swedish_rocker | New Beginnings and rekindling an old flame.

New Beginnings and rekindling an old flame.

Hans had met up with Vars and his new boyfriend Viktor whilst in Norway. The Swede had been pleased to catch up with Vars since he hadn't spoken to any of the Hammers face to face for a long time. How long had it been? Now, Hans and his younger brother, Bjorn, were on the way to LA along with Vars and Viktor to meet up with the rest of the Hammers and to meet two other bands; Ziggy and the Spiders from Mars and the Hell's Angels, Viktor's band. It would be good to get back with other musicians after spending some much time in rehab and Hans knew he could use all the company he could get. The months and years hadn't been easy and he'd often felt lonely or isolated from society after his stay in hospital following his near death experience. He'd overdosed on painkillers and Hunter, his ex-boyfriend had found it too much and had ran.

Hans still ached for Hunter in a way, even though the spark they had together was no longer there. He still missed the man though and the soft warm touches at night. But people moved on after months apart and Hans suspected Hunter had found another man. It was to be expected and the Swede bore no ill will towards his ex lover at all. Glancing to Vars, Hans then placed a hand on the man's shoulder as he felt nerves constrict his insides at meeting Hunter once more. Bjorn giggled and poked fun a little before getting a surly glare from Viktor. The Brit punk had attitude and Hans found him a little intimidating but nothing to the point of not liking the man. If Vars loved Viktor then Hans would find a friend in the fire-loving Brit. All the bands were a family and Hans knew this more than anyone. The question regarding Bjorn though---the young man was a live wire and loved to cause chaos and trouble wherever he went. Hopefully, Hans would be able to keep his brother out of anything bad.

He hoped.

"Well, it will be nice seeing Aarne and Rik again. Hunter---I missed him."

Hans swallowed hard and wondered how the man would even react.

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"I can teach you, honey. Then, you'll be able to understand me and the other Swedes on the tour."

Bjorn was being serious and not bitchy this time. If Rekker didn't want to learn then it was up to him but he was at least offering to teach the man Swedish. That's if he wanted the bitchy blond around more after this meeting in the house. He hoped so. The singer stuck his tongue out at the moody Brit then laughed when he felt that push from behind. It was close to his ass too.

"What if I am? Do you have a problem with that, you grumpy ginger bastard?"

He turned around after the grab and offered a finger to the Brit. The playful flirting was fun.

"Are you planning on hanging around like a fucking annoying bastard for that long?" Rekker sighed and rolled his eyes. His instinct is to shove the Swede right out the door on his ass to prevent the inevitable of him leaving because he can't deal with the mental health crashes. The guitarist hopes maybe a little that someone might find him tolerable before he managed to take his own life.

"I don't want my house covered in fucking hairspray and glitter smelling like a damned cathouse." He throws back and offers his own finger to the annoying singer. "Fuck off yourself."

"Well, you did invite me here, Gingerlocks. I'm not about to leave because that would be fucking lame. I like you and this place? It fucking rocks!"

The Swede crossing his arms and not budging for a moment or two as he squared off at the metalhead. The Brit could be a stubborn fuckhead but Bjorn liked him---really liked him. What was it? Lust? Love? A bit of both? Inquisitive nature? That thrown in too. The guy had a massive house and interesting creatures. What was not to like? Oh and a fucking expensive car.

"It won't be. Do you have to moan like a cheap whore yourself? The glitter sticks to me, babe. Most of the time anyway. Don't you have a housecleaner or something to clean it all up anyway? You're a rich fuck."

Bjorn smiled at the finger thrown back at him.

Rekker stared for a long time at the Swede. It was there again, another declaration of liking him. He felt nervous from it, aggitated. "Whatever."

The Brit snapped a little and intent on going past Bjorn and into the studio to make sure everything was set up for teaching tomorrow.

"Fuck you. You're the one bitching like a cheap whore." Rekker crossed his arms while leaning on the counter, looking as stubborn as he is for the moment. "Not every rich fuck is a lazy ass loser that pays for everything."

It was why Rekker could afford this place, he didn't waste money. "I still have glitter in my fucking hair."

The Swede watched the Brit pass him and smiled to himself. It seemed Rekker did like his privacy and Bjorn guessed he did all the cleaning himself which was fine. A lot of rock stars did, didn't they? Even fucking rich ones like Rekker. He watched the ginger walk into the studio and couldn't help but follow behind. No way was he going to be ignored now or told to leave. Fuck that.

"You were going to wash mine, remember? I could wash yours too then it will get all the glitter out of both of our hair. I'm not such a blond beach bimbo after all."

Bjorn just followed behind the metalhead, wanting to pinch the other man's ass but held off just for now. Did he want to touch Rekker in other more private places? Oh yes. He was curious to see if the man's ginger hair wasn't just the hair on his head.

"I bet you've got loads of cool shit stashed away inside these rooms of yours."

Rekker sighed with disappointment. He'd hoped the Swede would forget about that since the Brit was feeling nervous as hell. There are a lot of guitars in the studio, hung on the wall along one side. There are also more pictures in here of Rekker and youth, mostly young teens, playing guitar in the studio. In most of them Rekker looks happy, happier than Bjorn has probably seen him. He loved teaching.

"I remember." He finally replied while sitting down at the computer to confirm his lessons for the next day. The idea of the Swede washing his hair raised goose bumps on his arms both from arousal and his nerves, mostly his nerves. He felt ill from the thought but swallowed those feelings.

"No, you are still a bleach blonde bitch." He comments without looking up from the screen. In all honesty, Rekker is a bit of a minimalist. He doesn't keep anything he doesn't find useful and anything sentimental enough to keep is out in the open to help his mindset day to day.

"What do you think I have stashed away?" He's curious about what the Swede might be thinking.

Sorry Rekker but Bjorn hadn't planned on forgetting that you were going to put those guitarist's fingers through his bitchy blond whore hair. He hoped that the ginger bastard would go through with it in some shape or form. Walking into the studio the Swede looked around impressed and giggling at the sheer number of guitars.

"Fuck! So many guitars! My brother would love it here. He's a massive guitar nut and I still thinks he treats his guitar like a fucking woman sleeping with it next to him."

The Swede could be crude but he was being playful regarding his brother's lack of bed mate and the way he loved guitars. So many hanging up on the ginger bastards wall! Bjorn wondered if this was like Rekker's "man cave." He'd heard of such things before.

"Is this your Mansgrottan? Your man cave. Oh, um---maybe lots of things rich bastards have like you. Expensive art, porn, jewellery. That sort of stuff."

"I make them." Rekker mentioned offhand while finishing up the little bit of work he had to get done. Then.... the Swede's hair. He glanced at Bjorn and felt his hands shake with nervousness.

He sighed, exasperated as he stood up from the computer. "It's a classroom."

He stood and stared at the bastard of a singer. "It's not some fucking man cave. It's a classroom and studio. I teach guitar, bass and singing. Most of my students are deaf or from families that can't afford instruments or lessons." Rekker is surly over this topic because people had said a wide range of things about what he picked up after Hexed separated. This was one topic that the Brit would take no sass or kidding around about. His work, this work especially, was important to him because he knew well what music had done for him in his life.

"I'm not like the other rich bastards. The fuckers on this street wouldn't socialize with me if I was the only person left on the fucking earth." Rekker shook his head staring out into the hall and the windows beyond. "They used to try and drive me out."

"You make them? Wow. That's some serious skill you have, babe. I wouldn't know where to start making a whole new fucking guitar."

Bjorn looked around nodding and taking it all in realising this was indeed a classroom and he would do well not to be disrespectful or bitchy regarding this. Rekker had a life here and he used his skill to teach kids. The Swede thought it was cute and a worthy career choice away from the craziness of being in a band.

"Bass too? You're hot shit, honey. I had no idea you could play bass too. Those fingers of yours must be skilled as fuck. I'm impressed. Seriously. Teaching deaf kids? That's heart-warming, really. No fucking joke."

The Swede wasn't being rude or bitchy now because that was just fucking heart warming in every way. Rekker was a real sweetie underneath all the grouchy ginger bastard persona.

"The rich bastards you're talking about can't do shit compared to all of this. I'm sorry those fuckers tried to drive you out. Must be jealous shitheads is all I can say."

"The workshop is there as long as you keep your fucking hands off the guitar I'm working on." He pointed out the door across the room that was closed. He didn't mind if the Swede went in and had a look. "I picked it up when we were starving at the beginning to keep the us from dying."

He wasn't joking either. There had been times where they could barely afford food and slept in the van or later bus that got to shows in. They were all resourceful and picked up something but Rekker retired, sort of, from the stage into those skills. Even if he was nowhere near ready to tell the stage goodbye and would be back on it in a heartbeat.

Rekker walked past him toward the door to the workshop and ruffled his hair up even more. "I've been at this a long time."

The mention of kids though got a glance from the Brit that was filled with pain before he turned away and into the shop. He worked with kids, sometimes, to keep away the hurt of not knowing his own. He didn't want to think about that though or he would crash harder than he had in the elevator. "A few of them are playing in bands now."

He turned to something he was proud of and there was nothing as exciting as a few months ago when one of his student's bands was opening for a big name band and invited him to the show.

"It used to be louder and crazier here at night when Hexed was still together. The fucking noise and 3 in the morning pissed them off."

"I can keep my hands off if you're working, babe. I'm not a total fuckhead who ruins people's work."

Bjorn crossed his arms at that and stuck his tongue out, still playful. He knew Rekker took his work seriously as he should. It was more the singer out of his depth but not wanting to leave, not after seeing all of this. The guitars! Also, the guy had a workshop which sounded like something he'd have to see. The hair ruffle got a small squeak from the Swede, who was slowly getting used to the ginger bastard messing his hair up each time.

"Oh yeah? I bet they learnt a lot from you. I'm still loud and crazy, sweet cheeks. Sometimes I don't go to bed for days on end. My brother hates it when I go out on benders with the Blixt members. He knows I get smashed and don't even know where I am when I wake up sometimes."

That was the dangerous part Hans hated. One day he knew he'd find his brother face down in some filthy gutter passed out on too many drugs mixed with booze. His worse nightmare. Bjorn partied and when he did he did it hard.

Rekker glanced back to see if the Swede was following him into the workshop.

"I used to do that all the time until I died from it." Rekker had a love for the numbness of booze and sleeping pills which had put him out for a few minutes before he was revived. "The one time I wasn't trying to die I managed to knock my fucking self off."

He's cynical about that death compared to failing to get there sometimes when he intended to. Fuck the universe and that bullshit.

Bjorn followed Rekker into the workshop then felt a pang of anguish from hearing about the Brit dying. Booze and drugs; a rockstar's downfall in a lot of cases but more often than not it came as part of the deal when trying to make it to the top. The pressure and fame ending a lot of young rockstars lives much too early.

"Hey, it's ok. You won't be fucking dying on me, Gingerlocks. I won't let you."

Not only that but this guy had kids depending on him to teach them. A dead teacher was no use at all. Bjorn walked up behind Rekker and gently touched his shoulder, squeezing before letting go. Fuck death! There was way too much living to do first!

"Too much living to do first, honey. Your kids need you too."

Edited 2021-09-30 20:42 (UTC)

He stood off to the side, eyeing the hand on his shoulder and brushing against his hair. The desire to pitch the Swede out rose again with the equal desire to lock him in a room somewhere so he couldn't leave.

"I don't have a choice when it happens." Rekker admits with a deep breath. "My mind fixes on it and I can't think of anything else. I can't fucking stop it when it starts."

Or at least that was how it felt. Rekker easily forgot the couple times intense therapy helped because he hated the hospitalization that came with it. He tries not to think about it and needs to divert his mind to anything.

"I guess you're a slutty enough bitch you want to see the bedroom and bath?" He teased though it lacked the playfulness as his emotional mood started to tank.

"Sometimes we don't have a choice and that fucking sucks. I can help take your mind of your bad shit? Helpful Swede here."

Bjorn bounced in front of Rekker, playfully tugging a few strands as he did so. He let go and then went to quickly grab at the Brit's hands, squeezing them in his own before letting go. He had an ache to touch the man and make him feel good but Bjorn knew that Rekker didn't like being touched hardly at all. The lack of contact made the singer feel sad.

"Slutty? Oh baby you have no idea. But---how about we see the bedroom and bath? You're being a tease you fucking sexy ginger."

The workshop and classroom were impressive but the Swede's mind was elsewhere. He wanted to see the rooms he hoped he'd be spending most of his time in.

"My brain's fucked." That was the only way he could describe how he felt about his mind running without a way to stop it.

The sudden burst of energy from the Swede got a raised brow before Rekker was staring at their hands together. His heart thumped in his ears from the touch and the pull combined with where this house tour was going.

"I'm not doing a fucking thing to tease you." He just gave another exasperated exhale as he walked out of the room. He couldn't reconcile the way he wanted to recoil from the Swede with his emotions and body wanting to be closer. It was driving the Brit crazy inside to be in constant emotional flux as he dreaded having to wash the singer's hair. Why did he have to open his fucking mouth? He walked toward the bedroom without speaking because he was afraid anger would slip out as he became furious with his own mind being at war.

"My brain is pretty fucked too but in a different way. More self-inflicted with booze and drugs. That sort of shit. It must be rough for you though, babe."

Bjorn felt bad for the ginger Brit as he followed Rekker out of the room, wondering where they would end up next. The tour had been fun so far but the Swede wanted to know where the bedroom was and how big this rich bastard's bed was. Curiosity mostly. That and the bath because his hair was fucking wrecked from Rekker messing it up.

"You are such a tease! You just can't see that you are in those tight jeans of yours."

The Swede singer offering a teasing wink as he sidled up close to Rekker.

"I'm surviving, for now."

That was how Rekker took things, a day of survival at a time. He closed the door on Crusher's enclosure as they went by since she was in sunning and the Swede wasn't used to her. Sometimes she would stroll into the shower or whatever and that was a startle the young singer didn't need.

Rekker stopped and stared at Bjorn's pants. "Have you looked at your fucking pants? Mine aren't even tight."

The Singer had basically a second skin but if Bjorn was going to accuse him. Rekker pulled off his shirt and tossed it in the corner as they walked into the bed room. "Now, I'm a fucking tease, I guess."

Once inside the room he stopped, turning with crossed arms. Rekker is tone, not chiseled like someone who spent all day at the gym but lithe and muscular everywhere from sports and activity. There's a trail of hair starting blonde at the lower part of his chest that reddens and gets a little thicker as it trails down toward the waist of his rather low sitting, tight jeans.

Edited 2021-10-01 20:18 (UTC)

"Surviving is all we can do, honey."

Bjorn nodded then giggled, glancing down at his tight leather pants which were more akin to a second skin, stretched tightly over his toned thighs. The singer liked it like this because it was the glam style and they didn't hinder his movement up on stage. He could perform acrobatics and make the crowd go wild.

Then, Rekker removed his shirt. Fuck!

"Ooh, babe! I love your toned torso and that trail of hair that goes down..."

He pointed to his own navel region and licked his lips. That fucking trail! Bjorn ached to see where it lead and knew he may not even get that chance but there was always hope. The man was so hot and sexy. Those arms were something too. If he was stripping them Bjorn would do the same since he was about to get his hair washed soon anyway. Right?

"My go!"

The Swede pulled off his shirt and threw it onto the floor just shy of where Rekker threw his. The singer's chest was toned but slightly more feminine with lack of any hair. His still had muscles in his arms though and had a slight dusting of blond hair down by his navel leading down into his tight pants.

Those tight pants were tormenting and part of the reason Rekker felt knots in his stomach. He's glad the Swede is behind him as they walked the hall. He didn't need more to fray his nerves.

Rekker raised his brow but the hand motion pulled his eyes down the Swede's body. He was going to have to wash his hair now and he dreaded it. Internally scolding himself for being stupid enough to mention that to the singer.

"I'm a man, not a little bitch." Rekker shot back at the comment about his body. He was having a hard time staying mentally stable with the Swede stripping off clothes in the middle of his bedroom. He should have kept his mouth shut in the elevator.

He stares though, can't help himself once Bjorn pulls off his shirt. The feminine aspects of the singer were getting to him and his nerves. Taking a deep breath he turns away and walks toward the bathroom. "I better get the shit for your fucking candy coated rat's nest."

He's trying to pretend or at least present that he's not interested but internally he can feel his pulse picking up and the attraction. That attraction had his hands going cold and forcing the guitarist to fight with anxiety over being touched or worse having to be naked with the Swede.

The singer loved that his tight pants tormented people from groupies to other members of different bands. But now he had no need for groupies anymore because the only person he wanted was the ginger bastard. He just had to have him. Somehow. The man was so fucking sexy even if he didn't know it.

"Oh, I know you're a man, babe. Just looking at your manly attributes right now. That ginger hair going down is such a fucking tease."

Bjorn couldn't help but admire the man's body and wonder how many men and women had the pleasure of it. Not wanting to think about that the singer just thought about what might happen in the next few moments. The hair washing.

"Rat's nest? It's not that bad. You love it really, admit it."

The Swede giggling whilst running a hand through it. Mostly, it was the hairspray which caused it to stick up and clump together. Bjorn washed his hair a lot but then he had to style it to create his glam image. No good having flat boring hair. That fucking sucked. Watching Rekker walk away, Bjorn just stared at that ass and wondered what it would look like naked.

"You're staring at my crotch." Rekker rolled his eyes though he wasn't exactly sure, Bjorn's eyes had definitely lingered low for more than a couple breaths.

He went straight for the cabinets and tried to ignore the half naked Swede. It did leave Rekker, now shirtless and reaching up into the top of the cabinet for things he rarely used on his own hair.

"No." He glanced over his shoulder while setting the bottles on the bathroom counter. "I hate the fucking sticky bullshit in it."

He had a textural problem with the tackiness the hairspray left behind on his hands. Rekker was trying to think if there was somewhere he could stand in the shower where he could wash Bjorn's hair and not get soaked so he could stay dressed. Nothing was coming to mind because he hadn't had to think about it yet. His hands had gone cold from the anxiety inside while he went over and put the bottles on the shelf in the spacious shower.

He wondered where the Swede was and turned around to look into the other room. He caught sight of his own hot tub and frowned. He didn't believe in god but he might well pray that it goes unnoticed at this point.

"I am? Oh, I had no idea it was that obvious."

Bjorn was a lying bitch as well as a tarty one and he was now curious as to what Rekker would use to get the hairspray out of his blond whore hair as the ginger put it. All the name calling was cute and the Swede loved how the Brit had certain names just for him. Moving close to Rekker, Bjorn walked into the space between them and smiled deviously. Fuck, this was going to be good. The singer's eyes then caught sight of something else.

Oh. Oh.

"You've got a fucking hot tub! Wow. Let's get in it! You could wash my hair in there. It's big enough for two---looks it."

The cat was well and truly out of the bag now. This solved their dilemma of who would stand in the shower and who wouldn't? Bjorn was already pulling off his boots, unlacing them and throwing them into the corner with his shirt.

"I don't think you've fucking blinked for a minute."

He noticed and while he was flattered his mind was already convincing him that Bjorn just wanted to use him or get something out of him. It was how his mind worked, at least initially.

"You can't put soap in a hot tub." Rekker stepped out to stare and roll his eyes. "You'll fucking ruin it."

Of course, since the Swede was probably still in the wreck the hotel room stage of his career he probably didn't care, or think about the problems with it. Then the Swede was stripping farther down and Rekker felt his breath catch hard in his throat. It was probably a good idea to get his meds in him before he freaked out. Rekker stepped away into the bedroom and pulled a bottle out of the bedside table. He needed to take his anxiety meds, usually didn't, but he was afraid he was about to plunge into a full blown meltdown given the shakes and upset stomach he was experiencing.

"Maybe I haven't. I can't fucking help it when a hot ginger is standing up close to me with his fucking shirt off."

Bjorn was beginning to get hot himself as his mind began racing at the possibility of actually kissing this grouchy bastard. That and touching that long hair of his again. As for anything else that just got the singer internally panting at the very idea. The Brit was hot as fuck.

"Aw, you can't? Why? Does it blow up or some shit? Why don't they make them for two hot guys to have fun inside them?"

The Swede pouted and put both hands on his hips while watching Rekker step back into the bedroom. Was he taking meds? Poor guy. The singer felt bad for the Brit because his life was ruled by his health condition. What could he do? Not wanting to interfere, Bjorn hung back just eyeing up the hot tub.

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