Off Stage for xaipherous

Tours could be dizzying in speed and travel to the point that the haze of booze and movement turned to a blur. The Hammers had picked up an extra few shows among their main tour, lone one shots with other bands to get a little extra money and attention. They weren't a traditional punk band, nor really a traditional band of any type. Their music was firmly rooted in the Norse ways of the members; strong, rebellious music that pulled from a variety of styles from glam to punk and metal in feel. The shows, inevitably, in the right places drew punks because of the Hammers' bassist. Vars was known in a lot of punk circles as a crazy Norwegian. Few knew him from his first band which was hardcore Norwegian punk. Most knew him from the international coverage of the trial where he stabbed two men to death when they had attacked the two youngest members of the Hammers, leaving their drummer badly injured. Vars had been found not guilty, the killings ruled self defense but it didn't stop there. Of late, arson had cropped up in the accusations against him and most of it geared towards police and authority.

He had come off stage to watch the other bands. The Hammers might have headlined in Scandinavia but here they were closer to the opener than the closing band. He had headed to the bar after cleaning up a little backstage. Intent on a drink to cool off and enjoy music from the crowd, a rare treat of late. Finally getting a beer he turned to head back into the crowd as a fight broke out. Curious of the situation, the shorter, stocky punk pushed his way through to see what was happening. A fair fight he might just watch but his own sense of morality disliked unfair fights, especially if one person got jumped by many.

I Will Be Your Shield.

For Touching 10: Spooning at night - Viktor/Vars

Vars shook his head coming in to Viktor snoring in the bed. He must have been out with his bandmates on a bender, if only because the hotel room wasn't littered with bottles. The punk shrugged off his jacket and threw his shirt into the pile in the corner, it kept the room clean to at least contain the mess. Wrestling off his boots Vars stopped to stare at the Brit grumbling in his bed, half dressed and looking a mess. He adored the stubborn bastard and it left the bassist shaking his head as he set his boots aside and headed into the bathroom to clean up some. Working with the stage crew earlier left him dusty and smudged with dirt.

Half way through the grumbles turned to a whimper and an odd sound. Vars came out of the bathroom, drying his arms and hands with the towel while watching the form in his bed. Viktor was shifting, fists clenched and tossing about. Nightmares. He felt bad for the Brit but they all had them from time to time, a side effect of their lives. Viktor never mentioned what his were though Vars was sure he remembered them clearly.

As the sounds turned to something reminiscent of fear Vars dropped the towel and climbed into the bed. Laying on his side he pulled the punk in so he could wrap his arms around him. “Viktor?”

The singer thrashed and Vars had to stop the arm from hitting him square in the face. “What dream?”

He shook the punk slightly to try and bring him around. The Brit was crying in his sleep and Vars felt worry and pain well up as he pulled him closer. The thrashing kept up and Vars couldn't bring the punk out of his night terror. In a moment of desperation he punched Viktor hard in the shoulder, ready to dodge as his lover came to angry.

“No.” Vars took his hand and pulled his attention so that he didn't lose his temper. “Have bad dream. Not wake from so punch.” The bassist explained to his lover who was trembling but he couldn't tell if it was from the dream fear or anger. After this long he knew the punk wasn't going to tell him anything, at least not now.

Vars laid down on his side while giving Viktor a little tug. “Come. Sleep.”

Viktor stared at him in the dark room before laying beside him in a reluctant huff of emotion. The constant surly attitude only brought a smile to Vars' face while he settled in behind Viktor who was pulling his arm tightly around into the front. The only option was to lay there behind the Brit punk with an arm wrapped around the singer's chest and the other tucked up under Vars' head.

He was grumbling about the nightmares, swearing at them, no doubt because Viktor perceived them as making him look weak. Vars didn't agree. Nightmares meant someone survived something so bad it plagued them when they slept and in that there was strength. He pulled Viktor tighter, pressing his bare chest into the Viktor's bare back while kissing him behind the ear. Viktor was threading their fingers together and shifting anxiously while trying to get comfortable.

“Sleep. I stay. Not sleep until know no nightmares.” Vars spoke quietly and watched Viktor give him a strange and uncertain glance before the Brit smiled through the tears that stained his face. “No one bother. Safe. I kill anyone make hurt.”

He hugged the punk tighter, feeling Viktor nuzzle back into his body, shift, pull his arm around farther and then finally settle in to sleep again. Vars laid still and held Viktor tightly, one of the few things that comforted the punk when his dreams turned dark, crushingly tight hugs. The fast breaths calmed and then turned back to the drunken snoring that Vars was used to filling his nights. He barely heard it any longer and rested his head against the mass of messy blonde hair. He was falling asleep but he wouldn't let go. Morning would find Viktor needing to struggle free from the Norwegian's death grip that came from his unconscious instinct to protect his partner even when he didn't know what he was protecting him from.