Heart's Done Time (Aerosmith Fanfiction)

Chapter eleven

Chapter eleven
Sesame's POV
He asked me not to take him home, and so I didn't. Not only that, but I'd decided in the spur of the moment to take him someplace cool, and so we'd begun the night by going to the shopping mall to stroll around for a few hours and throw money about like it meant little more to us than paper.
We'd started in a mod shop, the two of us picking out silly clothes in color-blocked patterns and receiving glowers from the real mods who were pissed about their turf being invaded by rockers. We tried on said silly clothes, and laughed at each other.
After that we'd elected to find someplace more our speed--or, well, Steven's speed. I hung with the rockers, but I didn't look much like them. Apart from the alarming hair color, that is.
We'd gone into one of the few rock 'n' roll clothing shops in our mall, and picked out some things we liked, trying on and modeling the clothes much like we had in the mod shop, only this time around our shaggy hair wasn't so frowned upon by other shoppers. I ended up purchasing my first leather jacket, along with a pair of black thigh-high socks and a blazer for Steven.
We spent the rest of our time there window shopping and flipping through rock records, until we finally decided to head back to the van with our purchases and move on to the night's next destination--a club.
Looking back, it hadn't been the best idea from the get go, seeing as Steven was working on this sobriety thing, but I figured with the crappy day he'd had he deserved a night out. And so we headed to the rock club Aerosmith played on weekends to listen to the band of the night and maybe dance a bit, changing first into some of the things we'd gotten at the mall.
I parked outside of the brick building and put my legs up on the dashboard to pull off my cream socks and replace them with my new black ones, as well as to lace up the boots I had in the backseat. I then put on my new jacket.
Steven didn't do much, since he looked like an unwashed rocker pretty much year-round (probably because he was one), but he did pull on his new blazer to ward off the cold a little better before he hopped out into the December air. I threw my stuff in the back and followed suit, pocketing my fake ID and some cash.
We approached the door and the bouncer let us in without even asking for our IDs, taking one look at Steven's messy hair and my slightly low-cut top and deemed us worthy of gaining entry, and we eagerly shuffled out of the cold and took in the scene from the crowd for the first time.
The band was already playing a Dylan tune and there were rockers of all shapes and sizes drinking, dancing, and talking, all clad in dark clothes and clearly fitting the rock 'n' roll profile. The club looked different when you weren't backstage, and I suddenly felt very small.
"Steven Tyler," said the bartender, obviously recognizing him from Aerosmith's numerous weekend sets. "You look like shit."
"So I've heard," said Steven, approaching the bar. "It's good to see you, Bill."
Bill smiled a bit. "You too, son. What'll it be, then?"
"Oh, nothing for me, thanks. I'm trying out sobriety for a bit," he replied, unconsciously touching my upper back as if searching for reassurance.
"Never thought I'd hear you say those words, though that does explain the shitty appearance," said the bartender, cracking open a beer for another customer.
Steven smiled. "Not exactly my idea, but it'll be for the best in the long run, I'm sure." Bill nodded in agreement. "You want anything, love?" asked Steven, looking at me with raised eyebrows.
"No thanks, sweetie. I'm driving, remember?"
His brow creased. "I can drive, you know," he said, as if I wasn't aware of that.
"I know," I said and smirked. "But there's no way in hell I'm letting you behind the wheel of my van."
Bill really laughed, then, and I smirked at Steven who held a hand to his chest as if my words had wounded him. "You must be the famous Sesame," Bill said. "I don't think I've had the pleasure." I shook his hand.
"That's me, and the pleasure is all mine," I said, returning the older man's warm smile. He seemed friendly for a man working in a joint like this, with kind eyes and greying hair. He seemed to know Steven pretty well, too, which made it all the stranger than we'd never been acquainted. I brushed it off, though, and instead chose to focus on the here and now.
"I've heard plenty about you from the band," Bill told me. "And this guy here is just crazy about you." Steven blushed, and hid his face from view.
Just then, though, I heard a whistle, followed soon by a hand on my ass that most certainly wasn't Steven's, and I spun to face the creep it belonged to.
"I'm sorry, Pinky, I was just admiring the merchandise," said the rocker, a blond-haired fellow in his late twenties with a worn leather jacket and a sick smirk on. I glared.
"Why don't you keep your hands in your pants, rather than on my friend's ass, creep?" said Steven, eyes bright with anger.
"Just a friend, eh?" asked the guy, obviously not backing down just yet. "Ya shy or something? Because if I was that close to a rack like that, we'd be doing a bit more than braiding each other's hair at sleepovers."
"Fuck off, wanker," Steven threw back, and I winced, knowing what was coming before it happened.
The blond was on him in a second, fist flying up to make contact with Steven's oversized lip and knocking the young singer to the floor in an instant, blood pouring from the split skin.
"What'd you call me, you skinny fucker?" asked the creep angrily, though he knew very well what he'd called him judging by the way he grabbed him by the hair and punched him in the stomach, sending him gasping for air.
It took awhile for someone to finally step in and pull the two guys apart, and by the time they did Steven was an absolute mess and had gotten no more than a few good punches in.
Long story short, we were thrown out.
Steven seemed smug, though, even with his battered body and his bleeding, swollen mouth.
"Like your lips needed to be any bigger," I joked, supporting most of his weight as we got him seated and buckled into the passenger seat.
He laughed, and I did too, because in truth, the whole thing was pretty fucking funny.
I shook my head and climbed in the van, driving us home and laughing most of the way.
What was I going to do with him?