Dazed

When Sonny finally leaves the MCR bus, it’s not until the sun’s already hanging dangerously low on the horizon. In the long days of summer, that means it’s probably 7 or 8 already, and the festival grounds have more or less cleared out. Gerard’s arm brackets Sonny’s waist as he steps precariously down the steep stairs at the front of the bus. I’ve got you , his touch says. It’s almost comforting, even if Sonny’s still confused by his lack of concern about the self-induced vomiting. Still, the way Gerard holds him makes Sonny feel small and dainty in a way he likes just enough not to ask questions.

The destination of the hour, according to Gerard, is Avenged Sevenfold’s bus. Apparently they’re throwing some kind of party, or whatever. Sonny’s down. He’s always down for a good party.

The gathering’s already become a lively throng of people by the time they get there, but nobody seems all that drunk yet, and the music isn’t ground-shakingly loud either. 

Still, Sonny finds familiar faces in the crowd. He spots Matt pitted up against Frank Iero in beer pong, Ray Toro behind Frank downing one of the cups; Matt’s player two appears to be Avenged Sevenfold’s lead guitarist, Synyster Gates. Mikey Way is dangling half-off a man’s shoulder, someone Sonny doesn’t recognize. Derek, along with some of Fall Out Boy and a few other people Sonny doesn’t really know that well, are sitting around a fire- Sonny’s not sure what they’re burning, exactly, but it definitely appears that the fire is contained only by the cracked pavement. It’s probably not a great idea to have so close to the bus, given the highly flammable gasoline inside, but nobody really cares. 

When Sonny looks back toward Gerard, he finds him gone into the crowd, possibly to never be seen again. So, like a lost duckling, Sonny eventually wanders his way to the circle around the fire, curling up in the vacant chair next to Derek and trying to find an in to the conversation.

“...You’re joking, dude, that movie was ass,” Joe Trohman interjects, and Derek groans.

“No, I’m serious, it was awesome!”

“I thought it was just way too gory for its own good,” Andy Hurley adds, noncommittally.

“IT’S A FUCKING ZOMBIE MOVIE!” Derek sputters.

“Well, yeah, but the original was good because you liked the characters. The practical effects don’t hold up at all, but they don’t even have to because they’re not the best part of the movie.”

“Oh my god, you guys are prudes,” Derek groans, then turns to Sonny. “Son, tell them the new Dawn of the Dead totally rocks.”

“Uh…” Sonny shifts awkwardly in his seat. “I haven’t seen the new Dawn of the Dead.” 

“Oh my God, you have to.”

“Zack Snyder shouldn’t even be allowed to make movies,” Gerard’s voice comes from behind Sonny, and the boy looks up to find MCR’s frontman standing directly behind him. Gerard rests an arm on the back of Sonny’s chair- he’s holding a red solo cup. “What’s he gonna ruin next, Watchmen?”

“Hey, Gerard, I thought you were sober now,” Sonny says, awkwardly trying to change the topic.

“Oh, it’s just diet Coke in here.” Gerard smiles a little lopsidedly..

“Yeah, you’re almost a year sober, right?” Andy interjects, and Gerard nods.

“A month shy.”

Andy gets up from his seat, bringing with him his own drink. He taps his plastic cup against Gerard’s and says, with a grin, “Cheers, man. I’m proud of you.”

At that, Derek snorts, holding his own solo cup in the air. “Let’s all drink to Gerard getting sober!”

A hearty laugh fills the air, and everyone with a drink toasts as best they can from their spread-out positions. Sonny looks around and chuckles, sort of awkwardly. “Man, I feel left out, I don’t have a drink…”

“You want one?” Derek offers, smiling. “Zacky isn’t carding or anything, I saw him giving drinks to some groupie chicks someone invited back and they couldn’t have been over 20.”

“Uh…” Sonny tilts his head, as if considering. “What do they got?”

“Beer, mostly... Jello shots if you wanna skip the drink and just get drunk.”

“That sounds good.”

The inside of the bus is about as rowdy as the outside. The first thing Sonny spots is a girl sitting in a guy’s lap in the driver’s seat- the second thing is an improvised bar setup, with all the things Derek had promised, plus soda. Zacky Vengeance sits behind the bar next to M. Shadows, engaged in some stupid conversation or another- it comes to a pause when Derek sidles up to the table, Sonny trailing awkwardly behind him.

“Back for more already, huh?” Zacky asks with a grin. “You’re 22 and already halfway to alcoholism, I swear.”

“Halfway? Try three-quarters.” Derek snorts. “Never too early to pick up the habit, right Son?”

Sonny smiles and rolls his eyes. “Definitely not.”

“How old is he?” M. Shadows interjects.

“Seventeen,” Sonny replies, sweating just a little as he glances up at Derek.

“Seventeen? Damn, I could have sworn you weren’t more than fifteen!”

“No way, man,” Zacky argues, “That kid’s totally jailbait, he could pass for twenty!”

“Alright, alright.” Shadows rolls his eyes and waves a hand. “Who’s responsible for him if he gets pissed?”

“I am, now give the boy a jello shot!”

“Alright, alright!” Zacky grins half-stupidly and reaches into a cooler at his side, presenting two jello shots in his palms. “Red pill or blue pill?” 

“Oh, come on, he’s a teenager, he doesn’t need the blue pill by any means.”

Zacky almost doubles over laughing, and the joke sort of flies over Sonny’s head, but he laughs anyway. 

“I’ll have both.” 

Zacky shrugs and sets both colored shots on the table, glancing toward his bandmate. “What do you think that’d do in the Matrix?”

“I think you’d, like… just die.”

“Huh.” Zacky looks back to Derek as Sonny takes his shots. “You havin’ anything?”

“Sure, I’ll have some more beer.”

When Sonny and Derek return to the fire, some people have come and gone, but among the new arrivals is Travis. He kneels on the ground across the fire from Sonny, and it takes coming closer for Sonny to recognize he’s spinning a bottle. Sonny stops and stands, curiously, while Derek moves on to take a seat. 

“Spin the Bottle?” Derek comments, spreading out lazily in a chair. “Did we all go back to high school while I was gone?”

“Nope, just got bored.”

“It’d probably do some good for half us dumbasses to go back to high school, though!” Synyster Gates proclaims, and there are some laughs of agreement. However, the laughs die down as the bottle comes to a slow yet steady stop- out of curiosity, Sonny’s eyes follow the neck of the bottle, finding that it points in roughly the direction of Frank Iero, who’s not paying attention. A couple people make ooh ing noises, and Travis picks up the bottle and walks toward Frank with a grin- Frank’s distracted, listening to Gerard talk about some comic book or other.

“Frankie Lero, gimme some sugar!” 

Frank barely has time to look up before Travis’ lips are crashing against his, hand fisting into the short-statured guitarist’s skunk-stripe of hair. Frank, to his credit, realizes what’s happening and gets into the swing of it pretty quickly. He throws an arm loosely around Travis’ shoulders and lets Travis pull him up out of the chair by his waist. Even as Travis hoists the little guy up, his back arches half-obscenely, and their kiss is about as sloppy and drunken as one can get. When their lips detach from one another, Travis lets go of Frank and lets him drop back into the chair like a sack of potatoes. 

“Jeez, dude, give a guy some warning!” Frank laughs, wiping at his lips. Travis just smirks as he hands the bottle to Frank.

“Thought you knew what they do to guys like you in prison. A little exposure therapy never hurt anyone!”

The comment pulls laughter from Sonny and several others as Travis waltzes back to his spot and takes a sip of his drink. Frank rolls his eyes even though he’s smiling, and he kneels down to continue the ritual of spinning the bottle. As the bottle spins, Pete Wentz enters the circle, carrying a bundle of sticks in his hand. He tosses them down into the fire and watches it roar to life. When everyone in the circle goes quiet, Pete looks around curiously.

“Did I miss something?”

“We’re playing spin the bottle,” Derek sleazily informs him.

“Oh.” Pete looks around the circle, only to find himself staring down the neck of the bottle. He grins as his eyes travel upward to meet the spinner. “Well, don’t keep me waiting.” 

Frank turns to Gerard- who seems just a tad miffed- as if to excuse himself somewhat belatedly from conversation, before getting up and making his way to Pete. He grabs Pete by the collar of his shirt and pulls him into a kiss- Pete grabs his shoulders and holds him there. This kiss is much more chaste than the previous, up until the last second, when Pete licks a long, gross strip up Frank’s cheek as he’s pulling away. Frank giggles even as he wipes it off, flipping the bird to Pete with his free hand. Pete grins, in that cheeky way that’s practically signature, and grabs the bottle up off the pavement as Frank returns to his seat. 

Sonny realizes about then that he hardly feels like himself anymore- a pleasant buzz has settled over him, and he feels warm and fuzzy like he’s swimming in his own head. He watches with lazy eyes as Pete spins the bottle, and he takes just a little too long to realize that the bottle has stopped and it’s staring right at him. Sonny’s eyes widen and he looks up at Pete, a sudden warmth rising to his cheeks.

“Sonny’s so cute,” he overhears Travis saying to someone. “Look at him, he looks like a tomato.”

“I should have just given him one shot,” Derek replies. “I wasn’t sure if he could handle two ‘cause he’s so small, but...”

Sonny’s only half-listening to them, but he can’t deny the wave of euphoria that being called small bathes him in. He gets up out of his chair, only to stumble over his own feet on the way up- Pete catches the boy, a chuckle escaping him.

“Easy there, kid. Don’t break your neck.”

Sonny laughs a little, and Pete holds him steady by his waist and tucks his hair behind his ear, before cupping his cheek and kissing him. Sonny sighs into the kiss as he leans into Pete’s gentle touch. The hand on Sonny’s waist wanders down to his ass, and Sonny gasps a little when Pete squeezes- he feels dirty, reminded of what transpired between them this morning, but the feeling of lingering filth is a pleasant one that sends a spike of arousal south. He relishes in that feeling, lets Pete’s tongue invade his mouth like a Hun, licking over his teeth and leaving him with a nibble on his lip to remind him who claimed his second virginity, before pulling away. 

Sonny feels a little out of breath and they’ve hardly done anything. He smiles stupidly, and Pete can’t help but laugh at it. He runs his hand through Sonny’s hair one more time before letting go and backing away. He bends down to pick up the bottle and presses it into Sonny’s hand. 

“Your turn.”

Sonny takes the bottle, face feeling pleasantly warm, and watches Pete return to his seat. He kneels down on the ground and spins it. As he watches it go round and round, a feeling of nervous excitement bubbles in his gut- who will it land on? Who else does he have a drunken excuse to kiss next? He hopes, silently, it lands on Derek. He knows he won’t be bold enough to do it and make it count without the alcohol. But if he gets his chance, oh, he’ll put on a show. Get Derek hot and heavy, see him shirtless again, convince him to show even more skin this time…

The bottle, deaf to Sonny’s prayer, picks Andy Hurley from the crowd.

Sonny tries not to feel too disappointed. After all, Andy is still decently cute- he’s got a pretty labret piercing, his hair looks soft and bouncy and perfect to tug on. Sonny grins and makes his way across the circle, and Andy smiles down at Sonny when he crosses the invisible threshold into his personal space. 

“Hey.”

Sonny smiles right back at him. It’s as easy as breathing now he’s feeling all floaty and unfettered; Andy puckers his lips and Sonny crashes into him like a derailed train, teeth and tongue. Sonny’s hands fist into the back of Andy’s shirt as he pulls him in, but Andy pushes himself away from the kiss almost as quickly as it had started. Sonny whines.

“Nooo!” He pouts and fights against Andy’s grip. “C’mon, that wasn’t even a real kiss, it doesn’t count! Again!”

Andy laughs at Sonny as he pulls him back to where he’d been sitting, looking over to his bandmates. “I think your frontman might have had too much to drink, Travis.”

“You think?” Travis laughs, getting up to pull Sonny from Andy. He envelops Sonny in his arms, warm and welcoming, and Sonny melts ever so softly into him. His head feels like a hornet’s nest, buzzing with activity yet impossible to parse, but the gentle pressure of Travis’ arms around his body calms him, brings him comfort. 

“C’mon, Son. Let’s go cool off somewhere you can’t start trouble.”

Sonny doesn’t really understand what he did that was somehow starting trouble, but he definitely understands he doesn’t wanna leave the party. He wants to sit in his lawn chair and watch other dudes make out with each other the whole night. He whines, and Travis laughs even as he prods Sonny along with him like cattle.

“You just need to sober up some. We can have our own little party in the back of the van, ‘kay?”

Sonny doesn’t argue, because Travis has a point- those shots were definitely too strong for him, at least on an empty stomach. He feels a little like he’s spinning, and another floaty giggle bubbles up out of him for a reason he can’t pin down. Maybe it’s the way Travis has couched his plans in words Sonny likes.

“Okay, Travie, whatever you sayyyyy,” Sonny acquiesces, nearly rolling his ankle on the cracked parking lot pavement as he follows.

“Traviiiieeeee, are you sure we can’t kiss?”

“Come on, lay down, kid.”

“But Spin The Bottle was so much fun an’ I’m missin’ out, I wanna kiss all my friends ‘cause I love them so much, an’ you just don’t want me to have any fun…”

Travis huffs as he struggles with Sonny in the back of the van- even with their equipment, there’s room enough in the back for both of them, and the blankets they keep back there make it a half-decent spot to lay. It’s well past dark by now, but the back is dimly lit by a single streetlight above. In the pale, buzzing glow, Travis’ hands find a vice-grip on Sonny’s wrists, and without ceremony, he forces the boy to the ground.

Sonny hits the floorboard with a shuddering gasp, and suddenly Travis’ lips are pressed flush to his, clinging to the bitter aftertaste of beer and hungry with lust. Sonny groans lowly, hands struggling against Travis’ grip as Travis presses his body to Sonny’s. 

“Fuck, acting like you don’t know what you do to me,” he growls against Sonny’s lips, hot and loaded. “So fucking tempting. I’ve been trying to keep it in my pants, but you just keep pushing me…”

“Wh- Travie, wait…”

“God, Son, don’t play hard-to-get now, ” Travis huffs out. He pulls Sonny’s arms together up above his head and holds him down with just one hand- Sonny’s so small and frail, not to mention uncoordinated, that he can do little to resist it. Travis’ other hand, undeterred by the boy’s squirming, travels downward. Travis fumbles with the button of Sonny’s pants- Sonny’s breath hitches. 

“Trav, stop, don’t…”

The button, finally, relents, and a grin spreads over Travis’ face as he pushes down Sonny’s jeans and eyes his prize. 

“Mm, yeah, shut up.” Travis kisses Sonny again, rougher- he bites Sonny’s bottom lip. “Some fucking tease you are. Stop, wait, and you’re half hard, not even wearing underwear? Don’t play games with me, you’ve been practically begging me to have my way with you…”

Travis reaches down to touch Sonny- he’s just a bit stiff, not all the way there, but he’s not really turned on anymore, he’s just scared. With Pete, it was different, because Pete didn’t slam him to the ground and hold him down like a hog, but that same feeling of filth washes over Sonny anyway, and he can’t bring himself to enjoy it this time. Travis touches his cock, strokes it to full stiffness, and all Sonny can feel is tainted. A whimper escapes him. Travis sucks in a deep breath. 

“Yeah, whine for me. Let me hear that pretty voice,” Travis goads, rubbing his thumb over the head of Sonny’s cock, almost practiced in his motions. “You’ve teased me long enough.”

Sonny turns his head away from Travis and squeezes his eyes shut, unable to bear seeing his bandmate as he molests him. Travis was someone Sonny thought he could trust. Out of everyone in the band, Travis is the oldest, the most responsible. Travis would never do something like this to Sonny, and yet he is and Sonny can’t begin to place why. He shudders and hiccups out a half-sob, and the moment his mouth opens, two fingers invade it, muffling the noise of surprise they pull from the boy.

“Suck,” Travis barks. “Unless you like pain, too.” 

Sonny is all too suddenly reminded of Gerard’s fingers down his throat. Poking and prodding, reaching into the depths of him and dragging out filth. Maybe if he purges after this, even if all he can muster from his body is alcohol and stomach acid, he’ll feel clean again.

Sonny sucks, and he feels a tear roll down his cheek.

When Travis is satisfied, he pulls his fingers away. There’s little preamble before Sonny feels them poking at his asshole, and a sob escapes him. Teary eyes, wide and once innocent, meet Travis’, concealed in shadow. Sonny’s lip trembles as he makes one last pleading attempt to reach the person he thought he knew.

“Please don’t do this, Travis, please, I…”

His breath hitches as Travis’ fingers plunge knuckle-deep into him, breaching past the tight ring of muscle and burning with pain. Travis is too rough, uncaring. Sonny doesn’t want this, doesn’t want him. Travis snarls. 

“You’re not even a virgin, are you? You don’t feel like one by a long shot.” A pale sliver of light from the streetlamp glints off Travis’ bared teeth. “How many cocks have you taken right under my nose? You act like such a tease to all of ‘em?”

“Please…” Sonny sniffles and turns his head to the side, long hair sticking to his wet cheeks, concealing his shame. “Just- Just get it over with, stop talking to me…”

“Slut.”

Travis retracts his fingers, and then comes the part Sonny’s been dreading. Travis’ hands on his thighs, spreading them apart. Sonny realizes, dimly, that his hands are free again, but he doesn’t make a move- what good would it do? He’s frail, and he’s still drunk and uncoordinated, and he can hardly think right, much less try and fend off an assailant twice his size. He doesn’t know where the keys to the van are or if Travis locked the vehicle once they got in. He couldn’t outrun Travis with his short, stubby legs. It’s hopeless. 

When Travis pushes into him, it feels to Sonny like he’s being torn in two- like a cruel vivisection of his lost purity. He wonders, inwardly, if this is his fault. If this wouldn’t be happening to him had he not let Pete do the same, if he hadn’t fooled around with groupies knowing he had a girlfriend, if he hadn’t taken those shots.

Most of it is a blur to Sonny, lost in a whirlwind of pain and self-blame. Travis touches every square inch of his skin, infecting it with some contagion of inexorable filth. Manhandles him like he’s little more than a toy. At some point Travis cums inside him and pulls out, and for a moment all too relieving Sonny thinks it’s the end, until Travis starts touching his cock and all Sonny can think is that he hopes he rips it off.

Travis asks Sonny if he likes that. Sonny stares blankly at the roof of the van. He can’t tell if he’s shaking his head or nodding. It doesn’t matter. It’s never mattered how Sonny feels. 

When he ejaculates, it certainly doesn’t feel good. It feels a little like dying.

Travis stays with Sonny about long enough to get his pants back on him before he tells Sonny he’s going back to the party and Sonny should get some rest. He leaves the van, and it’s just Sonny alone in the darkness, curled up under a few thin blankets that bring little comfort in return for unwelcome, stagnant warmth.

Sonny doesn’t know how long he lays there, shuddering and sobbing and dry heaving- at some point, he runs out of tears to cry, and his head aches like a church bell, rung so hard it must have cracked. 

All he knows is that he falls unconscious well before anyone comes back to check on him, and that this isn’t a nightmare he’ll wake up from soon.