Work Text:
1988
Theon is entirely regretting having attended his brother’s birthday party. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. He showed up just because Maron came up to him looking pissed and telling him that their mom would have been disappointed if he didn’t even invite him, and while he doesn’t want to think that all of a sudden Maron gives a shit either way, he wants his mom to keep on believing they don’t hate each other.
So he showed up.
Clearly he couldn’t bring a plus one along, not that Robb would have been welcomed. So he’s been drinking cheap beer while keeping to himself for two hours and refusing every joint that gets handed to him. Never mind that Theon fucking hates Mötley Crüe, who of course happen to be his brother’s favorites, and his head is about to burst into fucking pieces.
When a friend of Maron’s finally has enough of it and says something along the lines of listen, brother, I get it, but two hours of Vince Neil are too fucking much so I’m just gonna put in something decent Theon almost goes up to the guy and kisses him. He doesn’t, of course, but he appreciates the effort.
The guy turns off the music and puts in a tape, which clearly Maron stops after half a minute because seriously, you think fucking Axl Rose is better than Vince? You’re fucked up.
Except that the damage, by then, is already done.
Theon stops drinking his beer after a few seconds of bass intro – he digs that, he really does.
Then the song takes off, and it’s better, and then the first verse kicks in. Never mind that Theon agrees with Maron’s friend – whoever this Axl dude is, his singing is miles better than Vince Neil’s.
But.
Your daddy works in porno now that mommy’s not around, she used to love her heroin but now she’s underground
So you stay up late at night and do your coke for free, driving your friends crazy with your life’s insanity –
That’s when Maron stops the record.
But.
Theon stands there, frozen, the beer halfway to his lips.
Shit. That wasn’t just good. That was – that was the most fucking honest music he’s ever heard in his life, never mind that a few things in those two meager verses hit too fucking close to home.
He swallows his beer and the moment Maron’s friend is left alone, he walks up to him and asks what was that music he just put on.
Clearly he gains a glare from Maron which makes him wish he never asked the question the moment the friend calls out hey, Maron, your brother has better taste than you, but he gets what he wanted.
That song was named My Michelle, it’s from some American group named Guns n’ Roses that’s apparently very big overseas right now, and it’s on their first record. It’s named Appetite for Destruction.
The next day, Theon looks at his savings. He doesn’t have enough for a vinyl, but he can scrounge up enough for a tape.
Good.
He buys one after school – thankfully it’s the day Robb has football practice, not that he’d mind if Robb tagged along but he just wants to buy the tape, go home and listen to it. That song, specifically.
He spends half of said savings on it and so he doesn’t buy lunch to compensate. Not that it’s a new occurrence.
He gets on, manages to avoid both his brothers and his dad for once, and then locks the door, pushes the B side of the tape into his player and presses play.
If he thought that first verse hit close to home, the rest is almost fucking embarrassing.
Never mind that the first part entirely reminds him all over again of all the times he wondered how Robb has been putting up with his life’s clusterfuck for ten years.
But there’s everything. Even those fucking six months after his mom’s nervous breakdown where all he did was spend most of the night at every school party he could infiltrate himself in and slept maybe six hours each three days.
Bloody fucking hell, there’s even the part where sometimes he wishes Robb would guess that he’s been in love with him for five years, because Theon is so not acting on that ever.
But oh, the time it takes, when you’re all alone.
Theon swallows down twice, forwards the tape all the way to the end, then turns it back on the A side and presses play from the beginning.
If it felt like My Michelle was about his life, well, all the fucking rest isn’t doing a bad job of it either.
Shit, halfway through Sweet Child o’ Mine he’s thinking that it’s cool musically but the lyrics are shit, then there’s a part about how much the guy likes the girl’s hair of all things and Theon is painfully reminded of all the times he’s shared a bed with his current best and only friend and tried to find every excuse ever to bury the back of his face in Robb’s neck because he liked the way that stupid red hair of his felt against his skin.
And he thought that one would be a break, at least.
The next day, he goes to a newsstand and spends his lunch money on a Mojo issue with these Guns n’ Roses people on the cover. It says new phenomenon – well, look at that. Maybe he’s going to learn who these guys actually are. He stuffs it in his backpack and goes to school.
Robb glances at him as if he’s worried, but doesn’t ask for specifics and offers him half of his lunch. He accepts even if he wishes he’d just get the guts to say no.
When he’s finally home, he locks the door, puts on Appetite for Destruction and opens his magazine. Well, yes, there are a couple pages talking about each member of the band. He settles down and reads.
--
“Uh, really, this guy?” Robb takes the magazine, turns it in his hands, then shrugs.
“What’s wrong with Axl Rose?” Theon replies, almost defensively.
“Nothing, I guess, except that his voice isn’t really my thing?”
“You even listen to these people?”
“They’re Arya’s new favorites,” Robb says, shrugging. “I don’t know, is it the looks? Because if it’s the looks, the bassist’s a lot more my type.”
“Oh, shut it,” Theon replies without bite – hell, he’s already lucky enough that Robb didn’t bat an eyelid when Theon blurted at him a couple years ago that he liked men the same as women, he’s not going to take it personally. “But – how don’t you get it? I mean, have you even read that? This guy’s a miracle worker. Like, you saw where he came from, right?”
“I do,” Robb replies, sending him a sympathetic look, and of course he’d get it. “And I’m not saying I don’t get why he’s your kind of guy. He’s not mine.”
Theon sighs, figuring that there’s no way he’s going to convince Robb to abandon the dark side yet. “Are you sure you don’t – I mean, okay, I get that you like fucking Bon Jovi, but –”
“Theon. I listen to that record twice each day, at least. Arya’s room is next to mine, if you forgot already. I’ll pick my poison, thank you.”
“A poison named Bon Jovi,” Theon grunts, but lets it go. He doesn’t get how Robb can like that cheesy shit when he can have – when he can have this. It’s gritty and realistic and it has soul and it’s – maybe not his life put in a song, but his feelings? Sure thing. Bon Jovi looks like the safe, watered down version sung by people who don’t know how bad it is to have a really shitty life, and maybe Robb gets it more than others because he’s friends with him, but maybe that’s why the watered down version reasonates more with him.
Whatever.
Two months later, he hangs an Axl poster over his bed.
No one pays attention to it until another three months have passed. (By then, Theon knows Appetite for Destruction by heart.) Maron looks at him shaking his head and saying that he’s really fucking hopeless, Rodrik just stares at it and leaves, and then obviously three days later he finds it torn down.
He sits through a lecture from his dad about liking that horrid music, then buys another poster and puts it in the same place. No one gives a shit.
By that point, he’s at the third tape getting ruined.
On his birthday, Robb shows up with an Appetite CD telling him that maybe this one won’t get worn out and Theon almost wants to cry in gratitude.
He buys a used Guns n’ Roses shirt at a thrift shop and wears it down until holes show up at the hems, and then he mends them. He listens to that record whenever something shitty happens, which means every other day. When another one comes out he buys it the day it comes out, and who cares if it’s just three new songs and a live EP – it’s not like he could listen to that before, so it’s all good. He still teases Robb about his ridiculous crush on Jon Bon Jovi and Robb rolls his eyes and tells him that it’s just so him to like the asshole out of five people. Theon protests that – it’s not that Axl is an asshole. He’s complicated. But he gets it. Oh, he gets why he would be.
Maybe it’s creepy, to think that the guy’s music just gets it, but then again he’s stopped worrying about it long ago. And he’s glad that at least he has something to throw himself into when the crap in his life becomes too much to handle. Shutting himself in his room and mouthing along to Paradise City is probably healthier than getting smashed all the time and walk back home and five in the morning.
1992
“Damn. Damn.”
He wants to throw his magazine under a car, but it would probably be a fucking bad idea, considering how much he paid for it.
The fact that it’s the only sunny April day he’s seen in the last six years or so isn’t helping. He feels like even the weather is mocking him.
“What’s the problem?” Robb asks, moving up close to him. Theon bites down on his tongue and tries not look at him in the eye – damn, eight years of being in love with your best friend are entirely too fucking many.
He shrugs and throws Mojo at Robb.
“What the – Guns n’ Roses announce new European dates for the Use Your Illusion tour? That’s the problem?”
“Look at the dates.”
Robb does. “I don’t see – oh. There’s one in London.”
“I was hoping they’d just pay me the fucking favor of never showing up again in this stupid country,” Theon sighs. He had maybe tried to ask if he could go to the gig they played last year in London, and everything he got for his troubles was a bruise to his face. Even if he had sworn that he’d find the money for the ticket. Do you think I have time to fucking drive your ass to London, are we even serious.
Yeah, Theon hates his dad, but that ain’t news, right? He was hoping that he wouldn’t have to spend another day wishing he could be there, but – yeah. Right. In his dreams.
“Well, you’re not seventeen anymore, at least. I mean, you could go without asking permission.”
“Doesn’t matter. If they find out, it’s going to get ugly anyway. And even if I find a part time job for a month… tickets are all good, but there’s the trip. And the hotel. And if anyone related to me finds out I actually had a job, they’d probably say it’s about time I contribute to house expenses, so.” He lights up a cigarette, wishing he didn’t feel this nervous. “Whatever. I’ll try to forget it.”
Robb doesn’t press but asks him if he wants to sleep over at his place for a couple of days and Theon accepts without even blinking.
He tries to forget everything about the damn tournee, including the day tickets are put on sale.
So when Robb doesn’t come to school one day, he gets worried because Robb never misses school, but he doesn’t put two and two together.
A few days later, Robb invites him over again, looking… sort of excited, which is weird. When he gets at the Starks’, everyone starts snickering when he passes by, which is definitely a new occurrence.
“The fuck is going on?” Theon hisses as Robb leads him up to his room.
“You’ll understand soon enough,” Robb replies, smirking to himself.
Then he locks the door when they’re in. Theon sits on Robb’s bed, still wishing he had a clue of what the hell’s going on.
“So,” Robb says, “I hope you noticed I missed school a few days ago.”
“Yeah, for the first time since kindergarten. Which did look suspicious.”
“Well, I had a reason. Now, let’s just say in advance that it’s a real problem that your birthday is in February.”
“… Why?”
“Because it means you’re getting your birthday present a lot earlier than proper, but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“Robb, what the hell are you fishing at?”
Robb just smirks and hands him an envelope.
Not too thick and not too thin.
“What –”
“Just open it.”
Theon shrugs and does, and –
And his hands start to shake the moment he grabs the two yellow brand new concert tickets that were inside the envelope.
Wembley Stadium.
Use Your Illusion World Tour 1992.
Guns n’ Roses plus special guests
Saturday, 13th June 1992.
“Goes unsaid I hope you clear your schedule for that day,” Robb says, still smirking, and Theon looks up at him without even a clue of what he should say.
“Robb, don’t tell me you –”
“I put myself in line at seven in the morning, yes. At least I was the tenth person and I had no problem finding them.”
“But – why two?”
“You said that they wouldn’t let you go anyway, right? Well, case is, that week you will be coming to the seaside with me. When, actually, my family is going to be at the seaside, and we’re taking a train and going to London and attend that concert, and they have instructions to tell your dad that you’re with them, if he bothers calling.”
Theon goes through the rest of the papers in the envelope while Robb talks. He’s right. There are two train tickets from Edinburgh to London and viceversa, then there’s a hotel booked for June 13th.
“But – Robb, shit, I can’t – I mean, don’t you hate them?”
Robb rolls his eyes and sits next to him on the bed.
“Before you start thinking I came over to your fucking side: no, I don’t particularly like their music, yes, I still think you have a crush on a guy who could do with being less of a control freak and I still will pick Bon Jovi every time over them. But, it’s not about me. You like these guys, I know that you’ve been wanting to see them live for years and the asshole I don’t like writes music that means something to you, and it’s fucking stupid that you shouldn’t go just because your dad’s an ass. I can stand six hours of concert, even if I’m not looking forward to your guy being late. And you’d better hope he’s in a good mood.”
“That’s not –”
“Come on, he always is late, and let’s not mention the riots, but that’s not the problem. Heck, if all else fails I can still ogle the bassist.”
“Robb –”
“Theon. After drawing the short stick to bring my brother to see Nirvana along with all his grunge obsessed friends, I think I can handle your asshole famous boyfriend.”
Oh. Right. Now Theon feels kind of bad because it looks like Robb is the designated person to bring anyone to gigs – and of course Snow likes fucking grunge music and of course Robb brought him along even if he finds Nirvana too depressing for this world. And clearly the last time fucking Bon Jovi were around in tour he went on his own because his parents trusted him to handle himself and no one else except Sansa would have gone, but Sansa was like, twelve, and their parents didn’t let her go.
“Okay,” he finally says before he can embarrass himself further. “Okay, fine. Are you sure I can’t pay at least for the hotel, or –”
“Early birthday present.”
And – the thing is, Robb is grinning hard enough to light up his eyes, and he’s pretty sure he’s doing the same, and maybe he should have just thought harder about what the fuck he’s doing, but he’s not, and so when he moves forward and kisses him square on the mouth just because he can’t not, for a moment he doesn’t realize what he’s just doing.
Then he does.
And he’d have backtracked, really, but the moment he tries to Robb’s hand goes to the back of his neck and grips and drags him forward and shit but Robb is kissing him back and he’s not entirely sure he hasn’t hallucinated it.
Then Robb leans back, looking as if he’s entirely happy with how things are proceeding, and Theon is pretty sure his own eyes haven’t even been wider in his life.
“Well, if I had known this was what it took so that you’d make a move, I’d have bought you a ticket last year.”
“What? Wait a moment, you knew?”
“I suspected, but I never made a move because I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure. And. Well, I didn’t want to risk making things weird.”
“How long?”
Robb shrugs. “Who even remembers. Surely since before you started listening to that garbage.”
“Hey, my music isn’t garbage –”
“Patience isn’t garbage. The rest is just fucking boring. Now how about you kiss me again?”
Theon doesn’t have to be asked twice.
--
The concert isn’t just good.
The concert is heavenly.
Fine, Robb just looks bored throughout all of it except when Brian May shows up for the last two songs, because of course Robb is a Queen diehard and cried when Freddie Mercury died, so at least Theon doesn’t feel that bad about Robb being here when the only song he actually likes is Patience.
During which they surreptitiously held hands. Good thing no one noticed or if they did, no one gave a shit.
Anyway. There aren’t riots… or anything of the kind, the opening acts were more Snow’s thing but they weren’t bad at all – he needs to check Soundgarden out. It doesn’t start that late, which is good because Robb won’t rub it in his face a month from now. They don’t play My Michelle, which he had kind of hoped for, but it doesn’t even matter when he gets half of Appetite for Destruction anyway. He hopes Robb won’t ever tell anyone that he cried during November Rain. And during Don’t Cry and Paradise City. Spending the last few songs in tears should probably be embarrassing, but he can hardly give a damn.
Never mind that say what you want about Axl being an asshole and about the arguments and about the current band.
Theon still would give an arm to meet the guy and tell him that he really fucking admires him, never mind that he’s plenty gorgeous, and right, maybe Theon does have a type and that type has red hair, but this is not the moment to dwell on it.
Also it would be highly embarrassing to tell someone hey, sometimes I think about my shitty home life but then I remember that you had it worse and look at where you are, so maybe it means there’s some chance I won’t end up fucking everything up, so yeah, bad idea.
Robb, bless him, doesn’t say a thing or have much of a reaction at all except when Brian May shows up. He puts an arm around his shoulder when Theon has the Paradise City crying fit, and a few minutes before the song ends he says he’ll find a bathroom while Theon gets himself back together.
Instead he comes back with a tour shirt and a poster from the merchandise booth, handing them to him and saying he went there before others assaulted it and sold all the decent shirts. Then he also hands him a bottle of beer.
“Well, it might not even be nine in the evening but you look like you need a drink,” Robb says, shrugging, and Theon would kiss him, except that maybe it’s better to save it for the hotel room. He still sends him a grateful look before drinking half the bottle in one go.
They end up hanging at a nearby bar for the next hour or so – while he cries tears of joy about how good it was with a guy they were in line with for drinks Robb ends up chatting with the guy’s girlfriend, who is probably the only other person in the entire joint who came for moral support and doesn’t like Guns n’ Roses.
Good. At least Theon doesn’t feel that bad about it, again.
When they get back to the hotel, it’s eleven in the evening, he’s definitely drunk and he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier in his life. Robb drags him up the stairs – bless him for having stuck to soda drinks – but at least he seems everything but pissed at him.
“I still think the only person worth a glance in there is Duff,” Robb jokes as he sits him down on the hotel bed.
Theon huffs, trying to kick off his shoes. “Because you got a thing for blonde and tall. Hey, wait, does that mean –”
“Theon, you might have a type, but I don’t. Never mind that I hope the only thing I have in common with that jerk is the hair color.”
“He’s not a jerk. You’re a lot nicer, tho.”
“Why, thank you, I’ll make you a Bon Jovi mixtape just to show you how much I appreciated that.”
“You fucking wouldn’t.”
Robb lays down next to him on the bed, dragging him forward so that his front is against Theon’s back. “Go to sleep before you say more shit that you’ll regret in the morning.”
That seems like sound advice, so he follows it.
The next morning he’s hungover, his clothes stink and Robb keeps on snickering whenever he remembers the crap he spouted out while drunk.
But his new shirt fits perfectly, the hangover gets better when Robb brings him some breakfast from the café across the road, he hasn’t lost his ticket stub and his entire body feels like a bruise, but he’s never felt this good about it in his entire life.
Also, when Robb pushes him down on the bed and says that he wants some celebratory sex in repayment for suffering through six hours surrounded by Guns n’ Roses fans, Theon doesn’t even blink before kissing the living daylights out of him.
1996
So maybe a normal person’s first reaction to hearing the news shouldn’t have been getting out of the house, heading to Robb’s apartment and knocking on the door pretty loudly.
Then again, Robb isn’t a normal person either, because he opens the door a moment later and he already has a bottle of vodka handed out towards him.
“What, you know?” Theon asks as he gets inside and grabs the bottle.
“Jon woke me up this morning telling me to brace myself,” Robb replies, looking somewhat concerned.
Damn. If Jon – who spent the entirety of April 1994 in a funk, not that anyone ever begrudged him that – is concerned about his reaction to the news, then he needs to start worrying.
“I just – it’s just – that can’t have happened. That just can’t.”
“I’m afraid it has,” Robb replies softly as Theon drops down on his sofa and takes a drink from the vodka bottle.
“It’s just – he can’t – that can’t have happened, it can’t –”
“Theon, you can say out loud that Slash quit the band, you know?”
“Don’t say it,” Theon replies, sounding pained, and then drinks another shot. “I just – it’s not even – I can’t even fault the guy, for fuck’s sake! I just – I can’t believe –”
“Told you your boy had asshole tendencies.”
“Right, fine, but –”
“Theon, come on, get a grip. I know you feel him and his music speaks to your soul or whatever it is, but the guy obviously has issues and isn’t dealing with them, of course he’s gonna alienate every fucking person around him. And that doesn’t mean that if he’s being an asshole you’re gonna turn into one.”
“What?”
“Come on, you’ve been doing that creepy identification thing with him since you were fourteen, you think I don’t know why is it that you’re drinking at ten in the morning just because your favorite band might have sorta broken up for what it’s worth?”
… Which is an entirely great point, as far as reasonable goes. He has been doing the creepy identification thing, more or less. And he doesn’t want to be that kind of asshole.
“Come on,” Robb says after he’s downed a fourth of that vodka, “at least you saw them live before… everyone but two people walked out on Axl, didn’t you?”
“At least,” Theon admits, and then he promptly half-passes out on Robb’s shoulder.
He wakes up in the afternoon with a raging hangover.
Robb is at his side and hands him a glass of water and some aspirin.
“Listen,” he says while Theon drinks, “I figured some humor was sorely needed before, but I am sorry.”
“What?”
“I am. I mean, I don’t care and I still don’t like the music, but I know how important that stupid band is to you. Of course I’m sorry they’re practically broken up as it is.”
Theon swallows, wishing he had anything sensed to answer, but his head is still pounding and he still doesn’t even want to think about it.
“Come on,” Robb says a moment later, “just get over here.”
He’s not ever going to tell anyone that he broke down crying about it on Robb’s shoulder while still hungover. And bless Robb for not saying a word about it to anyone else he knows during the following months.
1997
“It’s over,” he says, sort of maybe too dramatically, as he walks inside his and Robb’s flat on a sunny day in early August.
“What?” Robb asks, sounding all kinds of concerned.
“It’s fucking hot outside, the latest family reunion was a disaster, my mom really should fucking divorce my dad already and Duff quit the band. It’s. All. Over. I need a drink.”
Robb rolls his eyes and goes to the fridge, handing him a beer – thank fuck for Robb Stark’s existence.
“You know,” Robb says after a moment, “while I entirely agree about your family, I don’t see what’s so bad about Duff.”
“You don’t see it? He was the last one! Now it’s not – it’s just fucking not –”
“Seems to me like he finally realized he’s wasted in that relic of a band,” Robb interrupts, looking entirely too happy with the decision. “Hopefully he’s going to find himself a group I actually like.”
“Robb, damn you,” Theon sighs, “stop twisting that knife. This is bad. This is my childhood crumbling to fucking pieces. Why did he have to go and do that? Why? Damn, why did it have to go so wrong?”
Robb doesn’t say anything for a while and lets him nurse his beer and his Guns n’ Roses-related pain.
Then.
“Er. You know. If you want to distract yourself…”
“If I want to distract myself?”
“Uhm. I did tell you that Jon is playing Wembley on the sixteenth?”
Jon – ah, right, Bon Jovi. For a moment he thought Robb meant his brother. The solo tour. Robb is ridiculously excited about that, bless him and his nonwavering support of cheesy music.
“Yeah, and?”
“And Sansa was supposed to come with me, but she can’t anymore. I have a spare ticket.”
“… You’re asking me to come to a fucking Jon Bon Jovi solo show?”
“Why not? It’d be a distraction. And I did come with you for your favorite redhead.”
“I assume you got front row tickets.”
“Of course I did,” Robb replies, as if it’s a given. Yeah. Well. He always got front row tickets or as close as he could get to it for all the Bon Jovi shows he attended.
On his own.
Theon really should take one for the team, at this point.
“Okay. Okay, fine, I’ll come with you and just stare at you while you swoon, how about that?”
Robb grins and Theon does go to the concert with him, and – thing is, he can’t even say it’s half bad.
Half of it is cover songs which he actually likes, so he can’t even complain about the cheesiness. The guy’s solo songs aren’t half bad, even if they can get cheesy-ish. But they’re a lot less cheesy than the eighties shit Robb used to belt under the shower ten years ago.
And he has to admit it to himself – not only the guy doesn’t look like he needs a ten-year long vacation the way everyone who ever was part of Guns n’ Roses did after the Use Your Illusion tour, but he also… starts on time. And he’s just so ridiculously nice that he can see why Robb would like both him and his fucking music. It’s the kind of shit that speaks to Robb’s soul, probably.
There’s probably nothing wrong if that is what speaks to Robb’s soul, after all. Hell, he wishes it’d speak to his, but maybe that’s why he’s been in love with the idiot for a ridiculously long time.
“You liked it,” Robb says smugly as they walk back home.
“I didn’t hate it,” Theon corrects. “That’s hardly the same thing.”
“Nope. You liked it. That’s okay, you can admit it.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“Are we going to argue about this forever?”
“Hm, do you want to move in with me?”
Theon stops dead in his tracks as Robb does the exact same thing.
“What – sorry?”
“Ah, damn, I didn’t want to spring it on you like that,” Robb blurts, flushing slightly. “Actually I was going to ask you when we got back, but you know, it kind of slipped out.”
“Yeah, get back to the point. Did I hear you right?”
“Uh, yes? I mean. You think I didn’t notice you’ve been staying more at my place than at yours in the last year or so? It’s big enough for both and we’ve been doing this for five years, I’m pretty sure we’re not breaking up anytime soon. And I’m pretty sure you’d rather contribute to my rent than to your dad’s house expenses, or am I wrong?”
Robb is staring at him straight, and Theon has to take a moment to just digest it – Robb is right, after all. The more time passes the less he can stand the family that lives with him, especially since Asha moved out and his mom went to stay with his uncle, and he’s dead tired of the money he makes from his crappy waiting job going straight to what his dad says are the bills. Never mind that he wouldn’t even be taking his degree if not for the scolarship he managed to land.
It’s not like he ever told Robb straight, though – he never wanted to dump all his problems on him, after all.
“You’re not wrong,” Theon replies quietly. “Shit, of course I’d move in with you, it’s not like half of my stuff isn’t there already, but – I mean, are you sure –”
“We can keep two stereos in two different rooms,” Robb replies amiably, and –
Fuck this.
Theon pushes him against the wall and they kiss until someone passes by and whistles loudly, and thank fuck it wasn’t anyone drunk or with an issue with it, and so they run back to the hotel and damn it, but they really should do gigs together more often regardless of whether they actually like the act, if that’s the way it always ends.
2004
“We should do what with Jon?”
“Go see Velvet Revolver,” Robb replies, and Theon hadn’t thought he’d sound this excited when talking about a gig from a band that Theon actually likes, though they’re obviously not as good as Guns n’ Roses were at their prime.
“Wait, they’re playing London?”
“In September,” Robb grins as he dumps his backpack on the floor of their newly rented London apartment. “Jon can drive down here and stay in the guest room.”
“Yeah, wait, I guess why you’d want to go – I mean, you still have that ridiculous crush on Duff and you don’t hate the music, which is good, but why would your brother even care?”
Robb rolls his eyes. “Did you miss that few months where all he could listen to was Stone Temple Pilots?”
Theon hasn’t even realized, but – “Wait, was that that time he went in a funk when Scott Weiland got himself fired?”
“Yes, exactly. Come on, for one we can all enjoy it at the same time!”
Robb seriously looks overtly excited at the prospect. Then again, he is right – Jon would be in it for Weiland, Theon would be in it because there are more Guns n’ Roses members in Velvet Revolver than in actual Guns n’ Roses, and Robb other than crushing on Duff (Theon, seriously, the guy got himself a degree in economics, how did you ever like Axl better than him?, he asks from time to time, though Theon doesn’t even snark back at him anymore – it’s obvious that he’s joking) genuinely likes the music. And the three of them never went to a gig together since they never really found a compromise that all three of them enjoyed.
Never mind that he knows that he and Jon will spend half of the time arguing about how well does Scott Weiland sing in comparison to Axl and it’s all going to go over Robb’s head, but for all the times Robb took one for the team, he’s pretty sure they both owe it to him. Especially because he knows that Robb has been listening to Jon ranting about real grunge music dying out for years as well and the guy really needs a break from the two of them throwing their music-related woes at him.
“Fine, Stark, we’re going to see Velvet Revolver. Feel free to buy me a drink later.”
He’s pointedly not letting Robb buy him the ticket – his doctorate is paying some, and the times he can’t afford concerts are hopefully over.
Robb grins so wide that Theon has to reach out, grab his shirt and kiss him.
They don’t make it to the bedroom, not that Theon has a problem with it.
--
They go to the gig.
To Theon’s actual surprise, until it’s actually done, they all have a great time. He doesn’t argue with Jon about anything – they mutually agree to cut down their endemic bickering just so that Robb wouldn’t have to put up with their arguments for the umpteenth time. Jon has stars in his eyes at seeing Scott Weiland looking that good and he about squeals when they actually play some Stone Temple Pilots songs, Theon will take anything Slash is in and to be quite honest he does like the music, even if it doesn’t… well. Speak to him. Or feel that close to him, but nothing quite ever could, he thinks, and so he just enjoys it for what it’s worth.
Robb looks like he’s having the time of his life and he’s probably the only person in the crowd who’s there because he genuinely likes these people’s music first and not because he was previously a fan of any of the other bands they were a part of.
It all goes swimmingly until they’re having post-gig drinks and when Robb is on his third beer, Jon clearly has to go argue with someone who was a Guns n’ Roses fan first and foremost and who was there for Slash but doesn’t dig Scott Weiland.
They need to never ever let Jon drink more than the half glass of Guinnes he’s had, next time.
“You can’t be seriously bloody mean it! That prick can’t sing any better than Axl. Or write better songs, for that matter.”
“Excuse me,” Jon hisses, “are we talking about the same person? That prick is ten times the singer your precious asshole is. Never mind that he’s still going around with that circus he calls Guns n’ Roses.”
“Hey, did you come here with him?” The guy asks Theon, and what the – right, he’s wearing a Guns n’ Roses shirt. Why did he even do it?
“He went for the prick, I went for the rest. That a crime? And he’s right. I wish I could say otherwise, but Axl is going ‘round with a circus these days.”
“Oh no, you can’t all be arguing about this again,” Robb groans.
“And what’s your problem?” One of the guy’s friend asks.
All of a sudden half of the bar is turned towards Robb.
Robb shrugs. “My problem is that these two have had this conversation for the last… I don’t know, fifteen years? Maybe? Why are you all just so hung up about that? It’s fucking music, not a war. Heck, has anyone in here other than me come because they actually liked these guys’ record?”
The bar falls totally silent. A couple of people chuckle and send approving glares in Robb’s direction, but that’s it.
“Wait,” the guy who engaged with Jon earlier asks. “You like Contraband?”
“I love that fucking record. I like it a lot more than any music from the other bands they were in that they made me listen to. God, you know what you all should do?”
And then Theon realizes what Robb is about to say.
Damn, next time he’s not letting him drink either. For sure.
“Robb, it’s a bad idea –” He starts.
“Robb, he’s right, just drop it,” Jon agrees at once – first time in his life they ever do agree without even blinking.
But Robb is evidently too wired up to not go for it.
“If only you people listened to more Bon Jovi once in a while you wouldn’t be so bloody bitter,” Robb finally shouts, to a room that is pretty much completely silent and staring at him.
Right.
Of course he’d do that.
Damn it.
--
“Stark, you do realize you started a bar fight?” Theon asks as he drags Robb outside the bar, Jon trailing them on the other side and making sure no one is paying attention to the three of them sneaking out.
Robb groans – he has a black eye and a split lip, but the guy who punched him first is in the same condition, and after that Theon had just put himself in front of Robb and made his way through the crowd. Thankfully Jon managed to slip out of there sooner than them.
“I didn’t, I just told them something they fucking needed to hear,” Robb groans.
“Robb, maybe that wasn’t the time to come out about liking Bon Jovi, you –”
“Jon, fuck off. The day I’m ashamed of what music I like is the day I die. Damn, that hurt though.”
“Snow, tell me you’re sober enough to drive,” Theon says as they finally reach Robb’s car.
“Yeah, I got it. I didn’t even finish my drink anyway. And you know, good thing you’re not as bad as them.”
“What?”
“You do admit that Guns n’ Roses are a circus these days.”
“Get into the damn car before anyone else hears us, damn it.”
Theon drags himself into the back seat and Robb promptly puts his head on his shoulder, and he’s still groaning in pain but the idiot did go looking for it.
Still.
He kind of had a point.
“Jon,” Theon groans after he starts the car. “Let’s just take one for the team for once.”
“We’re never talking about it again.”
“Of course we’re not.”
“Fine. What do I do?”
“Just play the tape that’s already in the car and let’s pretend we never did it of our own decision.”
Jon sighs and does, and a moment later Livin’ on a prayer starts from the middle. And the bad thing is that Theon is sure that it was the greatest hits tape, which means that it’s actually the first song.
Damn, it really is fucking cheesy.
And then.
“I could kiss you,” Robb says a moment later, and damn but Theon has no clue if that’s the aftershock or if he’s just drunk or if he means it, because he usually doesn’t do PDA in front of family members.
“Really. I won’t say no,” Theon replies, and Robb is in fact kissing him the second he’s done saying it.
“Robb, keep the PDA under control,” Jon shouts from the front, but Robb is too busy kissing Theon stupid to pay attention to him.
“Thanks for the save before,” Robb whispers after moving away a bit.
“Yeah, well, don’t mention it.”
Then Robb kisses him again.
And then the sad thing is that they live far away from the venue enough that they have time to listen to the entire greatest hits, and Robb was definitely drunker than they thought because otherwise he wouldn’t have just gone and sung Always at the top of his lungs while staring straight at Theon during the refrain. Jon had just laughed himself silly and had to park the car for a moment – he was laughing so hard tears streamed from his eyes, and Theon is pretty sure he’s not ever living it down.
Then again, he thinks a while later while Robb starts singing along at him again, and during Bed of Roses of all things, he doesn’t regret a second of this.
He’s also not ever going to say it out loud.
But for once he can admit it to himself, can’t he?
End