Social Norms (Synacky)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Sounding the seventh trumpet.”

That was the first thing Matt said as he arrived at practice the next day. Brian and Zacky were working with Jimmy, writing riffs that could accommodate the song he sang, and Justin was still working on his song.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Brian asked, taking one of Jimmy’s drumsticks and trying to twirl it in his hand.

“An album name. Wouldn’t that be so sick? Like, apparently there were angels in the bible that released fucking hell onto the world by sounding seven trumpets. And like, the seventh is the worst. So why don’t we use that for an album name?”

“Because A- I don’t want people to think our album is the worst thing to happen to mankind, and B- I’m not even religious.” Justin said from across the room. “What’s up with you and the bible?”

“No, no, it’s gonna make it sound like our album is gonna wreak havoc on the world, just by sharing our music. Our songs are gonna fucking stir up shit and cause an explosion! And we don’t have to be fucking religious, it’s just a kickass album name.”

“I don’t know…” Zacky said, “I guess I’ll have to think about it. It does make us sound sorta religious. ‘Avenged Sevenfold with their debut album Sounding the Seventh Trumpet.’ Sounds like we’re catholic or something.”

“Well, that can be a conversation starter during interviews.” Matt replied. “Look, it doesn’t have to be that. I just thought it was a good idea.”

“Well, I like it.” Brian replied, “Maybe we all should just think about it, and if we can’t think of anything better by the time the album’s finished, we’ll keep it.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” The guys all agreed, and they went back to playing.

After practice, Brian went to Zacky’s house. Zacky told him that his parents wouldn’t be home and he wanted to make art.

Again, another childish activity, arts and crafts, for fuck’s sake, but Brian decided not to underestimate him.

“So why haven’t you told your parents about us yet?” Brian asked, stepping into the house as Zacky held the door open for him.

“It’s just… my parents aren’t like yours, Brian. Yours accepted who you are fairly quickly, mine still haven’t. I mean, they’re sorta okay with me now, but I’m afraid if I tell them about us it’ll destroy what little relationship we have now, and they might prevent me from seeing you anymore.”

“Okay, I get that.” Brian followed Zacky to his bedroom, where Zacky grabbed two canvases, some paint, and a tarp?

“What exactly are we doing?” he asked, following Zacky to the living room, helping him spread the tarp on the floor.

“We’re making art.” Zacky replied, laying out one canvas flat on the ground. “How important to you are those clothes?”

“Well, this shirt is pretty old, I guess… but my jeans are new.” Brian looked longingly down at his pants.

“Take them off. I’ve got a pair of sweats you can borrow.”

Once Brian had changed, Zacky presented him with a plethora of colors of paint. “Pick a color.” He said, and Brian instantly chose purple. Zacky took blue.

According to Zacky, “making art” meant splatter painting the canvas. They only used their own colors and their hands, dripping it down or smearing it with their fingers, creating swirls and blobs and smudges of indigo and plum and violet. It blended in some places and the distinct colors stood out in others, creating a strange, yet beautiful piece. Zacky really got into it, slamming paint down, hands making wide sweeps, tongue flicking over his snakebites as his eyes lit up in joy. And Zacky’s positive energy seemed to seep into Brian like the paints seeping together, and he got into it too, practically dancing around the canvas on the ground.

The second canvas, Brian picked black, and Zacky chose white. He wondered why he picked white for a white canvas, but when they started painting, they smeared and blended to make a variety of shades of gray, some lighter, some darker with hints of blue and purple showing as remnants from the previous painting, a handprint of white splayed out next to a sloppy one of black. It really was beautiful, Zacky was beautiful, and they threw paint down, getting out pent up anger, then expressing complete joy and laughing and bonding and then…

Then they were fucking.

Brian didn’t know how it happened, but their clothes were a paint covered and ruined heap on the floor and Zacky was down on the tarp and Brian was setting up a steady rhythm, smearing black on Zacky’s shoulders, cheeks, hair. White lines trailed down Brian’s back where Zacky’s fingers slid, and a handprint pressed against his chest, fingertips leaving marks against his cheek. The paint mixed with their sweat, ran down their arms, and Zacky panted and made those soft, beautiful sounds and Brian grunted gentle words in his ear.

“I love you.” Zacky, whispered breathlessly, mixing paint in Brian’s hair as he gripped it tight, tugging gently.

Brian managed a broken response, pressing his face into Zacky’s neck, smelling the paint and sweat and sex and Zacky’s cologne, and he murmured, “God, Zacky, goddamn, y-you’re so perfect y-you’re s-so…”

And then he was coming and crying out, and Zacky was just a few seconds behind him, and their voices mingled like the paint on their skin, eyes wide and sightless.

Brian came down from his high first, quickly sliding out of Zacky and flopping on his back. “Motherfucker.” He gasped, and Zacky just nodded, breathing heavily.

They lay still and silent for a moment, basking in the afterglow. “You know I really do love you.” Brian finally mumbled, fingers running gently through Zacky’s hair.

“I know.” Zacky smiled softly and kissed part of his cheek that wasn’t paint streaked. “I also know that we need to get bathed.”

So, the day just kept getting better.

They lathered up the shampoo and soap in the shower, and helped to wash each other off, or as much as they could get off before the paint dried, tenderly running their sudsy hands over each other’s bodies, ridding each other of the sweat and sex and some, but not all of the paint. Zacky kneaded Brian’s shoulders as he worked to get some paint out, causing Brian to moan softly as he worked stressful knots out of his back. “Fuck, Zee.” He murmured under the warm spray, and Zacky chuckled, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades.

Brian turned them around so he could work soap into Zacky’s black-streaked back, and frowned at all the twisted knots he felt under his touch. “What’s been getting you so stressed, Zee?” he asked softly, going to work on his shoulders and back, massaging the wet flesh firmly, fingers pressing in hard, circular motions on his skin, making Zacky groan quietly, trembling slightly.

Zacky shrugged, rolling his head as Brian’s hands worked at the base of his neck. “I don’t know, just parent stuff, I guess. Nightmares. A bunch of things.”

Brian kissed the hollow under Zacky’s ear, “I’m happy I can help you melt away some of this stress.” He murmured against his skin.

“I never feel stressed when I’m with you.” Zacky replied, and with a sense of finality, he reached to turn off the water.