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It was 6am when James Righton finally managed to find his way back from the Mercury Music Awards. Jamie and Simon were still there, taking full advantage of the free alcohol and pills being thrust at them by various music industry types but Steffan had disappeared a few hours previously, back to the hotel. Attempting to be quiet he slipped the key-card into room door and muttered a curse under his breath as the little light flashed red instead of green. Quickly checking both the number on the card and the one on the door he frowned and tried the door, shoving it roughly just in case his roommate hadn’t locked it (he was too drunk to think about the fact these doors always locked themselves automatically.)
Laying on the bed in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling, Steffan turned a little on the top of his bed at the noise to look over at the door. All he could see was the faint outline of light from the corridor. He’d been laying like this for the last few hours, still fully clothed in the suit he’d worn to the ceremony thinking about how the hell this had happened. He wondered if it was the alcohol and pills that made all of this seem more surreal. They weren’t meant to win the Mercury Music Prize; no one thought they would, least of all themselves, which was why they’d all become so inebriated while the other bands had played. Only Steffan himself was remarkably sober, for pretty much the first time ever, and from the racket James was making in his attempts to get into the room it was just as well one of them had managed to keep it together or he’d more than likely have ended up asleep in the hallway, and not for the first time.
With a heavy sigh he rolled off the bed and opened the door, finding James already on the floor in front of their room. Shaking his head Steffan stooped to help him up then walked back over to his bed and turned on the lights.
“Bathroom!” James announced happily, staggering the few steps from where the drummer had deposited him just inside the door into said bathroom.
Steffan closed his eyes again, attempting to ignore the various worrying sounds of James Righton crashing about. Obviously the bottles of hair gel and the like had come to life and were attempting to ambush him. Steffan giggled at the mental image that shimmered through his mind at the thought and opened his eyes to check his watch in the small sliver of moonlight. 6.30am - wasn’t James meant to be being interviewed in a couple of hours? Or was that Jamie? He couldn’t really remember but going by the way Jamie had been dancing about, hugging random people and talking general bollocks to anyone that happened to pass him it wasn’t looking good for either of them being in a fit state for breakfast television. He just hoped he wouldn’t be called up to do the job. His train of thought was derailed by a sound from the bathroom, and Steffan opened his eyes, debating for a few moments whether he could be bothered to check on James, or if he should just leave him passed out on the floor until he, himself needed to use it. The loud moan however made up his mind for him and he stalked into the bathroom frowning to himself, obviously trying to stay sober tonight hadn’t been his best idea ever.
James was standing between the bath and the sink, one hand on the edge of each, holding himself up and looking very sorry for himself as Steffan entered and looked him up and down shaking his head.
Looking up at the slightly younger, and oddly still immaculately dressed man James gave him his best puppy dogs eyes and then flashed a large winning grin. “Bellringer!!!!” he said loudly, pushing himself up from where he’d previous been seemingly stuck and lurching into the drummer’s body.
Shaking his head Steffan pushed the drunk man away carefully then turned to leave but felt James’ hand reach out and stop him. “Where you going Steffano?” he enquired, still sounding very, very drunk and more than a little frisky.
“Bed.”
James frowned, “but…I need a shower,” he replied, as if this was somehow intended to change the blond’s mind.
“It’s nearly 7 o’clock James,” he told him blankly, “you can stay up if you want…just try not to die. Jamie’ll blame me.”
James’ eyes twinkled mischievously at Steffan’s words and he grinned at him again. “Can’t promise that Steff,” he slurred, moving closer and resting one hand on the shorter man’s chest, winking at him, “not unless you keep an eye on me. Just in case.”
“Just go to bed James,” he almost begged. He didn’t know why it seemed so important tonight, normally 7am would be nothing. Clearly he’d taken things far too steadily the evening before. He should’ve just thought sod it like his band mates and got fucked up and caused mayhem; this would be so much easier to deal with more illegal substances in his body than there currently were, in fact he supposed had that been the case he’d have been all too eager to keep an eye on James while he showered.
“Taking a shower!” he announced, in a way that effectively killed all possibility of further argument.
Finally able to stand unaided, James pulled open the shower curtain and started the water running as he fumbled to undo his shirt.
“I’m getting a drink,” Steffan said with a tone of resignation, tearing his eyes away from the other man. He didn’t have time for this, he was finally tired, which was just bloody typical. “Try not to drown while I’m gone.”
James shot him a sloppy salute and went to his difficult task of undressing himself.
Steffan sat on the floor in front of the mini bar and hooked out as many tiny bottles of alcohol as he could manage and proceeded to down them. Clearly he wasn’t going to get any sleep at all (not that he supposed he’d be able to given what he knew was happening in the shower) and the pleasant buzz from the pills and alcohol had started to wear off the moment James had entered the bathroom. This was almost certainly one of those bad ideas, but then that was the wonder of alcohol and drugs, you never had to take responsibility for your own actions.
“I’m getting in the shower!” James called, as he climbed into the bath still half dressed.
A moment later Steffan was standing in the bathroom eyeing James, who thankfully seemed to be swaying less, or perhaps he was more now. Casting aside his jacket he moved closer and considered his options, then stepped into the shower with his band mate.
“You’re still dressed!” James said, sounding and looking confused but not upset by this turn of events.
“So’re you,” he pointed out, gesturing at his half unbuttoned shirt and boxer shorts without really looking at them.
James grinned. “Button’s are too small to undo.”
Steffan shook his head and reached forwards, his hand stopping in midair as he looked up at James. What was he doing?
“It’s gonna get ruined, come on!”
With another shake of his head, as if to clear it, Steffan’s hand extended the whole way and began to undo the last of the buttons. He realised James was right about them being too small, and the fabric was so slippery it was difficult to get a good grip on them. “It’ll go over your head,” he pointed out, running his hand through his rapidly dampening hair in some stupid and futile effort to appear cool and in control.
James didn’t seem to quite get what Steffan was talking about for a moment, but as soon as he did he pulled off his shirt in one swift move and dropped it to the floor in a wet heap by the bath.
“You’re fucking up your suit,” he said, his eyes fixed on the now see-thru white fabric of Steffan’s suit which was now clinging to his body. It was odd - fully clothed Steffan seemed so delicate and thin, like a porcelain doll, but like this, he was reminded of just how muscular Steffan really was, probably something to do with playing drums he supposed.
“Not like I pay for it,” the blond said, with a little shrug.
“You should still take it off,” James told him meaningfully, moving closer to the other man. “Then we can shag again,” he whispered into his ear.
Steffan swallowed hard, a shiver running down his spine and settling between his legs. He’d been trying to think that exact same thing since James had said he needed him to keep an eye on him in the shower and it wouldn’t be the first time of course. A few months ago it happened all the time and not just with James. It was lonely on the road and with the amount of E they’d taken in the early days it was all a little too easy to fall into the bunk of another band member when they were all horny.
“I didn’t think…” Steffan trailed off looking confused and torn, aware of just how close James was to him and very pretty his eyes were. He’d spent months ignoring that fact.
“Didn’t think what?” James asked, unbuttoning the high collar of Steffan’s shirt with a little more skill than he’d previously managed on his own clothes.
“We were doing this anymore,” he finished, wondering if he should be attempting to sound more eager. But then James didn’t seem to be very put off by anything at the moment and the bulge in his incredibly tight jeans were probably all the sign James needed to know Steffan wasn’t exactly against the idea.
“Just cos there’re more groupies and bollocks about, well it’s not the same is it?” James whispered into his ear, reaching up with one hand and twirling one of Steffan’s soft blond curls around his finger. “Come on bellringer, it’ll be just like old times.”
Memories flashed through his mind of New Years in America when Jamie and Simon had stayed in England and they’d ended up in an toilet cubicle all over each other as it turned midnight. He let out a little moan at the thought. Closing his eyes he moved a little closer so that he was pressed against James’ body, his head against his chest as he thought about how right James was, just like old times, when they didn’t give a fuck about anything other than what felt good and sex with James definitely felt good.
“Where do you want me?” he asked quietly against his chest, before slowly looking up into James’ blue eyes and smiling properly for the first time since he’d left the aftershow.
“Have a told you lately how fucking hot you are Steffan Halperin?” James asked, snaking his arm around the shorter man’s waist and pulling him even further against him, smiling wickedly as he felt Steffan’s erection against his leg.
“You’re pissed,” Steffan replied, raising a sceptical eyebrow.
“But tomorrow my dear I’ll be sober and you,” James punctuated the word ‘you’ by running his finger down Steffan’s chest, “you will still be gorgeous.”
“Actually you’ll probably be pissed tomorrow as well, but never mind. Now where were we?” he asked, looking expectantly at James, any reservations he previously felt now long gone as he stood in the overly bright light of the hotel bathroom with his friend and bandmate, hot water soaking the both of them.
“I was sorting out all these clothes,” he replied, going back to undoing the last few buttons of Steffan’s shirt before moving on to his belt and skinny jeans. Down on his knees James raised his head, his hands on Steffan’s thighs, and bit his lip. “These are hard enough to get off dry,” he muttered, annoyed. “Help?”
Again Steffan raised one thin eyebrow, though this time there was a definite look of amusement on his face. “You’ll manage and it’d be a shame for you to get up from your hands and knees,” he told him smirking.
“Are you trying to be dominant?” James asked, sounding surprised.
“You’re my only chance,” he replied, reaching down and threading his fingers through James hair. “It’s hard to be dominant with a guy that’s six feet tall and about three stone heavier than me.”
The thinly veiled mention of Jamie sent a strange shock of jealousy to James stomach and he resolved to show Steff exactly what he’d been missing all these months.
“Well if you insist, I suppose it’s me that should be asking where you want me, but then you mentioned something about wanting me on my hands and knees so we’ll just go from there I suppose.” He gave Steffan a wolfish grin as he jerked down his skin tight jeans with a renewed sense of purpose. “Just one thing though, think we should put the ‘Do not disturb sign’ up?”
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