Beginnings
folder
Romance › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
893
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Romance › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
893
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblence to people(living or dead) or situations is purely circumstantial. i own all characters.
Beginnings
100.01 Beginnings
Tucker let his fingers slide over the antique ivory piano keys, worn and smooth from use. He said a little prayer in his head that this would work out. He’d dreamed of coming to New Orleans since he was small. As a child, the city had seemed as mythical and far away to him as OZ. But here he was, with the house and job he’d always wanted laid right out before him. But suddenly now that he had it, he was terrified. What if things didn’t work out? What if he wasn’t good enough? He couldn’t go home now. Not when he’d gotten this far…
“Alright Tuck,” he said quietly to himself, “ don’t fuck this up.”
“Well, I sure as hell hope you don’t. We ain’t had a decent player here in months.”
Tucker nearly jumped out of his skin at the deep, drawling, Creole voice from behind the bar. Tucker turned a bit too quick ,tripping over his own feet and slamming a hand down on the piano keys, making a godawful racket. He pulled his hand off the keys as if he’d been burned, his cheeks coloring all the way up to the roots of his auburn hair. The man behind the bar gave a deep throaty laugh.
“Well that, sure didn’t sound promisin’.”
The man behind the bar smiled at Tucker, casually lighting a cigarette. Tucker’s face colored a little more. The man was…well, he was beautiful. He was tall and thickly build(but not heavy), the kind of guy people didn’t fuck with. His skin was a warm, dark, mahogany brown smooth as melted chocolate, and it made his sparking white teeth and glittering hazel eyes just pop. His hair was twisted into thick heavy locks that fell down past his shoulders. Silver rings glittered in his ears and nose as he leaned forward on his elbows and took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke smoothly back out his nostrils.
“Why you starin’ beau? You see sometin’ you like?” The dark man said in deep dreamy voice, his lips quirking in a smirk.
Tucker blushed harder.
“Um sorry. You just scared me, that’s all,” Tucker mumbled; fighting the urge to cringe. His thick Georgia accent sounded harsh and out of place next to the stranger’s Cajun lilt.
The stranger chuckled again, depositing his cigarette in the ash tray on the bar as he reached up to pull his hair in to a low tail. Tucker caught a whiff of the sweet clover smoke as the ash crumbled into the glass dish. Tucker began to nervously tug at one of the rings in his ear.
“Well much apologies then. I wasn’t meanin’ ta scare the new music man. I was just comin’ ta set up the bar,”
With that, the dark man grabbed a rag and set to cleaning the glasses on the shelf behind the bar.
“Umm…I-I’m Tucker. Tucker West. I’m the new house musician. From Valdosta. Georgia. Friends call me Tuck. I just came by to practice. The owner gave me a key.” Tucker stammered before he could think.
“ I figured as much,” the bartender chuckled without turning around, “else I’da called the cops on ya.”
Tucker felt himself blush again and turned back to the piano. Behind him he heard the clink of a glass being set down and the click of a lighter. He caught the rich scent of clove as the bartender lit another cigarette.
“Name’s Brick. Brick Sweet.”
Tucker turned to find Brick leaning on the bar, cigarette between his fingers, watching him. Tucker swallowed hard. What was it about the man that made him so nervous.
‘Oh maybe the fact that he’s fuckin’ gorgeous and you haven’t gotten tail in God knows how long,’ he thought to himself.
The big man spoke and knock Tucker abruptly out of his stupor.
“So ,what’ll it, be Tucker West?”
“What?”
“I said what’ll it be? Drinks on the House for the music man.”
“Umm, well….” Tucker stammered, unsure of what to say
“On second thought,” Brick interrupted, in his razor blades in candy voice, “lemme guess.”
Tucker nodded.
“Well, you strike me as a liquor man. Beer’s alright but I’m thinkin’ it ain’t quit yo’ cup a’ tea. Most likely a rum man, am I right? But you like it to have a little bit a’ sweet and a little bit a’ bite. I’d say Zombie.”
“What’s a Zombie?” Tucker asked, felling rather stupid.
Brick chuckled again, throwing the towel over his shoulder and truing to the shelves upon shelves of liquor behind him.
“New Orleans speciality. Rum, dark rum, light rum, spiced rum, lemon juice, lime juice, orange juice, pineapple juice, passion fruit syrup, Angostura bitters shaken and served long. As for me, I’m a Sufferin’ Bastard man myself. Though I’d drink my liquor straight any day.”
When he finished, Brick beckoned Tucker over to the bar and passed him a tall, bright yellow drink. Tucker smiled shyly and accepted. Having the big man’s hazel eyes on him made him feel as though he had nothing to hide and nowhere to hide it even if he did.
“Well,” Brick said lifting his own class, “cheers to the new music man, Tucker West. May you not Fuck this up.”
With that, he threw his head back downing his drink, then giving a sharp shake of his head. Tucker looked at his own drink with uncertainty and Brick gave a laugh.
“I wouldn’t down that if I was you. You’ll knock yo’self flat on yo’ ass, white boy.”
Tucker felt a flare of indignation at that comment. He grew up in the south, practically weaned on gin and bourbon. He locked his green eyes with Brick's Hazel one’s, threw his head back and downed it. Slamming the glass back down on the table, he gave Brick a look that dared him to challenge.
Brick smiled. “Maybe I was wrong ‘bout you after all.”
“I’ll drink you under the table any day,” said Tucker with a smile. The longer he spent with the bartender the more he felt himself begin to loosen up. It was nice feeling, one he’d wanted for a long time.
“I think that’s a challenge, music man,”
“You bet your ass it is.”
Tucker let his fingers slide over the antique ivory piano keys, worn and smooth from use. He said a little prayer in his head that this would work out. He’d dreamed of coming to New Orleans since he was small. As a child, the city had seemed as mythical and far away to him as OZ. But here he was, with the house and job he’d always wanted laid right out before him. But suddenly now that he had it, he was terrified. What if things didn’t work out? What if he wasn’t good enough? He couldn’t go home now. Not when he’d gotten this far…
“Alright Tuck,” he said quietly to himself, “ don’t fuck this up.”
“Well, I sure as hell hope you don’t. We ain’t had a decent player here in months.”
Tucker nearly jumped out of his skin at the deep, drawling, Creole voice from behind the bar. Tucker turned a bit too quick ,tripping over his own feet and slamming a hand down on the piano keys, making a godawful racket. He pulled his hand off the keys as if he’d been burned, his cheeks coloring all the way up to the roots of his auburn hair. The man behind the bar gave a deep throaty laugh.
“Well that, sure didn’t sound promisin’.”
The man behind the bar smiled at Tucker, casually lighting a cigarette. Tucker’s face colored a little more. The man was…well, he was beautiful. He was tall and thickly build(but not heavy), the kind of guy people didn’t fuck with. His skin was a warm, dark, mahogany brown smooth as melted chocolate, and it made his sparking white teeth and glittering hazel eyes just pop. His hair was twisted into thick heavy locks that fell down past his shoulders. Silver rings glittered in his ears and nose as he leaned forward on his elbows and took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke smoothly back out his nostrils.
“Why you starin’ beau? You see sometin’ you like?” The dark man said in deep dreamy voice, his lips quirking in a smirk.
Tucker blushed harder.
“Um sorry. You just scared me, that’s all,” Tucker mumbled; fighting the urge to cringe. His thick Georgia accent sounded harsh and out of place next to the stranger’s Cajun lilt.
The stranger chuckled again, depositing his cigarette in the ash tray on the bar as he reached up to pull his hair in to a low tail. Tucker caught a whiff of the sweet clover smoke as the ash crumbled into the glass dish. Tucker began to nervously tug at one of the rings in his ear.
“Well much apologies then. I wasn’t meanin’ ta scare the new music man. I was just comin’ ta set up the bar,”
With that, the dark man grabbed a rag and set to cleaning the glasses on the shelf behind the bar.
“Umm…I-I’m Tucker. Tucker West. I’m the new house musician. From Valdosta. Georgia. Friends call me Tuck. I just came by to practice. The owner gave me a key.” Tucker stammered before he could think.
“ I figured as much,” the bartender chuckled without turning around, “else I’da called the cops on ya.”
Tucker felt himself blush again and turned back to the piano. Behind him he heard the clink of a glass being set down and the click of a lighter. He caught the rich scent of clove as the bartender lit another cigarette.
“Name’s Brick. Brick Sweet.”
Tucker turned to find Brick leaning on the bar, cigarette between his fingers, watching him. Tucker swallowed hard. What was it about the man that made him so nervous.
‘Oh maybe the fact that he’s fuckin’ gorgeous and you haven’t gotten tail in God knows how long,’ he thought to himself.
The big man spoke and knock Tucker abruptly out of his stupor.
“So ,what’ll it, be Tucker West?”
“What?”
“I said what’ll it be? Drinks on the House for the music man.”
“Umm, well….” Tucker stammered, unsure of what to say
“On second thought,” Brick interrupted, in his razor blades in candy voice, “lemme guess.”
Tucker nodded.
“Well, you strike me as a liquor man. Beer’s alright but I’m thinkin’ it ain’t quit yo’ cup a’ tea. Most likely a rum man, am I right? But you like it to have a little bit a’ sweet and a little bit a’ bite. I’d say Zombie.”
“What’s a Zombie?” Tucker asked, felling rather stupid.
Brick chuckled again, throwing the towel over his shoulder and truing to the shelves upon shelves of liquor behind him.
“New Orleans speciality. Rum, dark rum, light rum, spiced rum, lemon juice, lime juice, orange juice, pineapple juice, passion fruit syrup, Angostura bitters shaken and served long. As for me, I’m a Sufferin’ Bastard man myself. Though I’d drink my liquor straight any day.”
When he finished, Brick beckoned Tucker over to the bar and passed him a tall, bright yellow drink. Tucker smiled shyly and accepted. Having the big man’s hazel eyes on him made him feel as though he had nothing to hide and nowhere to hide it even if he did.
“Well,” Brick said lifting his own class, “cheers to the new music man, Tucker West. May you not Fuck this up.”
With that, he threw his head back downing his drink, then giving a sharp shake of his head. Tucker looked at his own drink with uncertainty and Brick gave a laugh.
“I wouldn’t down that if I was you. You’ll knock yo’self flat on yo’ ass, white boy.”
Tucker felt a flare of indignation at that comment. He grew up in the south, practically weaned on gin and bourbon. He locked his green eyes with Brick's Hazel one’s, threw his head back and downed it. Slamming the glass back down on the table, he gave Brick a look that dared him to challenge.
Brick smiled. “Maybe I was wrong ‘bout you after all.”
“I’ll drink you under the table any day,” said Tucker with a smile. The longer he spent with the bartender the more he felt himself begin to loosen up. It was nice feeling, one he’d wanted for a long time.
“I think that’s a challenge, music man,”
“You bet your ass it is.”