Restraint is Useless Here
Chapter Six
Make sure you guys read Chapter Five first! I posted two chapters today :)
Brian’s skull rattled violently from the blunt impact of a body striking the dumpster, milliseconds after Zack yelped a cry. He spun on his heels, fists instinctively locked and loaded ready to take down the idiot who not only scared the shit out of him, but also likely blew his eavesdropping cover. Temporarily deafened on the right side, he found the familiar laughter that taunted his good ear both relieving and infuriating: fucking Jimmy.
“Hadouken, motherfuckers!” Jimmy whooped while assuming a ninja fighting stance, beer in hand. Not far behind Jimmy, Johnny was clutching his stomach, doubled over in laughter and barely able to maintain his footing.
Brian lunged at Jimmy, who easily evaded his attack by ducking and spinning, spilling his drink onto the front of Brian’s pants. The man was surprisingly agile for his height. Johnny was now bracing himself with a hand against the brick as his wheezes progressed to coughing fits of uncontrollable laughter.
“Really cool, man,” Zack chimed in sarcastically, though his breathlessness betrayed his lingering alarm. “Jesus, do you have an off switch?” Jimmy clutched his groin in a typical response, eyes crinkling in delight. He did not, in fact, have an off switch.
“Gates....pissed....his pants,” wheezed Johnny. He had sunken to the ground, a trembling heap of hysterics. Brian rolled his eyes in response.
Jimmy ran at the Johnny pile as if to stomp on him, then stopped just before making contact. He turned to face Brian and Zack, downing the rest of his beer and chucking the bottle into the receptacle. “Shads and Val said you came out here for a smoke, but it’s been like 20 minutes. The hell were you guys doing? Dumpster diving? Butt stuff? It was butt stuff, wasn’t it?” His eyes lit up as he looked beyond them, a smile creeping across his face. “You following me, sweetheart? Really, we’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”
Her dark red hair littered with gravel, Anna peeked around the corner looking as if she’d just emerged from battle—and hadn’t she?—the emotion on her face matching his: relief and anger. Unlike Brian, she managed to suppress the negativity.
Heaving a sigh, she ignored Jimmy’s light-hearted advance. “Oh my God, I thought we were being shot!” The hand resting over her heart in relief was soon claimed by another as an arm crooked its way around her neck, marking its territory. Brian was irritated by the arm. He was even more irritated by the body attached to the arm, and especially irritated at the face attached to the body. This face did not at all match the argument he’d witnessed moments ago. Stepping straight off the cover of Yacht Club Weekly, Anna’s baggage was a rather strapping guy. Brian hated that he was describing another male as “strapping”, but it was undeniable. Tanned skin a only few shades darker than the blond hair on his head, his—Jack’s—smile was practiced and pretentious, a facsimile of an asshole valedictorian who cheated his way to the top. Fucking jack off, Brian thought with venom, pleased with himself for this comically obvious yet accurate pun.
“Nope. Just Jimmy practicing his asshole skills,” replied Zack.
To this, Jimmy bowed with some sort of grandiose hand gesture, as if he were a magician who’d just made an entire stadium of people disappear. “Well, that was awesome. Zacky is having a heart attack and Gates needs new pants, so my work is done. Can we head back inside now or are we not finished out here?”
Brian turned his head to Anna for the answer without realizing it. He found her gaze on him once again, but this time was different. Her eyes darted away immediately, the muscles around her pretty mouth working vigorously at a fingernail. He wanted to pull her hand away and lead her out of this alley and her equally disgusting company.
“What exactly is going on? Babe, do you know these people?” Jack asked.
“‘These people,’” mimicked Zack with a scoff, almost inaudibly. As much as he loved being a spectator of dramatics, Zack was not a proponent of treating women like shit. The one true gentleman out of their circle of friends, he frequently opted to head back to their various lodging quarters than bang a groupie—not for lack of options, but something about morals or principles. Fiddling with one of his lip rings, Zack turned to head back around the corner. “I’m going inside. It smells like ass and vomit back here and Val and Shads probably think we’re dead.”
“Wait a minute,” Jack exclaimed, recognition causing his presidential expression to slip into something Brian was a bit more familiar with: unabashed pants-dropping idolization. He spun to Anna, mouth agape, and gestured to the four of them. “Is this your friend Val’s band?”
“Yeah, that’s totally what they call us, too,” Zack muttered, his words dripping with sarcasm and again not intending for anyone else to actually hear. Brian heard. Brian smiled. He could telepathically see the middle finger with which Zack was saluting, also telepathically.
Anna nodded and Jack strode forward to thrust a hand at Brian, beaming as if he hadn’t just berated his girlfriend within an inch of her life.
“Jack,” he said, grinning widely. Brian thought his mouth seemed too big for his face. Too many teeth. The only living things that needed that many teeth are crocodiles and infomercial attorneys—and they’re still probably less likely to bite. “You guys are incredible.”
“Thanks, man. You listen?” asked Brian, perhaps more an understated dig at this country club member than at his band’s popularity. Nickelback seemed more his style, but a fan was a fan.
Jack continued to make his way around the remaining threesome, shaking hands.
“Hell yeah. I used to mess around on the drums a little in high school band class. I was terrible, obviously,” chuckled Jack, turning to face Jimmy with an earnest expression that was borderline reverent. “But The Rev is unreachable. I have insane amounts of respect for you, my man.”
“You might be the only one,” Johnny said, already prepared to dodge Jimmy’s left hook. His Mohawk was the only victim, the front of which now slanted 90 degrees from the blow. Johnny stuck a middle finger in the air as he retreated back to the bar, music thumping louder than before. Jimmy waved an arm dismissively, then slung it around Jack’s shoulder, never one to shy away from the prospect of new friendship and a good ego stroke.
“Fuckin’ stop it, dude. You’re gonna give me a big head,” he said, clearly delighted to be the center of attention. “All right, my liver is feeling entirely too buoyant right now. What are we still doing out here? Drinks are on me, let’s fuck shit up.” Jimmy turned to led Jack inside, already raving about the upcoming show and being back in California and laughing boisterously as they exchanged jokes.
Brian turned to Anna, sweeping an arm toward the building. “Ladies first.”
“Chivalry,” she said, a weariness to her posture as she began walking. “Not so metal of you.”
He swore he saw the corner of her mouth curve up.
Brian’s skull rattled violently from the blunt impact of a body striking the dumpster, milliseconds after Zack yelped a cry. He spun on his heels, fists instinctively locked and loaded ready to take down the idiot who not only scared the shit out of him, but also likely blew his eavesdropping cover. Temporarily deafened on the right side, he found the familiar laughter that taunted his good ear both relieving and infuriating: fucking Jimmy.
“Hadouken, motherfuckers!” Jimmy whooped while assuming a ninja fighting stance, beer in hand. Not far behind Jimmy, Johnny was clutching his stomach, doubled over in laughter and barely able to maintain his footing.
Brian lunged at Jimmy, who easily evaded his attack by ducking and spinning, spilling his drink onto the front of Brian’s pants. The man was surprisingly agile for his height. Johnny was now bracing himself with a hand against the brick as his wheezes progressed to coughing fits of uncontrollable laughter.
“Really cool, man,” Zack chimed in sarcastically, though his breathlessness betrayed his lingering alarm. “Jesus, do you have an off switch?” Jimmy clutched his groin in a typical response, eyes crinkling in delight. He did not, in fact, have an off switch.
“Gates....pissed....his pants,” wheezed Johnny. He had sunken to the ground, a trembling heap of hysterics. Brian rolled his eyes in response.
Jimmy ran at the Johnny pile as if to stomp on him, then stopped just before making contact. He turned to face Brian and Zack, downing the rest of his beer and chucking the bottle into the receptacle. “Shads and Val said you came out here for a smoke, but it’s been like 20 minutes. The hell were you guys doing? Dumpster diving? Butt stuff? It was butt stuff, wasn’t it?” His eyes lit up as he looked beyond them, a smile creeping across his face. “You following me, sweetheart? Really, we’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”
Her dark red hair littered with gravel, Anna peeked around the corner looking as if she’d just emerged from battle—and hadn’t she?—the emotion on her face matching his: relief and anger. Unlike Brian, she managed to suppress the negativity.
Heaving a sigh, she ignored Jimmy’s light-hearted advance. “Oh my God, I thought we were being shot!” The hand resting over her heart in relief was soon claimed by another as an arm crooked its way around her neck, marking its territory. Brian was irritated by the arm. He was even more irritated by the body attached to the arm, and especially irritated at the face attached to the body. This face did not at all match the argument he’d witnessed moments ago. Stepping straight off the cover of Yacht Club Weekly, Anna’s baggage was a rather strapping guy. Brian hated that he was describing another male as “strapping”, but it was undeniable. Tanned skin a only few shades darker than the blond hair on his head, his—Jack’s—smile was practiced and pretentious, a facsimile of an asshole valedictorian who cheated his way to the top. Fucking jack off, Brian thought with venom, pleased with himself for this comically obvious yet accurate pun.
“Nope. Just Jimmy practicing his asshole skills,” replied Zack.
To this, Jimmy bowed with some sort of grandiose hand gesture, as if he were a magician who’d just made an entire stadium of people disappear. “Well, that was awesome. Zacky is having a heart attack and Gates needs new pants, so my work is done. Can we head back inside now or are we not finished out here?”
Brian turned his head to Anna for the answer without realizing it. He found her gaze on him once again, but this time was different. Her eyes darted away immediately, the muscles around her pretty mouth working vigorously at a fingernail. He wanted to pull her hand away and lead her out of this alley and her equally disgusting company.
“What exactly is going on? Babe, do you know these people?” Jack asked.
“‘These people,’” mimicked Zack with a scoff, almost inaudibly. As much as he loved being a spectator of dramatics, Zack was not a proponent of treating women like shit. The one true gentleman out of their circle of friends, he frequently opted to head back to their various lodging quarters than bang a groupie—not for lack of options, but something about morals or principles. Fiddling with one of his lip rings, Zack turned to head back around the corner. “I’m going inside. It smells like ass and vomit back here and Val and Shads probably think we’re dead.”
“Wait a minute,” Jack exclaimed, recognition causing his presidential expression to slip into something Brian was a bit more familiar with: unabashed pants-dropping idolization. He spun to Anna, mouth agape, and gestured to the four of them. “Is this your friend Val’s band?”
“Yeah, that’s totally what they call us, too,” Zack muttered, his words dripping with sarcasm and again not intending for anyone else to actually hear. Brian heard. Brian smiled. He could telepathically see the middle finger with which Zack was saluting, also telepathically.
Anna nodded and Jack strode forward to thrust a hand at Brian, beaming as if he hadn’t just berated his girlfriend within an inch of her life.
“Jack,” he said, grinning widely. Brian thought his mouth seemed too big for his face. Too many teeth. The only living things that needed that many teeth are crocodiles and infomercial attorneys—and they’re still probably less likely to bite. “You guys are incredible.”
“Thanks, man. You listen?” asked Brian, perhaps more an understated dig at this country club member than at his band’s popularity. Nickelback seemed more his style, but a fan was a fan.
Jack continued to make his way around the remaining threesome, shaking hands.
“Hell yeah. I used to mess around on the drums a little in high school band class. I was terrible, obviously,” chuckled Jack, turning to face Jimmy with an earnest expression that was borderline reverent. “But The Rev is unreachable. I have insane amounts of respect for you, my man.”
“You might be the only one,” Johnny said, already prepared to dodge Jimmy’s left hook. His Mohawk was the only victim, the front of which now slanted 90 degrees from the blow. Johnny stuck a middle finger in the air as he retreated back to the bar, music thumping louder than before. Jimmy waved an arm dismissively, then slung it around Jack’s shoulder, never one to shy away from the prospect of new friendship and a good ego stroke.
“Fuckin’ stop it, dude. You’re gonna give me a big head,” he said, clearly delighted to be the center of attention. “All right, my liver is feeling entirely too buoyant right now. What are we still doing out here? Drinks are on me, let’s fuck shit up.” Jimmy turned to led Jack inside, already raving about the upcoming show and being back in California and laughing boisterously as they exchanged jokes.
Brian turned to Anna, sweeping an arm toward the building. “Ladies first.”
“Chivalry,” she said, a weariness to her posture as she began walking. “Not so metal of you.”
He swore he saw the corner of her mouth curve up.
Thanks to me re-reading one of my favs, I will now be dreaming of Gates slowly pulling olives off toothpicks with his teeth. Why oh why is that so sexy?! #thoselips #chapter8
7/6/20