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The crowd was buzzing. People elbowed each other in front of the stage to get the best view, eagerly awaiting the band's arrival. From what he could pick out of the murmuring around him, he understood that some no name garage band that had been getting popular in the underground scene recently was playing tonight. Camus eyed the exit, not particularly interested in their brand of music. Most bands that played there had a rough, grainy sound that grated on his ears after a few chords. The only reason he frequented that bar in the first place was the slam poetry night on Thursdays.
The crowd roared suddenly. Camus' gaze drifted back to the stage, where two men had stepped up to their instruments. The brunette sat down at the drums and the one with the ridiculously long blue hair strummed his guitar experimentally. A few seconds later, a third man came out of the backstage and whispered to the drummer, who scrunched up his face and shook his head lightly. The new man shook his head as well and grabbed his bass from where it was placed against the far wall, testing its weight. He wore fingerless leather gloves that matched with his black leather jacket and his messy purple blue hair was loosely tied up in a high pony that looked like it would pop off any minute. He turned his head to speak to the guy on guitar and Camus followed the curve of his neck with his eyes. Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt to watch. He had nothing better to do, after all.
Once the three were all settled, the final member sauntered up to the stage with a shit-eating smirk on his face. He looked identical to the guitarist, except for the sea blue color of his hair and the fact that he wasn't wearing a shirt. He wrapped a hand around the mic and the crowd roared again.
"Hey there! Thank you for coming tonight, we know a lot of you were waiting for this." The crowd went wild. A woman threw her bra on stage. Camus rolled his eyes. The vocalist caught it with a wink and hung it from the mic stand. "I don't swing that way, but thank you."
As the first few chords of a song Camus barely recognized started playing, the crowd quieted down. The vocalist's voice was deep and enveloping, a little raw at times, resonating throughout the room with genuine emotion. It seemed most people were there for him, he had the crowd in the palm of his hand and he was cocky about it. But Camus couldn't tear his eyes away from the bassist, the way his fingers glided over the chords expertly, the sway of his hair as he moved to the beat, the laser focus on his bright blue eyes. He threw his head to the side, and their eyes met. Camus matched his gaze steadily, captivated by his wild grin. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, both of them refusing to look away first. It felt like time had frozen around them, everything else fusing with the background, both of their senses alight with something.
The spell was broken when the vocalist threw a sweaty arm around the bassist and mashed their heads together to bring him in for the chorus. Camus suppressed a snort and shook his head. The bassist's voice wasn't half bad either. Suddenly his black lace choker felt too tight, the heat from the crowd was too stifling. Perhaps he had overstayed his time. For the second time that night, Camus eyed the exit. It seemed like they were on the last notes of the song they were playing, maybe if he slipped away now…
There was a small scuffle as the bassist stepped up to the mic and wrenched it away from the vocalist, who let it go with a snicker and a knowing glint in his eyes.
"This one goes for the sexy goth who's been driving me crazy all night." Camus turned back to the stage so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. The mirth in the bassist's gaze told him he was, in fact, talking to him. "Don't go just yet, I wanna meet you backstage!"
Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Camus stayed rooted to the spot as the bassist started singing Florescent Adolescent, openly staring at him the whole time. Against his better judgment, he decided to stay.
Their eyes met again. The bassist sent a playful wink his way, and Camus almost found himself smiling. They kept making eye contact, deliberately now, through the show.
When the last song was over, the man handed his bass to the vocalist and jumped from the stage, the screaming crowd parting for him. Camus watched him saunter up to him with his back against the bar, twirling the half empty glass in his hand with amusement, making the ice cubes tinkle against each other.
"A tequila sunrise for me, with a little extra grenadine." He managed to order without taking his eyes off Camus the entire time.
Camus placed his glass on the counter and signaled for a refill. The bartender nodded and left them alone.
"I thought you said something about backstage?" He asked, playing coy. The bassist leaned in closer. He smelt like sweat and leather and something else. Some kind of cologne, maybe.
"I couldn't wait anymore." He leaned in closer still, sliding an arm behind Camus on the bar, the ghost of a touch on his lower back. "I'm Milo. What's your name?"
"Camus." He said, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Milo followed the motion with his eyes.
"Camus." Milo tried, testing the word on his tongue. "Camus, did you know your corset wouldn't let me think straight all night?"
Camus couldn't help it then, a real smile found its way to his face and a small laugh broke out of him.
"Is that what you call flirting?"
"Hey! At least I'm trying."
"You're going to have to try harder than that. Maybe if you're good, I'll let you touch it."
Milo's eyes lit up with excitement. The bartender arrived with their drinks then, leaving them on the counter with a knowing look. Camus used his to hide his expression. Milo didn't need to know yet that he had already decided to let him touch more than just the corset.