Frustration -SERIES- [Part 1] [boyxboy]

Chapter Three

I woke up to the sound of distinctly girly giggling and groaned quietly, wrinkling my nose and trying to bury my face further into whatever rather hard surface I was leaning my head on. The giggling rose in volume in reaction to this until I had no choice but to open my eyes and blink at the light dancing through the tiny rectangular window to my right.

'Whassgoin'on?' I mumbled sleepily, rubbing my eyes and squinting against the brightness.

'You fell asleep as soon as the plane took off,' I heard a voice murmur from somewhere above me; I sat up properly and saw I'd fallen asleep on Conor's shoulder. Getting my bearings back now that I knew where I was, I glanced around and saw that two girls in front of us who I'd never seen before in my life were kneeling up on their seats, blatantly watching us.

I jumped a little and made a noise of surprise when I caught them and they started giggling all over again.

'This is Gretchen and Louise,' Conor told me pleasantly, and I was alarmed to realise they'd been having a conversation over my head the whole time I'd been out. 'Turns out they're quite big Name Withheld fans and are coming to follow the tour around Britain.' Groupies. Great. 'This is Tyler,' he added, smiling winningly at the two girls.

'We know,' the one on the left, Gretchen I think, squeaked excitedly. 'You talk about him all the time.'

'True,' Conor admitted, looking bashful, which, I knew, was entirely an act.

'Could we get your autograph, please?' Louise whispered in a raspy, excited voice. I had learned that this was usually the activity of die-hard fans; most people asked for pictures. If somebody wanted an autograph, they were dedicated, old-school, and possibly wanted to get the signature tattooed on them somewhere.

'Sure,' Conor replied easily, and I realised I'd been leaning on his writing arm. Embarrassing. They'd all just been waiting for me to wake up.

Gretchen fiddled about in her shoulder bag for a few seconds and pulled out a small pink notebook and a pen, handing them to Conor excitedly. He flipped it open and took his time reading the contents in that arrogant way that only somebody as good-looking as he is can get away with.

'You've met Arthur Rollings?' he asked sharply, looking up from the autograph notebook to pierce the two girls with that smouldering stare he does so well.

Gretchen turned immediately pink. 'Yeah,' she chirped, eager to please. 'When they played Dublin last year.'

Arthur Rollings was the nineteen-year-old lead singer of The Tiny Manatees and, it has to be said, devastatingly attractive. I couldn't be sure while he was turning on the charm for his fans, but I'm pretty sure I detected a hint of jealousy coming from my boyfriend. The fact they were both hot, gay, lead singers in emerging bands hadn't been too big of a deal when they'd been on opposite sides of the Irish Sea, but it was probably starting to rankle now, especially given that Name Withheld would be supporting them, and not the other way around.

'Have you met him?' Gretchen went on, oblivious.

Conor smiled. 'Not yet.' He flipped to the first clear page of the notebook and scrawled his name across it, then handed the notebook back.

'Would you mind if we got some pictures?' Gretchen pushed timidly. As if Conor would ever say no to attention.

'Of course not.' He stood up and went to stand beside Gretchen, who handed her camera to me, and I took a couple of photos. This, I was used to. The surprise came when they asked if they could get some pictures of just Conor and I.

'Um.' Conor looked at me and I shrugged. It wouldn't be my first time getting papped as Conor's boyfriend. 'Okay.' He sat back down beside me and we leaned into each other, smiling for the camera.

Gretchen took half a dozen photos and didn't seem like she was going to stop, until Conor had to force a grin and say, 'Okay girls, thanks!' quite firmly so their disappointed faces retreated back to face forwards in their seats.

'I didn't realise you'd signed us up for a couple's photoshoot,' I murmured so they wouldn't hear me.

Conor laughed. 'Tumblr fangirls, I guess.' Then he grew sombre. 'That's my fault, because of all the interviews. I'm sorry.'

I laughed, shaking my head. 'It's fine,' I told him, stretching. I wasn't mad, but even if I had been, I can never stay that way with him for very long.

'Did we wake you?' he asked, even as I noticed his eyes moving down my body as I stretched.

'Mm,' I replied noncommittally.

'I'm sor-'

'Shut up,' I mumbled against his lips, kissing the apology away. The moment was ruined when a bright flash exploded behind my eyelids and I opened my eyes, confused. Conor was blinking in the direction of the flash, and a red-faced Gretchen was peeking through the gap in the seats in front of us.

'Sorry!' she squeaked. 'It was just so cute!'

At that moment, the "fasten seat-belts" sign came on and the pilot announced that we were about to land, so there wasn't much either of us could do about it.

'We must sit perfectly still and not do anything interesting until they get off the plane,' Conor muttered to me out of the corner of his mouth and I snorted.

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'Tyler, make yourself useful and grab some bags,' Sarah, Name Withheld's tour manager, called to me from under her own pile of other people's luggage. It turned out that for all Conor's conviction that it would be fine to bring me to Britain with him, Sean McKinney would only sign off on it if I – and Jackson – agreed to be part of the crew. Which I didn't really have a problem with as I'm bored most of the time Conor is busy anyway, and usually end up offering to help out even when I'm not being paid for the privilege, but Conor kicked up a total fuss about it, thinking, apparently, that he'd never get to see me. The label was unrelenting however, so I now found myself at Sarah's service.

'Sarah,' Conor groaned, grabbing my hand as I tried to go and take some guitar cases off the conveyor belt at the airport.

'I swear to God, Archibald,' she threatened, wobbling towards a luggage trolley. 'One more word out of you and I will put you on the first plane back to Dublin.'

I laughed as Conor scowled, but he came and helped me with some of the Name Withheld's considerable travel requirements. On top of all the instruments, there were two months' worth of clothes for all five members of the band, plus me and Jackson, plus Sarah. The rest of the crew we were used to had been left behind in Ireland, as The Tiny Manatees already had their own roadies.

'What do you have in here?!' an incredulous Sarah asked Sally, as she lifted one of the keyboardist's giant suitcases onto the trolley.

Sally looked up from her book. 'Hmm? Oh! Shoes. That one's got shoes.'

'This entire suitcase is filled with shoes?'

'Uh huh.'

'Teenagers,' Sarah muttered, turning the trolley and rolling it towards the exit of the Arrival's Lounge.

'I've got this one,' Jackson intercepted me as I tried to push the other trolley after her; to be fair, I probably wouldn't have been able to get it very far anyway. I used to be stronger than Jackson, but then that growth spurt happened and now the only person I'm taller than is Sally. I needed to figure out what Jackson had been drinking, and get my hands on some of it.

'Poor little Tyler,' Tarquin taunted me, slinging an arm around my shoulder patronisingly.

'Yeah, go make out with a sock,' I retorted, shrugging him off and going to take Conor's hand instead. To no avail however, as the ground suddenly shifted from under me and I found myself sitting on Tarquin's shoulders. 'Tarquin!' I shouted, beating the top of his head with my fists futilely. Ever since Daniel first did this to me last November, all three of Conor's male bandmates seem to find it unendingly amusing to carry me around against my will and there's nothing I can do to stop them. Even Conor can't seem to make them stop, but I'm not sure how hard he tries, because he finds it hilarious.