Vengeance Is Mine

Zacky Vengeance looked up at his bandmate and best friend Synyster Gates entered the dressing-room. "You're late," he said in a low voice, taking in his friend's pale attractive face with its chocolate brown eyes that were painted heavily in black, careful streaks of it running calculatedly down his cheeks. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt with the logo "Syn", showing his muscular, tattooed arms.

"Yeah well," drawled Synyster, "I've only just dragged myself out of the gutter I slept in last night," and he flashed Zacky his brilliant smile and winked, "I feel like shit man."

He doesn't remember, Zacky thought as a tremendous relief flooded through his body, dissipating the adrenaline which had had his heart pounding a moment ago when the door had opened.

The five members of the band had been so wasted last night on tour it was untrue. They had drank to the early hours with their tour-mates Eighteen Visions in a club before going back to their tourbus.

Jimmy had vomited in the cab, much to the driver's chagrin, but after a quiet word from Matt, he had immediately shut up and accepted 100 dollars for his trouble.

Once on the bus, Jimmy and Johnny were trying to chop some coke on a mirror in the kitchen, wasting most of it in the process by laughing so much and blowing it all over the work surface. Matt got some beers out and handed them around.

Giggling, Synyster put his arm around Zacky and Matt's necks and squeezed tight. "My bros," he slurred, "my bros," and he kissed Matt clumsily on the neck. Matt squirmed away, complaining loudly, leaving Synyster's attention focused on Zacky. As he turned his head, Zacky was just turning his face to his after saying something to Johnny. Synyster zeroed in for a sloppy kiss in much the same way as he had with Matt, but Zacky had turned his head much too fast to his friend's.

Their noses bumped and they were suddenly mouth to mouth, an inch apart.

Zacky froze, drawing in his breath in shock. He was drunk, but not that drunk.

But Syn was too drunk to be embarrassed by accidentally getting up close and personal with his best friend. Instead he clutched Zacky's pale, pretty face in his strong, guitarist's hands and declared: "I love you man, I love you."

Zacky put his hands up to Syn's wrists to remove his hands but his friend resisted, holding his face tighter. "Okay man, why don't you go upstairs now," Zacky said softly.

"Only if you come with me," Synyster smirked in such an overtly flirtatious manner that Zacky was horrified and he closed the gap between them, pressing his mouth to Zacky's firmly.

Zacky wrenched himself away, scarlet-faced, looking around to see Johnny and Jimmy almost rolling around on the floor laughing, "Syn loves Zacky, Syn loves Zacky," they chanted drunkenly. Matt sat a few feet away watching them closely, not saying anything.

"Oh gorgeous," Synyster groaned, "don't be like that," and again he went to hook his arm around Zacky's neck.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" Zacky gave him a brutally hard shove which completely overbalanced him, so he flew into Matt before slithering to the floor limply, immediately passing out.

Matt glared at Zacky as he picked his friend up easily from the floor and slung him over his shoulder.

"That was a bit harsh," he commented as he moved past him, carrying Synyster towards the stairs.

"He fucking kissed me man!" Zacky exclaimed, "the guy's such a whore, he doesn't care who he has when he's drunk!"

Matt shook his head but said nothing. When Zacky woke up from troubled sleep the next day, Syn was gone and he did not see him again until five minutes before the show started.

Synyster peered down into Zacky's face now as he passed him. "How come you look so fucking great anyway?" he demanded, ruffling Zacky's raven black hair affectionately.

"Because I wasn't as wasted as you," Zacky murmured, shrinking away from his touch, "You don't look so bad considering."

"Well that's kind of you," Synyster said, his chocolate eyes warming with his smile. "Who put me to bed anyway?"

"Matt," Zacky kept his eyes averted.

"Thanks man," Synyster called to Matt who sat in the far corner talking on his cellphone. "Was I a bad boy last night or what?"

He remained still, looking down at Zacky, his eyes unblinking.

Zacky stared at him, his heart starting to race again. Was his friend teasing him now? "I think you know," he said coldly.

Synyster seemed genuinely surprised at his tone. "I don't know, that's why I'm asking you - hey, wait a minute!"

But Zacky had brushed past him and out of the dressing-room, heading up to the stage.

Syn looked helplessly at Matt as he, Johnny and Jimmy all made a move to the door. "What did I do?"

"I'm sure you know very well and you don't need me to spell it out man," Matt said reprovingly. "You kissed him. He's not very happy about it."

His three bandmates left the room, leaving Synyster staring after them. He put his head in his hands. Oh my God, no. He knew he had done something bad but presumed it had involved a groupie, not his best friend. But why was Zacky so angry when Syn had just been his usual drunk affectionate self? It hadn't meant anything so what was the big deal?

When he went out last on stage, Zacky threw him a frosty look from the far side. That night's performance was affected by Syn's stupid behaviour. Whereas they often played back to back because it looked visually so good, with Zacky being left-handed and Syn right, for the entire set Zacky remained on his side of the stage. When Synyster approached him, he walked away. Although his playing was faultless as always, he knew Zacky was deeply troubled. He did not smile once, he did not look like he was enjoying it, he looked like he was elsewhere.

As soon as they trouped offstage, Syn grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt behind the others. Zacky turned to face him, his striking pale green eyes like icy sea-water in the dark. "Listen to me," Syn hissed in a low voice, "don't be like this. I'm sorry okay? I didn't mean for it to happen. Forgive me."

Zacky's eyes were painted with red eyeshadow, startling against his corpse-white skin. Synyster found himself staring. As Zacky made to move away, he tightened his hand on his arm. "Please," he said.

Zacky nodded, eyes averted now. "Okay," he muttered, "just let go of me all right."

Instead of doing what he asked, Synyster put an arm around his neck and drew Zacky close to him.

"I'm sorry man, I'm so sorry," he said with his mouth against Zacky's ear. "I hate it when you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you," Zacky sighed, lifting a hand stiffly and placing it on Synyster's back, "if you just remembered who I am when you're drunk that's all."

Synyster moved back to look at him. "I always remember who you are Zacky, sober or drunk," he said solemnly. Their eyes remained locked together. Zacky was trying to work out if Syn had just admitted that he had known what he was doing all along last night and Syn was trying to work out the same.

"Come on boys," called Matt, "kiss and make up, we've got ladies waiting for us."

Zacky pulled away quickly. Synyster watched his short, slender figure retreat up the corridor into the darkness. Shit, he thought.

Despite his hangover, Synyster was on a mission to get another one. He didn't need to make an effort with the women, they were all over him that night in the club. Zacky had his fair share of attention too, but was strangely uninterested. He felt anxious and uptight for no reason he could pinpoint and he guzzled alcohol like it was going out of fashion, watching Synyster kissing and groping a succession of women.

It was four in the morning when it occurred to him that he would fall down after one more drink. Matt was slumped in a corner with his head on the table, Jimmy and Johnny were dancing with four girls and Synyster had a girl pinned up against the wall in another corner, kissing her hard as though he had important business. Zacky studied the long sweep of his closed lashes against his cheeks, his mouth working on the girl's, the flash of his tongue whenever they came up for air.

He moved quickly to Matt and shook him gently by the shoulder. "Come on man, let's go," he said.

Matt mumbled an assent and stumbled to his feet. The two of them rounded up Johnny and Jimmy reluctantly from the dancefloor before moving on Synyster. Zacky left it to Matt to persuade him to come back. Syn glanced at Zacky for a moment, his eyes unreadable. Then he turned and walked away from the girl, towards the exit.

Zacky felt bad for her even though he had seen this a million times before, even though they had all done it. To be used by Synyster would be truly heart-breaking. He was a little frightened by the direction of his thoughts.

As soon as he got on the bus, Jimmy was shoving coke at him. He did a little, then settled down with Matt and more beer to watch some porn from Johnny's private collection. At the front of the bus, Jimmy, Johnny and Synyster were demolishing the rest of the coke, lots of laughing and shrieking going on, their driver wearily asking them if it wasn't past their bedtime. Suddenly Syn came racing up the aisle at top speed and threw himself giggling onto the sofa next to Matt, sprawling full length across the two of them, so his head landed in Zacky's lap.

Zacky stared down at him, while Synyster stared up, his pupils contracted to pin-points, white powder residue on the end of his nose. "What are you two watching?" he asked, shifting his head about on Zacky's crotch.

"Syn man," Zacky said quietly, "you're hurting me."

"Whoops sorry dude," Syn said, "should be careful there shouldn't I?" And he gave a lecherous grin which seemed far too knowing in his state of total inebriation, causing Zacky to flush. He wriggled down so his head was on Zacky's thighs. Zacky looked at Matt who smiled indulgently. When he looked back at Syn, he was already asleep. Zacky sighed.

A few minutes later, Matt had dropped off also. Zacky looked down at Synyster's sleeping face. He looked angelic and innocent, a far cry from reality. The coke was still irritatingly on his nose so Zacky brushed it off lightly with a fingertip. Some strands of dark brown hair fell over his eyes. Zacky lifted a hand, glanced at Matt again, then hesitantly brushed the hair back from Syn's forehead. His attention went back to the film, but his hand remained loosely tangled in his friend's hair, stroking gently.

After a few minutes, Syn made a noise, startling Zacky so he removed his hand. "Don't stop," Syn protested, gripping his wrist and moving his hand back, "that's so nice." He kept his head still, his eyes closed, a smile playing around his lips.

Reluctantly, darting anxious glances at Matt, Zacky resumed his stroking. Syn seemed to purr like a cat under his caresses.

It was so nice to be touched this way, Synyster was thinking as he sank back into sleep. He didn't much care who it was, only that it was nice and he'd quite like to touch the toucher in return. He lifted a hand without opening his eyes and placed it on a lean abdomen. He heard someone draw in their breath as he trailed it up over a chest - strange, the flattest breasts he'd ever encountered, oh well - up a neck and onto a smooth cheek with a tiny hint of stubble. He tried to clear his confused thoughts as his hand moved determinedly to the mouth of the toucher. He opened his eyes and looked up as his fingers slid over a lower lip with two piercings, one on either side.

Of course. Zacky. Now he remembered.

Zacky was sitting perfectly still while Syn's index finger toyed with first one ring and then the other, moving them backwards and forwards very gently. His green eyes seemed to glow in the artificial lights of the bus, the red eyeshadow still perfectly in place. At the same time as Syn attempted to slide a finger past Zacky's closed lips, Zacky parted his mouth and it slipped inside. It came to rest against his tongue. It felt hot and wet and oddly different to any other tongue Syn had ever felt. Slowly he moved

his finger back and forth, trying to get the passive Zacky to suck it. Zacky responded by clamping his teeth onto it, hard enough to hurt.

Synyster fixed his eyes on his, withdrawing his finger when Zacky released it suddenly.

"You need to tell me what you think you're doing," Zacky said suddenly in a cold yet quiet whisper, his voice seeming unsteady.

Synyster did not have a ready answer to that one. What was he doing anyway poking about in his friend's rosebud mouth with its goddamn hot tongue and sensual piercings? He shook his head in bewilderment.

"Go upstairs now," Zacky ordered.

Synyster stared at him in shock and watched Zacky go crimson. "Get to fucking bed," he clarified for Syn angrily. Matt shifted in sleep as Synyster climbed clumsily to his feet, but did not wake. He looked down at Zacky.

"Before you play the injured party tomorrow," he said coldly, "remember you touched me first."

Although his speech was slurred, his words were remarkably lucid. Zacky was horrified. He knows exactly what he is doing, he thought, the bastard, the fucking bastard.

Synyster's hangover was even worse than the morning before. The first thing he saw on opening his eyes was Zacky's pale face in the bunk opposite him, emerald eyes fixed on his face. When his gaze met Syn's, he turned over quickly, putting his back firmly to him. Now what did I do? thought Syn and he trawled his memory, coming up with a few random images: his head in Zacky's lap, his hair being stroked, touching Zacky's mouth and feeling the heat of his tongue. Jesus Christ what was the matter with him?

The two of them avoided each other until show-time, not even speaking during sound-check. In the dressing-room they received a stern lecture from Matt about the coldness they had shown each other on stage during last night's performance and were told it must stop.

Fine, Synyster thought fiercely, if he wants us to be all buddy-buddy again, I can give him that and more.

Zacky was wearing a black and white Misfits t-shirt and black jeans, his black hair falling perfectly over his eyes. Under the harsh stage lights he looked ghostly white, iconic, with his back-to-front guitar playing and heavy eye make-up. Synyster felt a rush of affection for his friend. As soon as the first song had started, he made a beeline for Zacky, putting his back to his. To his relief, Zacky followed suit so they struck their striking pose of old that looked so damn good in magazines.

Synyster moved behind Zacky now and put a head on his shoulder from his taller height as he played.

He felt his friend tense and moved his mouth to his ear, doubtful whether Zacky would hear him. "I'm sorry. Again." But Zacky did hear him and he also felt him when he pressed his lips softly and deliberately to the delicate spot behind Zacky's left ear. Zacky's fingers slipped and hit a bum note and Matt glared at him.

He was shocked and appalled, staring out at the audience, wondering what they thought. But he knew it would have just looked like Syn was whispering to him. He found his legs were trembling. Quickly, he moved away, to the side of the stage, his mind whirling.

But Synyster would not leave him alone now. At every opportunity he was there, back to back with Zacky, seeming to rub his backside suggestively against his and then standing behind him, so close he could feel his hot breath on the back of his neck and his skin broke out in goose-pimples despite the temperature on stage. And then on the third song, leaving Zacky playing alone, behind him, Syn held his guitar neck with his left hand and with the right, put his arm around Zacky's chest, holding him tight.

People in the audience cheered at this display of affection while Zacky's chest grew tight and he forced himself to concentrate. As Synyster drew back, he slowly put out his tongue and licked at the sweat on the back of Zacky's neck.

Zacky's fingers slipped on the strings again. Syn saw Johnny and Matt glaring at the pair of them. He retreated to the other side of the stage.

Oh Jesus, oh Jesus, Zacky followed Syn's lithe form with panicked eyes. What was he doing, here on stage in front of thousands of people? A patch of his neck burned hot and wet from the impact of his friend's tongue and a tingling sensation started to spread throughout his body. Synyster smiled at him from across the stage, his innocent little boy's smile, his best friend's smile and without warning, Zacky had a hard-on.

Guitars were wonderful things in that respect. It wasn't the first hard-on he'd had on stage, it was usually as a result of being groped by a groupie prior to going on. It was however, the first hard-on Synyster had given him.

Syn gave him two songs grace before he was back for more and Zacky's flagging dick started to stand to attention again. Synyster wriggled against him back to back, then stood behind him, rubbing himself and his guitar against Zacky, before coming round in front of him, back to the audience and playing face to face, their guitars almost pressed together, so their fingers touched with every movement.

Zacky stared up at Syn, drinking in the heady smell of the expensive aftershave he wore. He was truly afraid now of his friend's behaviour. He was sober after all, what excuse could he possibly have this time? Syn was smiling, his face shiny with sweat, the lights sparking off his darkly beautiful eyes. He leaned forward suddenly and tried, it seemed, to kiss Zacky, who moved back quickly.

He turned away, towards Jimmy at the drums, his face red, his heart pounding, avoiding the gazes of his bandmates. He wished for this show to be over, he wished to get Synyster on his own and beat the crap out of him.

Syn was foiled at each attempt to return to Zacky by Matt, who put himself firmly between the two of them every time, his muscle a match for every one of his bandmates put together. Syn remained in his corner, asking himself what he thought he was doing. Matt had asked him to be friendly to Zacky, he reasoned, that's what he was doing. He had cuddled him many times on stage before, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Indeed, one night years ago when they were bombed out of their minds on stage (which didn't happen anymore), Zacky had put his tongue out at Synyster during a solo. Syn had responded by swiftly licking it with his own. The girls in the crowd had gone mad for that one, just like they had for Syn's dicking around that night. Both he and Zacky had thought the stunt was hilarious and discussed having the image immortalised on a picture for their next album cover. Matt had not been impressed however. When sober, the incident was never mentioned again.

Now Syn longed to repeat it here tonight. That tongue of Zacky's had been something else. His jeans were tight with arousal which rather contradicted his explanation to himself that he was just being friendly to Zacky. He wished the show would end so he could sit down, have a drink and try to work out what had happened tonight.

Syn never saw it coming. When they trooped off stage for the encore, Zacky's fist came flying out of nowhere, sending him staggering back against the wall clutching his face.

"What the fuck are you doing man?" Zacky shrieked as Matt and Johnny grabbed hold of him, pinning his arms behind his back.

Jimmy put a warning hand on Syn's chest as he moved away from the wall to retaliate.

"Enough! Enough!" Yelled Matt. "Let's get through these two songs then we'll fucking deal with you both."

The threat was ominous. He roughly bundled Zacky back onstage while Jimmy gestured curtly at Syn to follow.

Synyster played the two songs glaring at Zacky, his cheekbone smarting fiercely. As soon as they filed off-stage, Zacky tried to hit him again. Syn responded by grabbing his arm, twisting it behind his back and pushing Zacky face-first into the wall. There was a skirmish as Matt forcibly removed Syn and Johnny and Jimmy held Zacky back.