Chapter Text
Noel wished Liam had never shown him the drawings.
His brother's agenda was childish: to gross him out and get a rise out of him. Because he knew that underneath all that bravado Noel could be the world’s most hypocritical prude. And it worked. Weird. Disturbing. Gross. What was fucking wrong with people making shit like that?
The stack of photos that had landed in his text messages consisted of a dozen poorly-cropped screenshots of what could only loosely be called “art”. Really, it was pornography. That, at least, was obvious enough. The first picture he tapped on was a vaguely anime-style tableau, featuring a man on his knees in front of another, tongue wrapped around the tip of his dripping-wet cock. At first Noel didn't understand why the fuck Liam had sent him something like this. Then he noticed the eyebrows. As soon as it psychologically registered, Noel tossed his phone across the bed. What the fuck!
Noel shuddered performatively, even though no one else was in the hotel room with him. Obviously he did not want to see any more of that. Unfortunately, however, he had to open his messages again if he wanted to tell off his brother.
The text from Liam accompanying the photos read:
Fancy a go tonight rkid? ;) LGx
Jesus. Even then, however, Noel couldn't help but chuckle a little. He liked the way Liam still signed his texts. Not so long ago when things were bad between them, he'd taken it as a sign of Liam keeping his distance – showing him he meant nothing more to him than the millions of strangers he spent all day tweeting at. By now though, he'd realized that it was just another one of his flairs of personality. Noel had forgotten just how funny his brother could be. He mused about this for a moment, then deliberately remembered to frown. He put his attention back on the photos. That was not funny. Back in the days of Oasis 1.0, Liam had often tried to push the limits like this, just to see if he could make Noel squirm. A lick on the face, a crab of the crotch, a suggestive comment. That sort of thing. It was a game of chicken Noel could play at too when he was in the mood, and in an effort not to lose he had – admittedly – taken things a bit too far himself once or twice. There was plenty of photographic evidence to prove it. But that was drug-addled and nearly thirty years ago. This was now, and this was crossing a line.
Noel tried clicking open the keyboard to reply to Liam. His fingers must have slipped, however, because instead all of the photos Liam had sent fanned out across his screen. Now he could see a bit of each and every one of them. After a moment's hesitation, morbid curiosity won out. As quickly as he could, he flipped through them. Each depicted the same thing, and each was somehow more explicit than the last in a concerningly creative variety of ways. In one, Liam was wearing nothing but the coat he’d worn at Loch Lomond and was locked at the hips with a present-day Noel. In another, they were both girls and Noel was fucking Liam with a strap-on. A third even managed to involve the infamous cricket bat. The weirdest part was that this wasn't the product of just one talented pervert. Each drawing was in a distinct style. Beyond that, in the posts that Liam had taken screenshots of, some of the interactions were in the hundreds. Seriously? He could maybe understand it if the drawings were satirical caricatures meant to be offensive, but that was not what this was. These clearly endorsed what they were depicting. It strongly reinforced Noel's belief that the internet had made everyone lose their minds. Society was irrevocably poisoned.
Successfully pulling up the keyboard this time, Noel began typing a strongly-worded response to Liam. Every time he finished a sentence, however, he backspaced. He still wasn't exactly sure how fragile things were between the two of them. Clearly Liam was confident enough to send him... incest porn, but they hadn't properly fought since the tour began, and Noel did not want to start anything now of all times. It was mortifying to admit to himself, but he was terrified of losing Oasis again. Losing Liam again. This realization had been a mortal blow to his self-respect, and he often thought bitterly that it was not worth 50 million pounds. Really, though, he would have done the reunion if it lost him money. He'd spent far too much of his life pretending that his brother didn't really matter to him. Things would be different this time. And right now, Noel did not have any desire to test that.
He simply sent back a thumbs down.
===================
Noel stared up at the ceiling of the suite, trying to entertain himself by making out shapes in the splotches of paint. His creativity had left him. He was too sleep-deprived to see much of anything above him other than amorphous clouds. The last time he'd looked over to the clock, it had been 3:47 AM. The time changes on tour got to him more than they used to. A lifetime ago, the rising and falling of the sun had seemed to have no power over him. Nowadays, however, it took him days to adjust – by which time they'd usually moved on to the next place anyway. Noel resented this immensely. A part of him regretted not just going out and getting pissed as soon as he gave up on sleep, but he was lazy at heart and had accepted his lot of laying there suffering.
Bored with the ceiling, Noel pawed aimlessly for his phone on the nightstand until his hand made contact with it. The glow of the lock screen momentarily blinded him. As usual, when he turned off do-not-disturb he had about a hundred notifications. He wished it was the 90’s again. With a sigh he scrolled through them, disappointed with the selection of people and tasks he had to choose from. Ignoring his to-do list then, he went back to his text messages and opened up his conversation with Liam. Maybe he was still awake too. Or, for all Noel knew, he was just waking up. The hours Liam kept were madness. Even if he was asleep, however Liam could be trusted to respond to him almost immediately. There was something that Noel had missed in the dark days – now he was never in short of someone’s undivided attention.
He looked at their last messages. About three hours ago Noel had wished him a matter-of-fact goodnight, to which Liam replied "nighty night!!" followed by a lengthy series of emojis, and once again, "LGx"
Above that lingered the photos. It was impossible for Noel's eyes not to trail back up to them. The human brain just latched onto that sort of thing naturally. Noel did not click on them again, but he didn't necessarily look away either. Disgust was more entertaining than nothing anyway, he figured. Thinking about them objectively, he had to admit the first drawing – the one of the blowjob – was actually pretty skillfully-drawn. He'd seen plenty of fanart of himself, even lewd fanart, but whoever had made this paid careful attention to detail. On his cock especially. And on Liam's face. And on Liam’s face wrapped around his cock. Aside from the exaggerated style of the art, this is probably exactly what it would look like. Noel stared. And kept staring.
Abruptly, Noel turned off his phone. He shouldn't keep looking at shit like that. He couldn't believe Liam was actually able to stand searching all of that up in the first place. Shutting his eyes, he made a renewed attempt at sleep. He concentered on following the colors that drifted aimlessly across his vision – a splotch of purplish-red wandering off to the right and fading to black, a patch of green blurring into orange. In his minds-eye, however, the drawing flashed back into view. There was Liam, on his knees, drooling and looking up at him like a martyred saint. Noel picked up the pillow next to him and pressed it onto his face like it would suffocate the thought. It didn't work. Christ, he was really fucking sleep-deprived.
It reminded him distinctly of the visions he used to have during panic attacks. There was a word for it. “Intrusive thoughts” or something idiotic like that. Back then, awful fucking scenes would play over and over in his head against his will. Oftentimes it was a scene from childhood, but other times it was new. Violent. Sexual. Paranoia-fueled. And it would keep going until it literally drove him mad (or so it felt at the time). Thankfully, that hadn’t happened in a long while. Getting clean helped, and begrudgingly, getting help helped. Now, however, he was beginning to worry again. Clearing his thoughts, he remembered the trick a shrink had once taught him. At the time he'd thought it was the stupidest fucking thing he'd ever heard, but sometimes it really did work. Concentrating, he imagined a giant brush covered in black paint, and visualized painting over the top of the drawing of him and Liam. Every time it appeared again he simply added another coat over the top, until eventually he was focused more on the paint than what was under it. To his relief, slowly but sure, his mind went blank and dark.
The next time he opened his eyes, it was morning.
===================
Noel spent the day out with the kids, still worn-out but pushing through. A coterie of paparazzi photographers followed them around, something he was surprised at himself for having to get used to again. The cameras had never disappeared entirely, but now that Oasis had risen from its grave, so had all the little worms that teemed around it. Really though, it didn't bother him that much. That hardest part was actually not talking to anyone. It was part of the contract with the tour managers: no interviews. Unless he had something to say about Man City (which of course he did), his lips were zipped. Although the people managing the tour were delicate about it, this rule was obviously an attempt to keep the peace between him and Liam. Apparently neither of them could not be trusted to play nice, which felt insulting in spite of their track-record. Things were good between them now, and it was difficult for Noel to remember that people might not be able to see that from the outside. As always, they'd see whatever they wanted to see. Oftentimes that was hatred. That couldn't be further from the truth anymore – even if Liam could still be an annoying little cunt.
As the afternoon waned, Noel finally made it over to the concert venue. As usual it was enormous stadium, demanding an amount of astonishment that he refused to give. He restricted himself to two minutes a day of "oh my god, I can't believe we're doing this again", which were scheduled for that evening. Right now was the soundcheck. After a stop at the snack bowls, Noel made a beeline for his cherry red Gibson, which was already sitting out. He had to admit that bringing that one was a risky choice, given what had happened to his other ES-355. But wasn't that just further proof of how far they'd come? Hell, he might as well put out another basket of plums.
Midway through a rendition of "Day Tripper", Liam wandered on stage. Or, rather, hop-skipped on stage. He was wearing his dark blue parka and aviator sunglasses, and was practically glowing. Noel's heart caught when he saw him. It tended to do that these days, like a part of him still didn't believe his brother was really there.
"Noel!" Liam greeted, making his way over.
Liam spread out his arms, and Noel was happy to take the invitation. They hugged awkwardly, the guitar slightly blocking the way like a metaphor they couldn't be bothered to care about. To make up for the half-contact, Liam put an arm around Noel's neck and planted a big wet kiss on his forehead.
For the first time since the night before, an image flashed into Noel’s mind. Liam naked. On the floor. Eyes hooded.
Instinctively, Noel pushed Liam away. Liam stumbled back slightly, immediately looking hurt in that way only Liam could. His eyes got all big and round like Bambi looking for his dead mother.
"Don't want you slobbering all over me," Noel said, straightening up, "I know you let that dog of yours lick your face."
Only the two of them could hear the silent conversation behind the apparent hostility. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that.
Liam pursed his lips for a moment.
"Her name is Buttons, and she can lick whatever she wants." he said, which meant, 'sokay. I get it.
Noel considered responding with "I'll bet she does", but there was no chance of that leading anywhere good. He could also physically feel about a dozen eyes boring into the backs of their skulls, so he played adult and ended it there.
"Right. Cigarettes & Alcohol?"
"Nah man, sober as a judge, me" Liam joked as he made his way to the microphone.
Noel took a deep, long breath. Crisis averted.
===================
The din of the crowd was like a waterfall, powerful and relentless and loud. It was an addictive sound. How could something like that not go to your head? The world was frankly lucky that they were already cunts before they got famous. Would’ve killed them otherwise. Noel stood backstage with the rest of the band, waiting for their cue to go on. Bonehead and the other two musketeers were arguing about football, while Liam was pacing in tight circles, shaking his arms out. Noel felt drained in comparison, but Liam's energy had a habit of being contagious. He was ready for the gig. This was going to be a good one.
A man in black with a headset scurried up to them and nodded. It was time. Noel took a breath, and made a point to offer his hand to Liam first – to make up for the incident earlier. Liam gave him a brief look of self-satisfaction, before taking it with a royal sort of air. Noel had gotten used to this little hand-holding ritual by now, but for some reason, today felt like the very first time. The hairs on his arms stood on their ends, and his heart kicked up a beat. Liam must have sensed this, because he meshed his fingers further into Noel's and gave him a reassuring squeeze.
"Ready?" Liam asked.
He was using that soft voice of his, one that Noel had heard so rarely in the last two decades.
"Ready." Noel said, squeezing Liam's hand back.
Liam beamed, and pulled him forward. The crowd roared as they came into view under the harsh stage-lights, delirious just at the sight of the two of them together. Noel waved as they held their joined hands up high. Really though, he was not present at all. Everything around him was distant and muffled.
In his mind's eye, he was busy painting.
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"That's right! Fucking rock n' roll!" Liam shouted into the microphone.
He had just finished Wonderwall, which wasn't exactly their most "rock n' roll" track, but that was beside the point. Rock n' roll was a feeling, and Liam could've been up their signing Minnie Riperton and still brought down the house. That was his power. A stadium show would have been completely impossible without him. They were almost finished with the encore– only one song left in the set list. It had, in fact, been a great gig. Once he'd started playing his guitar, Noel's troubles slipped out of his mind and away. Only the music mattered. Now they just needed to stick the landing.
"You were a top fucking crowd tonight," Liam said, pointing into the audience, "Get home safe, alright? This one' here's called Champagne Supernova."
Once again, a wave of cheers crashed against the stage. Noel smiled, and started playing song's gentle intro. It was a good choice to end a concert with – powerful but peaceful, leaving the audience blissed out without feeling the need to start a riot afterwards. When it came his turn, Liam began to sing, and like always, everyone was entranced. That included the rest of the band. For the first time that night, Noel raised his eyes and stared at Liam from across the stage. His brother was bathed in purple-white light, looking absolutely angelic. He was bent down slightly with his head turned upwards, hands clasped behind his back. Noel felt a glow of warmth in his heart as he watched. That was his brother. His! Here were Noel’s two minutes of awe: who could've thought they would have this again? Basking in the glory of it, Noel kept watching. Sweat glistened from Liam’s brow as he continued to sing. He leaned further forward into the microphone, lips just brushing the edge of it.
Something changed. The warmth in Noel's heart remained, but it began to bloom outwards. And downwards. With muted horror, Noel realized that he was beginning to get hard. Panic shot through him with such lightning-strike intensity that he pressed down on the wrong pedal. His guitar suddenly took on a more psychedelic sound to it, a pleasant surprise for the audience. Noel forced his eyes back down. This could not be happening. This could not be happening! But it was. And there was no mistaking the source of his arousal.
The song transitioned into its guitar solo, and Noel leaned into it, putting all his effort into focusing on the music. That’s what this was, he told himself. It was the music that turned him on, and it just so happened that his brother was the medium for that music. It had nothing to do with him whatsoever.
Noel was so busy convincing himself of this that he didn't notice Liam approaching. Noel should've seen it coming. He'd done something like this on most of the gigs in the tour so far – a little game of well, Grab The Arse. There was really nothing more to it than that, but tonight of all nights, that could not happen. Noel sensed Liam's presence mere seconds in advance, and swiveled around to face him so his rear-end was inaccessible. It was a fatal mistake. As soon as they made eye contact, Noel's cock went from half-mast to full-mast. Thankfully, the guitar was blocking the crowd's view. But Liam saw it. His eyes flicked down and back up, eyebrows raising. Noel's hand slipped, his guitar keening in a way that sounded much more purposeful than it was. The crowd went wild. Quickly, he adjusted the guitar’s position to block his crotch entirely, and turned away from Liam, careful to control his expression. The only thing that saved him was the rest of the song, dragging Liam back to the microphone for his "na na na"s.
Noel continued on playing, but internally he was numb as death. When the song's final note rang out, he fled the stage.
=================
Noel sped-walked down the corridor, past a sea of eyes that followed him as he went past. He hadn't even bothered to take off his guitar – he'd simply let it unplug itself when the chord went taut. It was better that way. The guitar was the easiest way to keep hiding what was between his legs. No matter how horrific he felt, it would not go down. He increased his pace down the hall, turning corners until he found the bathrooms. Briefly, he paused before the three available doors. He chose the one in the middle, with the half-man half-woman sign on it. Although he found their whole existence a bit silly, he had recently discovered that these ones were often one private room, instead of a series of stalls. This meant that he could take a shit in peace, or, in this case, to do what needed to be done. And it needed to be done.
As soon as he locked the door behind him, Noel pulled the guitar strap over his head and set his Gibson by the sink. He walked over to the toilet, and with little other pomp and circumstances pulled out his cock. It was red and throbbing, already so sensitive he gasped just touching it. This would not take long. All he needed to do was get it over with quickly, and move on. He placed his left hand against the tile wall. Like his guitar-playing, he wanked with his non-dominant hand. Gritting his teeth as he began to stroke himself, he made an effort to picture every person he'd ever fucked. Louise. Diane. Clint. Meg. Sara. Between four and six guys at The Hacienda. Whatshisname from The Libertines. Kate Moss that one time they both sort of regretted. The list went on. Any one of them would do, as long as he wasn't thinking about....
All of a sudden, Noel wasn't really in control of himself anymore. His head tipped back and he moaned.
Liam.
Liam. Liam. Liam.
And that was it. A pulse ran through his body, and he came so hard his knees literally buckled. He dropped to the ground in front of the toilet. This turned out to be opportune timing, because soon as he came back to full consciousness and realized what he had just done, he grabbed the porcelain and vomited. He shuddered, dread mixing strangely in with ecstasy and sickness.
He had just masturbated to his brother. His brother. The worst part was that he wasn't really even thinking about that fucking art. It was just Liam. Just the fucking concept of him. He heaved again, but this time nothing came out. He was spent in more than one way. For a while, he stared down into the bowl at the product of his actions. Life however, forced itself back on him. His knees were starting to hurt. He stood up with a twinge in his back and quietly wiped himself off. Careful not to look at himself in the mirror, he pulled on his jeans, washed his hands, picked up his guitar, and left.