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Alex doesn't get what he's looking for.
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Justine might as well have not existed on tour, her name only hurled in the midst of a spat or a far too personal interview. He certainly didn’t want to think of her now, with his limp cock exposed and a sweaty, irritating Damon still pressing him down to the thin mattress, staring at him with those wounded blue-gray eyes. The fucking nerve of him.
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“You’re a proper guitarist, you know,” Noelle had told her, looking her up and down with a nod. “Call me if yer ever interested in playing with a band that isn’t shite,” she said around a smoldering Benson & Hedges, scrawling her number across Graham’s pale arm. She even sealed it with a slanted autograph, only the N and G legible.
Graham pressed her finger against the scrawl once Noelle had gone, remembering the feel of her small hand swiping across it, the text smudged slightly. She wasn’t sure how much of it was a joke. She’d learned to play a few Oasis songs since then, just in case.
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She breaks through his doors, beauty incarnate, entirely her own person and leaving him as anything but his own.
No one looks at him like this, no one at all. The blues of her eyes sinking him deep, crashing unexplored seas. A biblical flood, taking out the sinners and keeping the holiest, even if it eliminates everyone. Everyone but him, the lone survivor to her glassy gaze, easy to shatter but as strong as steel.
Series
- Part 1 of God Made the Distance
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“What d'you expect me to bloody do? Suck on it?”
Graham swallows, looking to Noel's mouth rapturously. “You're joking.”
Recent series
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- Words:
- 4,803
- Works:
- 1
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Summary
While in Iceland, Graham begins to fall ill and Damon feels it’s his duty to look after him. He only wishes it weren’t.
Set circa 1998.
Bookmarked by stimage
15 Feb 2026
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There were plenty of filthy things they could be doing right now. But weren’t. Damon wanted to take the kiss further, but felt himself hesitating. Again and again.
He wanted to say I miss you, but Graham was right there.
“Graham”, he whispered, just for the sake of it. Graham looked up at him like he knew what he meant.
OR
Damon’s depressed, demoralized, and sexually frustrated in London after dropping out of drama school. Graham’s in art school having a blast. They’re in different places both physically and emotionally and aren't, well, connecting quite as they used to. They work it out over the phone.
Bookmarked by stimage
23 Jan 2026
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Damon fails to fuck the wrong girl, and has to face the consequences.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 17,828
- Chapters:
- 3/3
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 9
- Kudos:
- 43
- Bookmarks:
- 5
- Hits:
- 797
Bookmarked by stimage
22 Dec 2025
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Squinting, he noticed those stupid lovebeads that Damon always wore were there. Of course they were—he’d worn them from the day his mother made them to the day they broke onstage, a performance shortly after Graham had—well, left. He supposed. This photo was from when Graham still wore them every day. He glanced to where he now kept them, in a dish on his dresser. Maybe the daily exposure to the beads made the memory less sore.
The rain outside started coming down harder, tapping insistently on the flat window like it wanted in. Graham picked his way across the room to lie prostrate on his bed, steps careful as if he was nervous to let the rain know he was home, and just ignoring it knocking.
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A war rages within the moderation team of r/indieheads. One of lust, art, hatred, and betrayal.
Meanwhile, Noel Gallagher brother’s shit has been hidden away in some overpriced Hackney apartment by a vengeful ex and he’s been stuck with trying to find it. Unfortunately, there is only one person in London who's still getting emails back from Iceland.