"Alright, alright. I'll go."Mature

 
The tour bus housed eight bunks, three bands, and one toilet. David hated it already.

Arriving at the crack of dawn (having not slept the whole night because of packing for tour and the two hour drive to the management parking lot where the tour bus was taking off from), David could hardly remember anyone who was quickly introduced to him in passing—musicians and roadies and managers preparing to follow in a second bus.

The important ones to remember were his new band mates. He had met Deus once before, a year or so ago when a leaky gas main forced the group out of their meeting at Brendan's apartment, and they held their song writing session at David's place instead. Between sneaking off to class and sleeping squashed between Brendan and the wall with Deus band members sprawled across the living room, the most David remembered was that the lead singer was hot, all talented and well built, with a smile to die for.

This time though, Russell looked him up and down with a scoff, nodding in acknowledgment before lugging equipment to the storage area underneath the bus.

“Don't worry about him,” said Micah, the band's drummer. He clapped David's shoulder. “Russell's just butt-hurt that Chrissy left, and now he's going to have to train you from scratch.” David just smiled nervously when Micah squeezed his shoulder for reassurance, cute mouth stretched into a grin.

The kids of Don't Wait Up actually were the same ages as Deus' members. Russell, (said Brendan, locking an arm around David's neck to steer his face at a newly arrived trio stepping from a limousine,) actually went to high school with the three of them. They are surprisingly good for a high-school-band-turned-pro. Ethan, the indie redhead with the limp wrist, is flamboyant but fun. Jason Ruiz was straight-laced until a couple months ago, but still more level headed than the other two in his band. And Colin Murphy (adds Brendan, shaking his head for emphasis when he sees David's eyes glue to the gorgeous brunet climbing out the limo last,) Colin Murphy. He's the bane of Russell's existence, a rivalry between the two frontmen lasting longer than the Great Wall of China. Don't even think of it, Brendan adds with a worried glance at David's stare. He's an asshole and a womanizer to a fault. Russell is convinced he's just that deep in the closet, but Brendan doesn't believe that for a moment.

Though Russell should be one to know, David thought privately. He wasn't as gay as Ethan (no campy  dialect or tight jeans and t-shirt with a little vest and pointed boots) but he did have a gay-dar.

“Alison,” Colin greeted Brendan as he sidled up to the pair. “Is this your boy toy coming along for a ride?” David already hated him.

“This is my baby cousin,” Brendan introduced. “He's replacing Chrissy for a little bit. David, meet Colin, Don't Wait Up's singer-slash-guitarist.”

“'Sup, Baby Alison,” Colin grinned, patting David on his head. David hated how the smile weakened his anger to mere annoyance.

After Colin moved on to load his things on the bus, Ethan came over to look him up and down over his overlarge sunglasses. He smiled something fierce, and said, “Welcome to the tour, honey,” before sauntering away like he owned the damn bus.

Jason shook his head and he shook David's hand. “Jason Ruiz, drums. Sorry if you get any weird vibes from our bassist. He's a little. . .”

“Jealous?” David filled in.

Jason gave a quizzical look. “. . . campy is the word I was about to use.”

“Oh,” David said, flushing. He stuck his hand out a second time for a handshake, as if going back in time a minute to avoid that faux pas. “I'm David Alison, by the way.”

Jason laughed and shook David's hand again. “I'll be seeing you later, Baby Alice.”

David tried feebly to help, but on top of not knowing how to help, he was almost sleeping on his feet since he hadn't slept since the day before the day before that one. So he must have imagined it when Leslie and Peter Janis strolled up to him to say hello.

The guitarists of Gaunt were every bit as awesome as they seemed in magazines, and to be riding a bus with them was something of a dream come true. Lucas Roth walked past, lugging pieces of his drum kit to hand off to his drum tech. Even though he grunted his greeting and eyed David only in passing, David could feel his pulse racing. Here he was, about to share space with the rock god he had been jerking off to in high school. Not that he would share this information with anyone.

When they were finally packed up and ready to go, the boys loaded the bus. Micah explained that with ten guys and eight bunks, they would rotate so that two people would be sleeping  on the squishy sectional in the common area towards the back. There was one little toilet, and barely any space to sneeze.

David realized that Micah and Brendan had abandoned him for who-knows-what, and sighed. He was dead tired, but he remembered most (if not all) the bunks being tagged on a first-come-first-serve basis. He could always crash on the couch, or get himself some coffee in the little kitchenette. How would he ever get any sleep?

The End

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