(no subject)

[spiderweb_x]

Title: Senseless Mess
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Vam o'course!
Disclaimer: Fiction, isn't it.
Summary: They're in love, so it isn't really cheating, right? Standalone.

Ville Valo stands on the rain-slicked sidewalk, marooned in a sea of darkness and buzzing neon lights. Philadelphia at night is eerie, and Ville looks over his shoulder more than once. Occasionally someone will look twice at him, a sort of half-recognition widening their eyes, but a flick of his drenched black locks over his face soon solves that.

He reaches to his back pocket for his cigarettes, even though he remembers mid-motion that he left his lighter at Bam's. At the thought of his best friend, a sob catches in his throat and Ville quickly distracts himself by looking out at the road for a cab. No such luck, though, and the complete and utter despondency of his situation overcomes him all of a sudden. He can no longer hold back the tears gathering in his eyes.

**

They'd been sprawled in the doorway of his hotel bedroom for centuries - now the midnight moonlight had cast an eerie spell on them; they were made of marble and tears. They were stone white skin and inked black lines. Ville was flat on his back and trying not to stare at the ceiling (the cat eyes squeezed shut against seas of sadness welling inside him); Bam was folded into a messy pile on the floor beside him. The latter's mind was concerned with second- and third-guessing the situation in that oh-so-palpable way that just screamed this is going horribly wrong.

Nothing had been said since those fateful words all those years ago, except it wasn't years ago - it just felt that way. No, it was ten minutes - fifteen maybe? - since Ville whispered his sins. Nonetheless, it may as well have been years because Bam couldn't even think of a way to broach the subject again.

"My sheets smell of you," Ville had croaked when Bam got up in the night and opened his door to find Ville sitting outside his room. Suddenly the passionate, desperate love shining in the jade had become all too real, all too clear, and Bam realised.

Ville's eyes always had been a little too expressive.

But now they were hidden by muddy eyelashes and Rimmel glitter, and Bam had no guiding light to tell him what to say.

**

Ville finds himself meandering thoughtlessly down the road. Neon signs and shop windows all lit up provide enough illumination through the rain and darkness for him to see where he's going. Not that he cares. He can barely think straight - he's cold, and wet, and all he wants is to go home, but after the initial surge of enthusiasm, his search for the airport has dwindled considerably.

**
Bam felt it break inside of him; he felt the last string of his heart snap and then it was alright to kiss Ville. Because now… now they had Tom's Midnight Garden, they had Eden, and it was secret and safe and theirs. Tentatively, like a cat dipping it's paw in a pool of water, Bam leant over to smother Ville's mouth with his own. "It’s alright, Ville," he whispered into the other's mouth.

**

Years later, they were still doing it; still committing their cardinal sin over and over again until they were tangled in bed sheets and bruised with love. Not that either of them knew it was love, because Bam had Jenn, and then Missy, and then he was engaged. Ville matched Bam lover-for-lover, each whispered promise in Pennsylvania echoed in tattoos and kisses in Finland. But for some reason unknown to them… every time they were together - be it in London, or Paris, or Prague - they'd find themselves again a hopeless marble mess in doorways, on the beach, and in the half-light of a sunset.

One spring, Ville needed another music video and flew Bam into Los Angeles to do it. This time he was resolute. No. More. Kissing. Ever since Bam walked into his life nothing had gone right. He fought with Jonna, he threw vases at neighbours, he drank, he was drugged, he had asthma, he had insomnia. And it was all because he was desperately in love with someone he simultaneously had and didn't have. Quantum love.

So when, on his very first night there, Bam had reached for Ville by the pool at Paramour, the singer gently pushed him away. "No, sweetheart, not now," Ville whispered, flicking his cigarette off into the bushes. Day was breaking, casting blue and gold streaks into the endless sky, and heavy clouds gathered. There was little light to see by, but the hurt radiating from Bam was invisible anyway. "In fact," Ville began, "Bammie, you have to listen; this was never a good idea, and it’s always been hard hasn't it?"

Bam was standing at the edge of the swimming pool now, back to his friend and hands in his pockets. "Yeah," he replied, his voice wavering slightly. "But why are we giving it up now, when you're probably breaking up with her anyway, and-"

"Bam," Ville warned.

The sapphire-eyed one stopped short, staring into the aquamarine water. It looked cool and calming against the turbulent emotion swirling in the air above water; the atmosphere charged with the oncoming storm. He jumped. Ville's eyes flashed to the pool when he heard the crash of Bam's body hitting the water. Typical, really, that even when Ville's heart was on the line, the American would be launching himself into swimming pools. Putting back his unlit cigarette, Ville walked to the edge of the water. "Bam," he said, simply. He got no reply, because the other was sitting resolutely on the floor of the pool, his skin tinged turquoise and kissed by the pattern of moving water. "This is stupid…" Ville whispered, before emptying his pockets and wading in to chest height.

Bam finally surfaced, wading over to the taller man until he was pressed tightly against him. His tears began to fall almost exactly the same time as the rain did. Ville smiled ruefully, the smell of chlorine and salt mingling with the earthy smell of a storm. The rain came crashing down around them, causing ripples to break the mirror-serenity of the water; Bam's blue eyes were glassy with tears. And, staring down at him, Ville's resolve cracked.

"Shh now," he whispered, lips millimetres from Bam's. "We don't want them to hear…" and then neither of them spoke again, except in kisses and touches and quick, shy glances. And when they couldn't go any further, Ville pressed one last kiss to Bam's swollen lips. "I don't know why we don't just- Fuck it. I'll see you in Dresden," he whispered, before hauling himself out of the water.

**

"I swear to God, powercuts have been- OUCH! Shit! Have been following me this year. First New Y- Where's that cabinet?"

"Forwards," Ville supplied, drunkenly feeling his way towards the desk by the window.

"I've never been in this many blacko- Are you sure? I can't fucking feel it."

"Here."

"I swear to God… Where's the fucking cab-"

"It's here," Ville said a little louder, feeling in the dark for Bam's arm and yanking solidly on it when he found it. Bam lost his balance and went crashing to the floor.

"Bastard," Bam muttered as Ville helped him climb to his feet.

In the pitch black, it seemed all his other senses were heightened tenfold. The feel of Ville's silky dress shirt under his fingertips coupled with the heat radiating from the taller man was driving Bam insane with something that was half lust, half love. He just couldn't tell what was happening to him; his senses were alive with fire and scent. Eventually, feeling as if he was going to explode if he didn't do something, he reached up for Ville's cheek and crushed his lips to the singer's petal-soft ones.

Emboldened when Ville didn't pull away like he'd done last time, Bam sighed and tried to steer Ville towards the bed. They'd only been in Dresden two nights, though, and Bam's memory of where the bed was seemed to differ alarmingly from reality. Landing in a soft heap on the floor seemed to bring Ville back to earth. "Oh dear," he muttered, finding the other's hands in the dark. His breath smelled of red wine and vanilla, and Bam just pushed himself closer to Ville. "Come on, Bam. Up on the bed."

They'd never given up quite this much of themselves; or felt quite as needy as now. The dim embers glowing in Ville's chest ached. Bam felt a dull pain in his heart augment the pleasure. They tried to pace it right, tried to hold back against the fireworks building inside them, but in the end it turned out to be just like before - desperate and quick. "I love you," the darker one whispered into the pillow, trying not to cry and smudge his eyeliner. He knew Bam couldn't hear him. God forbid Bam should hear him.

"I know," Bam told Ville solemnly as he was leaving some time later. They'd lit candles now, because the power was still off, and Ville could see the glassy-eyed sadness even from his place on the bed. Bam went on, "I always know how you feel. You always know how you feel. I never- I don't know if I…" he didn't know how to phrase the next part, but Ville understood him anyway.

"We can't keep this up."

A candle flickered in the draught, and blew out.

**

Ville had been curled up on a sofa, his cat-eyes fixed on the cinders gradually fading in the fireplace. Cold had sunk into his bones; a deep, threatening coldness that wrapped, aching and clammy, around his heart. The fire had done nothing to help, and Bam and Missy had been locked away in Bam's bedroom for nigh on two hours now. Castle Bam creaked and settled around him, and Ville didn't wonder he was the only person awake for miles around.

Then, though, the door opened with a soft click, light poured out of the new gap between door and frame, and somebody padded into the room. "Ville?" A voice whispered, husky with lack of use.

Ville shifted a little to show he was awake. The friction of his clothes against the sofa made a zinging noise. "Ville, I'm going to marry her," Bam said softly, and at that moment the world around Ville literally broke down.

"I'm going to have an asthma attack," Ville whispered, but Bam had already gone back to his bedroom.

**

His inhaler had been too far away; in the pocket of his velvet blazer which - as far as he could remember - was hanging up in the hall. Somehow, though, the sadness suppressed his panic and Ville could barely be bothered to fight for breath. The attack passed in a matter of minutes and when he felt good enough to move again, Ville got up.

No more marble under the moonlight, no more senseless tangles in bed sheets or drowning in chlorinated sex, because that's what it was: sex, sterilised so that it was alright (anything was alright, so long as it wasn't love). No more. Because Ville was going to up and leave and maybe never come back. It didn't matter that Bam would be happy now; that they could still be friends. Ville would never find happiness in his heart for Bam and Missy; the weight of their marriage would bear down and suffocate him, stifle his breath from his body in a way that would seem tragic if it weren’t so pathetic. No. This was going to end now; Ville was going to escape the cold, tendrilous clutches of his wretched obsession.

And the word seemed to shine like a beacon in the dark, like a guiding light: Helsinki. Home

**

Ville finally gives up when he sees the basketball court. He knows now that he's far from anywhere familiar and the shivering cold prickling his skin and bones tells him this is  probably his last night on earth. Is there really any point fighting this, this encompassing wish to curl up on the bench by the baseline and die? For the hundredth time tonight, he reaches for his cigarettes - why not urge Death on? - and withdraws his hand when he finds none.

In fact, so willing he is to die that he almost feels ironically murderous when what is no doubt some kind, charitable soul approaches him with a blanket. "Fuck off," Ville murmurs without feeling.

"No," Ryan Dunn replies, his muscles burning as he lifts Ville up and wraps him in the blanket.

Ville can't really be bothered to wonder how Dunn found him as he's driven back to Castle Bam like a shamefaced runaway teenager. In fact, he's still completely intent on ending this tiresome business of breathing. He just can't work out how to switch off his lungs. Ryan calls Bam to tell him that Ville is safe, and Ville would snort derisively if he could only find the energy to.

**

"No… no, he's fine. Yeah, a bad cold maybe. OK… Give Anita my love… Yeah. Bye."

Ville catches the tail end of Bam's phone conversation and scowls. He does not want to be back at Castle Bam - he wants to be dead, decaying, interred in a tomb (anything but marble, thanks; he's had enough of white stone to last him a lifetime) and happily haunting Ozzy Osbourne.

The smell hits him almost the moment he becomes fully consciousness: the delicious cocktail of chocolate and beer that is Bam and the realisation comes in a liquid hot rush: he's in Bam's bed. Again.

"No," Ville whimpers, struggling against the duvet, which seems as heavy as if it were weighted with sand.

"OK," Bam whispers, stroking the Finn's forehead, "Ville please, lie back down."

The American looks concerned, a wreck, and holds a Jack Skellington toy limply in his hands. Ville recognises it as the one thrown on stage last time HIM played in Philadelphia; he'd given it to Bam. The thought softens his desperation for a moment, and Ville collapses limply back onto the pillows. He's pretty sure he's been lying here for days, and even surer that he doesn't smell Missy's cloying perfume in the sheets.

"Where's Missy?" Ville asks, not caring how incriminating that sounds.

Bam toys with his jelly bracelet. "She's gone," he says, carefully. "She decided not to marry me after all."

That's not what happened at all. It's a lie, but Ville can barely dare to hope Bam kicked her out himself. The stillness settles and lasts a split second, before Bam climbs into bed beside Ville. "I love you," Bam whispers suddenly.

There's a flicker of hope inside Ville, like the striking of a match inside his ribcage. Bam smiles gently, the warmth in his eyes softening his face. He doesn't look like marble anymore.