
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.
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