Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/13189503. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage Category: M/M Fandom: The_Replacements_(Band), Keanu_Reeves_-_Fandom, Van_Halen Relationship: Paul_Westerberg/Tommy_Stinson, Paul_Westerberg/Keanu_Reeves_(kinda), Eddie_Van_Halen/David_Lee_Roth Character: Paul_Westerberg_-_Character, Tommy_Stinson, Eddie_Van_Halen, David_Lee Roth, Keanu_Reeves, Bob_Stinson, Anita_Stinson Additional Tags: Alternate_Universe_-_Rock_Band, night_club, paul_likes_tommy, tommys_like 'whoops_im_seventeen', oh_shit, tommys_gonna_be_eighteen_before_they_even kiss_okay, eddie_van_halen_is_my_boy, Anal_Sex, rock_music, A_BAND, bOB SHOWS_UP_OKAU_MY_BOY, Drugs, psychedelics, Recreational_Drug_Use, Non- Consensual_Drug_Use, Drug_Addicts, Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism, david_lee roth_as_eddies_supportive_boyfriend, fuxkING_GAY, it's_two_am, more_tags 2_b_added Stats: Published: 2017-12-29 Updated: 2017-12-30 Chapters: 2/? Words: 3630 ****** The Electriks ****** by Paul_Westerberg_Is_A_God ***** Chapter 1 ***** Paul Westerberg looks around and realizes almost immediately that he doesn't belong here, amongst the club kids and ravers. That he's an odd, offset, awkward young man of twenty-three, who spends his afternoons picking up shifts at a local bookstore and spends his nights on the guitar.  He should've never let Chris drag him into this place, this stupid, noisy night club.  'The Mansion', thats what they call it, where the kids with the crazy hair and colourful clothes go to dance, to fuck, to drink and do drugs, to live.  Chris's fingers curl tight around Paul's upper arm, "C'mon Westerberg, you're gonna do somethin' fun for once." His lips are upward in a grin, and then they're surrounded, by kids of the night, with rainbow hair, and metal in their lips and ears.  Paul doesn't know what to do, Chris has already lost him in the crowd, Paul's looking up at people (some naked!) in cages above them, dancing.  This is really not how Paul expected to spend his Friday night, at a nightclub with naked guys and girls in cages, young supple bodies shifting along in odd dances to the blaring music above them all like a god peering in.  Paul crams his way in between guys and girls, some who even look underaged, until he can sit himself down at the bar.  Immediately someone comes up, asks him if he'd like anything, a peroxide blonde, with tits practically bursting from her tanktop, and a thin waist.  He shakes his head, he's not interested in any of the pink or blue or even green drinks they're serving; she shakes her head before walking over to some spiky haired kids who definitely aren't twenty-one.  "Paul don't be a downer," Chris's voice pipes in behind him and he turns around on his stool, Chris is there with three other guys, one of which is practically nude, just barely covered by skin tight boxers (neon green at that), he might as well be wearing nothing at all.  "Who're these guys?" Paul asks, looking over dark haired skinny boy, the one in neon boxers, and his eyes stop just a moment at the blonde with wild hair. "Keanu," he points at the dark haired one, "Carl," the one in neon boxers, "and Tommy," Wild hair.  Paul waves, "Hey." He's not interested in socializing, actually he doesn't like the lot of them so much; especially the idiot in neon, who he recognizes from those stupid cages.  This guy has a fucking beer can through his left ear, and peircings in his eyebrows, bellybutton, lips, nose, nipples, the list goes on and on.  The guy notices him looking at the piercings and adds to the conversation, "Thirty-three peircings and counting, all done myself, and to answer your question: yes, my cock's peirced, two times actually." He speaks quickly, Paul doesn't process it at first.  "Oh," is all Paul says, and then he's turning away from Carl, and looking at Tommy.  Tommy gives a wave, and a grin, "Hi, name's Tommy, but Chris already told you that." He runs a hand throw his hair, moving it from his face; he's sort of sweaty, Paul wonders whether Tommy liked to dance like the rest of these neon freaks. The guy formerly introduced as Keanu reaches a hand out, for what Paul presumes is a handshake, that turns out to be a high-five.  Keanu is covered in body paint of neon blues, pinks, greens, oranges and violets, he's wearing nothing but a pair of leather pants, which clingy lewdly to his hips and long thin legs.  Paul doesn't belong here, amongst the ravers.  Paul looks at Chris, asking with his eyes for someway out of here, to be let out of the clutches of the new wave of kids, with their body paints and leather pants and neon underwear and cock peircings.  "Tommy and Keanu are in a band, real good, they get to play here sometimes, usually don't get much of a crowd, people don't show up on gig nights, but they're good," Chris smiles. Paul barely gets a few words out before Chris is off, trying to get the attention of Bartender McBigTits to get a drink.  Paul looks at them, "So like, it's just you two, or?"  Tommy speaks before Keanu can, "We've got a dude named Eddie, drummer, an then when we play gigs Carl plays the guitar, not that he's so great-"  Carl interrupts him, "-You've got nothing on me with your shit bass playing!-" "Fuck off, faggot!" Tommy pushes him, whether it be playful in nature Paul can't be sure, Carl doesn't push back, sticks his tounge out childishly, Tommy rolls his eyes.  Keanu pushes between the two, "Stop it, fuckheads," he earns two more eye rolls.  Paul shifts uncomfortably on the bar stool, "So um, what kind of music do you play?" Tommy gives it thought before saying, "What ever the fuck we feel like," he shrugs, Paul nods and clears his throat before, "So what's your band name?"  "The Electriks, my idea," Keanu chimes in, with a shit eating grin, like he's a fucking genius, Paul's about to make a comment, something along the lines of, 'I could think of a better name in six seconds,' Tommy smiles, "Good fuckin' name right?" And Paul nods, quickly, "Hell yeah."  Keanu ruffles the hair on Tommy's head, "Cool kid right?" He's talking to Paul now, "Plays bass like a motherfucker. They don't check IDs here, he's been coming with us for like what.." he turns to Tommy for help.  "Ever since I was fourteen so..three years," Tommy smiles.  Paul hadn't taken into thought that Tommy might be that young, seventeen; now though, he could see it. Tommy looked young, maybe even younger than that, and suddenly Paul wouldn't look him in the eye. Carl's lost himself in the crowd, Paul's kinda happy too cause that guy seems like an asshole. "Fuckin' shithead." Tommy shakes his head, looking at Carl, climbing up into one of the night club cages, "We need a new guitar player."  "Paul plays guitar," Chris pipes in as he comes back over with a drink.  "Why didn't you say so?!" Tommy's face lights up, "You any good, Paul?"  Paul shrugs, Chris smiles, "Sure he is! He's always playing that fuckin' thing!"  Tommy smiles gleefully, "You wanna come by and jam with us one day?" Paul shakes his head, "No, I uh-" "Sure he does!" Chris nods, and the pure joy on Tommy's face is the only reason Paul doesn't kick Chris into the ground right now.  "Cool! Call this number, man, we'll give you the address to Keanu's house." Tommy's waving the bartender over, borrowing a pen and napkin and handing over the number before Paul can even object.  Tommy and Keanu smile, wave, head back into the crowd, and Paul watches the slight sway of Tommy's hips, the tiny bounce in his step that matches the music, his ass in those jean- no. No he didn't notice that. No.  Chris grins, "You'll thank me later," Paul gives him a look, "Fuck you, I'm going home."  Then he's walking out, and yet still he's clutching the number Tommy gave him tight in his left hand.  It's gonna be a cold walk home. ***** Chapter 2 ***** Paul doesn't know how to drive, save for once of twice around the block when his mom wanted him to learn, so he's riding his bike up to the bookstore where he works.  He's thought about Tommy a lot, almost called him twice; he doesn't know why he can't just call him, it's not like he's calling for a date. He's calling to set up a time to play for their band, which might be worse, what if Tommy doesn't like the way he plays? Worse, what if Tommy hates it? He shouldn't be getting so worked up about what a seventeen year old thinks about him, he's too mature for that, to good to go all gooey and awkward.  The bookstore comes into view and all but to suddenly, so does Tommy, loitering outside the bookstore, Paul almost crashes his joke of a bike. Tommy brightens up when he sees Paul, "Hey! Chris told me you worked here," he's all smiles and bright eyes and wild hair; Paul parks his bike and nods, "Yeah. Couple days a week." "That's cool," Tommy nods, "So uh, are you working today?" Paul nods, taking a drink of the coffee he'd gotten from an over-priced coffee shop two blocks down, of which he'd burnt himself twice this morning; he wasn't the best at riding bikes one-handed.  "Well, see it's my birthday tomorrow, I'll finally be eighteen, and I wanted you to come and celebrate with us tonight. The Mansion. Come whenever, we'll be there when it opens. You remember where it's at right?"  Sure he remembered, down on the corner of Cherry and 36th on the bad side of town.  "No I uh, don't.. sorry." Paul shrugged, Tommy's turning eighteen, so what? So lots, so technically Paul could try something, Paul wouldn't; ain't got the guts. "I've got a pen, I'll give you the address," Tommy smiles wide, and Paul's almost ready to object but then Tommy's grabbing his hand, and there's the pressure of a pen point against his skin, he takes an unwarranted sharp inhale in; Tommy looks up at him, "You alright?" Paul nods, afraid his voice would be no more that the pubescent squeak of his preteen years, Tommy's hand feels so warm, smooth, soft against his own, despite the ghosted feeling of Tommy's callused fingertips against Paul's wrist.  Paul starts to wonder what it might feel like to have Tommy's hand pressed against his cheek, pulling him into a kiss, or grabbing at the buttons of his shirt, or curling a tight grip around his- no. No Paul. Don't. No. Tommy's pulling away, too quickly for Paul's liking but Paul just drops his hand to the side, and Tommy smiles, "So, I'll see you there, right?"  Paul nods, because he feels like he has to, because Tommy seeked him out just to invite Paul to his eighteenth birthday, because Tommy's beautiful and Paul's wants to know what his lips taste like.  He'd like to think not that they taste of alcohol, the essence of that stupid nightclub (for which he'd already developed a distaste), and maybe a hint of mint gum to cover up the parties from the night before; no he didn't want to think that at all.  Tommy's lips twist into a grin, "Great. See you there, Paul." Then Tommy's waving and running down the street, maybe to Keanu's house, maybe his own, where his brother and mother might see him as just the innocent barely eighteen his appearance showed off.  There was a primal sex about him though, wild hair, lewd grin. Paul wanted to be far away from him, somewhere where temptation could never find him; at this point he wanted to be six feet underground.  Well, not really, but he didn't want to be around Tommy, all sweaty under colourful lights at a club, with kids getting drunk on glow-in-the-dark drinks. Paul works a six hour shift, would've been eight but his co-worker Slim needed the extra hours, Paul hears he got kicked out of his girlfriend's house. So Paul heads home early, and spends an hour looking at his closet, for even a slightly more dance club friendly outfit; the gives up and pulls on a pair of jeans, ratty and almost ill-fitting, and follows with a white t-shirt, a threadbare button up, he sighs.  He runs a brush through his hair to rid it of coarse tangles, and after he looks like a dork; the kind of guy Tommy wouldn't even give the time of day.  He was already that guy actually, the kind that beautiful boys like Tommy shouldn't even talk to.  Then Paul heads out, on his stupid bike, blocks and blocks in the windy weather, and then he's there, on the corner of Cherry and 36th, at the Mansion.  He parks his bike on the side of the building, in a dark, musty, putrid, alleyway; the kind of alley where you find drug addicts shooting up their precious last drops of heroin; the kind of alley where homeless people go to die. He's in the club a minute later, and it's half empty, Paul's confused for a second; the lights are dimmer too.  Then he sees the band up on stage, Tommy captivates his attention first.  Tommy's up, sweating under the lights they've cast onto the band, his lower lip sucked between his teeth as he picks away at his bass.  Keanu's close by, with a growl of a voice half-yelling into a microphone, half naked, unlike Tommy who's dawned nice jeans, shitty tore-up shoes, a thin grey t-shirt that seems a little too big for him.  Keanu's a showman, in skin tight leather; Tommy's a beauty in shitty clothes.  Carl's up there too, going wild on the guitar, in blue underwear and a cut-up Sex Pistols shirt.  A final guy, who he can only presume is Eddie, is banging on the drums like wild, he's got long wild hair, a goofy smile, he looks high. Pot, presumably.  They're excellent, a little drunk, and Paul realizes all he wants is to be next to Tommy up on that stage, instead of Carl; stupid fucking dumb Carl.  The end of the song comes too soon, Tommy pulls the strap of his bass over his head, flipping a middle finger to the crowd; and then heading off stage, Eddie and Carl follows, Keanu smiles, "Thanks, we're the Electriks," he gets a couple claps from the crowd, a few boos, and one "No, you're fags!" from way in the back.  Keanu gives an awkward smile, and finds his way of stage to the rest of the band.  Tommy perks up when he sees Paul, standing off to the side, odd and misplaced; "Paul!" He's waving him over, and Paul walks to him, smiles wide, "You guys fuckin' rocked!"  Tommy rolls his eyes, "We're shit, but thanks." Paul doesn't argue, just shrugs; Carl intervenes, "Either of you interested in buying some LSD?" His tone is hushed, Paul shakes his head, so does Tommy. "Whatever, queers." Then he's walking off and Keanu and Eddie stand in his place.  Eddie's got a guy on his arm, who's tounge is lost in Eddie's mouth, and Keanu pretends it's not happening; like there isn't two guys making out next to him. "What'd you think, Paul?" Paul nods, "You guys were great," Keanu smiles wide, "Of only everyone else thought that."  Eddie's pulling away from the blonde boy, "Give 'em time, Keanu. They'll like us." Then he's delving back into the other boys mouth, tounge to tounge and Paul raises a brow at all the hormonal teenaged aspects of the two. Keanu rolls his eyes and Paul notices Tommy's disappeared, he glances around, he doesn't see him.  "So Paul, given any thought to playing for us one day?" And Paul nods, "Fuck yeah, I'll call whenever I got time to come over." By that he means he'll call tomorrow, cause he wants to be apart of something beautiful, and this band; they're fucking beautiful.  Keanu nods, and Paul looks around, "So, why's it so.. empty?"  "No one really starts showing up for another hour or so, then it's fuckin' packed. No one really comes to see the bands; the kids wanna dance."  Makes sense enough, Paul shrugs and nods, Tommy comes back up, he's got a weird look on his face. Then he's got a tight grip on Paul's arm, pulling them outside and away from the throngs of people, "I bought some LSD. Wanna trip?"  Paul takes a second to answer, "LSD.. like, the drug?"  "No you idiot like the circus tiger, of course the fucking drug. What, you haven't done any drugs before?"  Paul shrugs, notices Tommy's still got a hold of his arm, "I smoke pot, sometimes."  Tommy sighs, "Well you're about to do LSD, so, lead the way to your place."  Paul shifts slightly, "Um, why can't we do it at your house?"  "'Cause I live with my mom and brother, duh."  Ah yes, that crucial bit of information, of course he lived with his fucking mom he was seventeen.  "It's uh, that way, couple blocks." and before he knows it Tommy's pulling him down the street, "It's gonna be fun Paul, you'll like tripping." He forgets his bike, just focusing on the grip Tommy's got on his arm, and keeping up as much as he can.  "Left here."  "Right down this street."  "Left."  "Left."  "Right."  "My buildings right up here."  "Three floors up." Paul climbs the stairs with him, Tommy finally let's go of his arm, it drops to Paul's side.  They walk down the long hallway, Paul fumbles with his keys and Tommy's standing so close to him he swears he can feel his breath.  Then they're in, and Tommy's looking around; Paul flushes red when he realizes half of all the clothes he owns are sprawled out on the bed, "Have a little trouble finding a shirt?" Tommy jokes, and Paul goes redder. "Um.." "Take a seat, Paul, let's get high." Tommy's pulling a little bottle out of his pocket, and some paper, "So basically," Tommy begins as he sits on the floor next to Paul, "we're gonna put some LSD on the paper, put it under your tounge, and let it dissolve."  Paul nods, no matter what Tommy says he'll just pretend he understands, it'll get on easier that way. Tommy soaks a strip of paper in what Paul can only perceive as LSD, "Open your mouth, tounge up," Tommy looks at him, Paul nods, doing as he says.  It doesn't taste like anything, just odd under his tounge, Tommy follows after him, doing the same. "It takes about ten minutes to dissolve, thirty or so to kick in."  That's a long fucking time, and Paul isn't aware that he's taking 300ug of the drug, when he should only have taken 100ug or so, as a first timer.  Minutes pass by, mostly in silence, with bits and pieces of conversation in between; stuff about music, old highschools, girlfriends and, Paul's delighted to hear, boyfriends. "So you.. like guys too?" Paul enquires; Tommy nods, "An' if you got a problem with it you can suck my cock!" He's got a cheeky, fearless grin; like sexuality doesn't matter; Paul starts to like him even more. "No, no, I uh, I like guys too." Paul gives an odd, yet wide grin.  He doesn't even realize the LSD is taking an effect at first; the shimmery, rainbow glow halo that surrounds the lightbulb above them seems normal, hadn't it always been there? Then things get weirder, and with every move Paul feels like he's in slow motion, and at the same time his heart begins to hammer against his rib cage.  Tommy's voice is like a record playing backwards, the words are dripping in blue and greens. "Huh?" Paul looks up at him Tommy's eyes are so bright, so alive, and Tommy speaks again, "I said, got any music?"  Paul nods, lifting his hand up pointing at his record player; a trail of colour follows his arm and then he's putting his arm down, raising it back up; back and forth, side to side, and all around.  Blues, greens, reds, yellows, violets dripping wet down his arm; crawling back up his body like billions of tiny water drips being run up a windshield by insane winds.  Then there's music, beautiful wonderful. He recognizes it as the beginning of Then Came the Last Days of May by Blue Öyster Cult.  "Fuck- perfect." Paul has yet to hear how actually amazing this song is on LSD; and just the opening guitar nearly blows him away.  The music hits him in waves, scouring his brain like marijuana smoke would do to his lungs; it's wavy and Tommy's back down on the floor next to him.  "Feelin' it, yet?" Tommy smiles wide, and touches Paul's shoulder.  The touch in itself jolts this amazing sensation through each and every one of his veins and he closes his eyes. The backs of his eyelids hold other surprise for him, and there's circles and swirls and greens and yellows and his eyes snap open. Tommy had touched his arm, and he could still feel it, in every part of his body; and then there's flowers, blossoming out of his finger tips and wrapping around his hand and they're blue and pink and green and then they're fading and dying and reblossoming.  "Tommy.." Paul mumbles and his words are flooded with blues and greens and he doubts Tommy even hears him beneath the colour.  "There's... flowers Tommy," and Tommy's on the floor, staring at the ceiling with a goofy grin, "Tommy.. flowers.. what the fuck. Tommy."  Tommy isn't listening, he's looking at the ceiling like it's moving; and Paul doesn't see it, but the flowers are multiplying rapidly, wrapping around his arms, "Tommy!"  Then Tommy's grabbing his shoulder, shaking and jarring him slightly; "Paul. Look at me." Paul does, he looks into Tommy's eyes, they swirl and wave and Tommy seems to be closer.  "Paul it's okay, calm down, look at me, I'm okay, your okay."  Then there's soft against his lips, soft and wet, Tommy's lips, pressing into his own.  The flowers are a thing of the past as Tommy's touch and Tommy's lips take his problems away, and he's kissing back, and it sends jolts down his spine as Tommy deepens the kiss.  Tommy pulls away, smiles, the night only gets better from there. Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!