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The air is charged with tension, the kind that makes your entire body quiver with thrill and sends adrenaline rushing through your veins as if your heart is pumping it through you.
Scott recognizes it among the members. Each of them exudes a quiet, intense aura of concentration and Scott feels a familiar swirl of anxiety and excitement is crawling back in him, churning his stomach like it always does before a concert. With time, he’s learned to bask in it. That’s one of the things that makes concerts fucking worth it after all, and it’s a part of the concert experience he wouldn’t trade for anything.
Tim is the quietest before a concert, and today is no exception. His calm aura is perceptible even from afar. He’s lying on the couch with his eyes closed, his legs hanging over the armrest and his fingers strumming as if on guitar strings.
But today, there’s something different about him. Scott can’t point out what exactly, but he knows his hunch is right. Maybe it’s the frown that dared to graze Tim’s face and now refuses to leave that gives it away.
Tim is a big boy who can hold himself well, though. They’ve never named anyone as the leader, but it’s crystal clear that for the public, Tim is. As such, he’s always in the spotlight, but he never seemed affected by the pressure of that position.
Has he, really?
Scott has known Tim since he was still a child who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. Tim knows he can talk to him, sometimes he even does. Still, now that Scott thinks about it, they have talked about everyone’s place in the band several times, but Tim has mentioned nothing regarding an overwhelming pressure beside a few jokes here and there. There may have been more to these jokes, and Scott just didn’t realize that.
It’s hard to know, knowing that even when he had problems with his parents, Tim never complained about it. It’s only when success came knocking at their door that Scott and the other members got to know how difficult his situation with his parents was, back then.
Some people are like that. They allow others only a glimpse of their real feelings and Scott had assumed that’s how Tim was.
But today the frown isn’t leaving his face and Scott just doesn’t like it.
As if he’s heard his thoughts, Tim rises to his feet and walks to the kitchen door. Scott doesn’t fucking know why, but the urge to follow him erupts inside him and he doesn’t bother fighting it.
He walks to the kitchen and opens the door without knocking to find Tim downing a glass of water, head tilted backward. Scott can’t help but watch the bob of his throat and the ripples it causes on the tattoo adorning his skin there. Something jumps in the pit of his stomach, heavy like the sound of a bass.
Tim’s talent is undisputable. It’s something set in stone that nothing or no one can ever hope to alter, and Tim’s beauty is just the same; ethereal, ineffable. After years spent by his sides, Scott can swear it’s not altered by time.
Once in a while, sometimes after a few drinks, often sober and alone at night, Scott’s mind wanders into dangerous territory. It thinks of the way Tim’s eyes turn into beautiful crescents when he smiles and laughs, thinks of the sensation of his thin, elegant fingers sliding across his clothes when he caresses him as a friendly tease.
Tim looks like he’s from another dimension, one much better than this one, and Scott puts the way he’s standing here, staring dumbly at him on that fact.
The sound of glass breaks his reverie, and he blinks in surprise. When he comes to his senses, Tim is looking at him, his eyes now beautiful crescents gleaming with a little something, his full lips curled up in a smile.
“Saw a ghost?” Tim’s voice is dripping with irony, and Scott chuckles, feeling oddly nervous.
“Not really.” Scott closes the door before turning around and stepping forward. “Just someone who looks very different from usual. What’s on your mind?”
Tim blinks and his smile falters, almost at the same time his eyes waver and break eye contact.
Scott knew something was off about him and turns out he was right.
A silence forms, full of meaning, and the only thing Scott can hear is the faint sound of voices coming from backstage.
“I’m just... nervous,” Tim finally mutters, still avoiding his gaze.
It sounds like a white lie, and it’s obvious that Tim is very much aware of that.
“I can perform tonight if that’s your concern.”
And as to punctuate his words, Tim smiles, but it looks and feels so fake, like the smiles you’d see in commercials. A hint of anger peaks inside Scott, but he swallows it as much as he can and passes a hand over his hair.
He’s known Tim long enough to know that while he’s hurt him, he most probably didn’t do it on purpose. That fact doesn’t remove the sting in his chest, though. Does Tim really think he’s only asking because of the concert?
Yes, the concert has something to do with it, but if Tim had made the same face back in Texas with fluffy beige slippers on, Scott would have asked him the same question. Tim might not even have considered that possibility and it hurts, even when he knows damn well that all of this is not about him.
Scott sighs. What is he supposed to do, less than an hour before their concert?
He doesn’t have a fucking clue, and the way Tim is digging his teeth into his bottom lip like a child getting scolded by his parents becomes too distracting.
It still makes a surge of tenderness wash all over him, gnawing bit by bit at his frustration. He is stepping forward again before he realizes it, leaving only a few centimeters between Tim and him, and Tim lifts his eyes to meet his gaze. His dark irises are looking at him, not with surprise, but with a subtle blend of hesitation and almost expectation.
It makes something buzz inside Scott, something strong enough to make him speak.
“You think I’m only asking because of the concert?”
“I didn’t say that,”
Scott snorts. This is typical of Tim.
“True, just like you didn’t tell the truth.”
Tim blinks again, conflict instantly coating his face. Scott finds it impossible to resent him when his eyes catch sight of his lips gathering into an adorable pout he probably doesn’t realize he’s making.
And Scott is such a weak man.
That’s why he slowly leans forward, just to let Tim the time to draw back if he wants to.
But he doesn’t.
No, he even closes his eyes like it’s the most natural thing to do, and Scott watches in awe the way his long lashes sweep low over his soft cheeks. There is a squeeze in his chest, a halt in his heartbeats and a peculiar warmth pervades his chest when his eyes go back to Tim’s red, full lips.
This warmth radiates in him, beautiful and painful at the same time, and Scott is no stranger to it. He knows its implications, but he’d rather not think about them now.
He closes his eyes instead and lets his lips finally touch Tim’s.
It’s more a caress than a kiss, but Scott doesn’t miss the little exhale Tim lets out at the contact and the way it fans over his lips, featherlight. Tim’s lips are cold and moist from that glass of water, and the mixture of sensations sparks something almost possessive inside Scott. Scott pulls back, swallowing down the urge to ravage his lips.
His heart is thumping against his eardrums when he opens his eyes, only to see Tim staring right at him, his cheeks suffused with a rich red and the corner of his lips shyly going up. Such a rare and surprising sight that Scott wishes he could embed into his eyes, so he would never have to let it go.
“For luck,” he mutters, eyes sweeping over Tim’s lips one last time just because. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to do that again; taste Tim’s soft, cherry lips.
The words make no sense, but they tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, regardless. His guts tell him that somehow Tim will understand what he meant.
And he’s probably right, judging by the way Tim chuckles, permeating his ears with a rare sound. It’s a sound almost as beautiful as the intricate, heartfelt riffs Tim composes, and Scott could almost lose himself in it in absolute bliss.
What he didn’t expect was the way Tim leans forward, eyes blazing with fondness as he wraps his hands around his neck. No hesitation in his moves, and Scott feels his skin burn and tingle with electricity at the contact.
He ends up leaning forward again, entranced by the sight of Tim’s tongue sweeping over his lips. There is a pause and a question lying deep into Tim’s eyes at this moment. In other circumstances, the question would have been obvious (Can I kiss you?). It’s always been simple with Tim, after all.
But Scott has a hard time processing what’s happening, and he isn’t sure about what Tim is asking for right now. Hell, he can’t even understand why Tim still hasn’t looked at him with an embarrassed look on his face and a Sorry but leaving his mouth.
None of this makes sense, but Scott will go with it anyway because it’s Tim and he’s never doubted him, had no reasons to; not even when years ago he had come to his home one Saturday morning and rambled on starting a band, starting Polyphia, eyes sparkling like black diamonds.
So when Tim claims his lips in a swift move, Scott lets him. The kiss sends a scorching heat through him, flaring the last shards of reason he had left. His hands fly to Tim’s waist like it’s the most natural thing to do to his friend and his lips move on their own accord, joining Tim in the slow, intense pace he’s set.
Scott almost feels lightheaded from pleasure, complete from the way Tim kisses him; drinking him in like a man having his first drink of water after a month in a desert.
Scott wants to feel him more though, and he nudges him forward, his grip firm on his waist, possessive. Tim moans into the kiss and it’s honey to his ears, as fucking cliché as it sounds, and he tries to save it in his memory bank. He can’t help but grunt in response, his splayed fingers itching for a feel of Tim’s skin but patiently resting on the fabric of his tee-shirt.
Tim’s fingers trail to the nape of his neck. They scratch the skin there, tangle with strands of hair, and Scott grunts, arousal now bubbling in his stomach, blood rushing down to his lower parts. Scott doesn’t really want to go on stage with a hard-on, so stopping now would be the most reasonable thing to do. But Tim feels so good in his arms, and now he can’t help but wonder how it would feel to kiss his neck, taste the tender skin there and maybe go down and-
And the ache flaring his ribcage becomes unbearable, his lungs screaming for air. He pulls back reluctantly, and a muffled clattering sound suddenly echoes. Scott realizes he’s kissed his bandmate in a room where anyone could have walked in. From the way Tim is looking at him, he must have realized it, too.
He still hasn’t pulled back, though, and Scott can’t understand why.
“As a thank you and more,” Tim breathes against his lips, as to answer his silent question. “I feel much better now.”
Beneath these words lies something else, and this time, Scott gets it. He pecks at Tim’s lips and starts brushing his nose against his.
“I’m the one who should be thanking you. Actually, I have a lot of things to thank you for. So do you mind if- “
“I don’t.”
For a moment, Scott feels like that high school boy with a messy fringe, pimples all over his face, and an inexplicable attraction for that kid at school who plays guitar too.
The sentiment pulsating through him can’t be described with words, but it’s strong, and Scott raises his hand to touch Tim’s cheek. Tim leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut, strands of his fluffy hair tickling Scott's fingers.
Scott wants to kiss him so bad but a sudden knock on the door breaks the moment and they both startle.
“Guys, we’re starting in 5 minutes. What the hell are you doing?”
The door opens on Clay (Gober). Scott turns around and sees the way his eyes keep switching between him and Tim. It’s a funny picture and soon, they both laugh. Clay smiles, his frown vanishing from his face.
“Just bring your asses over there.”
With that, Clay walks back into the main room, leaving the door wide open, and Scott turns to look at Tim. They exchange a knowing look, and the smile that graces Tim’s lips after that is so bright it could replace the light of the room. When Tim walks by him, winking as his fingers brushes his hand, Scott decides he doesn’t need to understand everything.
Because it’s Tim and he’s got no reason to doubt him, even if they haven’t said the words yet.