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[RPF] *insert a witty title here* [ Crashdiet fanfiction Simon Cruz/Peter London] part 1

In a rather small pub in Stockholm, Sweden, a couple sat at the bar nonchalantly sipping their drinks and occasionally making superficial conversation with each other.  The man, thirty-two years old, was a tall muscular Scandinavian with silvery gray-blonde long hair, who had a slight British accent. His name was Simon Cruz and was the lead vocals for the sleaze rock band Crashdiet. He took a sip of Jim Beam whisky and glanced over at his girlfriend of a little over a year, Myra Wirdheim. A gorgeous twenty-four year old model with flowing golden blonde locks which fell in loose ringlet curls. She was the picture perfect example of a model with her petite frame, stormy brown eyes framed in large false lashes and glossy blowjob lips. Simon silently looked her over while she replied to a text she had received on her android phone. Everything he used to love about her, her skimpy little, black strapless dress with the hooker heals, the French tipped acrylic nails, the celtic tattoo on her delicate little wrist, that fake tan, were now things he no longer cared for. They met during the filming of the Generation Wild music video, she was the girl who tortured and kill him. The first six monthes were exciting, nothing but crazy sex and partying when she would fly to where ever his band was playing during the European tour. She finished texting and took a small sip of her martini, being careful to not smear her lip gloss. Simon finished off his drink and set it down, he nodded at the bartender, who began pouring him anther.

“It’s ten to midnight,” she said to Simon without looking at him, “We should get going.” 
“I needa piss.” he slurred and swallowed the remainder of his drink in one gulp.
Myra rolled her eyes at the drunken state of her boyfriend and didn’t bother to watch him as he stumbled and swayed toward the restroom. 

After relieving himself Simon wandered out of the bathroom and towards the bar. His vision was pretty blurry and it took him a few moments of scanning to see that Myra wasn’t sitting at the bar, nor was she anywhere near where he had left her. He began to work his way through the sea of people sitting at cocktail tables searching for a familiar blonde figure. After what felt like half an hour he walked up to a booth where a woman with flowing golden blonde hair was making out with a rather pale man who had almost shoulder length straight black hair. Simon, in his drunkeness hadn’t realized he had been staring until the pair broke apart and the blonde was none other than his girlfriend. She had a warm smile on her slightly dazed looking face which showed off her brilliantly white teeth. The black haired man, who he soon recognized as Cat Casino, the lead singer of Deathstars, had a satisfied half smile on his face. Neither of them noticed Simons’ presence and Cat brushed aside some of Myras’ hair and begin kissing her neck and grabbed her boob as she giggled in delight.

Fury rose up and seemed to replace his drunken stupor as he spun on his white cowboy boots, the chains attached to the studded belt, at the top of his acid washed ripped jeans clanking violently. and began shoving people and chairs aside as he made his way to the exit. The cool night air greeted him as he pushed open a side entrance to the club and stepped into the alley. He was immediately grateful for keeping his leather jacket on despite the dense, humid atmosphere inside the pub. His thoughts began to race:

‘That fucking dirty skank! Stupid slutty cunt! Where does that little bitch get off sticking her tongue down some fuckers’ throat while I’m less than twenty meters away?’ he thought as he paced down the ally, not even noticing the stench of vomit mixed with the odor of the overflowing dumpster. ‘To hell with her, I’m gonna take the car and leave her here. If she doesn’t go home with that asswipe, then she is gonna be stranded here.’ he thought as a smirk crept onto his face.

The next twenty minutes were nothing but a blur to him and he stumbled to his black and orange eighty-seven Camero, that was parked near the back of the pub. He fumbled around in his jacket pockets until he found his keys, he opened the car door but before he climbed in, with no warning the two Jager bombers, four shots of Captain Morgan, and three glasses of Jim Beam came up. He bent over, vomited, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then got in the drivers seat and the next thing he knew he was pulling into the drive way of the small town house he was renting. Luckily, him and Myra hadn’t moved in together yet, she had been mulling it over since he had asked her last week.

Simon had sobered up a little and as he made his way to the front door, he noticed a platinum blonde haired figure standing there with folded arms, wearing skinny jeans and a tank top. A figure he immediately recognized as his bassist, Peter London. If he had been sober he would have noticed the silver Porsche parked in the street in front of his house, which belonged to Peter.

“Hey man, what’s going on?” Simon asked as he approached him.
“Ugh I just, uh, well you see Isabel and I had a fight. Well we’ve been fighting a lot lately and. . .” 
“Say no more dude, it’s cool, you can crash with me tonight.” Simon said with a warm smile. 
“Thanks you have no idea how much this mean to me. I couldn’t get a hold of Eric and Martin is over at Ika’s apartment. I just, I mean thanks so. . .”
“No problem, my couch has got a hideaway bed.” Simon said as he fumbled with his keys in the lock and let them inside. 

He knew Peter and Isabel, his wife of three years had been going through a rough patch lately. Since they had just finished up the last leg of their tour in the U.S. Isabel had been hounding on him to adopt a baby, spend more time with her, remodel their bedroom, and all sorts of things. All he wanted was to relax for a while and enjoy being home without he constant nagging and complaints of how unhappy she was.

Once they were inside, Simon poured Peter a glass of scotch and sat beside him on the suede sofa, listening to him explain how Isabel threw him out and wants a divorce, in between swigs of his drink. After about ten minutes Simon felt a bit tired and announced that he was going to bed. Peter told him good night and curled up on the couch with a blanket and throw pillow, he was too lazy to pull out the hide away bed. Simon goes to his bedroom, removes his leather jacket and flops down on his bed not bothering to take off the rest of his clothes and falls asleep instantly.

“Simon? Simon are you awake?” Peter whispers gently nudging his friends shoulder with his hand.
Simon groaned and opened his eyes to see his friend standing over him, shirtless, in the dim moonlight streaming from the window. 
“What’s up?” he mumbled, groggily.
“I couldn’t sleep. Sorry to wake you. I just uh was wondering if you um. . . “ Peter mumbled shyly and then bit his bottom lip.
“You wanna talk some more buddy? Sure. Go ahead man.” Simon said while rubbing his eyes. 

He sung his legs over the side so he was sitting up, turned on the lamp next to the bed and patted the bed next to him, signaling Peter to sit down. Peter smiled crookedly and sat next to him, talking wasn’t what he had in mind. Simon was completely awake now and wanted to comfort his friend who he cared about, without Peter and the rest of the guys is Crashdiet he would still be out on the streets in that shitty band, Jailbait. He loved his band members like family, since they have shown him nothing but kindness and support.

“I could really use a hug.” Peter spoke looking down at his hands.

Simon put his arms around his friend warmly. Peter smiled at the feeling of Simons’ muscular arms around him and could smell the remains of whisky on his breath. He buried his head in the crook of his neck taking in the sweet smell of his soft, silvery white hair. Peter was almost startled at how he felt more than comforted, he felt safe and a small shudder of pleasure ran down his spine. He could stay in Simons’ embrace forever, but he began to ache for more than just a hug.