Desire was all the rage, at least to those within the same community. They were a local band and virtually unknown outside of the small town of Amber Heights. Four members made up the band, all young men between 18 and 24 years old and each and every one of them was smoking hot. Rick Myeres was key board, Mikey Doogan was guitar and backing vocals, Tracy 'Trash' Albrum was the drummer and lead Vocals was a youngster named Avery Duprey. Avery came up with the name Desire; it fit them well and was a way of life as well as a band name. No one put more heart and emotion into a performance then these young men, and it defiantly paid off every time they played a gig. Avery wasn't an original member of the band. The original lead singer was Mikey Doogan's older brother Dale; he had a raspy sort of voice that matched his unkempt and slightly deranged appearance. He was a heavy drug user and he could drink anyone under the table and usually showed up to practice shit faced and ill tempered, if he even showed up at all. When he started missing gigs, they knew that it was time to look elsewhere.
Mikey was torn between wanting to do what was best for the band but at the same time wanting to stay on good terms with his brother. In the end he knew that Dale was holding them back and besides that the other band members hated him. He was a jerk and wasn't afraid to let everyone know it.
Mikey was known to hang out at a local bar called "The blue room". He was sulking one night, drinking himself sick and about fifteen minutes away from winding up passed out on the floor, when he caught site of a good looking kid stepping up to the karaoke microphone. A soft, mellow song started playing over the speakers, a song that Mikey recognized as, "My sweet surrender" by Asendin, an underground band that had in recent weeks begun to appear more and more in the spot light.
Mikey listened to the new comer singing, with apparent fascination. His voice was sweeter than an angel's voice. He watched him move and sway to the words he sang. The kid had medium length black hair that hung in the front of his face nearly concealing almond eyes that were traced with a black eye pencil. His skin was as pale as death against the blackness of his hair. There was a hint of purple eye shadow and somewhat of a touch of purple upon his full, voluptuous lips. His finger nails were painted black and his attire was defiantly somewhat Goth. "God he is beautiful." Mikey whispered to himself. And that's when it hit him, he knew that he had found there new lead singer, the dark angel that had vocalized sex and made Mikey feel desires that he never thought he had. When Avery suggested the name, everyone agreed that it fit and Desire was born.
Trash was six foot two, broad shouldered and about 175 pounds. He had waist length dirty blond hair, straight as a stick and usually pulled back neatly and bound with a black rubber band. He had a hint of a beard, blond also and so light in color that it barely showed against his pale skin. His eyes were pale blue but no one really knew that because you rarely saw him without his gold rimmed shades, with blood red lenses. He had gone by the name Trash since anyone could remember. It was a testament to the types of women he dated. If anyone ever dare refer to him as Tracy, they usually lost a few teeth.
Rick was the pretty boy of the band. He was renowned for his ability to create magic with the keyboard. As a teenager he played piano beautifully. Musical masterpieces poured from the instrument as he sat day after day at excruciatingly long practices. Bach, Beethoven and Mozart haunted his dreams at night. His parents were insistent that he would one day be a famous concert Pianist. Rick had resigned himself to the fate that his parents had decided on, but his destiny lay elsewhere, unknown to him at the time. When he lost his parents in fatal car crash his world was turned upside down. Suddenly he had no future, no desire to play and no hope to become anything more than a shadow of the boy he had once been. That was when he met Mikey and all that changed, he had found a purpose again. He had found a family. Mikey accepted the soft spoken young man into his world and made a different kind of musician out of him, different yes...but still great. His fame would one day come in a different manner but it didn't matter, Rick was happy again.
Mikey put the band together. He was always a leader and being the oldest member in the band, that suited everyone else just fine. He wasn't the wild and untamed rock and roll super star that Trash was, and he wasn't the dreamy eyed classical musician that Rick was either. He wasn't dark and Gothic as Avery was, drowning in his own despair and misery. Mikey was something of a mystery. He was quiet most of the time but when he did speak people listened because he meant what he said. He was a watcher. He sat and he watched people, silently and he saw things in people that others could not see. He was also a lover and a very passionate one. Anyone that got the privilege of being in his bed was left with a longing for more but that need was left unfulfilled because Mikey was a one shot deal and he rarely gave encores.
It was the Friday before another gig at the blue room. The band was tuned, practiced and ready to roll but the mood of the members was suddenly cast into a thick gloom of anger and desperation as Trash threw himself down on the old, worn and dirty brown sofa in the basement of Mikey's parent's house.
"This is all bull shit!" Trash exclaimed. "I got some fucking great ideas for songs we could be playing, shit that would really rock the hell outta the place ya know, but Mikey's little pet only wants to sing fucking 'Asendin' songs and you fucking know that Avery gets what Avery wants!" He lit up a smoke and puffed away on it while Rick walked around the key board he was packing up and joined Trash on the sofa.
"Yeah, your songs are great," Rick said, "I do really like them, you're a wonderful writer and a terrific drummer but we have really been pulling in the fans since we started playing 'Asendin's' shit and you have to admit, Avery sounds awesome singing their songs. Hell, he practically sounds like Brian Mueller himself! I think Mikey knows what's best for the band and once we get the crowds that were hoping for; we can start playing some originals. Avery's written a few poems that Mikey thinks would be awesome songs if Avery would let us use them."
Trash rolled his eyes, "Avery's shits all about death and suicide and crap like that. We need some cool songs about fuck'in and drink'in."
Rick shrugged, he had said his peace and there was no use continuing the conversation when Trash was in such a foul mood. Besides, it was then that Mikey suddenly appeared, standing in the doorway, silent as usual and blending into the shadows of the room. Rick didn't know how long Mikey had been there and Mikey gave no indication that he had over heard any of the conversation. He walked into the room and over to a black arm chair where he plopped himself down with a sigh. His black eyes stared, daze like out the window. He never even looked up when Avery entered the room.
Trash and Rick had noticed the tension between Avery and Mikey the last few weeks, there seemed to be a wedge shoved between the two when they had before been pretty much inseparable.
Avery glanced over at Mikey, his eyes betraying his desire for Mikey to show one hint of recognition but when he failed to return Avery's stare, the younger boy looked away, dejected and almost hurt.
He was dressed as usual in his black and dark attire. Skin tight leather pants clung to his thighs as though they had been painted on. Mikey had remarked once that he really liked to see Avery in those pants because they amplified his bulge. If Mikey was aware that Avery wore them today, he gave no sign of it. A long sleeved top covered Avery's chest though it was too tight and bit too short, exposing his navel ring and the lavender orchids that he had tattooed around his belly button.
Avery walked over to the sofa and sat on the other side of Trash, beside Rick and as far from Mikey as he could. He pulled one leg up onto the sofa, pressing his leg against his chest as he wrapped his arms around it and rested his chin on his knee.
Rick looked at Avery, the dour look on his face still so evident, he glanced over to Mikey and then back to Avery again. "What's going on with you two?" He asked softly.
"Nothing." Avery answered him, the sad look on his face as present as ever.
Rick shook his head as he slumped back into the cushions of the sofa, he wasn't buying it for one minute, but he wasn't one to pry. If Avery wanted to talk however, Rick would always lend an ear but it wasn't his place to push the matter and he defiantly didn't want to make anyone uncomfortable.
