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tsuki_no_bara, for her birthday - Ru's her boy and Trent's best friend, and I apologise for any liberties I've taken with him here. More Trent and Ru can be found here, here and here.
***** ***** *****
If his mom were to call the dorm, Russell would tell her that he was with Ru. Which was true, it's just if she knew where they were or what they were doing she'd have a cow. Mrs Abernathy probably knew, although Trent hoped she was assuming it was an all ages, because the idea that she might know about the fake ID's was a bit scary.
He was also pretty sure neither of them really looked twenty one, but the huge bald guy perched behind the tall table at the door had greeted Ru like and old friend and taken their money and told them to have a good show and hadn't even glanced at the cards, and now here they were. The Principles. Ru had been talking about this for weeks.
The club was small enough that it had seemed full to bursting even before the support band – sing along college rock and Trent was sure he recognised the bassist from House of Pain - had gotten everyone worked up and bouncing around. Between the dry ice, the dark red walls and the tiny little ceiling lights and all the mirrors the effect was dizzying. Swinging spots painted the crowd red, green, blue, and the unfamiliar beer Ru had pressed into his hand half a dozen songs ago was thin and bitter on his tongue.
His friend's hand tightened on his shoulder as the recorded music dipped and the drummer ran a riff and crash. The audience surged forward at the first chord and within moments Trent lost Ru in the melee, allowing himself to be pushed backwards until he landed with a wall at his back. The wave of music was a tangible force, and the singer, in a bowler hat and wing-collared shirt, howled truth and freedom and love and hate with reaching hands silhouetted against the dark leather of his trousers, hips twisting in that magic dance of temptation and retreat.
The same beat, if not the same stage craft, took Trent's hips and his muscles absorbed the music and passing bodies brushed and pressed against his making his skin tingle where sweat stuck his t-shirt to him, and the bass vibrated the wall between his shoulder blades and The Principles kicked ass.
By the third song he tipped back his head and drained the bottle. When a short blond guy slid close enough that his ass ground against Trent's crotch for a handful of beats before the guy slid away with lyrics on his lips, Trent let the cool glass neck slip through his fingers, leaving them damp and reaching.
The forth song Trent recognised, and his voice was rough in his throat but silent in the assault on his ears, chords spiking over him. The crowd welcomed him back into it's edges as he pushed away from the wall, hot bodies and other people's hair in his eyes.
In the morning there would be bruises and the sort of stiffness that comes from not enough sleep, and sneaking back into his room ran the risk of waking an irritated roommate or an overly alert Resident, but in the sodium lit streets before that he and Ru would walk hip to hip and laugh for the joy and the memory, and for that moment, in the crowd with the music in every part of him, nothing aside from that even existed.
tsuki_no_bara, for her birthday - Ru's her boy and Trent's best friend, and I apologise for any liberties I've taken with him here. More Trent and Ru can be found here, here and here. ***** ***** *****
If his mom were to call the dorm, Russell would tell her that he was with Ru. Which was true, it's just if she knew where they were or what they were doing she'd have a cow. Mrs Abernathy probably knew, although Trent hoped she was assuming it was an all ages, because the idea that she might know about the fake ID's was a bit scary.
He was also pretty sure neither of them really looked twenty one, but the huge bald guy perched behind the tall table at the door had greeted Ru like and old friend and taken their money and told them to have a good show and hadn't even glanced at the cards, and now here they were. The Principles. Ru had been talking about this for weeks.
The club was small enough that it had seemed full to bursting even before the support band – sing along college rock and Trent was sure he recognised the bassist from House of Pain - had gotten everyone worked up and bouncing around. Between the dry ice, the dark red walls and the tiny little ceiling lights and all the mirrors the effect was dizzying. Swinging spots painted the crowd red, green, blue, and the unfamiliar beer Ru had pressed into his hand half a dozen songs ago was thin and bitter on his tongue.
His friend's hand tightened on his shoulder as the recorded music dipped and the drummer ran a riff and crash. The audience surged forward at the first chord and within moments Trent lost Ru in the melee, allowing himself to be pushed backwards until he landed with a wall at his back. The wave of music was a tangible force, and the singer, in a bowler hat and wing-collared shirt, howled truth and freedom and love and hate with reaching hands silhouetted against the dark leather of his trousers, hips twisting in that magic dance of temptation and retreat.
The same beat, if not the same stage craft, took Trent's hips and his muscles absorbed the music and passing bodies brushed and pressed against his making his skin tingle where sweat stuck his t-shirt to him, and the bass vibrated the wall between his shoulder blades and The Principles kicked ass.
By the third song he tipped back his head and drained the bottle. When a short blond guy slid close enough that his ass ground against Trent's crotch for a handful of beats before the guy slid away with lyrics on his lips, Trent let the cool glass neck slip through his fingers, leaving them damp and reaching.
The forth song Trent recognised, and his voice was rough in his throat but silent in the assault on his ears, chords spiking over him. The crowd welcomed him back into it's edges as he pushed away from the wall, hot bodies and other people's hair in his eyes.
In the morning there would be bruises and the sort of stiffness that comes from not enough sleep, and sneaking back into his room ran the risk of waking an irritated roommate or an overly alert Resident, but in the sodium lit streets before that he and Ru would walk hip to hip and laugh for the joy and the memory, and for that moment, in the crowd with the music in every part of him, nothing aside from that even existed.
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