Chapter 9: Ignite

“Ignite” proves to be that rare hit that combines a sense of youthful rebelliousness with defiant romance in both lyrics and orchestration, giving Boom Goes the Crown something that most of their songs have historically been lacking: a genuine emotional core. Audiences as well as critics have connected with the new anthem, which should give the traditionally queercore punk rock band a shot at winning a prize that they themselves would have scoffed at as being “too mainstream” in the past. Boom Goes the Crown took a gamble with a rock ballad, and it looks to be about to pay off.

Lenore set the review aside and winked. “I’m so proud of you, lot. I always suspected you could do great things with just a little bit of inspiration.”

“Are we really considered queercore?” Guns asked from his bunk, chewing on a piece of turkey jerky with a pensive expression on his face.

Pressed against the wall of the bus in Nick’s narrow bunk, Spence burrowed his nose into his lover's armpit and whispered, “You’re going to win the Apollo.”

“Let’s not count our chickens quite yet, pet,” Nick muttered into Spence’s hair, his fingers absentmindedly stroking through the long curls.

“Nick, I hope you’re fucking that boy good because I’m going to need him to stay and write every song on our next album!” Lenore shouted over the din and Spence burrowed deeper into Nick’s armpit in a futile attempt to hide his growing embarrassment.

“Don’t encourage them, L. Those two are already bloody well gross,” Sloane’s raspy voice carried across the galley.

“Buck up, young Shakespeare,” Nick purred into Spence’s ear, brushing the blanket and his curls aside. “We’ll be in Los Angeles soon.”

The Apollo Awards ceremony was rather more grand than Nick would have preferred. It put him in mind of too many political events and fundraisers from his childhood - all tuxedos and designer gowns and crystal flutes of champagne. As they were performing, along with all the other Apollo-finalists, Nick had tried his best to convince Lenore that normal stage wear was the best bet. The compromise had been a matched set of punk-rock flavored formal-wear - Sloane and Nyx in deconstructed ballgowns of black leather and frayed red plaid, Jake in red-plaid skinny trou under his black silk smoking jacket, and Guns' tux - the jacket barely fitting over his bulging biceps - trimmed with red plaid piping, chains and rivets.

Nick, well, he was happy to stick to the classics. His butter soft leather pants fit snug to his skin, and nothing underneath the matching jacket but several thick, heavy silver chains. If felt like something that was still part of his world, a carefully forged suit of armor against the sea of stuck-up pricks and conformity.

Nick followed the young man with his eyes as he moved through the crowd easily, with the same bright exuberance he brought to everything else. He cleaned up beautifully into the tux Lenore had rented for him, dark curls pulled back into a ponytail. Like a silvery fish, swimming effortlessly through a sea of sheep without actually being one of them. He somehow managed to respond to idle chatter far more eloquently than Nick himself ever could, leaving Nick feeling strangely proud, and for the first time wondering exactly why Spence had taken up with them when he clearly could have had the whole world, if he wanted it.

A glass of scotch in hand, Jake let his arm rest on Nick's shoulder, lounging with brazen familiarity. Nick decided to allow it, for the moment. "And now we see," Jake remarked, "why early man abandoned the hunter-gatherer ways of the Neanderthal to begin a life of agriculture."

"That!" Jake made an idle motion to where Spence was fetching champagne from a stack of goblets. "Why the hell would you put all the work and effort into going out to eat when you could have that in your backyard?" He stepped back, patting Nick on the back. "Congratulations on reaching the next level of civilization. Just, you know. Make sure he stays watered and all that. If you catch my drift."

For a long moment Nick regarded the man through narrowed eyes, contemplating whether or not he deserved to have the fingers that were still lingering on Nick's shoulder broken. Unfortunately, they still had to play, and while there were bassists in attendance by the dozens he didn't fancy Sloane's guitar to the back of his head. "I'm going to ignore the fact that you just referred to my... Spence as well as half our band as plants and take that as a compliment."

"Good man." Jake nodded. "I'll insist that the next bus we rent has two Fuck Rooms."

The next bus. The thought of having such a permanent fixture in his life as Spence could turn out to be was something that would have sent Nick running six months ago. Now he was finding quite the opposite, and seeing the ease and grace with which Spence moved throughout his world made him suddenly worried that Spence wouldn't, couldn't be content hanging out long term with an angry punk rock band with delusions of grandeur.

Giving him a wide smile as he reached them, Spence pressed a glass of champagne into Nick's hand. "Incredible, isn't it? And everyone loves the song! You have to win. There's no other option."

What faith. Despite his inner turmoil, Nick found himself smiling. He knocked back the glass of champagne in a gulp, then leaned in close. "People will be getting seated soon. We should go take a piss."

"Well I don't really need...." Spence stopped, suddenly understanding. Grinning. "Oh. Yes. Yes, we should."

Getting the knees of both their suits dirty in the men’s room was a pleasant enough distraction that, when they were finally seated in the awards hall, Nick didn't even care about having to sit through forty-five minutes of pompous presenters and even more pompous acceptance speeches, prattling on about the honor of going platinum or getting the Humanitarian Award or other such drivel. They were blessedly interspersed with musical performances, though not nearly enough to make up for the pretentious douchebaggery.

To his annoyance, VAIN was performing ahead of them, but Boom Goes the Crown had secured the performance slot right after, before the Apollo Award for Rock Band of the Year, which he hoped was a portent of fortune. Even better, it meant that they didn't have to sit through Charles Vain stripping on stage, slipping out of the auditorium to get ready as their rival materialized amidst the smoke machines with his nipples already exposed.

In the back hall, Lenore glared at the stage door, through which they could hear Vain's muffled growling. "I hate that this motherfucker makes me so wet," she muttered under her breath as she passed by Nick, who decided to ignore her vileness in favor of tightening his violin bow. It took rather more self control to keep from punching the smug smile off Vain's stupid face as he passed them on the way offstage. They were going to get the better of the greasy prat. He had to believe that.

Finally, after one last tedious award, Boom Goes the Crown was taking the stage. It was strange to Nick, to walk out under the lights to the enthusiastic-but-neat applause instead of the rabid screams of the fans, to listen to Sloane start in on “Ignite” with gentle, melodic notes instead of angry power chords, joined by the brightness of Nyx's keys, and later Jake's bassline. It was strange, to start into the first verse with violin in hand instead of clutching the mic stand like a weapon. But it was all worth it, to hear the clear voice of his violin sing out over the crowd in the instrumental break, taking over from the backing track he'd pre-recorded, perfectly punctuating Spence's soulful lyrics.

He could have used the backing track throughout, of course. But there was a certain feeling of rightness to bringing his violin to the stage on a night like tonight. Doing his best to tell Spence's beautiful story to the world. Giving everything he had to the song.

If they didn't win the Apollo, at least he could be satisfied with that. And as Nick's bow soared through the instrumental breakdown before the final chorus, he found himself smiling. He wasn't sure when, but somehow music had stopped being just a tool for his revenge. This was his life, now. Him, the crew of Boom Goes the Crown... and Spence.

When they returned to their seats, Spence was nearly vibrating with happiness, pulling Nick into a brief, tight hug. "You sounded amazing!" he whispered. "If you don't win then they're all fucking tone-deaf hacks and lunatics!"

His faith was enough that Nick didn't even care that Lenore was blatantly sucking face with the cretin two rows ahead of them.

He turned his attention to the stage, where self-professed rock legend +BLA!!!CKB'eard+ was expounding on the history and prestige of the Apollo Rock Band of the Year Award, from its start as a counter-culture fuck you to the pop-music happy Grammys to its present status as the pinnacle of rock music awards.

"Shut the fuck up already, Dadbeard," Sloane grumbled beside him, smirking as Nyx giggled into her sleeve.

"And now, in no particular order, this year's honorees in nominations for Rock Band of the Year are: Elegant Danger. Boom Goes the Crown. HORNEYGOLD & DOUCHEFRESNE. Unit of Delight. And finally, an incredibly talented and attractive young man with whom I have had the great fortune of touring: my son, VAIN."

"And now, without any additional gesticulating or further ado, the esteemed and admirable winner of this year's Apollo Rock Band of the Year Award is...." +BLA!!!CKB'eard+ tore open the envelope in his hand and went silent, brows knitting as he stared down at the piece of paper. He leaned towards the man holding the award statuettes at his side, whispering something in his ear.

+BLA!!!CKB'eard+ frowned, then shrugged, stepping back to the microphone. "Boom Goes the Crown."

Elation rushed through every nerve in Nick's body. He was on his feet in an instant, kissing Spence, kissing... Sloane? while Guns loudly proclaimed, "FUCK YEAH!"

"I knew it! I knew you'd do it!" Spence gasped, hugging him tight. He pressed a kiss to Nick's ear, the whisper of his voice warm and proud and real. "I love you so much, Nick Marlowe."

Shit, Nick thought as he let Sloane drag him away from Spence and up towards the stage. I love him too.

A whirl of handshakes later, Nick stood again at the mic in front of hundreds of the most important names in industry, this time with the shining gold statuette of the Greek God of Music clutched in his free hand. He knew what was supposed to come next. He'd practiced it dozens of times in front of the mirror of his hotel room, how he was going to curse and rail at his homophobic and racist father and his precious institution and country for the whole world to see. But somehow all those carefully practiced words had been completely pushed from his mind, erased in favor of a whisper.

"Goddammit," he muttered under his breath. He lifted his head and gave the world a smile. "Thank you to the fans and honored colleagues who voted for us,” he began, in measured tones. “Of course, we owe a huge debt of gratitude to the backbone of our band, our esteemed manager Lenore Mathews, without whom none of this would be possible. Even though she's currently sucking face with Charles Vain over there in the third row. And a huge congratulations to Vain for scoring that prize, which even he must admit is more priceless than the Apollo.”

“Hear hear!” Vain shouted from the audience, causing various factions to break out in impromptu applause.

"Finally, I must admit that I initially had far different plans for this acceptance speech. Very angry, hurtful plans, more suited to the chaos of a punk show than such a prestigious occasion, plans having to do with my father, the leader of Her Majesty's Most Loyal Opposition in the British Parliament. Instead, my greatest thanks must be to the man who made this collective dream come true. A man who has proven to be the most talented collaborator I could have ever hoped for, a man who has changed my life in ways I never thought possible. And so I must dedicate this award to the love of my life, Jordan Spencer, without whom there would be no music."

Nick didn't even care to curse him out. Shoving the mic at Jake, he jumped off the stage entirely amongst thunderous applause, leaping to where Spence stood waiting, eyes bright with tears, hands over his mouth. Nick swept him up into his arms, tugging Spence's hands from his mouth so he could kiss it, for once not caring who saw and what they thought of it. "I love you too, Jordan Spencer."

On the way to the after-party, cuddled against Nick's side in the limo, Spence pulled out his cellphone to find multiple messages from Hiro.

Chuckling to himself, Spence sent back a smiling face, a winking face, and a plethora of hearts. He couldn't imagine being any happier even if Nick had straight up proposed. The night wasn't supposed to be about him at all, but somehow Nick had made him part of it. Part of the greatest triumph for the greatest band in the world, and then, beyond Spence's wildest dreams, Nick had made Spence part of his heart, too.

He glanced at Nick's phone, smiling up at his lover as Nick tucked it away into the breast pocket of his leather suit jacket. "Is Shani happy?"

When they reached the dock where the after-party-cruise was boarding from, their hair and makeup artist, Adelle, was waiting in a little black dress, leashes for all three poodles in hand. Spence laughed, catching hold of Athos as he jumped up on him in excitement.

“Hey there, buddy, did you miss me?” he asked the poodle, while scratching behind his ears.

“I understand Nick doesn’t have any fucking hair, but would it have killed the rest of you to thank me?” Adelle was chiding Jake while exchanging hugs and kisses with the rest of the band. Her eyes narrowed, spotting the canoodling forms of Lenore and Vain getting out of the next limo, “The fuck is he doing here?”

“Love, it appears, is blind,” Nick informed the young woman, scooping Porthos from her hands. “And also immune to malodorous fumes.”

“You old romantic,” Spence punched Nick playfully in the shoulder. Then he felt a sudden spike of worry. "Wait... I don't smell, right?"

"Only wonderfully," Nick replied, kissing his hair again. "Come on, let's get celebratory drunk."

Of course - the surprise. Worry immediately changed to anticipatory excitement for Spence. He'd wanted to get Nick something to celebrate the win, but what on earth could he possibly find that would be worthy of celebrating an award like the Apollo? The answer had come to him at 2 a.m. one night on the tour bus as he'd been brainstorming ideas for future song lyrics.

“God fucking damn it!” a gravelly voice, immediately recognizable as Charles Vain’s, exclaimed from behind them. “One of your poodles just pissed on my fucking pants!”

“Must’ve been Aramis,” Spence shrugged, as if that was the most natural thing in the world. “He doesn’t like strangers.”

“Welcome to the family, Charles,” Nick smirked and bent down to pet the little black poodle on his head. “Good boy, Aramis. Daddy loves you.”

“Please don’t ever have children,” Jake said, giving Nick a friendly pat on the back and winking at Spence.

"The poodles are already the perfect children," Spence told him, feeling a rush of pleasure at Nick's smile, then following him up the gangplank, Athos's leash in hand.

Spence was entirely wrapped up in Nick, happily hanging off his arm as they mingled, eating diminutive fancy hors d'oeuvres and drinking whatever people placed in his hand, handing the poodles off to whatever admirers welcomed the humping.

He was so caught up in Nick that he hardly noticed when they set sail, and felt a spike of alarm when he looked out the window to realize that they were already halfway out of the harbour. "Shit, shit!"

"I have a - a thing! Hold on." Quickly gathering the poodle leashes, he towed them over to where Lenore was seated on a couch with Vain, practically in his lap. "Hold these!"

"Just for a moment, I promise. There's a thing and they probably won't like it so - just take them!" He shoved the leashes at her, barely making sure she'd taken them before rushing away, catching Nick's arm and towing him out towards the back deck of the boat.

"Only a moment," Spence assured him again. "It'll be worth it. I hope. I mean, they'll be fine."

Fortunately Adelle was already on deck with the large confetti cannon. She peered at Spence. "Are you in a fit state to be handling firearms?"

"I've only had a couple!" Spence insisted. "Besides, you just point and push the button, right?" He adjusted the angle towards the back rail of the ship, then turned to give Nick a nervous smile. "So. I thought we should celebrate the whole Apollo thing, and considering, well, everything, there's really only one thing fitting. And the band agreed to help me...."

"He won't hate it!" Spence shot back. "Anyway. I'm going to do the thing now. Guys, on three?" Spence took a deep breath, a hand over the trigger for the cannon. "One, two, three!"

"FUCK ENGLAND!" Chorused the band, as the confetti cannon shot the contents of a family pack of Earl Grey tea bags into the air to tumble down into the waves, the tea labels fluttering in the breeze as they fell.

For a moment Nick stood frozen, watching the tea bags fall over the water. Then he turned to Spence. "Did you just... throw tea into the harbor for me?"

For one brief, horrible moment, Spence thought Nick was going to be angry. Then he broke into peals of laughter, catching Spence up in his arms and swinging him around, laughing and laughing and setting him down to kiss him through his laughter.

"You blessed, ridiculous boy!" Nick gasped when he could finally speak, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, "I'm going to marry the fuck out of you."