting for you in reception, Mr Sharp."

  Mark whistles. "Even got the surname right! Thanks for the help."

  He makes to walk them both away only to click his tongue with recollection and turn back around. "I don't suppose you could add another suite to the booking could you? I get these terrible headaches, y'see. It'd be great to have somewhere for a little lie down."

  "Of course, Mr Means. Let me make a reservation."

  "Great stuff. Actually, his knee plays up as well, could you make it two rooms?"

  The receptionist hands him two sets of keys. "Rooms 902 and 904, on the ninth floor. Second and third doors on the right."

  "And this is on Maiden's tab, yeah?"

  "Correct."

  "And you've made a note of the numbers, in case you wanna come and play nurse?"

  "Enjoy your evening, gentlemen."

  Mark hands a set of keys to Simon and makes for the lifts. Once the doors close, Simon turns to study him.

  "You feeling alright?" Mark asks. "You did more staring at me than you did looking at herself with the tits back there. Very out of character."

  "What just happened?"

  "Booked us some rooms for the night. We're already doing better than we did in Luton."

  "But for what? I thought you were joking with Simeon."

  "Use your imagination." He jerks his head at the mirrored walls. "We'll be at the penthouse soon, better fuss with your fringe before we get out. Don't you wanna impress?"

  Simon tweaks his hair and tenderly touches the yellowing remains of his black eye before giving Mark a daring look.

  "You saying I don't impress you?"

  Mark doesn't dignify him with an answer. Two floors from the penthouse, Simon presses the button for the ninth floor. The lift opens onto a plush carpeted corridor. Mark takes out his keys and lets himself into room 902. Simon follows him inside and flicks the lock.

  Mark walks around the pristine room with its boat-sized bed, dark wood desk and massive windows overlooking the twinkling lights of Holborn. Simon hovers by the door, seemingly dazed, so Mark continues his investigations. He opens doors and finds the bathroom, wardrobe with ironing board and safe and finally, the minibar. With a triumphant noise he grabs handfuls of chocolate bars and alcohol miniatures and throws them on the bed.

  "Take your pick," he says.

  "Don't we have to pay for those?"

  "We don't." He punctuates by ripping open a Mars bar with his teeth. "I'm sure Maiden's pockets are deep enough to stretch to some chocolate and shots."

  Simon fiddles open a mini rum and takes a swig before downing the lot. Mark makes short work of the chocolate and several vodkas.

  "We're early," Simon says, hovering near the window and looking down at the traffic. "That's why I thought we should stay down here."

  "Don't need to explain yourself on my account."

  "I don't like being the first person at a party, it's weird."

  "It's only weird if you're not the life and soul of it. I can see why that'd be a problem for you."

  Simon flicks him the V sign and Mark grins around the rim of another vodka.

  "How are you still standing after that much booze?" Simon asks.

  "Years of practice."

  "What're you actually gonna do with this room?"

  "Arts and crafts."

  "If you need somewhere to pass out, didn't Simeon say there's loads of bedrooms in the penthouse?"

  "If I need somewhere to pass out I'll do it where I'm standing, ta."

  Mark climbs on the bed, watching Simon expectantly. Simon's shoulders tense as he keeps facing the window. When Simon draws the curtains, Mark starts undressing.

  "I got this room because the Sex Den's back in Soho and I can't be arsed going hither and thither," he says.

  "Didn't you used to fuck girls in the toilets at student unions?"

  "You're very concerned about my sex life, Simon."

  "I'm just saying that the toilets here are nicer than there."

  "I suppose. No grab rails though. Might get jizz on a hand towel or a decorative soap or something. Gotta be respectable here."

  He pulls off the last of his clothes and lays, face down and stark bollock naked on the bed. He hears how Simon turns, breath catching at the sight of him. He lets his legs fall wider apart.

  "What're you doing?" Simon asks, more hoarse than angry.

  "Having a kip."

  "Naked?"

  "How else will I feel the thread count of these sheets?"

  "This is you being respectable, is it?"

  "You're one to talk."

  He hears Simon take a step closer and remains face down.

  "You pushed the button for this floor," Mark says, muffled but unmistakable.

  The mattress dips as Simon climbs on between his spread legs. The sound of him unzipping and pushing down his jeans is loud in the silence. Mark rests his head against his folded arms. Simon spits, presumably coating himself, then spreads Mark's cheeks with his large hands. Mark bites his forearm hard to keep himself quiet as Simon presses in. His body still gives a tell-tale shiver.

  Simon pulls him closer and Mark goes limply with him, gasping silently each time Simon threatens to go too deep, too fast. He clutches at the mattress, eyes screwed shut as Simon's weight and heat bear down on him.

  With rough, jerking thrusts, Simon comes then quickly pulls out. Groaning into a soggy mouthful of duvet, Mark follows suit as he ruts against the covers. The sound is enough to make Simon climb off the bed.

  "Have a shower," Simon pants.

  Mark keeps breathing heavily into the mattress, spread eagled.

  "Are you listening?" Simon snaps.

  Mark turns to look at him blearily. "Won't it tip people off if I'm wet? It's not raining out there."

  "Then keep your hair dry."

  "With the complimentary shower cap?"

  "Yeah."

  He watches Simon's hands ball as he turns to stare at the curtains.

  "Donning my little shower cap while I scrub my backside clean. Not how I saw tonight going."

  Simon whips around. "Why d'you have to be a cunt about it? You should be grateful I'd-" He stops abruptly, stalks over to the minibar to grab a whiskey and drinks it with a grimace.

  "D'you really wanna know how grateful I am?" Mark gets up carefully and pads over to the bathroom. "Have some water while I have the world's most tactical shower. If you need to chuck up, do it in the bin, it's nice in here."

  He closes the bathroom door but keeps it unlocked, waiting to see if Simon will follow him in. After it stays shut, he makes to get in the massive shower, pausing to stick a crinkly shower cap on.

  He stands under the spray, letting the water blast his face and chest before focusing it on his back and backside. He reaches one hand behind him and slides hesitant fingers between his cheeks, touching the tender skin and letting himself moan quietly at the stickiness there. The sounds and come get washed away. When he threatens to get too relaxed and settled under the spray, he goes back to scrubbing himself with the tiny soap. After towelling off, he steps back into the room to find Simon picking at a pack of M&Ms.

  Simon glances at him. "You've still got the shower cap on."

  He whips it off. "Sorry, sir."

  "What's our alibi gonna be?"

  "Why do we need one?"

  "We took off earlier than
everyone else. People are gonna wonder why we're getting there last."

  "How d'you know we're gonna be last?"

  "I don't know, but we could be."

  "So you want a cover story for our hypothetical lateness?" Mark muses while he dresses. "We stopped at a pub and had a few before getting here."

  "Why would we do that?"

  "Why would people care?"

  Simon stands, shoulders up by his ears. "The woman on reception knows we've got these rooms. They can find out, Maiden could find out."

  "Simon, take a bloody breath. I told you, we're a team now."

  "A team's no good if we can only give each other shit alibis."

  "Lying's easy, you've just got to keep your lie simple and base it on the truth." Mark looks at the empty bottles on the bed. "We booked a room because Simeon said to and because we planned to fuck some women. I got carried away with the minibar, you stuck around to make sure I didn't choke on my sick."

  "I don't buy that I'd be that nice."

  Mark stands in front of him and laughs, Simon grimacing at his breath. The angle of their faces makes it easy for him to put his mouth on Simon's. Simon grips his waist hard enough to bruise.

  "Maybe you don't buy it, but that lot will," Mark says. "You're the resident dreamboat. Yet here you are, wasting your time worrying what people are thinking, when what they're really thinking is where's that handsome frontman got to? I was hoping he'd fuck me into next week."

  Simon snorts a laugh. "The girls are thinking that, yeah? Not Simeon or anyone?"

  "Yeah, the girls. Though who knows about Simeon, I can never tell the difference between poshos and puffs."

  Simon's gaze strays to the open bathroom door. He walks inside and looks at himself in the mirror, expression more lost than admiring.

  "You ready for your adoring fans, rock star?" Mark prompts.

  Simon stirs from his reverie, sporting a practiced smile. "Always."

  "Good man. You know, there is another alibi we could use. We could say we got the rooms so we could bed women and I helped myself to the minibar, but what actually took an hour was getting you to stop preening."

  "It's more believable than you spending ages looking in the mirror."

  "Hey, joke's on you, you're the sod who's got to look at this ugly mug all day," Mark says, cupping his own face. "Come on, the longer we fanny about, the weirder it does get. I'm good to go, I'm showered and slathered in moisturiser."