Four By Flash Piece 15: Without You, I’m Nothing

I wasn’t going to post this one or the sixteenth piece as I think they are kind of well, not very good, but since I kept mentioning sixteen pieces in the introduction, I would have felt incomplete leaving y’all hanging at fourteen, so dear readers, (I have those, right?) here’s some flash fiction that it’s  technically your fault if you read and don’t like it…

As I mentioned in this blog entry, I entered a Flash Fiction challenge despite a) Not having written Flash Fiction before, b) not really having time to enter such challenges and c) not actually knowing what Flash Fiction was. We’re now past the end of the first month of the challenge, and at a four piece per week rate, I should have finished already. I didn’t and am a bloody-minded fool, so I’m cheating a little to get all sixteen pieces done by today.  Here’s the fifteenth piece. This one clocks in at 391 words, which is at the high end of my stated goal of “300 – 500 words, hopefully closer to the 300 end.”

Without You, I’m Nothing

Brian wiped the sweat off his face. It had been a fantastic show and now the fans in the arena chanted for an encore. Nothing could beat the rush of performing. Not even drugs, and he should know, he’d tried pretty much all of them over the last decade.

He was clean now, his vices limited to alcohol and the occasional cigarette. Not too many of the latter though, he couldn’t risk his voice

Before the show, Brian, Steve and Stefan had agreed on the two songs for the encore. The finale would be “Every You, Every Me,” as always, but first they added a new cover to their repertoire, Bowie’s “Ziggy Stardust.”

The band returned to the stage to deafening cheers and when Brian and Stefan played the opening chords on guitar and bass it just got louder. Brian shut it all out and lost himself to the performance, singing.

Except he couldn’t shut everything out. For the first time in a long time, he found that he couldn’t stop himself staring at Stefan, and how his fingers manipulated the white Fender Jaguar. Brian thought that Raul was a lucky, lucky guy with Stefan going home to him.

The bass player’s body stood lithe, tight in all the right places, and as long and skinny as a cigarette. Perhaps one more vice than I like to admit Brian thought.

“The kids was just crass, He was the naz, With God given ass” Brian sang.

His eyes admired Stefan’s own ‘god given ass’ through the Swede’s skinny jeans. The two of them had been friends for years, and had been bandmates since 1994 and yet neither had ever made a move on the other.  Then Raul had come along and Brian had the option robbed from him.

That was going to change backstage tonight, one way or another, Brian decided. The band ripped through “Every You, Every Me,” and left the stage.

As the trio walked through the tunnels to their dressing room, Brian lunged at Stefan and kissed him deeply. The bass player’s mouth tasted of sweat and adrenaline. It was heavenly, especially when Stefan’s tongue came questing back to explore Brian’s mouth. Brian felt his loins stir.

“What are you two doing?” Steve asked

“Making up for lost time, finally.” Brian answered after he finally pulled away from Stefan.


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