**Author's Note**

Welcome! If you happen to come upon this story by chance, I highly advise you check out PART ONE on my homepage. You could probably read this starting at Part 2, but I guarantee it would be easier reading Part One first, since I don't do much character explanation here; I more or less jump right into it.

Summary: On one hand, you've got a gorgeous, Russian-speaking sex bomb. On the other hand, you've got a hokey Southern boy who is way too nice for his own good. So basically . . . do I follow my dick or my head? Is this really what my life comes down to?

Warnings: SLASH. Extensive use of the F-bomb. If you can't handle it, don't read it. It's that simple.


Part 2: Chapter One

"Welcome to . . . the Man Van."

Josh held his hands in a box shape, modeling the less-than-luxurious interior of Sven's old Ford van, which he only ever used for band trips. He was the only one who could afford two cars, even though one of them was on its last tires of life. Josh had actually written "The Man Van" in washable paint across the back window.

I was filming him now, because Sven, the usual camera man, was situating his drums in the back. Carlita was standing around texting on her hot red phone, humming under her breath as her head swayed back and forth. I wasn't much for heels, but I had to admit that her current platform Mary Janes were delish.

"People who come into this van never come out," Josh said dramatically, petting the door seductively. "They want to stay for-ev-er."

"Stop playing around and get the rest of your shit," Sven growled from the back.

"I am already packed, my svelte friend."

"That's not even Swedish. That's French, you moron."

"I know. I kind of speak French." Josh rolled his eyes. "It should be Swedish though. You guys like your sv sounds. Sven 'svery svexy." Then Josh laughed. Sven was not amused. He rolled his eyes and went back to rooting around the back of the van.

"I hope he's in a better mood by tonight," Josh muttered.

"Do not worry," Carlita said, looking up from her phone. "I will put him in a better mood."

"Oh, the mysteries of feminine wiles."

"Josh, you're boring the camera," I joked.

"Fine. Do you want me to moon you or attempt to lick my elbow?"

"How about both?"

When Josh tried to bend over, Carlita burst out laughing and pushed him, preventing him from yanking his pants down. Josh chuckled and slipped into the driver's seat, winking at me. I turned the camera to Carlita, who fluffed her hair and pouted in her best imitation of a centerfold. I simply lowered the camera to her cleavage. She let out a squeal and pushed me too. I laughed.

Josh leaned out the window. "Yo, Sven. Put it into overdrive and hurry up! According to GoogleMaps, we've got exactly two hours and nine minutes to make it to San Diego, and that's without traffic."

Sven glared at him from around the band. "I'm sorry that my instrument can't be just shoved in a case and thrown in the back seat."

"Hey, I loaded the amps."

"One amp."

Josh shrugged. "Well, I don't see your woman doing any actual labor. What kinda Mexican is she, anyway?"

Carlita laughed. Hooray racism. Sven looked prepared to throw something at Josh, but when nothing materialized in his hands, he sighed and went back to his work situating all the equipment so it didn't tip over mid-trip.

"Josh, I'll have you know," Carlita said, "that if it weren't for me ordering your meals in español at McDonald's, the cashiers wouldn't understand you."

"Touché. Okay, Carlita gets to come because of her burger-getting abilities. What does Sven do for this band again?"

Sven shouted something in Swedish, and I recognized it a little, so I figured it must be some sort of profanity. Carlita must have understood it, because she started laughing again. Then she climbed into the middle seat of the van, prepared for the trip to San Diego this weekend. We actually had a gig down there, at the University of San Diego's summer gay pride event, which we all considered a huge accomplishment. I still wasn't sure why Carlita was coming, since she was straight as a rod, but I guess she could get behind her boyfriend's bisexuality, even though she never seemed to take advantage of it. I mean, they could discuss hot men together. But did they? Never. Carlita often commented on a man's good looks, but Sven never followed. It was like he was determined to be straight while still insisting he was bi. He had to be a little gay. I mean, he had made out with me.

After Sven was all finished packing, he slipped into the middle seat with Carlita and I took the passenger seat of the van. Josh thrust a map into my lap.

"Since we're all piss poor and can't afford a GPS, you are in charge of making sure we don't end up in Rapetown, USA."

"I've lived there," Sven said from the back. "Nice place."

I unfolded the map and immediately found the orange splotch that was Los Angeles. "Okay, well, luckily I am not so gay that I can't read a map, so we'll need to get onto one-oh-one south." I found some printed-out directions for Google. "But not for very—"

"Okay, okay, don't tell me until you have to." Josh started the van and shifted into gear. The engine let out a few creaks and groans. Sven shouted in protest, reaching for the gear shift just as the van jumped forward. Josh threw him a big smile over his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Rutabaga. I'm a good driver. I do it for a living, 'member?"

"Rutabaga?" Sven asked, crinkling his nose.

"It's a Swedish turnip."

Sven frowned. "What?"

"I believe you people call it kålrabi."

"That's Norwegian, you idiot."

"Those are two separate languages?" Josh asked in mock shock.

Sven sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Ugh."

Josh shrugged. "All sounds the same to me."

I turned to Josh in surprise. "You know the Norwegian word for rutabaga?"

"You learn lots, cruising the internet on lonely nights."

"You didn't even pronounce it right," Sven grumbled.

"Okay, Mr. Grump. You're either gonna have fun on this road trip or I'm dumping you at the Los Angeles border. From this moment on we are Milk for Mercury, the most awesomest band to ever, uh, rock."

"Whatever," Sven muttered.

"God, Sven, why don't you just smoke some grass and lighten up already?"

"I didn't bring any."

"You what?" I whipped around to gape at him. "You didn't bring pot to a gig? Are you sure you aren't some Sven imposter?"

Sven rolled his eyes. "I'm broke."

I looked at Carlita for confirmation. She shrugged.

"Well, Sven can be a spoil sport all he wants. I'm going to have fun on my weekend off." Josh yanked the van around a corner and accelerated with a whoop. "Watch out, San Diego!"


"Yo, I tell ya what I want, what I really really want!"

"So tell me what you want, what I really really want!"

"I tell you want I want, what I really really want!

"So tell me what you want, what I really really want!"

"I wanna ha—I wanna ha— I wanna ha—I wanna ha—I wanna really really really really—"

"Zigga zigga ahhhh!"

I burst out laughing as Josh pumped a fist and shouted, "I love the fucking Spice Girls!"

Sven groaned in the back, but Carlita was rocking out in his lap, head banging with ridiculous enthusiasm.

I was filming again, because these were the times I never wanted to forget, the times spent in this van, simply high on caffiene and excitement. And Josh dancing in his seat along with the Spice Girls was something I wanted his new niece to watch when she was older and say "Man, my uncle is a loser."

"Okay, okay!" Josh blurted over our laughter. "Next song!" He grabbed his iPod and picked the next selection.

Aqua's Barbie Girl began playing. We all let out a shout and started dancing in our seats again, singing as loudly and obnoxiously as we could manage, doing our best imitations of baby girl voices.

We failed so hard core.

"I remember going roller skating to this," Josh said over the music. "In, like, second grade!"

"Remember the Backstreet Boys?" I asked.

"And N*Sync. Man, those were the days. Back when songs for tweens were about friendship and harmless crushes. Now we gotta put up with Rihanna singing about big dicks on the Teen Choice Awards or whatever. Fuck that, man. I miss those more innocent days."

"I don't know. I was more into Nirvana."

"Nirvana was before your time, wasn't it?"

"Kind of. Still. I liked it."

"Depressed child." Josh made a cross with his fingers and held it toward me, still keeping one pinky on the wheel. "Be gone, demon emo boy!"

Carlita was going through Josh's iPod selection, and picked Sir Mix A Lot's Baby Got Back. That was all it took to get us dancing and screaming again, attempting to rap and failing miserably.

"We are so white!" Josh shouted over the music.

I made random gang signs, and Carlita decided to prove to us all what back she had. She jumped to her feet, despite the van's low ceiling, and got down, practically shoving her ass in Sven's face. Sven didn't seem to mind too much. I filmed them both, because in those rare times Sven smiled (like now), it deserved to get caught on tape.

I wondered if Peaches's band did this sort of thing during their drives to different cities. Probably not. They were too cool for music like this. I could never in a million years imagine Peaches tolerating Barbie Girl or Hit Em Up Style. I mean, I wasn't much into current lame pop music now, but there was nothing wrong with longing for those childhood years. And I had to admit: music was better ten years ago. You knew music was going downhill when Backstreet Boys could stand up your current musicians and win.

"I love my friends," Josh said straight to the camera, with a wink. I smiled back at him in acquiescence.

Truer words had not been said.


The innocence of the drive to San Diego quickly dissipated when we got to the festival or whatever it was. We were on relatively late, so we had some time to blow in the crowd, watching the current band. And Josh was nearly speechless the moment music flitted through our window.

"No effing way," he mumbled.

"What?" I asked, checking my make-up in the mirror.

"One-Sided Polygons?"


"The One-Sided Polygons are playing! They're all the way from San Francisco. They're huge up there. They're kinda trashy and maybe a tad too emo, but I think the lead singer Duncan is so hot oh my god."

Sven pushed his head between the front seats. "So I'm assuming they have no talent if all you care about are looks?"

Josh looked offended. "He's hot because he's good. Well, and incredibly good looking. That too. He has the most epic mohawk you've ever seen. It makes me wet just imagining." Josh gave me this goofy I-just-came face that made me crack up.

Sven rolled his eyes. "Are we going to unload all of this or . . .?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your lederhosen in a twist."

"Lederhosen? I'm not German!"

"Yeah, well, Sweden is next to Germany."

Sven looked so horrified that he wasn't even angry. Josh burst out laughing.

"Oh come on, Sven! Do you think I'm an idiot? I know Sweden isn't next to Germany." He rolled his eyes. "All you Europeans think we Americans fail at geography. But you didn't even know El Salvador was a country, so don't give me shit."

"Wait, Sweden is a country?" I joked. "I thought that was a state in the midwest!"

"What is Sweden?" Carlita asked from the back.

"Fuck you all," Sven grumbled, slipping out of the car. I gave Josh a high-five, then Carlita. Poor Sven. One of these days we wouldn't go so hard on him for being a foreigner. As it was, we were too amused by racist jokes to stop.

"Sven knows we love him, right?" Josh asked Carlita. "I mean, I only make fun of people I love."

"I'm sure he knows."

"He needs to get a sense of humor. You laugh at all my Mexican jokes."

Carlita smiled and shook her head. "Ay, gringo, don't you know? South of the border we have a sense of humor."

"And sometimes north of it." Josh winked, then slipped out of the van.


Okay, I admit it.

Duncan was hot.

We caught the very last song of their set, and so I was treated to the sight of him bouncing around onstage in leather pants, clunky boots, and an open jacket that had faux fur all around the collar. His mohawk was indeed epic. On the sides it was shaved to about a half-inch, but along the center the hair was even longer than mine, but held up with some super gelling powers. The tips were dyed bright blue. The thing looked alive as it bounced around with him. Then the back of it hung halfway down his back, like some sort of half-assed mullet. He had plenty of tattoos and piercings, along with a lot of black eye make-up that made him look both dangerous and pretty as hell.

Okay, so the band kind of sucked. And while Duncan could actually sing, he was squandering the talent on shitty lyrics and pretty rough instrumentals. They were obviously popular because they were both attractive and scandalous, what with Duncan singing about—well, singing about things no grandmother would want to hear. Where as I tried to keep my songs as sexually neutral as I could, One-Sided Polygons clearly only cared about being as shocking as they could. I'd never heard someone rhyme so many words with cock.

Well, it was a Pride Festival, after all. I guess there was no one here that didn't know what they were getting into. Still. Think of the lesbians.

Another band came on after them, but they weren't that great, so I decided it would be best to slip backstage and get ready for our set, which was next. Josh and Sven were already back there, talking to the crew. Since the stage was outside, there wasn't much of a dressing room for me to check myself in, so I had to rely on my tiny little compact and poor lighting to make sure I looked alright. I guess most of the people were too drunk to really pay attention to the details, but I did like to make an impression, especially when sexy gay men were looking on.

"Nervous?" Josh asked me.

"A bit."

"Yeah, it's a pretty big crowd. Bigger than we're used to."

I nodded. "I don't feel like we can do worse than this band."

Josh laughed. "Yeah, probably not."

The band before us finally finished with an ACDC cover, and with a "Goodnight, San Diego!" the lights flashed off and they began to pack up. The crew was already rushing forward with Sven's drumset in hopes of getting us in and out as fast as possible. Josh squeezed my hand. I squeezed back. It was time to shine.

I was wearing my sequin cowboy boots, my zebra-striped pants, and some big pancho-like shirt that was belted at the waist with Milk for Mercury belt. Josh wore his usual punked-out shirt and tie, along with his high tops and a pair of dark jeans. Sven didn't even bother with a shirt, because apparently playing shirtless was a drummer thing. Carlita gave him a big kiss for good luck, and then ushered us all onstage.

The lights snapped on, and all eyes were on me. I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Hey, all you queers," I greeted with my best grin. "And I think I spot a straight girl right there." I pointed to a section of the crowd up front, and a few people laughed. "We're Milk for Mercury, from Los Angeles, and we're down here because you guys are clearly more fabulous."

Some people screamed and pumped their fists. I began to relax. I could woo a crowd if I needed to.

"Instead of standing around talking, we're gonna play some hot music for ya'll. I want you to all go fucking crazy, a'ight?"

Everyone jumped and shouted and chanted, so I took that as my cue to start. Looking over at Josh, then at Sven, we began.

Mostly we did covers for gigs like these, because people weren't really here for our music. Mostly they were here to get shit-faced and dress like freaks and be proud of the fact they slept with their own sex. This wasn't the time to impress them with how deep I could be, or what wicked guitar Josh could play. I used to love doing covers, but as I got older, originality became more interesting. However, watching everyone really go crazy to our music, and more people than had ever been at a show before, kind of got me back into it. My voice wasn't as spot-on tonight as I would have liked, but I was a helluva lot better than the last guy, so at least there was that.

Weird thing about being on stage was that I sort of adopted a persona outside of myself. After two songs or so I had convinced myself I was some crazy motherfucking rock star who did crazy shit like destroyed guitars and humped microphone stands. And this was a Pride Festival, so being totally queer as well was not only accepted, but expected.

I guess I got a little carried away. Because after belting out the last notes to Tyler's "Holding Out for a Hero", I just strode right over and planted my mouth right on Josh's. Josh's guitar sort of cut off with a scratch, and everyone shouted and whistled. I suppose Josh was a little shocked, but he eventually grabbed my head and stuck his tongue down my throat. Normally I would have thrown myself back with a Ew, Josh but right now I was so horny I wanted to suck face with someone. Josh was there and available. It was inevitable it would happen.

In five seconds it was over, and Josh strummed out a few more notes on his guitar with a wink and a smirk at the audience. I grabbed my crotch and stuck my tongue out. Everyone loved it. They could just call me Justin the Showman. I was an attention whore, and even now, with the lingering taste of Josh in my mouth, I didn't regret it.

You did crazy things when you were high on music and your fifteen minutes of fame.


When I got back to our van, someone familiar was there waiting for me.

"Holy shit. Do my lustful eyes decieve me, or is that Duncan from One-Sided Polygons standing by our van?" Josh asked.

"Um, I think that's him." It was hard to miss the mohawk.

Josh slapped my arm. "Dude. He wants you."

"How do you know that? He might want you."

"I have a feeling he's not a chubby chaser."

I looked at Josh, raising one eyebrow. I was glad it wasn't awkward between me and him, because we'd kissed on stage before and it hadn't been a big deal. You did things for an audience you didn't do alone. And that was just how it was.

"Go talk to him." Josh winked. "Sven's not gonna bother you; he's off doing something with Carlita. And I can keep myself busy. I think I smell hot dogs over there."

"Josh . . ."

"Go on. He's gorgeous. You deserve it."


"Later, gator." He tossed me a wave as he walked away. I pouted at his retreating back. It had been a while since I'd indulged in after-show entertainment like Duncan. Normally I just went home and passed out on my bed. Between Peaches and Dylan, I think I was ready for a little shameless flirting. Less heartbreak and more sexy times.

I decided to approach Duncan. I slipped on my mask, which I'd worn through all of high school. It had everything to do with pretending you weren't impressed and acting like a bitch. For some reasons, guys really dug that. Playing hard to get always got you in the sack faster than being honest. Duncan would expect that act from me, sinc he was doing the pursuing in this case.

Duncan noticed me at last and stood straight. Up close he looked a tad Asian, but in this light, it was impossible to know for sure. I also noticed his pretty huge gauges, and the tattoo on the right side of his neck. Looked like some sort of eagle. He was also smoking, but upon seeing me, he threw the cigarette down and ground it into the gravel with the toe of his boot.

"What are you doing loitering around the Man Van?" I asked.

"I really liked your set tonight," he said, displaying the kind of machisimo vibe I expected. I had a feeling Duncan was one of those guys too easy to figure out. "But I didn't get your name."

"Who are you again?" I asked, just to piss him off. Or make him laugh. Which he did.

"Don't be a bitch. You know who I am." Then he smirked.

"No, I don't think I've seen you in my life." I lifted my chin defiantly.

He snorted. "Alright, babe. I'll play this game of yours. I just want your name."

"What makes you think you deserve that information?"

"You think you're cute, don't you?"

"You think you're hot." I shrugged. "Makes us pretty similar then, don't you think?"

Duncan chuckled, leaning up against the van. "So you want me to just walk away, huh? You should be flattered. I don't normally go seeking out men like this."

"I'm charmed, clearly," I said with a monotone.

"Name," he ordered.

"Justin. You're Duncan. From One-Sided Polygons."

"Milk for Mercury. How did you pick that one?"

"I was wandering through the store one day when I found some milk of magnesium on the shelf. I thought it sounded both gross and awesome. So I started thinking about it, and decided that Milk for Mercury sounded good."

"Not Milk of Mercury?"

"Nah, Milk for Mercury sounds dirtier."

Duncan laughed. "We fags sure like our dirty band names."

"Yours is certainly tame."

Duncan shrugged a shoulder. "Thought it was a cool idea."

I just rolled my tongue inside my mouth and hitched up my eyebrows, looking at him skeptically like any bitch would. Duncan just smiled. I had pegged him just right. He liked to do a little chasing. Probably made him feel like a big important man. Whatever. I just wanted him. I realized that now, looking him over in his tight pants and open leather jacket, looking like some mixture between a punk rocker and a biker. He was skinny, tall, and slightly camp, but manly in his own way.

"So are either of those two guys in your band with you?"


"So then there wouldn't be a problem in asking you to my hotel room for the night?"

"Is that how men get laid these days? What happened to the finesse?"

"Finesse and subtlety is for chicks."

"How would you know? Do you do chicks?"
He shrugged. "If they ask nicely enough."

That didn't surprise me. Guys like Duncan would fuck a hole no matter who it belonged to. He stepped closer, so close that he was only about six inches away. Damn, he really was tall. Probably as tall as Eddie, if not more. True, he was also wearing boots with a good two inches of tread on them, but that didn't erase the fact I had to tilt my head back to see his eyes. It was hard to be a tough bitch in such a sizeable shadow.

"You in or out?" he asked, smirking.

I wanted to come back with some snarky comment, but my brain was stalling as blood pooled south. Instead I sent him a glare. "Fine. But I gotta get back to my band's hotel room by eight-thirty tomorrow morning. Can you do that?"

"Sure thing, toots."

I grabbed the collar of his leather jacket, keeping him from moving away. "And call me that again and I'm shoving my boot up your ass."

"Kinky." His smirk grew, revealing pretty white teeth along with a single gold cap toward the back.

"Believe me. You won't enjoy it. Now show me to your car. And if it's some shit like a Hummer, I'm not going home with you." Everyone knew that guys with Hummers had the tiniest penises.

"Nah. It's a Honda."

"Good." Then I marched after him toward the parking lot. I would send a text to Josh later. I'm sure he'd want details.

Author's Note: SoooOoOooOOoooo, those of you who have come over from Part One, what do you think? Are you worried? XD You should be. Duncan smells like bad news to me . . .

If anyone was offended by such midly racist jokes . . . lighten up. It'll be okay. :)

Raise your hand if you grew up with N*Synce and the Spice Girls like I did. So much better than the hearthrobs these days. They sang about FRIENDSHIP. Ahaha.

Reviews are love!